It was dark enough for their purpose in half an hour, the only gleam
of remaining color being the red glow of the negro's pipe, even the
openings in the iron grating being blotted from sight. Keith, staring
in that direction, failed to perceive any distant glimmer of star, and
decided the night must be cloudy, and that time for action had come.
Guided by Neb's pipe bowl, he touched the boy on the shoulder.
“Knock out your ashes, and shuffle about lively with your feet, while I
pry up the board.”
In spite of his slenderness, Keith possessed unusual strength, yet no
exertion on his part served to start the loosened plank sufficiently for
their purpose. Ripping a strip from the bench he managed to pry the
hole somewhat larger, arranging the bench itself so as to afford the
necessary leverage, but even then his entire weight failed to either
start the spikes, or crack the plank. Some altercation began in the
other room, the sound of angry voices and shuffling feet being plainly
audible. It was clear to Keith that they must take the chance of a
noise, and no better time than this could be chosen.
“Here, Neb, take hold with me, and bear down--put your whole weight on
it, boy.”
The two flung themselves upon the end of the bench leaping up and down
so as to add weight to power. Something had to give, either the stout
wood of their improvised lever or else the holding of the plank. For an
instant it seemed likely to be the former; then, with a shrill screech,
the long spikes yielded and the board suddenly gave. With shoulders
inserted beneath, the two men heaved it still higher, ramming the bench
below so as to leave the opening clear. This was now sufficiently ample
for the passage of a man's body, and Keith, lowering himself, discovered
the earth to be fully four feet below. The negro instantly joined him,
and they began creeping about in the darkness, seeking some way out. A
rudely laid foundation of limestone alone obstructed their path to the
open air. This had been laid in mortar, but of inferior quality, so that
little difficulty was experienced in detaching sufficient to obtain
hand hold. Working silently, not knowing what watchers might be already
stationed without, they succeeded in loosening enough of the rock to
allow them to crawl through, lying breathless in the open. Accustomed as
they were to the darkness, they could yet see little. They were upon the
opposite side from the town, with no gleam of lights visible, prairie
and sky blending together into spectral dimness, with no sound audible
but the continued quarrel in the front room of the jail. Keith crept
along to the end of the building from where he could perceive the lights
of the town twinkling dimly through the intense blackness. Evidently the
regular evening saturnalia had not yet begun, although there was already
semblance of life about the numerous saloons, and an occasional shout
punctuated the stillness. A dog howled in the distance, and the pounding
of swift hoofs along the trail told of fresh arrivals. An hour later and
the single street of Carson City would be alive with humanity, eager for
any excitement, ready for any wild orgy, if only once turned loose. That
it would be turned loose, and also directed, the man lying on his face
in the grass felt fully assured. He smiled grimly, wishing he might
behold “Black Bart's” face when he should discover the flight of his
intended victims. But there was no time to lose; every moment gained,
added to their chance of safety.
“Are those horses tied there by the blacksmith's shop?” he asked,
pointing.
The negro stared in the direction indicated, confused by the shadows
thrown by the dim lights.
“I reck'n dey am, Massa Jack; I done make out fo'.”
“Then two of them must belong to us; come on, boy.”
He ran forward, crouching behind every chance cover, and keeping well
back behind the line of shacks. A slight depression in the prairie
helped conceal their movements, and neither spoke until they were
crouching together beside the wall of the shop. Then Neb, teeth
chattering, managed to blurt forth:
“Fo' de Lawd's sake, yer don't actually mean ter steal dem hosses?”
Keith glanced about at the other's dim, black shadow.
“Sure not; just borrow 'em.”
“But dat's a hangin' job in dis yere country, Massa Jack.”
“Sure it is if they catch us. But we'd be strung up anyway, and we can't
be hung twice. Besides there is a chance for us with the ponies, and
none at all without. An hour's start in the saddle, Neb, and this bunch
back here will never even find our trail; I pledge you that. Come, boy,
stay close with me.”
It was the quiet, confident voice of assured command, of one satisfied
with his plans, and the obedient negro, breathing hard, never dreamed
of opposition; all instincts of slavery held him to the dominion of this
white master. Keith leaned forward, staring at the string of deserted
ponies tied to the rail. Success depended on his choice, and he could
judge very little in that darkness. Men were straggling in along the
street to their right, on foot and horseback, and the saloon on the
corner was being well patronized. A glow of light streamed forth from
its windows, and there was the sound of many voices. But this narrow
alley was deserted, and black. The fugitive stepped boldly forward,
afraid that otherwise he might startle the ponies and thus create an
alarm. Guided by a horseman's instinct he swiftly ran his hands over the
animals, and made quick selection.
“Here, Neb, take this fellow; lead him quietly down the bank,” and he
thrust the loosened rein into the black's hand.
An instant later he had chosen his own mount, and was silently moving
in the same direction, although the night there was so black that the
obedient negro had already entirely vanished. The slope of the land not
only helped cover their movements, but also rendered it easy for them to
find one another. Fully a hundred yards westward they met, where a
gully led directly down toward the river. There was no longer need for
remaining on foot, as they were a sufficient distance away from the
little town to feel no fear of being discovered, unless by some drunken
straggler. At Keith's command the negro climbed into his saddle. Both
ponies were restive, but not vicious, and after a plunge or two, to test
their new masters, came easily under control. Keith led the way, moving
straight down the gully, which gradually deepened, burying them in
its black heart, until it finally debouched onto the river sands. The
riotous noises of the drunken town died slowly away behind, the night
silent and dark. The two riders could scarcely distinguish one another
as they drew rein at the edge of the water. To the southward there
gleamed a cluster of lights, marking the position of the camp of
regulars. Keith drove his horse deeper into the stream, and headed
northward, the negro following like a shadow.
There was a ford directly opposite the cantonment, and another, more
dangerous, and known to only a few, three miles farther up stream.
Keeping well within the water's edge, so as to thus completely obscure
their trail, yet not daring to venture deep for fear of striking
quicksand, the plainsman sent his pony struggling forward, until the dim
outline of the bank at his right rendered him confident that they had
attained the proper point for crossing. He had been that way only once
before, and realized the danger of attempting passage in such darkness,
but urgent need drove him forward.
“Follow me just as close as you can, boy,” he said sternly, “and keep
both your feet out of the stirrups. If your horse goes down hang to is
tail, and let him swim out.”
There was little enough to guide by, merely a single faint star peering
out from a rift of the clouds, but Keith's remembrance was that the ford
led straight out to the centre of the stream, and then veered slightly
toward the right. He knew the sand ridge was only used by horsemen, not
being wide enough for the safe passage of wagons, but the depth of the
water on either side was entirely problematical. He was taking a big
chance, yet dare not wait for daylight. Summoning all his nerve and
alertness, he urged his horse slowly forward, the intelligent animal
seemingly comprehending the situation, and feeling carefully for
footing. The actions of the animal gave the rider greater confidence,
and he loosened his grip on the rein, leaving the pony's instinct
to control. The latter fairly crept forward, testing the sand before
resting any weight upon the hoof, the negro's mount following closely.
The water was unusually high, and as they advanced it bore down against
them in considerable volume; then, as they veered to the right, they
were compelled to push directly against its weight in struggling toward
shore. The men could see nothing but this solid sheet of water rushing
down toward them from out the black void, and then vanishing below. Once
Keith's horse half fell, plunging nose under, yet gaining foothold again
before the rider had deserted his saddle. A dim blackness ahead already
revealed the nearness of the southern bank, when Neb's pony went down
suddenly, swept fairly off its legs by some fierce eddy in the stream.
Keith heard the negro's guttural cry, and caught a glimpse of him as the
two were sent whirling down. The coiled rope of the lariat, grasped in
his right hand, was hurled forth like a shot, but came back empty. Not
another sound reached him; his own horse went steadily on, feeling his
way, until he was nose against the bank, with water merely rippling
about his ankles. Keith driving feet again into the stirrups headed him
down stream, wading close in toward the shore, leaning forward over the
pommel striving to see through the gloom.
He had no doubt about Neb's pony making land, unless struck by some
driftwood, or borne to the centre of the stream by the shifting force of
the current. But if Neb had failed to retain his grip he might have
been sucked under by the surge of waters. A hundred yards below he found
them, dripping and weak from the struggle, yet otherwise unhurt. There
were no words spoken, but black and white hands clasped silently, and
then Neb crept back into the saddle, shivering in his wet clothes as the
cool night wind swept against him. Keeping close in toward shore, yet
far enough out so that the water would hide their trail, the fugitives
toiled steadily up stream, guided only by the black outline of the low
bank upon their left.