A RIDE THROUGH THE NIGHT
Ignacio Chavez, because thus he could be of service to _el señor_
Roderico Nortone whom he admired vastly and loved like a brother, drew
to the dregs upon his fine Latin talent, doubled up and otherwise
contorted and twisted his lithe body until the sweat stood out upon his
forehead. His groans would have done ample justice to the occasion had
he been dying.
Virginia treated him sparingly to a harmless potion she had secured at
her room on the way, put the bottle into the hands of Ignacio's
withered and anxious old mother, informed the half dozen Indian
onlookers that she had arrived in time and that the bell-ringer would
live, and then was impatient to go with Engle to Struve's hotel. Here
Engle left her to return to his home and to send the saddle-horse he
had promised Norton.
"You can ride, can't you, Virginia?" he had asked.
"Yes," she assured him.
"Then I'll send Persis around; she's the prettiest thing in horseflesh
you ever saw. And the gamest. And, Virginia . . ."
He hesitated. "Well?" she asked.
"There's not a squarer, whiter man in the world than Rod Norton," he
said emphatically. "Now good night and good luck, and be sure to drop
in on us to-morrow."
She watched him as he went swiftly down the street; then she turned
into the hotel and down the hall, which echoed to the click of her
heels, and to her room. She had barely had time to change for her ride
and to glance at her "war bag" when a discreet knock sounded at her
door. Going to the door she found that it was Julius Struve instead of
Norton.
"You are to come with me," said the hotel keeper softly. "He is
waiting with the horses."
They passed through the dark dining-room, into the pitch black kitchen
and out at the rear of the house. A moment Struve paused, listening.
Then, touching her sleeve, he hurried away into the night, going toward
the black line of cottonwoods, the girl keeping close to his heels.
At the dry arroyo Norton was waiting, holding two saddled horses.
Without a word he gave her his hand, saw her mounted, surrendered
Persis's jerking reins into her gauntletted grip and swung up to the
back of his own horse. In another moment, and still in silence,
Virginia and Norton were riding away from San Juan, keeping in the
shadows of the trees, headed toward the mountains in the north.
And now suddenly Virginia found that she was giving herself over
utterly, unexpectedly to a keen, pulsing joy of life. She had
surrendered into the sheriff's hands the little leather-case which
contained her emergency bottles and instruments; they had left San Juan
a couple of hundred yards behind, their horses were galloping; her
stirrup struck now and then against Norton's boot. John Engle had not
been unduly extravagant in praise of the mare Persis; Virginia sensed
rather than saw clearly the perfect, beautiful creature which carried
her, delighted in the swinging gallop, drew into her soul something of
the serene glory of a starlit night on the desert. The soft thud of
shod hoofs upon yielding soil was music to her, mingled as it came with
the creak of saddle leather, the jingle of bridle and spur-chains. She
wondered if there had ever been so perfect a night, if she had ever
mounted so finely bred a saddle animal.
Far ahead the San Juan mountains lifted their serrated ridge of ebony.
On all other sides the flat-lands stretched out seeming to have no end,
suggesting to the fancy that they were kin in vastitude to the clear
expanse of the sky. On all hands little wind-shaped ridges were like
crests of long waves in an ocean which had just now been stilled,
brooded over by the desert silence and the desert stars.
"I suppose," said Norton at last, "that it's up to me to explain."
"Then begin," said Virginia, "by telling me where we are going."
He swung up his arm, pointing.
"Yonder. To the mountains. We'll reach them in about two hours and a
half. Then, in another two hours or so, we'll come to where Brocky is.
Way up on the flank of Mt. Temple. It's going to be a long, hard
climb. For you, at the end of a tiresome day. . . ."
"How about yourself?" she asked quickly, and he knew that she was
smiling at him through the dark. "Unless you're made of iron I'm
almost inclined to believe that after your friend Brocky I'll have
another patient. Who is he, by the way?"
"Brocky Lane? I was going to tell you. You saw something stirring in
the patio at Engle's? I had seen it first; it was Ignacio who had
slipped in under the wide arch from the gardens at the rear of the
house. He had been sent for me by Tom Cutter, my deputy. Brocky Lane
is foreman of a big cattle-ranch lying just beyond the mountains; he is
also working with me and with Cutter, although until I've told you
nobody knows it but ourselves and John Engle. . . . Before the night
is out you'll know rather a good deal about what is going on, Miss
Page," he added thoughtfully.
"More than you'd have been willing for me to know if circumstance
hadn't forced your hand?"
"Yes," he admitted coolly. "To get anywhere we've had to sit tight on
the game we're playing. But, from the word Cutter brings, poor old
Brocky is pretty hard hit, and I couldn't take any chances with his
life even though it means taking chances in another direction."
He might have been a shade less frank; and yet she liked him none the
less for giving her the truth bluntly. He was but tacitly admitting
that he knew nothing of her; and yet in this case he would prefer to
call upon her than on Caleb Patten.
"No, I don't trust Patten," he continued, the chain of thought being
inevitable. "Not that I'd call him crooked so much as a fool for Jim
Galloway to juggle with. He talks too much."
"You wish me to say nothing of to-night's ride?"
"Absolutely nothing. If you are missed before we get back Struve will
explain that you were called to see old Ramorez, a half-breed over
yonder toward Las Estrellas. That is, provided we get back too late
for it to appear likely that you are just resting in your room or
getting things shipshape in your office. That's why I am explaining
about Brocky."
"Since you represent the law in San Juan, Mr. Norton," she told him,
"since, further, Mr. Engle indorses all that you are doing, I believe
that I can go blindfolded a little. I'd rather do that than have you
forced against your better judgment to place confidence in a stranger."
"That's fair of you," he said heartily. "But there are certain matters
which you will have to be told. Brocky Lane has been shot down by one
of Jim Galloway's crowd. It was a coward's job done by a man who would
run a hundred miles rather than meet Brocky in the open. And now the
thing which we don't want known is that Lane even so much as set foot
on Mt. Temple. We don't want it known that he was anywhere but on Las
Cruces Rancho; that he was doing anything but give his time to his
duties as foreman there."
"In particular you don't want Jim Galloway to know?"
"In particular I don't want Jim Galloway to so much as suspect that
Brocky Lane or Tom Cutter or myself have any interest in Mt. Temple,"
he said emphatically.
"But if the man who shot him is one of Galloway's crowd, as you
say. . . ."
"He'll do no talking for a while. After having seen Brocky drop he
took one chance and showed half of his cowardly carcass around a
boulder. Whereupon Brocky, weak and sick and dizzy as he was, popped a
bullet into him."
She shuddered.
"Is there nothing but killing of men among you people?" she cried
sharply. "First the sheepman from Las Palmas, then Brocky Lane, then
the man who shot him. . . ."
"Brocky didn't kill Moraga," Norton explained quietly. "But he dropped
him and then made him throw down his gun and crawl out of the brush.
Then Tom Cutter gathered him in, took him across the county line, gave
him into the hands of Ben Roberts who is sheriff over there, and came
on to San Juan. Roberts will simply hold Moraga on some trifling
charge, and see that he keeps his mouth shut until we are ready for him
to talk."
"Then Brocky Lane and Tom Cutter were together on Mt. Temple?"
"Near enough for Tom to hear the shooting."
They grew silent again. Clearly Norton had done what explaining he
deemed necessary and was taking her no deeper into his confidences.
She told herself that he was right, that these were not merely his own
personal secrets, that as yet he would be unwise to trust a stranger
further than he was forced to. And yet, unreasonably or not, she felt
a little hurt. She had liked him from the beginning and from the
beginning she felt that in a case such as his she would have trusted to
intuition and have held back nothing. But she refrained from voicing
the questions which none the less insisted upon presenting themselves
to her: What was the thing that had brought both Brocky Lane and Tom
Cutter to Mt. Temple? What had they been seeking there in a wilderness
of crag and cliff? Why was Roderick Norton so determined that Jim
Galloway should not so much as suspect that these men were watchful in
the mountains? What sinister chain of circumstance had impelled
Moraga, who Norton said was Galloway's man, to shoot down the cattle
foreman? And Galloway himself, what type of man must he be if all that
she had heard of him were true; what were his ambitions, his plans, his
power?
Before long Norton pointed out the shadowy form of Mt. Temple looming
ever vaster before them, its mass of rock, of wind-blown, wind-carved
peaks lifted in sombre defiance against the stars. It brooded darkly
over the lower slopes, like an incubus it dominated the other spines
and ridges, its gorges filled with shadow and mystery, its precipices
making the sense reel dizzily. And somewhere up there high against the
sky, alone, suffering, perhaps dying, a man had waited through the slow
hours, and still awaited their coming. How slowly she and Norton were
riding, how heartless of her to have felt the thrill of pleasure which
had possessed her so utterly an hour ago!
Or less than an hour. For now again, wandering out far across the open
lands, came the heavy mourning of the bell.
"How far can one hear it?" she asked, surprised that from so far its
ringing came so clearly.
"I don't know how many miles," he answered. "We'll hear it from the
mountain. I should have heard it to-day, long before I met you by the
arroyo, had I not been travelling through two big bands of Engle's
sheep."
Behind them San Juan drawn into the shadows of night but calling to
them in mellow-toned cadences of sorrow, before them the sombre canons
and iron flanks of Mt. Temple, and somewhere, still several hours away,
Brocky Lane lying helpless and perhaps hopeless; grim by day the earth
hereabouts was inscrutable by night, a mighty, primal sphinx,
lip-locked, spirit-crushing. The man and girl riding swiftly side by
side felt in their different ways according to their different
characters and previous experience the mute command laid upon them, and
for the most part their lips were hushed.
There came the first slopes, the talus of strewn, broken,
disintegrating rock, and then the first of the cliffs. Now the sheriff
rode in the fore and Virginia kept her frowning eyes always upon his
form leading the way. They entered the broad mouth of a ravine, found
an uneven trail, were swallowed up by its utter and impenetrable
blackness.
"Give Persis her head," Norton advised her. "She'll find her way and
follow me."
His voice, low-toned as it was, stabbed through the silence, startling
her, coming unexpectedly out of the void which had drawn him and his
horse gradually beyond the quest of her straining eyes. She sighed,
sat back in her saddle, relaxed, and loosened her reins.
For an hour they climbed almost steadily, winding in and out. Now,
high above the bed of the gorge, the darkness had thinned about them;
more than once the girl saw the clear-cut silhouette of man and beast
in front of her or swerving off to right or left. When, after a long
time, he spoke again he was waiting for her to come up with him. He
had dismounted, loosened the cinch of his saddle and tied his horse to
a stunted, twisted tree in a little flat.
"We have to go ahead on foot now," he told her as he put out his hand
to help her down. And then as they stood side by side: "Tired much?"
"No," she answered. "I was just in the mood to ride."
He took down the rope from her saddle strings, tied Persis, and, saying
briefly, "This way," again went on. She kept her place almost at his
heels, now and again accepting the hand he offered as their way grew
steeper underfoot. Half an hour ago she knew that they had swerved off
to the left, away from the deep gorge into whose mouth they had ridden
so far below; now she saw that they were once more drawing close to the
steep-walled cañon. Its emptiness, black and sinister, lay between
them and a group of bare peaks which stood up like cathedral spires
against the sky.
"This would be simple enough in the daytime," Norton told her during
one of their brief pauses. "In the dark it's another matter. Not
tired out, are you?"
"No," she assured him the second time, although long ago she would have
been glad to throw herself down to rest, were their errand less urgent.
"We've got some pretty steep climbing ahead of us yet," he went on
quietly. "You must be careful not to slip. Oh," and he laughed
carelessly, "you'd stop before you got to the bottom, but then a drop
of even half a dozen feet is no joke here. If you'll pardon me I'll
make sure for you."
With no further apology or explanation he slipped the end of a rope
about her waist, tying it in a hard knot. Until now she had not even
known that he had brought a rope; now she wondered just how hazardous
was the hidden trail which they were travelling; if it were in truth
but the matter of half a dozen feet which she would fall if she
slipped? He made the other end of the short tether fast about his own
body, said "Ready?" and again she followed him closely.
There came little flat spaces, then broken boulders to clamber over,
then steep, rugged climbs, when they grasped the rough rocks with both
hands and moved on with painful slowness. It seemed to the girl that
they had been climbing for long, tedious hours since they had slipped
out of their saddles; though to him she said nothing, locking her lips
stubbornly, she knew that at last she was tired, very tired, that an
end of this laborious ascent must come soon or she would be forced to
stop and lie down and rest.
"Fifteen minutes more," said the sheriff, "and we're there. We'll use
the first five minutes of it for a rest, too."
He made her sit down, unstoppered a canteen which, like the coil of
rope, she had not known he carried, and gave her a drink of water which
seemed to her the most wonderfully strength-making, life-giving draft
in the world. Then he dropped down at her side, looked at his watch in
the light of a flaring match carefully cupped in his hand, and lighted
his pipe.
"Nearly midnight," he told her.
Without replying she lay back against the slope of the mountain, closed
her eyes and relaxed, breathing deeply. Her chest expanded deeply to
the long indrawn breath which filled her lungs with the rare air. She
felt suddenly a little sleepy, dreaming longingly of the unutterable
content one could find in just going to sleep with the cliff-scarred
mountainside for couch.
She stirred and opened her eyes. Rod Norton, the sheriff of San Juan,
a man who a few brief hours ago had been unknown to her, his name
unfamiliar, sat two paces from her, smoking. She and this man of whom
she still knew rather less than nothing were alone in the world; just
the two of them lifted into the sky, separated by a dreary stretch of
desert lands from other men and women . . . bound together by a bit of
rope. She tried to see his face; the profile, more guessed than seen,
appeared to her fancy as unrelenting as the line of cliff just beyond
him, clear-cut against the sky.
Yet somehow . . . she did not definitely formulate the thought of which
she was at the time but dimly, vaguely conscious . . . she was glad
that she had come to San Juan. And she was not afraid of the silent
man at her side, nor sorry that circumstance had given them this night
and its labors.
Norton knocked out his pipe. Together they got to their feet.
"More careful than ever now," he cautioned her. "Look out for each
step and go slowly. We're there in ten minutes. Ready?"
"Ready," she answered.