THE RIDE UP THE BOW
Having once agreed to the proposal of a ride up the Bow, the doctor
lost no time in making the necessary preparations. Half an hour later he
found himself in the stable consulting with Billy. His mood was gloomy
and his language reflected his mood. Gladly would he have escaped what
to him, he felt, would be a trying and prolonged ordeal. But he could
not do this without exciting the surprise of his friends and possibly
wounding the sensitive girl whom he would gladly give his life to serve.
He resolved that at all costs he would go through with the thing.
“I'll give her a good time, by Jingo! if I bust something,” he muttered
as he walked up and down the stable picking out his mounts. “But for a
compound, double-opposed, self-adjusting jackass, I'm your choice. Lost
my first chance. Threw it clean away and queered myself with her first
shot. I say, Billy,” he called, “come here.”
“What's up, Doc?” said Billy.
“Kick me, Billy,” said the doctor solemnly.
“Well now, Doc, I--”
“Kick me, Billy, good and swift.”
“Don't believe I could give no satisfaction, Doc. But there's that Hiram
mule, he's a high class artist. You might back up to him.”
“No use being kicked, Billy, by something that wouldn't appreciate it,”
said Martin.
“Don't guess that way, Doc. He's an ornery cuss, he'd appreciate it all
right, that old mule. But Doc, what's eatin' you?”
“Oh, nothing, Billy, except that I'm an ass, an infernal ass.”
“An ass, eh? Then I guess I couldn't give you no satisfaction. You
better try that mule.”
“Well, Billy, the horses at two,” said the doctor briskly, “the broncho
and that dandy little pinto.”
“All serene, Doc. Hope you'll have a good time. Brace up, Doc, it's
comin' to you.” Billy's wink conveyed infinitely more than his words.
“Look here, Billy, you cut that all out,” said the doctor.
“All right, Doc, if that's the way you feel. You'll see no monkey-work
on me. I'll make a preacher look like a sideshow.”
And truly Billy's manner was irreproachable as he stood with the ponies
at the hotel door and helped their riders to mount. There was an almost
sad gravity in his demeanor that suggested a mind preoccupied with
solemn and unworldly thoughts with which the doctor and his affairs had
not even the remotest association.
As Cameron who, with his wife, watched their departure from the balcony
above, waved them farewell, he cried, “Keep your eyes skinned for an
Indian, Martin. Bring him in if you find him.”
“I've got no gun on me,” replied the doctor, “and if I get sight of him,
you hear me, I'll make for the timber quick. No heroic captures for me
this trip.”
“What is all this about the Indian, Dr. Martin?” inquired the girl at
his side as they cantered down the street.
“Didn't your brother tell you?”
“No.”
“Well, I've done enough to you with that Indian already to-day.”
“To me?”
“Didn't I like a fool frighten you nearly to death with him?”
“Well, I was startled. I was silly to show it. But an Indian to an Old
Country person familiar with Fenimore Cooper, well--”
“Oh, I was a proper idiot all round this morning,” grumbled the doctor.
“I didn't know what I was doing.”
The brown eyes were open wide upon him.
“You see,” continued the doctor desperately, “I'd looked forward to
meeting you for so long.” The brown eyes grew wider. “And then to think
that I actually didn't know you.”
“You didn't look at me,” cried Moira.
“No, I was looking for the girl I saw that day, almost three years ago,
in the Glen. I have never forgotten that day.”
“No, nor I,” replied the girl softly. “That is how I knew you. It was
a terrible day to us all in the Glen, my brother going to leave us and
under that dreadful cloud, and you came with the letter that cleared it
all away. Oh, it was like the coming of an angel from heaven, and I have
often thought, Mr. Martin--Dr. Martin you are now, of course--that I
never thanked you as I ought that day. I was thinking of Allan. I have
often wished to do it. I should like to do it now.”
“Get at it,” cried the doctor with great emphasis, “I need it. It might
help me a bit. I behaved so stupidly this morning. The truth is, I was
completely knocked out, flabbergasted.”
“Was that it?” cried Moira with a bright smile. “I thought--” A faint
color tinged her pale cheek and she paused a moment. “But tell me about
the Indian. My brother just made little of it. It is his way with me. He
thinks me just a little girl not to be trusted with things.”
“He doesn't know you, then,” said the doctor.
She laughed gayly. “And do you?”
“I know you better than that, at least.”
“What can you know about me?”
“I know you are to be trusted with that or with anything else that calls
for nerve. Besides, sooner or later you must know about this Indian.
Wait till we cross the bridge and reach the top of the hill yonder, it
will be better going.”
The hillside gave them a stiff scramble, for the trail went straight up.
But the sure-footed ponies, scrambling over stones and gravel, reached
the top safely, with no worse result than an obvious disarrangement of
the girl's hair, so that around the Scotch bonnet which she had pinned
on her head the little brown curls were peeping in a way that quite
shook the heart of Dr. Martin.
“Now you look a little more like yourself,” he cried, his eyes fastened
upon the curls with unmistakable admiration, “more like the girl I
remember.”
“Oh,” she said, “it is my bonnet. I put on this old thing for the ride.”
“No,” said the doctor, “you wore no bonnet that day. It is your face,
your hair, you are not quite--so--so proper.”
“My hair!” Her hands went up to her head. “Oh, my silly curls, I
suppose. They are my bane.” (“My joy,” the doctor nearly had said.) “But
now for the Indian story.”
Then the doctor grew grave.
“It is not a pleasant thing to greet a guest with,” he said, “but you
must know it and I may as well give it to you. And, mind you, this is
altogether a new thing with us.”
For the next half hour as they rode westward toward the big hills,
steadily climbing as they went, the story of the disturbance in the
north country, of the unrest among the Indians, of the part played in
it by the Indian Copperhead, and of the appeal by the Superintendent to
Cameron for assistance, furnished the topic for conversation. The girl
listened with serious face, but there was no fear in the brown eyes, nor
tremor in the quiet voice, as they talked it over.
“Now let us forget it for a while,” cried the doctor. “The Police have
rarely, if ever, failed to get their man. That is their boast. And they
will get this chap, too. And as for the row on the Saskatchewan, I don't
take much stock in that. Now we're coming to a view in a few minutes,
one of the finest I have seen anywhere.”
For half a mile farther they loped along the trail that led them to the
top of a hill that stood a little higher than the others round about.
Upon the hilltop they drew rein.
“What do you think of that for a view?” said the doctor.
Before them stretched the wide valley of the Bow for many miles,
sweeping up toward the mountains, with rounded hills on either side, and
far beyond the hills the majestic masses of the Rockies some fifty miles
away, snow-capped, some of them, and here and there upon their faces
the great glaciers that looked like patches of snow. Through this wide
valley wound the swift flowing Bow, and up from it on either side the
hills, rough with rocks and ragged masses of pine, climbed till they
seemed to reach the very bases of the mountains beyond. Over all the
blue arch of sky spanned the wide valley and seemed to rest upon the
great ranges on either side, like the dome of a vast cathedral.
Silent, with lips parted and eyes alight with wonder, Moira sat and
gazed upon the glory of that splendid scene.
“What do you think--” began the doctor.
She put out her hand and touched his arm.
“Please don't speak,” she breathed, “this is not for words, but for
worship.”
Long she continued to gaze in rapt silence upon the picture spread out
before her. It was, indeed, a place for worship. She pointed to a hill
some distance in front of them.
“You have been beyond that?” she asked in a hushed voice.
“Yes, I have been all through this country. I know it well. From the top
of that hill we get a magnificent sweep toward the south.”
“Let us go!” she cried.
Down the hillside they scrambled, across a little valley and up the
farther side, following the trail that wound along the hill but declined
to make the top. As they rounded the shoulder of the little mountain
Moira cried:
“It would be a great view from the top there beyond the trees. Can we
reach it?”
“Are you good for a climb?” replied the doctor. “We could tie the
horses.”
For answer she flung herself from her pinto and, gathering up her habit,
began eagerly to climb. By the time the doctor had tethered the ponies
she was half way to the top. Putting forth all his energy he raced after
her, and together they parted a screen of brushwood and stepped out on
a clear rock that overhung the deep canyon that broadened into a great
valley sweeping toward the south.
“Beats Scotland, eh?” cried the doctor, as they stepped out together.
She laid her hand upon his arm and drew him back into the bushes.
“Hush,” she whispered. Surprised into silence, he stood gazing at her.
Her face was white and her eyes gleaming. “An Indian down there,” she
whispered.
“An Indian? Where? Show me.”
“He was looking up at us. Come this way. I think he heard us.”
She led him by a little detour and on their hands and knees they crept
through the brushwood. They reached the open rock and peered down
through a screen of bushes into the canyon below.
“There he is,” cried Moira.
Across the little stream that flowed at the bottom of the canyon, and
not more than a hundred yards away, stood an Indian, tall, straight and
rigidly attent, obviously listening and gazing steadily at the point
where they had first stood. For many minutes he stood thus rigid while
they watched him. Then his attitude relaxed. He sat down upon the rocky
ledge that sloped up from the stream toward a great overhanging crag
behind him, laid his rifle beside him and, calmly filling his pipe,
began to smoke. Intently they followed his every movement.
“I do believe it is our Indian,” whispered the doctor.
“Oh, if we could only get him!” replied the girl.
The doctor glanced swiftly at her. Her face was pale but firm set with
resolve. Quickly he revolved in his mind the possibilities.
“If I only had a gun,” he said to himself, “I'd risk it.”
“What is he going to do?”
The Indian was breaking off some dead twigs from the standing pines
about him.
“He's going to light a fire,” replied the doctor, “perhaps camp for the
night.”
“Then,” cried the girl in an excited whisper, “we could get him.”
The doctor smiled at her. The Indian soon had his fire going and,
unrolling his blanket pack, he took thence what looked like a lump of
meat, cut some strips from it and hung them from pointed sticks over the
fire. He proceeded to gather some poles from the dead wood lying about.
“What now is he going to do?” inquired Moira.
“Wait,” replied the doctor.
The Indian proceeded to place the poles in order against the rock,
keeping his eye on the toasting meat the while and now and again turning
it before the fire. Then he began to cut branches of spruce and balsam.
“By the living Jingo!” cried the doctor, greatly excited, “I declare
he's going to camp.”
“To sleep?” said Moira.
“Yes,” replied the doctor. “He had no sleep last night.”
“Then,” cried the girl, “we can get him.”
The doctor gazed at her in admiration.
“You are a brick,” he said. “How can we get him? He'd double me up like
a jack-knife. Remember I only played quarter,” he added.
“No, no,” she cried quickly, “you stay here to watch him. Let me go back
for the Police.”
“I say,” cried the doctor, “you are a wonder. There's something in
that.” He thought rapidly, then said, “No, it won't do. I can't allow
you to risk it.”
“Risk? Risk what?”
A year ago the doctor would not have hesitated a moment to allow her
to go, but now he thought of the roving bands of Indians and the
possibility of the girl falling into their hands.
“No, Miss Cameron, it will not do.”
“But think,” she cried, “we might get him and save Allan all the trouble
and perhaps his life. You must not stop me. You cannot stop me. I am
going. You wait and watch. Don't move. I can find my way.”
He seized her by the arm.
“Wait,” he said, “let me think.”
“What danger can there be?” she pleaded. “It is broad daylight. The road
is good. I cannot possibly lose my way. I am used to riding alone among
the hills at home.”
“Ah, yes, at home,” said the doctor gloomily.
“But there is no danger,” she persisted. “I am not afraid. Besides, you
cannot keep me.” She stood up among the bushes looking down at him with
a face so fiercely resolved that he was constrained to say, “By Jove! I
don't believe I could. But I can go with you.”
“You would not do that,” she cried, stamping her foot, “if I forbade
you. It is your duty to stay here and watch that Indian. It is mine to
go and get the Police. Good-by.”
He rose to follow her.
“No,” she said, “I forbid you to come. You are not doing right. You are
to stay. We will save my brother.”
She glided through the bushes from his sight and was gone.
“Am I a fool or what?” said the doctor to himself. “She is taking a
chance, but after all it is worth while.”
It was now the middle of the afternoon and it would take Moira an hour
and a half over that rocky winding trail to make the ten miles that
lay before her. Ten minutes more would see the Police started on their
return. The doctor settled himself down to his three hours' wait,
keeping his eye fixed upon the Indian. The latter was now busy with his
meal, which he ate ravenously.
“The beggar has me tied up tight,” muttered the doctor ruefully. “My
grub is on my saddle, and I guess I dare not smoke till he lights up
himself.”
A hand touched his arm. Instantly he was on his feet. It was Moira.
“Great Caesar, you scared me! Thought it was the whole Blackfoot tribe.”
“You will be the better for something to eat,” she said simply, handing
him the lunch basket. “Good-by.”
“Hold up!” he cried. But she was gone.
“Say, she's a regular--” He paused and thought for a moment. “She's an
angel, that's what--and a mighty sight better than most of them. She's
a--” He turned back to his watch, leaving his thought unspoken. In the
presence of the greater passions words are woefully inadequate.
The Indian was still eating as ravenously as ever.
“He's filling up, I guess. He ought to be full soon at that rate. Wish
he'd get his pipe agoing.”
In due time the Indian finished eating, rolled up the fragments
carefully in a rag, and then proceeded to construct with the poles and
brush which he had cut, a penthouse against the rock. At one end his
little shelter thus constructed ran into a spruce tree whose thick
branches reached right to the ground. When he had completed this shelter
to his satisfaction he sat down again on the rock beside his smoldering
fire and pulled out his pipe.
“Thanks be!” said the doctor to himself fervently. “Go on, old boy, hit
her up.”
A pipe and then another the Indian smoked, then, taking his gun, blanket
and pack, he crawled into his brush wigwam out of sight.
“There, you old beggar!” said the doctor with a sigh of relief. “You are
safe for an hour or two, thank goodness. You had no sleep last night and
you've got to make up for it now. Sleep tight, old boy. We'll give you a
call.” The doctor hugged himself with supreme satisfaction and continued
to smoke with his eye fixed upon the hole into which the Indian had
disappeared.
Through the long hours he sat and smoked while he formulated the plan
of attack which he proposed to develop when his reinforcements should
arrive.
“We will work up behind him from away down the valley, a couple of us
will cover him from the front and the others go right in.”
He continued with great care to make and revise his plans, and while
in the midst of his final revision a movement in the bushes behind
him startled him to his feet. The bushes parted and the face of Moira
appeared with that of her brother over her shoulder.
“Is he still there?” she whispered eagerly.
“Asleep, snug as a bug. Never moved,” said the doctor exultantly, and
proceeded to explain his plan of attack. “How many have you?” he asked
Cameron.
“Crisp and a constable.”
“Just two?” said the doctor.
“Two,” replied Cameron briefly. “That's plenty. Here they are.” He
stepped back through the bushes and brought forward Crisp and the
constable. “Now, then, here's our plan,” he said. “You, Crisp, will go
down the canyon, cross the stream and work up on the other side right to
that rock. When you arrive at the rock the constable and I will go in.
The doctor will cover him from this side.”
“Fine!” said the doctor. “Fine, except that I propose to go in myself
with you. He's a devil to fight. I could see that last night.”
Cameron hesitated.
“There's really no use, you know, Doctor. The constable and I can handle
him.”
Moira stood looking eagerly from one to the other.
“All right,” said the doctor, “'nuff said. Only I'm going in. If you
want to come along, suit yourself.”
“Oh, do be careful,” said Moira, clasping her hands. “Oh, I'm afraid.”
“Afraid?” said the doctor, looking at her quickly. “You? Not much fear
in you, I guess.”
“Come on, then,” said Cameron. “Moira, you stay here and keep your eye
on him. You are safe enough here.”
She pressed her lips tight together till they made a thin red line in
her white face.
“Can you let me have a gun?” she asked.
“A gun?” exclaimed the doctor.
“Oh, she can shoot--rabbits, at least,” said her brother with a smile.
“I shall bring you one, Moira, but remember, handle it carefully.”
With a gun across her knees Moira sat and watched the development of the
attack. For many minutes there was no sign or sound, till she began to
wonder if a change had been made in the plan. At length some distance
down the canyon and on the other side Sergeant Crisp was seen working
his way with painful care step by step toward the rock of rendezvous.
There was no sign of her brother or Dr. Martin. It was for them she
watched with an intensity of anxiety which she could not explain to
herself. At length Sergeant Crisp reached the crag against whose base
the penthouse leaned in which the sleeping Indian lay. Immediately she
saw her brother, quickly followed by Dr. Martin, leap the little stream,
run lightly up the sloping rock and join Crisp at the crag. Still there
was no sign from the Indian. She saw her brother motion the Sergeant
round to the farther corner of the penthouse where it ran into the
spruce tree, while he himself, with a revolver in each hand, dropped on
one knee and peered under the leaning poles. With a loud exclamation he
sprang to his feet.
“He's gone!” he shouted. “Stand where you are!” Like a hound on a scent
he ran to the back of the spruce tree and on his knees examined the
earth there. In a few moments his search was rewarded. He struck the
trail and followed it round the rock and through the woods till he
came to the hard beaten track. Then he came back, pale with rage and
disappointment. “He's gone!” he said.
“I swear he never came out of that hole!” said Dr. Martin. “I kept my
eye on it every minute of the last three hours.”
“There's another hole,” said Crisp, “under the tree here.”
Cameron said not a word. His disappointment was too keen. Together they
retraced their steps across the little stream. On the farther bank they
found Moira, who had raced down to meet them.
“He's gone?” she cried.
“Gone!” echoed her brother. “Gone for this time--but--some day--some
day,” he added below his breath.
But many things were to happen before that day came.