The full-throated baying of a hound. Men, far in the valleys below
Stone Mountain, looked up, and listened, wondering. But those on the
mountain heard and understood: Dan Hodges was being run to earth.
The clew offered by the wet place on the cliff had sufficed for the
three men who accompanied the stag-hound. They had marked the spot
carefully in memory by its distance from a certain stunted pine
growing above it and a rift in the precipice to one side. Then they
had ascended a furlong to the north, where the ascent was gradual and
broken. When they had made sure that they were at the proper level,
they searched for an approach to the desired ledge. The dog found the
scent by the tunnel, but Brant did not loose the animal. Stone's eyes
caught traces of where a bowlder had been moved. A little more
searching revealed the opening covered by the stone, which they rolled
aside.
"But he's not there, now," Brant declared, as he restrained the eager
dog. "Jack is wild to be off, and he wouldn't take a back track."
Uncle Dick, eager to make sure, would have attempted the passage, but
Stone interposed.
"I'll go," he declared. "It's my right--my prisoner, you know. Anyhow,
it'll be a snug-enough fit for me, and I'm smaller than you, Uncle
Dick."
The old man grudgingly admitted the fact, and made way for the
marshal. In five minutes, Stone was back.
"Nobody there," he announced.
"Then it's up to Jack," Brant exclaimed, and slipped the leash.
The hound shot forward in full cry. The men hurried after at top
speed. Almost immediately, the dog vanished among the thickets. There
came a clatter of sliding stones, as the big beast went galloping up
the rise toward the crest of the mountain. The men followed as best
they might, guided by the baying. Uncle Dick listened with
bloodthirsty hopefulness for the crack of Zeke's rifle, which he would
recognize.
The fugitive himself heard the hound's sonorous summons, and wasted
breath in cursing. He cursed his potations over-night, which had led
him to sleep beyond the sunrise. But for such drunken folly, he would
have had the trailer hopelessly at fault. Now, at best, it would be a
close race--and there was the girl to hamper and hinder. She was
running at his side, obedient to the pressure of his hands. He had
replaced the cowhide thong, with her hands in front of her, and with
play enough for free movement. So far, she had made no resistance to
his commands. But the barking of the dog would warn her. If she should
turn balky--
What the outlaw feared, came to pass. The hoarse baying sounded to
Plutina's ears like sweetest music. The first note told her that
friends were at hand for a rescue from the monster by her side. Her
heart leaped in the joy of it. A new courage surged in her--courage to
defy this creature that held her in thrall.
They were come already across the most of the plain of naked rock that
is the top of the mountain. They had rushed without pause through the
little grove of dwarf pines that grows near the Devil's Slide, above
the Cauldron. They were come, indeed, to the very edge of the Slide
itself before Plutina acted. After all, it was not the new courage,
but a newer fear, that forced her. She had one swift glimpse of the
valley spread a thousand feet below, the giant trees like tiniest
saplings, so far away--that dear, adorable valley, where were home and
peace and love. But, between her and it, the precipice fell; between
her and it, the Devil's Pot boiled; between her and it was this man,
who drove her with curses. She looked away from the beloved valley
into the loathsome face, and she saw the fear in his eyes--fear, and
something else that terrified her. She realized suddenly that she was
on the very verge of the Slide, where none might venture and live.
There, just beyond, was the darkened surface of the rock where the
shallow stream went slithering down into the Cauldron. An hysteria of
fear gripped her, as he dragged her forward, out upon the sloping
stone that dipped toward the abyss. She believed that he meant to hurl
her from the height. Thus, there would be left no evidence of his
crime. His passion for her was nothing now--only his passion for
life.
"Quick, damn ye!" Hodges rasped. "I know the way in the dark. Ye
needn't be skeered none with me."
He meant it; but the girl did not believe. She thought it a ruse to
get her closer to the edge. She shrieked in despair, and sprang away
from him. His clutch on the thong checked her. He jerked her back to
him, hardly pausing in his stride. She struck at his face furiously,
but he dragged her on toward the brink, mouthing at her with foul
oaths. She fell to her knees, and hung, screaming, a dead weight. The
baying of the hound sounded closer. Hodges threw a glance over his
shoulder, and saw the dog charging from the grove. He would have
fired, but the girl was in the way. With a final blasphemy, he dropped
his rifle, and struck at her--full in the face. She sank down limply,
unconscious. Her body slid away slowly, yet with a quickening
movement, toward the gulf.
Hodges gave not even a look to his victim. He heard the challenge of
the hound, now fairly upon him. There was no time to shoot. He used
cunning instead. A mighty jump carried him over the moist surface
where the stream flowed. He alighted on the dry rock. His bare feet
clutched and held on the sloping surface.... No instinct warned the
hound. Its leap brought it down in the wet run-way. Its feet shot from
under. The force of its rush finished the work. The outlaw turned just
in time to see the hound disappear over the cliff.
Before he had time for exultation over this victory, before he could
look to see how fared the girl whom he had struck down so ruthlessly,
before he guessed the new peril, another enemy was upon him.
Zeke, too, had heard the baying of the hound. Trembling with
eagerness, where he lurked behind a screen of bushes at the south of
the grove, he knew that the dog was hot on the trail. He went racing
toward the sound, with the bull-terrier at his heels. He had just
entered among the trees, when he saw the hound careen past him. He
followed, and, as he issued into the open, saw the man and the girl
struggling on the edge of the precipice. He sickened at the spectacle,
but there was no faltering. With every atom of energy in speed, he
darted down the slope. He saw the blow that crumpled Plutina to the
rock. He saw it through a veil of red. What he did not see was the
low, stealthy, yet quickening, slide of her body toward the brim of
the abyss. So, all unconscious of that peril to the one he loved, he
sprang to attack his enemy. He saw the hound's fate, and understood
the cause of it. He, in turn, cleared the treacherous wet surface by a
mighty leap. That leap brought him full on the outlaw's back. The two
men went down together.
The crash of Hodges' head on the rock had well been enough to crack an
ordinary skull. But his was strong, and the unkempt thatch of hair
cushioned it, so that he got no serious hurt. A little dazed by the
blow, and by the unexpectedness of the onslaught--nothing more. And he
had the bravery of triumphant physical strength. In the instant of
attack, he fought back viciously, with blind thrust and clutch. A
long, powerful arm writhed around Zeke like a band of steel, and held
the assailant immovable. Lying there on his back, the outlaw looked up
into Zeke's face, and recognized it, and cursed this unexpected foe
obscenely.
Zeke wasted no energy in words. He was mad with rage against the man
he hated. His one desire was to kill. He twined his fingers in the
tangled hair, and beat the head upon the stone floor again and again.
But the leverage of his arms was cut down too much. He could not even
stun the outlaw, much less kill. He could not reach his rifle, which
he had dropped when he sprang to the attack. He could not draw his
revolver by reason of the encircling arms. He could only hammer his
enemy's head on the rock, with a cruel lust for slaughter that availed
nothing except to madden him by its futility. His strength, great
though it was, was not enough against the man he fought.
Hodges proved the fact presently, for by a tremendous effort, he
turned, and pinned Zeke underneath. The force of the impact under the
outlaw's heavy weight laid the lad unconscious. The fingers unclenched
from his adversary's hair; he lay limp. Hodges rose to his feet, with
shambling haste. But, if he meant to kill, fate thwarted him. One foot
was placed on the treacherous dampened rock. It slid from under him.
He was thrown from his balance, and sprawled at length. He scrambled
on all fours toward the other side of the run-way with desperate
haste. He did not attempt to rise. A moment later, he slipped slowly
over the brow of the cliff.
Seth Jones, just issuing from the grove, saw the vanishing of the
outlaw, but, at the distance, he could not distinguish the man's
identity or that of the other, lying motionless on the sloping rock.
For the instant, however, he gave no heed to either for sheer horror
of something else he saw--the unconscious girl, moving so inexorably
to her doom. He shouted in despair, as he raced toward her. But he
knew he must be too late. He was powerless to stay her fall--as was
the bull-terrier, which had seized her skirt and still clung, only to
be dragged down with her into the void. Before he was come to the
beginning of the Slide, girl and dog had traversed it--had shot out
into the emptiness of space.