GOOD-BY
"They have ridden the low moon out of the sky; their hoofs drum up
the dawn."--_Two Strong Men_, KIPLING.
"I'm not speaking of her and I'm not going to," protested Gibson, in a
changed tone. "I'll promise! My horse is failing, Jeff. I rode hard and
fast from Escondido. Your horse carried nothing much but a saddle--that
pack was mostly bluff, you know. And those fellows' horses have come
twenty miles less than either of ours."
No answer.
"I don't believe we're going to make it, Jeff!" There was a forlorn
little quaver in Charley's voice.
Jeff grunted. "Uh! Maybe not. Griffith'll be real pleased."
Gibson rode closer. "Can't we turn off the road and hide?"
"Till daylight," said Jeff. "Then they'll get us. No way out of this
desert except across the edges somewhere. You go if you want to. They
won't bother to hunt for you, maybe, if they get me."
"No. It's my fault.... I'll see it out.... I'm sorry, Jeff--but it was
so funny!" Here, rather to Jeff's surprise, Charley's dejection gave
place to laughter.
They rode up a sandy slope where mesquites grew black along the road.
Blown sand had lodged to hummocks in their thick and matted growth; the
road was a sunken way.
"How far is it from here, Jeff?"
"Ten miles--maybe only eight--to the river. We're in Texas now--have
been for an hour."
"Think we can make it?"
"_Quien sabe?_"
Gibson drew rein. "You go on. Your horse isn't so tired."
"Oh, I guess not!" said Jeff. "Come on."
The sound of pursuit came clear through the quiet night. There was
silence for a little.
"What'll you do, Jeff? Fight?"
"I can't!" said Jeff. "Hurt those boys? I couldn't fight, the way it
is--hardly, even if 'twas the sheriff. I'll just hang, I reckon."
They reached the top of the little slope and turned down the other side.
"I don't altogether like this hanging idea," said Gibson. "I got you
into this, Jeff; so I'll just get you out again--like the man in our
town who was so wondrous wise. Going to use bramble bushes, too."
Volatile Gibson, in the stress of danger, had forgotten his wrath. He
was light-hearted and happy, frivolously gay. "Give me your rope and
your gun, Jeff. Quick now! No, I won't mention your girl--not once!
Hurry!"
"What you going to do?" asked Jeff, thoroughly mystified.
"Ever read the 'Fool's Errand'?" Charley chuckled. "No? Well, I have.
Jump off and tie the end of your rope to that mesquite root. Quick!"
He sprang down, snatched one end of the coil from Jeff's hand and
stretched it taut across the road, a foot from the ground. "Now your
gun! Quick!"
He snatched the gun, tied an end of his own saddle-rope to the
stretched one, near the middle, plunged through the mesquite, over a
hummock, paying out his rope as he went; wedged the gun firmly in the
springing crotch of a mesquite tree, cocked it and tied the loose end
of the trailing rope to the trigger. He ran back and sprang on his
horse.
"Now ride! It's our last chance!"
"Kid, you're a wonder!" said Jeff. "You'll do to take along! They'll
lope up when they turn down that slope, hit that rope and pile in a
heap!"
"And my rope will fire the gun off!" shrilled joyous Charley. "They'll
think it's us--an ambuscade----"
"They'll take to the sand-hills," Jeff broke in. "They'll shoot into
the bushes--they'll think it's us firing back, half the time....
They'll scatter out and surround that lonesome, harmless motte and
watch it till daylight. You bet they won't go projecting round it any
till daylight, either!" He looked up at the sky. "There's the morning
star. See it? 'They have ridden the low moon out of the sky'--only
there isn't any moon--'their hoofs drum up the dawn.' Then they'll
find our tracks--and if I only could see the captain's face! 'Oh, my
threshings, and the corn of my floor!'... And by then we'll be in
Mexico and asleep.... When Griffith finds that gun--oh, he'll never
show his head in Arcadia again!... Say, Charley, I hope none of 'em get
hurt when they strike your skip-rope."
"Huh! It's sandy! A heap you cared about me getting hurt when you
dragged me from my horse!" said Gibson, rather snappishly. "You did
hurt me, too. You nearly broke my neck and you cut my arms. And I got
full of mesquite thorns when I set that gun. You don't care! I'm only
the man that came to save your neck. That's the thanks I get! But the
men that are trying to hang you--that's different! You'd better go
back. They might get hurt. You'll be sorry sometime for the way you've
treated me. There--it's too late now!"
A shot rang behind them. There was a brief silence. Then came a sharp
fusillade, followed by scattering shots, dwindling to longer intervals.
Jeff clung to his saddle-horn.
"I guess they ain't hurt much," he laughed. "Wish I could see 'em when
they find out! Slow down, kid. We've got lots of time now."
"We haven't," protested Charley. "Keep moving. It's hard on the horses,
but they'll have a lifetime to rest in. They've telegraphed all over
the country. You want to cross the river before daylight. It would be
too bad for you to be caught now! Is there any ford, do you know?"
"Not this time of year. River's up."
"Cross in a boat then?"
"Guess we'd better. That horse of yours is pretty well used up. Don't
believe he could swim it."
"Oh, I'm not going over. I'll get up to El Paso. I've got friends
there."
"You'll get caught."
"No, I won't. I'm not going across, I tell you, and that's all there
is to it! I guess I'll have something to say about things. I'm going
to see you safely over, and that's the last you'll ever see of Charley
Gibson."
"Oh, well!" Jeff reflected a little. "If you're sure you won't come
along, I'd rather swim. My horse is strong yet. You see, it takes time
to find a boat, and a boat means a house and dogs; and I'll need my
horse on the other side. How'll you get to El Paso? Griffith'll likely
come down here about an hour by sun, 'cross lots, a-cryin'."
"I'll manage that," said Gibson curtly enough. "You tend to your own
affair."
"Oh, all right!" Jeff rode ahead. He whistled; then he chanted his war
song:
"Said the little Eohippus:
'I'm going to be a horse!
And on my middle finger-nails
To run my earthly course!'
The Coryphodon was horrified;
The Dinoceras was shocked;
And they chased young Eohippus,
But he skipped away and mocked.
"Said they: 'You always were as small
And mean as now we see,
And that's conclusive evidence
That you're always going to be.
What! Be a great, tall, handsome beast,
With hoofs to gallop on?
Why! You'd have to change your nature!'
Said the Loxolophodon."
"Jeff!"
"Well?" Jeff turned his head. Charley was drooping visibly.
"Stop that foolish song!"
Jeff rode on in silence. This was a variable person, Gibson. They were
dropping down from the mesa into the valley of the Rio Grande.
"Jeff!"
Jeff fell back beside Charley. "Tired, pardner?"
"Jeff, I'm terribly tired! I'm not used to riding so far; and I'm
sleepy--so sleepy!"
"All right, pardner; we'll go slower. We'll walk. Most there now.
There's the railroad."
"Keep on trotting. I can stand it. We must get to the river before
daylight. Is it far?" Charley's voice was weary. The broad sombrero
drooped sympathetically.
"Two miles to the river. El Paso's seven or eight miles up the line.
Brace up, old man! You've done fine and dandy! It's just because the
excitement is all over. Why should you go any farther, anyhow? There's
Ysleta up the track a bit. Follow the road up there and flag the first
train. That'll be best."
"No, no. I'll go all the way. I'll make out." Charley straightened
himself with an effort.
They crossed the Espee tracks and came to a lane between cultivated
fields.
"Jeff! I'd like to say something. It won't be breaking my promise
really.... I didn't mean what I said about--you know. I was only
teasing. She's a good enough girl, I guess--as girls go."
Jeff nodded. "I did not need to be told that."
"And you left her in a cruel position when you jumped out of the
window. She can't tell now, so long as there's any other way. What a
foolish thing to do! If you'd just said at first that you were in the
garden----Oh, why didn't you? But after the chances you took rather
than to tell--why, Jeff, it would be terrible for her now."
"I know that, too," said Jeff. "I suppose I was a fool; but I didn't
want her to get mixed up with it, and at the same time I cared less
about hanging than any time I can remember. You see, I didn't know till
the last minute that the garden was going to cut any figure. And do you
suppose I'd have that courthouseful of fools buzzing and whispering at
her? Not much! Maybe it was foolish--but I'm glad I did it."
"I'm glad of it, too. If you had to be a fool," said Charley, "I'm glad
you were that kind of a fool. Are you still mad at me?"
Since Charley had recanted, and more especially since he had taken
considerate thought for the girl's compulsory silence, Jeff's anger had
evaporated.
"That's all right, pardner.... Only you oughtn't never to talk that way
about a girl--even for a joke. That's no good kind of a joke. Men, now,
that's different. See here, I'll give you an order to a fellow in El
Paso--Hibler--to pay for your horses and your gun. Here's your belt,
too."
Charley shook his head impatiently. "I don't want any money. Settle
with Pappy for the horses. I won't take this one back. Keep the belt.
You may want it to beat me with sometime. What are you going to do,
Jeff? Aren't you ever coming back?"
"Sure I'll come back--if only to see Griffith again. I'll write to John
Wesley Pringle--he's my mainest side pardner--and sick him on to find
out who robbed that bank--to prove it, rather. I just about almost
nearly know who it was. Old Wes'll straighten things out a-flying. I'll
be back in no time. I got to come back, Charley!"
The river was in sight. The stars were fading; there was a flush in the
east, a smell of dawn in the air.
"Jeff, I wish you'd do something for me."
"Sure, Charley. What is it?"
"I wish you'd give me that little turquoise horse to remember you by."
Jeff was silent for a little. He had framed out another plan for the
little eohippus--namely, to give him to Miss Ellinor. He sighed; but he
owed a good deal to Charley.
"All right, Charley. Take good care of him--he's a lucky little horse.
I think a heap of him. Here we are!"
The trees were distinct in the growing light. Jeff rode into the river;
the muddy water swirled about his horse's knees. He halted for parting;
Gibson rode in beside him. Jeff took the precious Alice book from
his bosom, put it in the crown of his miner's cap and jammed the cap
tightly on his head.
"Better change your mind, Charley. Come along. We'll rout somebody out
and order a dish of stewed eggs.
"There is another shore, you know, upon the other side.
The farther off from England the nearer 'tis to France;
Then turn not pale, beloved snail, but come and join the dance.
Will you--won't you----"
"'No, I won't! I told you once!'" snapped the beloved snail.
"Here's the little eohippus horse then." As Charley took it Jeff wrung
his hand. "By George, I've got to change my notion of Arcadia people.
If there's many like you and Griffith, Arcadia's going to crowd the
map!... Well--so long!"
"It looks awful wide, Jeff!"
"Oh, I'll be all right--swim it myself if the horse plays out--and
if I don't have no cramps, as I might, of course, after this ride.
Well--here goes nothin'! Take care of the little horse. I hope he
brings you good luck!"
"Well--so long, then!"
Bransford rode into the muddy waters. They came to the horse's breast,
his neck; he plunged in, sank, rose, and was borne away down the swift
current, breasting the flood stoutly--and so went quartering across
to the farther bank. It took a long time. It was quite light when
the horse found footing on a sandbar half a mile below, rested, and
splashed whitely through the shallows to the bank. Gibson swung his
sombrero. Jeff waved his hand, rode to the fringing bushes, and was
gone.