THE PURSUIT
As twilight deepened, Katherine lay in the hammock thankful for the
soothing effect of the darkness on her aching eyes. She felt a little
troubled about Kut-le. She was very fond of the young Indian. She
understood him as did no one else, perhaps, and had the utmost faith in
his honor and loyalty. She suspected that Rhoda had had much to do
with the young Indian's sudden departure and she felt irritated with
the girl, though at the same time she acknowledged that Rhoda had done
only what she, Katherine, had advised--had treated Kut-le as if he had
been a white man!
She watched the trail for Rhoda's return but darkness came and there
was no sign of the frail figure. A little disturbed, she walked to the
corral bars and looked down to the lights of the cowboys' quarters. If
only John DeWitt and Jack would return! But she did not expect them
before midnight. She returned to the house and telephoned to the ranch
foreman.
"Don't you worry, ma'am," he answered cheerily. "No harm could come to
her! She just walked till it got dark and is just starting for home
now, I bet! She can't have got out of sight of the ranch lights."
"But she may have! You can't tell what she's done, she's such a
tenderfoot," insisted Katherine nervously. "She may have been hurt!"
It was well that Katherine could not see the foreman's face during the
conversation. It had a decided scowl of apprehension, but he managed a
cheerful laugh.
"Well, you _have_ got nervous, Mrs. Newman! I'll just send three or
four of the boys out to meet her. Eh?"
"Oh, yes, do!" cried Katherine. "I shall feel easier. Good-by!"
Dick Freeman dropped the receiver and hurried into the neighboring
bunk-house.
"Boys," he said quietly, "Mrs. Newman just 'phoned me that Miss Tuttle
went to walk at sunset, to be gone half an hour. She ain't got back
yet. She is alone. Will some of you come with me?"
Every hand of cards was dropped before Dick was half through his
statement. In less than twenty minutes twenty cowboys were circling
slowly out into the desert. For two hours Katherine paced from the
living-room to the veranda, from the veranda to the corral. She
changed her light evening gown to her khaki riding habit. Her
nervousness grew to panic. She sent Li Chung to bed, then she paced
the lawn, listening, listening.
At last she heard the thud of hoofs and Dick Freeman dismounted in the
light that streamed from the open door.
"We haven't found her, Mrs. Newman. Has Mr. Newman got back? I think
we must get up an organized search."
Katherine could feel her heart thump heavily.
"No, he hasn't. Have you found her trail?"
"No; it's awful hard to trail in the dark, and the desert for miles
around the ranch is all cut up with footprints and hoof-marks, you
know."
Katherine wrung her hands.
"Oh, poor little Rhoda!" she cried. "What shall we do!"
"No harm can come to her," insisted Dick. "She will know enough to sit
tight till daylight, then we will have her before the heat gets up."
"Oh, if she only will!" moaned Katherine. "Do whatever you think best,
Dick, and I'll send Jack and John DeWitt to you as soon as they return."
Dick swung himself to the saddle again.
"Better go in and read something, Mrs. Newman. You mustn't worry
yourself sick until you are sure you have something to worry about."
How she passed the rest of the night, Katherine never knew. A little
after midnight, Jack came in, his face tense and anxious. Katherine
paled as she saw his expression. She knew he had met some of the
searchers. When Jack saw the color leave his wife's pretty cheeks, he
kissed her very tenderly and for a moment they clung to each other
silently, thinking of the delicate girl adrift on the desert.
"Where is John DeWitt?" asked Katherine after a moment.
"He's almost crazy. He's with Dick Freeman. Only stopped for a fresh
horse."
"They have no trace?" questioned Katherine.
Jack shook his head.
"You know what a proposition it is to hunt for as small an object as a
human, in the desert. Give me your smelling salts and the little
Navajo blanket. One--one can't tell whether she's hurt or not."
Katherine began to sob as she obeyed.
"You are all angel good not to blame me, but I know it's my fault. I
shouldn't have let her go. But she is so sensible, usually."
"Dear heart!" said Jack, rolling up the Navajo. "Any one that knows
dear old Rhoda knows that what she will, she will, and you are not to
blame. Go to bed and sleep if you can."
"Oh, Jack, I can't! Let me go with you, do!"
But Jack shook his head.
"You aren't strong enough to do any good and some one must stay here to
run things."
So again Katherine was left to pace the veranda. All night the search
went on. Jack sent messages to the neighboring ranches and the
following morning fifty men were in the saddle seeking Rhoda's trail.
Jack also sent into the Pueblo country for Kut-le, feeling that his aid
would be invaluable. It would take some time to get a reply from the
Indians and in the meantime the search went on rigorously, with no
trace of the trail to be found.
John DeWitt did not return to the ranch until the afternoon after
Rhoda's disappearance. Then, disheveled, with bloodshot eyes, cracked
lips and blistered face, he dropped exhausted on the veranda steps.
Katherine and Jack greeted him with quiet sympathy.
"I came in to get fixed up for a long cruise," said John. "My pony
went lame, and I want a flannel shirt instead of this silk thing I had
on last night. I wish to God Kut-le would come! I suppose he could
read what we are blind to."
"You bet!" cried Jack. "I expect an answer from his friends this
afternoon. I just had a telegram from Porter, in answer to one I sent
him this morning. I caught him at Brown's and he will be here this
afternoon. He knows almost as much as an Indian about following a
trail."
They all spoke in the hushed tones one employs in the sick-room. Jack
tried to persuade DeWitt to eat and sleep but he refused, his forced
calm giving way to a hoarse, "For heaven's sake, can I rest when she is
dying out there!"
John had not finished his feverish preparations when Billy Porter
stalked into the living-room. As he entered, the telephone rang and
Jack answered it. Then he returned to the eager group.
"Kut-le has gone on a long hunt with some of his people. They don't
know where he went and refuse to look for him."
Billy Porter gave a hard, mirthless laugh.
"Why certainly! Jack, you ought to have a hole bored into your head to
let in a little light. Kut-le gone. Can't find Rhoda's trail. Kut-le
in love with Rhoda. Kut-le an Indian. Rhoda refuses him--he goes
off--gets some of his chums and when he catches Rhoda alone he steals
her. He will keep a man behind, covering his trail. Oh, you easy
Easterners make me sick!"
The Newmans and DeWitt stood staring at Porter with horror in their
eyes. The clock ticked for an instant then DeWitt gave a groan and
bowed his head against the mantelpiece. Katherine ran to him and tried
to pull his head to her little shoulder.
"O John, don't! Don't! Maybe Billy is right. I'm afraid he is! But
one thing I do know. Rhoda is as safe in Kut-le's hands as she would
be in Jack's. I know it, John!"
John did not move, but at Katherine's words the color came back into
Jack Newman's face.
"That's right!" he said stoutly. "It's a devilish thing for Kut-le to
do. But she's safe, John, old boy, I'm sure she is."
Billy Porter, conscience-stricken at the effect of his words, clapped
John on the shoulder.
"Aw shucks! I let my Injun hate get the best of my tongue. Of course
she's safe enough; only the darn devil's got to be caught before he
gets to Mexico and makes some padre marry 'em. So it's us to the
saddle a whole heap."
"We'd better get an Indian to help trail," said Jack.
"You'll have a sweet time getting an Injun to trail Kut-le!" said
Porter. "The Injuns half worship him. They think he's got some kind
of strong medicine; you know that. You get one and he'll keep you off
the trail instead of on. I can follow the trail as soon as he quits
covering it. Get the canteens and come on. We don't need a million
cowboys running round promiscuous over the sand. Numbers don't help in
trailing an Injun. It's experience and patience. It may take us two
weeks and we'll outfit for that. But we'll get him in the end. Crook
always did."
There was that in Billy Porter's voice which put heart into his
listeners. John DeWitt lifted his head, and while his blue eyes
returned the gaze of the others miserably, he squared his shoulders
doggedly.
"I'm ready," he said briefly.
"Oh, let me come!" cried Katherine. "I can't bear this waiting!"
Billy smiled.
"Why, Mrs. Jack, you'd be dried up and blowed away before the first day
was over."
"But Rhoda is enduring it!" protested Katherine, with quivering lips.
"God!" John DeWitt muttered and flung himself from the house to the
corral. The other two followed him at once.
It was mid-afternoon when the three rode into the quivering yellow haze
of the desert followed by a little string of pack horses. It was now
nearing twenty-four hours since Rhoda had disappeared and in that time
there had been little sand blowing. This meant that the trail could be
easily followed were it found. The men rode single file, Billy Porter
leading. All wore blue flannel shirts and khaki trousers. John DeWitt
rode Eastern park fashion, with short stirrup, rising from the saddle
with the trot. Jack and Billy rode Western fashion, long stirrup, an
inseparable part of their horses, a fashion that John DeWitt was to be
forced to learn in the fearful days to come.
Billy Porter declaimed in a loud voice from the head of the procession.
"Of course, Kut-le has taken to the mountains. He'll steer clear of
ranches and cowboys for a while. Our chance lies in his giving up
covering his trail after he gets well into the ranges. We will get his
trail and hang on till we can outwit him. If he was alone, we'd never
get him, barring accident. But he will be a lot hampered by Miss Rhoda
and I trust to her to hamper him a whole lot after she gets her hand
in."
All the rest of the burning afternoon they moved toward the mountains.
It was quite dusk when they entered the foothills. The way, not good
at best, grew difficult and dangerous to follow. Billy led on,
however, until darkness closed down on them in a little cactus-grown
cañon. Here he halted and ordered camp for a few hours.
"Lord!" exclaimed DeWitt. "You're not going to camp! I thought you
were really going to do something!"
Billy finished lighting the fire and by its light he gave an impatient
glance at the tenderfoot. But the look of the burned, sand-grimed
face, the bloodshot eyes, blazing with anxiety, caused him to speak
patiently.
"Can't kill the horses, DeWitt. You must make up your mind that this
is going to be a hard hunt. You got to call out all the strength
you've been storing up all your life, and then some. We've got to use
common sense. Lord, I want to get ahead, don't I! I seen Miss Rhoda.
I know what she's like. This ain't any joy ride for me, either. I got
a lot of feeling in it."
John DeWitt extended his sun-blistered right hand and Billy Porter
clasped it with his brown paw.
Jack Newman cleared his throat.
"Did you give your horse enough rope, John? There is a good lot of
grass close to the cañon wall. Quick as you finish your coffee, old
man, roll in your blanket. We will rest till midnight when the moon
comes up, eh, Billy?"
DeWitt, finally convinced of the good sense and earnestness of his
friends, obeyed. The cañon was still in darkness when Jack shook him
into wakefulness but the mountain peak above was a glorious silver.
Camp was broken quickly and in a short time Billy was leading the way
up the wretched trail. DeWitt's four hours of sleep had helped him.
He could, to some degree, control the feverish anxiety that was
consuming him and he tried to turn his mind from picturing Rhoda's
agonies to castigating himself for leaving her unguarded even though
Kut-le had left the ranch. Before leaving the ranch that afternoon he
had telegraphed and written Rhoda's only living relative, her Aunt
Mary. He had been thankful as he wrote that Rhoda had no mother. He
had so liked the young Indian; there had been such good feeling between
them that he could not yet believe that Porter's surmise was wholly
correct.
"Supposing," he said aloud, "that you are wrong, Porter? Supposing
that she's--she's dying of thirst down there in the desert? You have
no proof of Kut-le's doing it. It's only founded on your Indian hate,
you say yourself."
"That's right," said Newman. "Are you sure we aren't wasting time,
Billy?"
Billy turned in the saddle to face them.
"Well, boys," he said, "you've got half the county scratching the
desert with a fine-tooth comb. I don't see how we three can help very
much there. On the other hand we might do some good up here. Now I'll
make a bargain with you. If by midnight tonight we ain't struck any
trace of her, you folks can quit."
"And what will you do?" asked Jack.
"Me?" Billy shrugged his shoulders. "Why, I'll keep on this trail
till my legs is wore off above my boots!" and he turned to guide his
pony up a little branch trail at the top of which stood a tent with the
telltale windlass and forge close by.
Before the tent they drew rein. In response to Billy's call a
rough-bearded fellow lifted the tent flap and stood suppressing a yawn,
as if visitors to his lonely claim were of daily occurrence.
"Say, friend," said Billy, "do you know Newman's ranch?"
"Sure," returned the prospector.
"Well, this is Mr. Newman. A young lady has been visiting him and his
wife. She disappeared night before last. We suspicion that Cartwell,
that educated Injun, has stole her. We're trying to find his trail.
Can you give us a hunch?"
The sleepy look left the prospector's eyes. He crossed the rocks to
put a hand on Billy's pommel.
"Gee! Ain't that ungodly!" he exclaimed. "I ain't seen a soul. But
night before last I heard a screaming in my sleep. It woke me up but
when I got out here I couldn't hear a thing. It was faint and far away
and I decided it was a wildcat. Do you suppose it was her?"
DeWitt ground his teeth together and his hands shook but he made no
sound. Jack breathed heavily.
"You think it was a woman?" asked Billy hoarsely.
The prospector spoke hesitatingly.
"If I'd been shore, I'd a gone on a hunt. But it was all kind of in my
sleep. It was from way back in the mountain there."
"Thanks," said Billy, "we'll be on our way."
"It's four o'clock. Better stop and have some grub with me, then I'll
join in and help you."
"No!" cried DeWitt, breaking his silence. "No!"
"That's the young lady's financier," said Billy, nodding toward John.
"Sho!" said the prospector sympathetically.
Billy lifted his reins.
"Thanks, we'll be getting along, I guess. Just as much obliged to you.
We'll water here in your spring."
They moved on in the direction whither the prospector had pointed.
They rode in silence. Dawn came slowly, clearly. The peaks lifted
magnificently, range after range against the rosy sky. There was no
trail. They followed the possible way. The patient little cow ponies
clambered over rocks and slid down inclines of a frightful angle as
cleverly as mountain goats. At ten o'clock, they stopped for breakfast
and a three hours' sleep. It was some time before DeWitt could be
persuaded to lie down but at last, perceiving that he was keeping the
others from their rest, he took his blanket to the edge of the ledge
and lay down.
His sleepless eyes roved up and down the adjoining cañon. Far to the
south, near the desert floor, he saw a fluttering bit of white. Now a
fluttering bit of white, far from human byways, means something!
Tenderfoot though he was, DeWitt realized this and sleep left his eyes.
He sat erect. For a moment he was tempted to call the others but he
restrained himself. He would let them rest while he kept watch over
the little white beacon, for so, unaccountably, it seemed to him. He
eyed it hungrily, and then a vague comfort and hopefulness came to him
and he fell asleep.
Jack's lusty call to coffee woke him. DeWitt jumped to his feet and
with a new light in his eyes he pointed out his discovery. The meal
was disposed of very hurriedly and, leaving Jack to watch the camp,
John and Billy crossed the cañon southward. After heavy scrambling
they reached the foot of the cañon wall. Twenty feet above them
dangled a white cloth. Catching any sort of hand and foot hold, John
clambered upward. Then he gave a great shout of joy. Rhoda's neck
scarf with the pebble pinned in one end was in his hands! DeWitt slid
to the ground and he and Billy examined the scarf tenderly, eagerly.
"I told you! I told you!" exulted Billy hoarsely. "See that weight
fastened to it? Wasn't that smart of her? Bless her heart! Now we
got to get above, somehow, and find where she dropped it from!"