THE CROSSING TRAILS
As Kut-le, with Rhoda in his arms, disappeared into the mesa fissure,
John DeWitt threw himself from his horse and was at the opening before
the others had more than brought their horses to their haunches.
He was met by Alchise's rifle, with Alchise entirely hidden from view.
For a moment the four men stood panting and speechless. The encounter
had been so sudden, so swift that they could not believe their senses.
Then Billy Porter uttered an oath that reverberated from the rocky wall.
"They will get to the top!" he cried. "Jack, you and DeWitt get up
there! Carlos and I will hold this!"
The two men mounted immediately and galloped along the mesa wall,
looking for an ascent. Neither of them spoke but both were breathing
hard, and through his blistered skin DeWitt's cheeks glowed feverishly.
For a mile up and down from the fissure the wall was a blank, except
for a single wide split which did not come within fifty feet of the
ground. After over half an hour of frantic search, DeWitt found,
nearly three miles from the fissure, a rough spot where the wall gave
back in a few narrow crumbling ledges.
"We'll have to leave the horses," he said, "and try that."
Jack nodded tensely. They dismounted, pulled the reins over the
horses' heads and started up the wall, John leading, carefully. One
bitter lesson the desert was teaching him: haste in the hot country
spells ruin! So, though Rhoda's voice still rang in his ears, though
the sight of the slender boyish figure struggling in Kut-le's arms
still ravished his eyes, he worked carefully.
The ascent was all but impossible. The few jutting ledges were so
narrow that foothold was precarious, so far apart that only the slight
backward slant of the wall made it possible for them to flatten their
bodies against the crumbling brown rock and thus keep from falling.
They toiled desperately, silently. After an hour of utmost effort,
they reached the top, and with an exclamation of exultation started in
the direction of the fissure. But their exultation was short-lived.
The great split that stopped fifty feet from the desert floor cut them
off from the main mesa. They ran hastily along its edge but at no
point was it to be crossed. Shortly DeWitt left Jack to follow it back
and he hastened to the mesa front where he made a perilous descent and
returned with the horses to Porter.
That gentleman forced John to eat some breakfast while Carlos rode
hastily to scour the mesa front to the west. Porter and the Mexican
had captured two of the horses and the burro that the Indians had left.
The other horses had run out into the desert back to the last spring
they had camped at, Porter said. To DeWitt's great disappointment, the
horses carried only blankets, and the burro was loaded with bacon and
flour. There were none of Rhoda's personal belongings. The animals
were in good condition, however, and the men annexed them to their
outfit gladly.
John was torn betwixt hope and bitter disappointment.
"Do you think they could climb out of the fissure?" he asked half a
dozen times, then without waiting for an answer, "Did you see her face,
Billy? I had just a glimpse! Didn't she look well! Just that one
glance has put new life in me! I know we will get her! Even this
cursed desert isn't wide enough to keep me from her! God help that
Indian when I get him!"
Porter kept his eyes on Alchise's rifle which had never wavered in the
past three hours.
"I've a notion to shoot the barrel off that thing just for luck!" he
growled. "John, sit down! You will need all the strength you've got
and then some before you catch that Injun!"
"What are you going to do?" asked John, seating himself in the sand
some few feet from the fissure.
"The big probability is," said Billy, "that they are in the crack. It
would be just about impossible for a girl to climb out of one of 'em.
If they have got out, though, it's just a matter of finding their trail
again. We'll have 'em! It's just this chance crack that saved 'em.
If you're rested, ride along the west wall and try for the top again."
For the next five hours, Porter guarded the mesa front alone. It was
nearing six o'clock when Jack returned, exhausted and disappointed. He
had followed the great split back until the mesa top became so cut and
striated with mighty fissures that progress was impossible.
"Isn't it the devil's own luck," he growled to Porter as he ate, "that
we should have let him get into that one crack! What next! Unless
they are still in there, we've lost them and are just losing time
squatting here."
As he spoke, there was a sound of voices in the fissure. The two men
cocked their rifles as John and Carlos emerged from the opening. John
was scowling and breathless.
"Lost 'em as usual, by our infernal stupidity," he panted, while Carlos
dropped his empty canteen and lifted Porter's to his lips. "I rode
round to the south of the mesa. There are a couple of possible ascents
there. I found Carlos making one. We followed a dozen fissures before
we located this one. We got into it about a mile back from here.
Here's a basket we found at the bottom in a burlap bag."
He tossed one of Cesca's pitch baskets at Billy, then threw himself in
the sand.
"They were down off the mesa, I bet," he went on, "before we fools
found the way up, and it was easy for the chap they left guarding the
entrance to avoid us. The mesa is covered with big rocks."
"He got away within the last half-hour then," said Billy, "for I didn't
stir from this spot until the burro started to eat the grub pack, and I
naturally had to wrestle with him. And no human being could a got out
the front even then."
"God! What a country!" groaned DeWitt. "The Indians outwit us at
every step!"
"Well," Jack answered dejectedly, "tell us what we could have done
differently."
"I'm not blaming any one," replied John.
Billy Porter rose briskly.
"You boys quit your kicking. The scent is still warm. You fellows get
a couple of hours' sleep while I take the horses back to Coyote Hole
for water. By daylight we got to be on the south side of the mesa to
pick up the trail."
Billy's businesslike manner heartened Jack and John DeWitt. They
turned in beside Carlos, who already was sleeping.
Dawn found them examining the ascents on the south side of the mesa but
they found no traces and as the sun came well up they followed the only
possible way toward the mountains. At noon they found a low spring in
a pocket between mesa and mountain. Kut-le was growing either defiant
or careless, for he had left a heap of ashes and a pile of half-eaten
desert mice. Very much cheered they allowed the horses a fair rest.
They found no further traces of camp or trail that day and made camp
that night in the open desert.
At dawn they were crossing a heavily wooded mountain. The sun had not
yet risen when they heard a sound of singing.
"What's that?" asked DeWitt sharply, as the four pulled up their horses.
"A medicine cry," answered Jack. "We must be near some medicine-man's
_campos_."
"Come on," cried DeWitt, "we'll quiz them!"
"Hold up, you chump!" exclaimed Billy. "If you rush in on a cry that
way you are apt not to come back again. You've got to go at 'em
careful. Let me do the talking."
They rode toward the sound of the chant and shortly a dingy _campos_
came into view. An Indian buck made his way from the doorway toward
them.
"Who is sick, friend?" asked Billy.
"Old buck," said the Indian.
"Apache?" said Billy.
The Indian nodded.
"You _sabe_ Apache named Kut-le?"
The buck shook his head, but Billy went on patiently.
"Yes, you _sabe_ him. He old Ke-say's son. Apache chief's son. He
run off with white squaw. We want squaw, we no hurt him. Squaw sick,
no good for Injun. You tell, have money." Billy displayed a silver
dollar.
The Indian brightened.
"Long time 'go, some Injun say he _sabe_ Kut-le. Some Injun say he all
same white man. Some Injun say he heap smart." He looked at Billy
inquiringly, and Billy nodded approval. DeWitt swallowed nervously.
"Come two, three day 'go," the buck went on, his eyes on the silver
dollar, "big Injun, carry white squaw, go by here very fast. He go
that way all heap fast." The buck pointed south.
"Did he speak to you? What did he say?" cried DeWitt.
But the Indian lapsed into silence and refused to speak more. Porter
felt well rewarded for his efforts and tossed the dollar to the Indian.
"Gee!" said Billy, as they started elated down the mountain. "I wish
we could overtake him before he outfits again. That poverty-stricken
lot couldn't have had any horses here for him to use. I'll bet he
makes for the nearest ranch where he could steal a good bunch. That
would be at Kelly's, sixty miles south of here. We'll hike for
Kelly's!"
This idea did not meet with enthusiastic approval from the other three
but as no one had a better suggestion to make, the trail to Kelly's was
taken. It seemed to John Dewitt that Billy relied little on science
and much on intuition in trailing the Indians. At first, considering
Porter's early boasts about his skill, DeWitt was much disappointed by
the old-timer's haphazard methods. But after a few weeks' testing of
the terrible hardships of the desert, after a few demonstrations of the
Apache's cleverness, John had concluded that intuition was the most
reliable weapon that the whites could hope to discover with which to
offset the Indian's appalling skill and knowledge.
It was an exhausted quartet with its string of horses that drew up at
Kelly's dusty corral. Dick Kelly, a stocky Irishman, greeted the
strangers pleasantly. When, however, he learned their names he rose to
the occasion as only an Irishman can.
"You gentlemen are at the end of your rope, wid the end frayed at
that!" he said. "Now come in for a few hours' rest and the Chinaman
will cook you the best meal he knows how."
"Lord, no!" cried Billy. "We're so close on the track now that we can
hang on to the end. If you've had no trace here we'll just double back
and start from the mountains again!"
By this time a dozen cowboys and ranch hands were gathered about the
newcomers. Every one knew about Rhoda's disappearance. Every one knew
about every man in the little search party. In the flicker of the
lanterns the men looked pityingly at DeWitt's haggard face.
"Say," said a tall, lank cowman, "if you'll go in and sleep till
daylight, usn'll scour this part of the desert with a fine-tooth comb.
So you all won't lose a minute by taking a little rest. An' if we find
the Injun we'll string him up and save you the trouble."
DeWitt spoke for the first time.
"If you find the Indian," he said succinctly, "he's mine!"
There was a moment's silence in the crowd. These men were familiar
with elemental passion. DeWitt's feeling was perfectly correct in
their eyes. The pause came as each pictured himself in DeWitt's place
with the image of the delicate Eastern girl suffering who knew what
torments constantly before him.
"If Mr. Kelly can arrange for that," said Jack, "I guess it will about
save our lives. I'd like a chance to write a letter to my wife."
"You ought to go back to the ditch, Jack," said DeWitt, "Porter and I
will manage somehow."
Jack gave DeWitt a strange look.
"Rhoda's a lifelong friend of mine. She was stolen from my home by my
friend whom I told her she could trust. Katherine and the foreman can
run the ranch."
By the time that the four had washed themselves, Kelly had his men
dotted over the surrounding desert. For the first time in weeks, the
searchers sat down at a table. DeWitt, Porter and Newman were in
astonishing contrast to the three who had dined at the Newman ranch the
night of Cartwell's introduction to Porter. Their khaki clothes had
gradually been replaced by nondescript garments picked up at various
ranches. DeWitt and Porter boasted of corduroy trousers, while Jack
wore overalls. On the other hand, Jack wore a good blue flannel shirt,
while the other two displayed only faded gingham garments that might
have answered to almost any name. All of them were a deep mahogany
color, with chapped, split lips and bleached hair, while DeWitt's eyes
were badly inflamed from sun-glare and sand-storm.
They ate silently. Dick Kelly, sitting at the head of the table, plied
them with food and asked few questions. DeWitt's shaking hands told
him that questions were torture to the poor fellow. After the meal
Kelly led them to bed at once, and they slept without stirring until
four o'clock in the morning, when the Chinaman called them. Breakfast
was steaming on the table.
"Now," said Kelly, as his guests ate, "the boys didn't get a smell for
ye, but we've a suggestion. Have you been through the Pueblo country
yet?"
"No," said Porter.
"Well," the host went on, "Chira is the only place round here except my
ranch where he could get a new outfit. He's part Pueblo, you know,
too. I'd start for there if I was you."
Carlos entered to hear this suggestion.
"I've got a friend at Chira," he said, "who might help us. He's a
half-breed."
The tired men took eagerly to this forlorn hope. With all the
population of the ranch, including the cook, gathered to wish them
Godspeed, the four started off before the sun had more than tinted the
east. Kelly had offered them anything on the ranch, from himself, his
cook and his cowboys, to the choice of his horses. His guests left as
much heartened by his cheerfulness and good will as they were by the
actual physical comforts he had given them.
The trail to Chira was long and hard. They reached the little town at
dusk and Carlos set out at once in search of his friend, Philip. He
found him easily. He was half Mexican, half Pueblo. He and Carlos
chatted briskly in hybrid Spanish while the Americans watched the
horses wade in the little river. Visitors were so common in Chira that
the newcomers attracted little or no attention.
Carlos finally turned from his friend.
"Philip does not know anything about it. He says for us to come to his
house while he finds out anything. His wife is a good cook."
The thought of a hot meal was pleasant to the Americans. They followed
gladly to Philip's adobe rooms. Here the half-breed left them to his
wife and disappeared. He was gone perhaps an hour when he returned
with a bit of cloth in his hand, which he handed to Carlos with a few
rapid sentences. Carlos gave the scrap of cloth to DeWitt, who looked
at it eagerly then gave a cry of joy. It was Rhoda's handkerchief.
"He found a little girl washing her doll with it at the river," said
Carlos. "She said she found it blowing along the street this morning."
"Come on!" cried Jack, making for the door.
"Come on where?" said Billy. "If they are in the village, you don't
want to get away very far. And if they ain't, which way are you going?"
"Ask Philip where to go, Carlos," said DeWitt.
He held the little moist handkerchief in his hand tightly while his
heart beat heavily. Once more hope was soaring high.
Philip thought deeply, then he and Carlos talked rapidly together.
"Philip says," reported Carlos, "that you must go out and watch along
the river front so that if they have not gone you can catch them if
they try. He and I will go visit every family as if I wanted to buy an
outfit."
Darkness had settled on the little town when the three Americans took
up their vigil opposite the open face of the Pueblo along the river.
All that night they stood on guard but not a human being crossed their
line of patrol.