TRAILING THE "BLACK TAIL"
The woman started. She threw up her head. Her wide eyes, wonderful
and dark, searched the deep aisles of the shaded pine woods about her.
Her hair hung loosely in a knot at the nape of her neck, and its
intensely dark masses made an exquisite framing for the oval of the
handsome face beneath the loose brim of wide prairie hat.
The stillness of these wooded slopes of the Cathills was profound.
They possessed something of the solemnity belonging to the parent range
of the Rockies beyond. For they were almost primeval. The woman might
have belonged to them, her dark beauty so harmonized with its
surroundings. Yet for all her coloring, for all the buckskin she wore
for upper garment, there was nothing in her nature of the outlands
which now claimed her. She was of the cities. She was bred and
nurtured in the civilized places. The life about her was another life.
It was crude and foreign to her. It claimed her by force of
circumstance against every instinct and emotion.
Her searching ceased, and her eyes fixed their steady regard upon a
gray-brown object moving amongst the myriad of black stanchions which
supported the tousled roof of melancholy green foliage above her. With
an almost imperceptible movement one buckskin clad arm reached slowly
out toward the small sporting rifle which leaned against an adjacent
tree-trunk. Her whole poise was tense and steady. There was in her
attitude that hard decision which one associates only with the
experienced hunter. There was almost too much decision in a woman so
obviously young.
The weapon was drawn toward her. For one brief moment it was laid
across her lap upon the paper-covered book she had been reading. Then
its butt found its way to a resting place against her soft shoulder.
Not for an instant had her gaze been diverted from the moving object.
Now, however, her head inclined forward, and her warm cheek was laid
against the cool butt. The sights of the weapon were brought up into
line. The pressure of her forefinger was increased upon the trigger.
There was a sharp report followed by a swift rush of scampering hoofs
amongst the brittle pine cones and needles which carpeted the twilit
woods. Then, in a flash, all the tense poise gave way to considered
but rapid activity.
The woman sprang to her feet. She was tall and straight as a willow.
Her rough canvas skirt was divided. Her buckskin shirt was fringed and
beaded. She made a picture of active purpose that belied her
femininity. In a moment she was in the saddle of the pony which had
been dozing a few yards away. Her rifle was slung upon one shoulder,
and her paper-covered book was thrust within the fastenings of her
shirt. She was hot in pursuit of the small black-tailed deer which her
shot had wounded.
Effie bent low in the saddle which she rode astride. Her
well-accustomed pony twisted and turned, threading its way almost
miraculously through the labyrinth of bald tree-trunks. These
pot-hunts, which were of such frequent occurrence, were the recreation
which alone made life tolerable to its mistress.
The woman saw only her quarry. For the rest she left the road to her
pony. With slack reins she leaned forward, carrying her featherweight
over the horn of the saddle. The woods meant nothing to her. The maze
of tree-trunks as they sped by conveyed no threat of danger. She was
concerned only with the obviously limping beast which was to provide
venison for the pot for the next two weeks to come.
Her pony gained nothing upon the wounded deer. But it lost no distance
either. The scene changed and changed again. The woods yielded to
open grass, and again they merged into scattered scrub, through which
it was difficult to track their quarry. Up hill, down dale, over
hummock, through hollow. Once more through the dark aisles of aged
pine woods. And always northward.
Time had no place in the woman's mind. Excitement, hope, doubt. These
occupied her to the full. And above all purpose reigned.
Twice she drew up to within shot. But she refrained. She was herself
as breathless as her quarry, and the shot would probably have been
wasted. Besides, those pauses of the poor hunted beast carried their
own significance to her practised mind. Its limping was sore, and now
its stumblings were becoming more and more frequent.
They had passed an open stretch, a mere cup surrounded by sharp-rising,
pine-clad hills. They entered woods on the northernmost slope, and
began a climb so severe that pursuer and pursued were brought to a
sheer scramble. The toil was terrific, but Effie's pony, bred of the
tough prairie fibre, clawed up with indomitable courage and endurance.
The deer kept its lead by desperate, agonizing effort, and the woman
knew that the summit would have exhausted its resources.
On they went, on and up, the pace of both ever slackening. One hundred
yards only separated them now, and, with almost every stride, the
distance was lessening. The summit was in sight. The pony was blowing
hard. Effie urged him, and the vicious Mexican spurs found his flanks.
There was no thought of sparing in the girl's mind. If the broncho
failed her, then she must finish the chase on foot.
Another fifty yards or so and the deer would have reached the summit.
Could she permit it? Dared she risk what lay beyond? If the open pine
woods continued she might, but--what lay beyond?
Without further speculation she suddenly flung out of the saddle. Her
decision was taken. She dared not risk that summit with her pony now
rapidly failing. She must chance her own unsteadiness. The pursuit
had been hard and breathless. Well, she must trust to her nerve.
She left her steaming pony and dropped on one knee. With all her mind
and will concentrated she drew a deep breath as the rifle was raised to
her shoulder. With a stern deliberation she leveled her sights and
fired. The spent deer stood, and shook, and then gazed round. There
was something dreadful in the appeal of its wistful attitude. For one
second the woman closed her eyes. Then they opened, and their beauty
was full of resolve. Again the rifle was at her shoulder. Again the
sights were leveled. Again the weapon spat out its vicious pellet.
This time the weapon was lowered for good, and the movement was
inspired by the sight of the deer. It quietly dropped upon its knees
and rolled over on its side.
Ten minutes later the body of the deer was securely lashed to the back
of the saddle. There was no regret in the heart of the woman as her
practised fingers secured the warm body. It was game. Fair game,
brought down in open chase, and it would provide welcome change in the
monotonous diet of her home. Besides, the spirit of the hunter gripped
her soul. It was the only thing which made life endurable in these
drab outlands.
At the summit of the hill she breathed a sigh of relief. Her judgment
and decision were amply proved. Nor in any uncertain fashion. The
woods ceased in a clean cut, such as is so frequently the case where
the pine world reigns. And rearing blankly before her gaze stood a
dense barrier of low and heavy green bush. It needed small enough
imagination to realize the security which lay in its depths for so
small a creature as a wounded deer.
For some thoughtful moments Effie gazed upon the barrier. Then she
turned and surveyed her dejected pony. Again her decision was taken
without hesitation. She stooped and set a pair of hobbles about the
tired creature's pasterns, and, leaving him to his own devices, set off
to ascertain her whereabouts.
* * * * * *
But her movements were not without feminine curiosity, added to which
was the businesslike desire to familiarize herself with every foot of
the country within reach of her home. This was a break into new
territory. Time was small enough object to her, and, besides, her pony
needed time to recuperate from its leg weariness.
It required less than ten minutes, however, to banish every other
thought from her mind and absorb it in amazement at her discovery. A
brief battle with a dense and obstinate scrub found her standing in the
centre of a wide sort of bridle path, scored with a dozen or so cattle
tracks crowded with the spurs of driven cattle.
She stood gazing down at the signs everywhere about her in the loose
sand, dumbfounded at the sight. She knew there was no homestead or
ranch within miles of this region. Was she not bitterly aware that her
own home marked the fringe of the cattle world in this direction?
Slowly there grew in the depths of her heart a feeling of apprehension.
The stillness, the remoteness, the tremendous solitude, and yet--those
tracks.
She stood intent and listening. Her ears were straining for a sound.
But only there came to her the whispering breezes rustling the mournful
foliage of the pine woods behind her. Her eyes were raised to the
walls of scrub lining the roadway. They searched vainly for a sign.
There was none. Simply the riot of nature about her, and, at her feet,
those tracks.
She moved. Then swiftly she passed across to the western side of the
roadway where the westering sun threw ample shadow. All unconsciously
it seemed her movements became almost furtive, furtive and rapid. She
passed down the bush-lined way, hugging the grassy edges to avoid
leaving trace of her footsteps in the sand. Understanding was with
her, and that understanding warned her of the jeopardy in which she
stood should her presence be advertised.
Thought, speculation and imagination were a-riot in her now. She was
proceeding in the direction the broad cloven hoof marks indicated.
What--lay beyond?
Many minutes passed. Breathless minutes of pulsing excitement for the
woman who knew only monotony and the drudgery of an outland life. No
womanish fears could deter her. She believed and hoped she was on the
eve of a great discovery, and such was her reckless desire that nothing
could deter her.
The aspect of the scrub changed. It became dotted with taller trees.
The paler foliage of spruce reared itself, and, here and there,
isolated clumps of towering pines threw shadows across her path. Then
gaps broke up the continuity, but, even so, the view beyond to her left
was cut off by remoter growths. Once or twice she hazarded her way
into them in her search for information, but always she returned to the
broad track of the footprints of driven cattle.
The pathway rose at a steep incline. It bent away to the right, and,
in the distance, it seemed that it must converge upon the sharp cut
edge of the great pine woods she had so recently left. With this
conclusion came another. The track must terminate abruptly or it must
pass back into the great pine bluff.
The end, however, was neither of these things. And it was far nearer
than she had suspected. The path twisted back into the huge reverse of
an S, and finished abruptly at the sharp edge of a wide deep valley.
It came upon her almost with a shock. The tracks had abruptly swung
westward. She rounded the bend, and, in a moment, found herself gazing
out over a wide valley from a dizzy height.
Her first feeling was that the drop was sheer, precipitate. Then
realization superseded, and she flung herself full length upon the
ground and pressed her way into the shelter of an adjacent bush. The
path had not ended. It passed over the brink and continued its way
zigzagging down the terrific slope to the valley below. It was this,
and the sight of a distant spiral of smoke rising from below, which had
flung her into the shelter of the friendly bush. Her risk had only
been momentary, but even in that moment she had been silhouetted in
full view of any chance gaze below.
She drew herself toward the edge of the drop. Just where she had flung
herself it was clean and sheer, and the bush overhung. Thus she was
left with a full view of the depths below. Her dark eyes dwelt upon
the zigzagging path. She followed its downward course to the green
plain. She tracked it across to the far side of the valley. Then she
drew a sharp breath, and her eyes widened.
The telltale smoke rose from the heart of a woodland bluff, and near by
a large herd of cattle was grazing, watched over by three mounted men
whose horses were moving slowly over the bright green carpet of grass.
She lay quite still, regardless of all but those moving figures, and
the dark green bluff. She was watching and waiting for she knew not
what. Her heart was thumping in her bosom, and her breath came
rapidly. There was no question in her mind. In a moment her whole
life seemed to have changed. The day had dawned to a contemplation of
the monotonous round of drudging routine, only to close with a thrill
such as she had never dreamed could be hers.
The moments passed; rapid, poignant moments. The sun dipped lower
toward the alabaster crests of distant mountain peaks. The peace of
the scene suggested nothing of the turbulent thought a-riot behind her
wide, dark eyes. What must be done? What could she do--a woman? She
felt helpless--so helpless. And yet----
She raised herself upon her elbow and propped her soft cheek upon the
palm of her hand. She must think--think. The chance of it all. It
was so strange. There lay the secret revealed--the secret which every
rancher in the district for years had sought to discover. There was
the camp of the Lightfoot gang. She had discovered it, had discovered
its approach. Everything--she, a woman.
What could she do with the secret? How could she---- She thought of
her husband. But somehow her enthusiasm lessened with the thought.
But she needed him. Yes. There was no room for any doubt on that
score. He must be roused, and convinced. He most be made to see the
importance and significance of her discovery, and they must turn it
to----
The crack of a rifle startled her. Almost on the instant the
whistling, tearing of a bullet sounded in the bush to the left of her.
Her glance was terrified as it turned in the direction. Then, in a
moment, she was crouching lower as she searched the valley away over by
the bluff.
In an instant her nerves strung tight. A group of men were standing
just within its shadow, and the three horsemen, who had been riding
round the cattle, were racing directly toward the foot of the pathway
leading out of the valley. She must have been seen when she had stood
at the opening. And now----
But there was not a second to lose. She sprang to a crouching position
under the bush. Another shot rang viciously upon the still air. The
bullet tore its way through the bush. This time it was still wider of
her hiding place. But already she had begun her retreat--swiftly, and
crouching low.
She reached the shelter of the barrier just as another bullet whistled
overhead. Then she set off at a run.
And as she ran she calculated the chances. She had a big start, and
the horsemen had to face the zigzag climb. If she made no mistakes
there was little chance of their discovering her. They could never
make that climb before she reached her pony.
She increased her pace. Her nerves were steadying. Strangely her
control was wonderful. There was no real fear in her--only tension.
Now as she ran down the open way her eyes were alert for every
landmark, and her woodcraft was sufficiently practised to stand her in
good stead. She recognized each feature in the path until she came to
the point where she had first entered it In a moment she was battling
her way through the thick bush, and the tension she was laboring under
took her through it in a fraction of the time her first traversing had
been made. Her pony was standing within ten yards of the spot at which
she had left him.
She breathed a great relief. In a moment she had unbuckled the hobbles
on his forelegs. Then, with the habit of her life on the plains, she
tightened the cinchas of the saddle. Then she replaced the bit in its
mouth.
As she swung herself into the saddle the distant plod of hoofs pounding
the cattle tracks reached her. For one instant she sat in doubt.
Then, with a half-thought fear lest her hard pursuit of the wounded
deer had left her tough broncho spent, she swung him about and vanished
like a ghost into the gloomy depths of the woods.