THE SEARCH
Loseis could never have described the sensations of that mad roll down
the cut-bank. As a matter of fact all sensation was whirled clean out of
her; and the first thing she knew was the mighty smack with which her
body hit the water. Water it seemed could be almost as hard as wood. She
went under.
As she rose again, gasping and wildly reaching, her fingers came in
contact with Conacher’s coat. In the first second she clutched him in a
deathlike grip; in the second she remembered he had told her they would
both drown, if she did so; and she released him. She discovered that the
air cushion was sufficient to hold her up.
Conacher whispered in her ear: “You are all right?”
“I . . . I think so,” she stuttered.
“Put your two hands lightly on my shoulders and I’ll tow you. Do not
splash.”
He swam softly down with the current.
In the first moment there was only silence from above. Then they heard
Gault’s excited voice:
“Quick! the canoes! Search for them in the river!”
The men came tearing pell-mell down the hill, and Conacher swam with all
his strength for the mouth of the little stream.
They gained it none too soon. Finding firm ground underfoot they waded
up-stream under the arching willows. The water was up to their waists.
They had to move at a snail’s pace to avoid splashing. As soon as the
upper part of their bodies was exposed to the air, they realized the
numbing cold of the water. Loseis clenched her teeth to keep them from
chattering.
Meanwhile the two dug-outs had been launched. The men shouted confusedly
at each other. Such a search was hopeless in the dark. They could hear
Gault savagely cursing his men. It was quite clear that he was not bent
upon rescuing the two, but upon making sure that they did not escape.
The voices softened in the distance, as the current carried the dug-outs
down. Conacher and Loseis could now permit themselves to move faster
through the water.
Conacher drew Loseis along with one hand, and held the other straight
over his head as they proceeded through the dark tunnel. An exclamation
of satisfaction escaped him as his hand came in contact with the hanging
packs. He took them down. A short distance further along there was a
break in the willows on the right-hand side, and a back-water whence
they climbed out in the grass. Streaming with water, they set off at a
jog trot to warm up.
The voices of Gault and the Crees were still receding. Simultaneously it
occurred to Conacher and Loseis that they could now permit themselves to
hope. Stopping, they flew into each other’s arms. It was a moist
embrace, but none the less rapturous. After the frightful strain of the
past days, the reaction was unnerving. In their joy and relief, they
both partly broke down; but neither was ashamed of showing emotion.
“Oh, my Paul!” murmured Loseis. “Perhaps we are going to be happy after
all!”
“Perhaps?” cried Conacher. “I should like to see anybody stop us now?”
He was not, however, quite so sure as all that.
The river flat gradually narrowed down to the typical coulee of the
prairies, with the little stream running in the bottom. As the ground
began to rise, the willows ceased, and the way became rough and stony.
Conacher struck obliquely up the steep side of the coulee to find better
going over the prairie. The moon rose as they gained the upper level,
throwing a strange misty glamour over that vast, fixed, rolling sea.
They pressed briskly ahead through the short buffalo grass which did not
impede the feet, keeping the North Star over their right shoulders.
Their clothes dried slowly; but the exercise of walking kept them warm.
Their hearts were light. The awful bare solitudes, rise behind rise in
endless succession, and the deathlike silence had no power to oppress
them now. How could they feel lonely walking hand in hand free under the
sky? Day stole upon them with enchanting beauty. The prairie was
sprinkled with wild roses and the rose madder flower that is called
painter’s brush. Prairie chickens fluttered from bush to bush
companionably; and little furry four-footed creatures scurried for the
shelter of their holes. Loseis sang as she walked; and Conacher cracked
his jokes.
The sun was rising behind them as they came to the edge of a wide,
saucer-like depression in the prairie, holding in the bottom an oval
pond of an astonishing blueness. It was dotted with snowy water fowl.
All the surrounding country dimpled like a vast cheek in smooth rounds
and hollows, was mantled with a tender green, grayish in the shadows. At
the left hand side of the lake grew a wide patch of poplar scrub; that
is to say, thousands of little saplings growing as thick as hair, and
putting forth leaves of so intense a green it was like a shout in the
morning. The whole picture was washed with rose color in the horizontal
rays of the rising sun.
Loseis drew a long breath. “I never realized how beautiful the prairie
was!” she murmured. “It never was so beautiful,” she amended, putting
her hand on Conacher’s arm. “How marvelous to one who has been a
prisoner! Even if they should catch us we shall have had this!”
“They’re not going to catch us,” said Conacher. “Not while I have a
hundred shells in my belt.”
Loseis pointed to the poplar scrub. “That’s the meeting place with
Mary-Lou to-night.”
“Too bad we have to waste the day waiting for her,” said Conacher. “We
won’t hang about there, it’s too obvious a hiding-place. The high ground
on the other side would be a good observation post. Tired?”
“Tired!” sang Loseis. “I am just beginning to feel that I have legs
again!”
They headed obliquely across the depression towards a swell of land to
the south that enjoyed a slight prominence in the gently rolling sea of
grass. The flat appearance of the prairie was deceptive. Some of these
insignificant bumps commanded a view for many miles.
Tucked down behind the rise they found a cozy hollow with another patch
of the vivid poplar scrub. They sat down at the edge of it to eat part
of the food they had brought.
While they were thus engaged, silently and with excellent appetite, a
brown bear came ambling placidly out from among the saplings. He looked
at them with a start of astonishment so comic that Loseis burst out
laughing; then with a great “Woof!” of indignation galloped away up the
rise.
Conacher had snatched up his gun. “Fresh meat!” he cried. But with a
reluctant shake of his head, he dropped it again.
“Why not?” asked Loseis.
“If we are searched for, the carcass would be found.”
When they had finished eating, Conacher said: “I’m sorry I cannot let
you have a fire; but the smoke would betray us for many miles around.
Creep in among the trees; take off your damp clothes; wrap up in your
blanket and sleep until I call you.”
“What are you going to do?” demanded Loseis, ready to quarrel with him
as usual over who should bear the brunt of the hardship.
“I’m going to roll up and sleep at the top of the rise behind a rose
bush,” said Conacher grinning. “If they send out a search party they may
be expected to appear in about two hours.”
“You are always talking about their searching for us,” said Loseis. “If
Gault thinks we are dead he will not look for us. If he thinks we are
not dead, we are certain to be caught in these empty spaces. Why worry?”
“There is a third alternative,” said Conacher. “Gault thinks we are
dead, but he cannot afford to take any chances. It seems to me he will
send out a party to scour the prairie just as a precaution. It is up to
us to keep out of their way until they are satisfied. It won’t be as bad
as if they _knew_ we were here.”
Loseis wished to be allowed to watch from the top of the rise, but
Conacher carried his point.
From behind the clump of roses that he had marked on the way over,
Conacher was able to survey an expanse of country that faded into gray
mist on the horizon. He slept for awhile as he had promised. It was
about nine o’clock by the sun, when he perceived the first horseman, no
more than a black dot far to the eastward; but a significantly shaped
dot. Presently he made out another, and another at wide intervals. The
nearest was about four miles distant.
Racing back down the rise, he called to Loseis. When she answered, he
said: “Dress as quickly as possible. We must move on.”
When she appeared from among the trees, he explained what he had seen.
“Unless I miss my guess,” he said, “they will divide and ride around the
high ground surrounding the slough until they meet again. That would
bring us right in their line of march. We must get over another rise.
You can see that they are combing the country as they come. What we
ought to do is to work around behind them.”
Hand in hand like a pair of children they headed south, bent almost
double as they climbed the rises, and racing free down the other side.
When they had put a couple of heights between them and the slough, they
began to work around towards the east. The prairie is not such a
desperate place for fugitives as it might seem. It is true that from the
high places you can see for many miles around: but there are always
hollows into which you cannot see until you are upon them. At a glance
it seems as if the bubbles of earth had been pushed up in meaningless
disorder; but such is not the case. Nature sees to it that the country
is drained. Every hollow opens into another. Conacher had the mapmaker’s
instinct for the contour of land, and he was never in doubt as to their
proper course. At the same time while they were hidden from their
enemies their enemies were hidden from them. It caused the heart to rise
in the throat to imagine a horseman suddenly appearing over the grass
close by.
After an hour’s walking and running, they came upon a good-sized patch
of rose scrub folded into the side of a rise. Conacher stopped to survey
it.
“A perfect hiding-place if you lay flat on the ground,” he said; “yet no
one would suppose it. Come on, let’s tackle the thorns.”
Inch by inch they threaded their painful way along the ground; careful
to rearrange the branches they had disturbed upon entering; and cutting
with their knives a little tunnel ahead. Finally in the thickest of the
patch they lay companionably on the warm, dry ground within whispering
distance of each other, and lapped in delicious fragrance. Themselves
concealed, they could see out more or less through interstices between
the leaves.
“One could fall asleep here, and dream of being in Paradise,” said
Loseis, sniffing.
“Yes,” said Conacher, disengaging a thorn; “and roll over and find one’s
self in the other place!”
They both dozed, and were awakened simultaneously by the sound of
thudding hoofs. They waited with fast-beating hearts. A dark-skinned
horseman rode into view along the top of the very rise against whose
side they lay. He was less than a hundred yards away; they could
distinguish every detail of his somewhat dandified dress.
“Watusk,” whispered Loseis.
At sight of the patch of scrub, the Cree reined up his horse, and sat
staring directly at them. It caused the goose-flesh to rise upon their
bodies; their hearts seemed to stop beating. With infinite caution
Conacher drew his gun into position.
“The horse first; then his rider,” he whispered.
But after debating a moment, the Cree clapped heels to his horse, and
rode on. Presently he disappeared. A long breath of thankfulness escaped
from the two hidden ones.
“He will never know how nearly his wife became a widow,” said Conacher.
“Well, they’ve checked this place off,” said Loseis. “Shall we stay
here?”
Conacher shook his head. “This will be his second big circle around the
slough,” he said. “If he repeats the maneuver he will pass to the south
of us. I don’t like the notion of being hemmed in. We’ve got to think of
to-night. If they are making the slough their headquarters they will
camp there. Unless we head Mary-Lou off she would ride right into them.”
“We must be close upon the trail between the Slavi village and the
slough,” said Loseis.
“But we’re still too near the slough. We must make further south.”
Once more they took to the grass. For several hours they saw no more of
the searchers. They made their last spell in a poplar bluff (as the
patches of scrub are called) overlooking the trail between the lake and
the slough, but much nearer the former.
They had not been there long when they were filled with disquietude by
the sight of another of the Crees approaching from the direction of the
Slavi village.
“He’s been in to look about,” said Conacher. “Natural enough.” As the
man drew closer he added with a certain relief: “He doesn’t look as if
he had discovered anything important. I guess Mary-Lou has side-stepped
him.”
Their thoughts were given a sudden new turn, when the Cree turning out
of the trail, put his horse directly for the bluff, Conacher and Loseis
hastily retreated within the thickest part of the miniature wood. The
Cree could not ride in among the little trees. Dismounting, he tied his
horse.
Then began a grim game of I Spy with death for the stakes. Conacher and
Loseis enjoyed a certain advantage, because they were aware of their
danger, while the redskin was not. He was merely following general
instructions to search all likely places of concealment. He was taking
no particular care to muffle the sound of his progress, and they could
generally follow it. When he went one way they went the other. But there
were harrowing periods when they could hear nothing. The bluff was over
an acre in extent, and it was impossible to see more than half a dozen
yards through the thickly springing stems. Once he caught them in a
corner, and they were almost forced out into the open. Another time they
actually had a glimpse of his passing. They stood frozen in their
tracks. With what thankful hearts they heard him return to his horse at
last. They flung themselves down to let the hideous strain relax.
They ate again. Satisfied now, that they had done their utmost, they
rolled up in their blankets, and slept for eight hours on end. It was
twilight when they awoke. They ate the last of the food they had
brought.
“It will be prairie chicken for breakfast if Mary-Lou doesn’t come,”
remarked Conacher.
“She will come if they have not taken her,” said Loseis confidently.
“What I am chiefly afraid of,” said Conacher, “is that she will pass
right out with fright when we rise beside the trail.”
“When we were children we used to signal to each other by imitating the
cry of the kill-dee,” said Loseis. “I will try that.”
When the stars came out they moved down beside the faint track worn in
the buffalo grass. Conacher, pulling his blanket around his shoulders,
squatted in the grass, smoking, and Loseis leaned her cheek against his
shoulder.
“How strange!” she murmured.
“What is, sweetheart?”
“Us two little things out here in the middle of the bald-headed. I feel
about an inch high under these stars.”
“Better than last night,” suggested Conacher.
“Rather! . . . Paul, if we ever have any children, I wonder if this will
mean anything to them?”
Conacher was more moved than he cared to show. Loseis, scarcely more
than a child herself, dreaming of having children of her own! “Surely!”
he said with assumed lightness. “Think how they’ll be able to put it
over the other kids! ‘My Ma and my Pa were chased by Injuns!’”
Loseis chuckled. “If we come through all right it will be a wonderful
thing to have shared,” she murmured. “It will help us over the tiresome
parts.”
“You’re a wise little duck!” he whispered.
“Why?”
“Other girls refuse to admit beforehand that there could be any tiresome
parts.”
“How do you know?” she asked quickly.
He swallowed his chuckle. “Oh, you learn these things from books, and
from other men,” he said.
“I know that I shall not be marrying an angel,” she said, nestling
against him; “and I assure you that you are not.”
“Angel enough for me!” he said, kissing her.
There was a vibration in the stillness. At first they thought it was a
trick of the desirous imagination; then by degrees they became sure.
Horses were approaching along the trail at a walk. The slowness of the
pace was eloquent of the red girl’s terrors, and of the loyalty and
strength of will that forced her out into the night in spite of her
terrors. Conacher and Loseis rose to their feet.
Finally they made out shadowy forms in the trail. Loseis uttered the
plaintive cry of the little bird that haunts the edges of the prairie
sloughs. The shadowy horses stopped. There was a moment of painful
suspense. It was not a natural place, of course, to find the kill-dee.
“Risk it!” whispered Conacher. “Speak to her!”
“Mary-Lou,” said Loseis softly; “we are here!”
There was no answer. They apprehended through the dark that the solitary
rider had slipped out of the saddle. Running forward they found her half
fainting, but clinging to the horses still.
She quickly recovered. Ah! what a joyful reunion that was! Sharers in
danger!—there is no other bond quite the same as this. They all babbled
at once. Loseis and Mary-Lou clung to each other weeping; Conacher
embraced them both indiscriminately.
“I so scare’!” Mary-Lou whispered in Loseis’ ear. “I know the Crees out
here somewhere. I t’ink they get you sure. But I got come jus’ the same.
When I see you in the trail I t’ink it is the Crees. I am near die
then!”
“You’re the bravest of any of us!” whispered Loseis. “Because you know
what fear is!”
While the girls whispered Conacher turned his attention to the horses.
Mary-Lou had brought the best procurable, and he was well-pleased. She
had brought a fair store of smoked meat and fish also, but not enough to
see them through, of course.
“Tatateecha t’ink I lyin’ till he see me start,” she explained.
“Let us ride,” said Conacher. “We can talk as we go.”
They mounted. The horses were still fresh and coquettish with the bit.
What a delight it was to feel good horseflesh between the knees once
more. Their breasts swelled with renewed hope.
“Which way?” asked Loseis.
“Southwest,” said Conacher; “because that is the direction they would
least expect us to take. At daylight we’ll turn, and lay our proper
course northwest. Save your horses.”
They set off at an easy trot. When the horses settled to their work,
they let the reins lie loose on their necks. It was safest to let these
prairie-bred beasts choose their own footing. Now the North Star must be
kept over the horse’s right flank. Conacher chose a bright star in the
southwest for a beacon. As they rode they exchanged experiences.
Mary-Lou said:
“Las’ night all the Crees around the post is after you, so I have no
trouble. I walk around the side of the hill, and cross the creek, and
climb the ridge. I hide in the bush till daylight. I hear you cry:
‘Good-by! Good-by!’ across the river. That cry it hurt my heart though I
know it is a fool. I t’ink maybe you break a leg on the cut-bank. In the
morning I see where some Crees is camp beside the trail, and I go around
them. Then I go back to the trail and run to the Slavi village. I am
there before the sun is half way up the sky. I sleep long.”
“What did you do when the Cree came in?” asked Loseis.
“Wah! He come down from the prairie when nobody is lookin’ that way. All
are scare’! I snatch up a shawl and put it over my head like the ot’er
women. I stay with the ot’er women. He not know me. Bam-bye he go back
again.”
The course they were following led them roughly parallel with
Blackburn’s Lake. When the moon rose they could see it palely gleaming
in the distance. It was an exhilarating ride; the wind created by their
own passage blew cool about their faces; the exercise of riding kept
them tingling. With every additional mile that they put between them and
their enemies their hearts rose. Conacher attempted to sing. But though
there was no danger in raising the voice here, the great brooding
silence was too much for him. In spite of themselves they talked in
undertones.
Just before dawn they spelled alongside a poplar bluff to allow the
horses to graze. Here the humans enjoyed the luxury of a fire again, and
the stimulus of hot food. Though the meal was only of smoked fish
without sauce or bread, such a complete sense of comfort is not to be
had under civilized conditions. They groaned at the necessity of
breaking camp.
After a two-hour rest they saddled, and turned at right angles to their
former course. The sun had risen in a cloudless sky, and the air was
like wine. At mid-morning they calculated that they were abreast of Old
Wives’ Slough again, but now many miles to the westward. Coming to
another sapphire-colored slough lying under a rather prominent rise to
the eastward, which had a well-grown poplar bluff on its slope, Conacher
called a halt for the balance of the day.
“We need sleep,” he said; “moreover it is just possible if they ride
west to-day, that they might catch sight of us from some height or
another. The horses will be well hidden alongside the bluff yonder.”
Picketing the horses to keep them from straying, they ate again. On this
occasion Loseis insisted on being allowed to stand the first watch; and
Conacher dispatched her to the top of the rise, while he rolled up in
his blanket.
In the afternoon he relieved her. From the top of the rise it was
evident that this was the highest point in many miles around. To
Conacher lying in the grass smoking, it seemed as if half the world was
spread before him. In that crystal clearness he could even trace the
line of the valley of Blackburn’s River. The easterly horizon was closed
in by the land rising on the other side of the river. The pale green sea
of the prairie between was always the same, and never quite the same.
Apparently every yard of it was open to his vision; but Conacher knew
from past experience that this was not so. Every swell of the land
melted so softly into the swell beyond that one could not guess the
hollow between. Conacher remembered the old-time stories of how the
Indians could steal up on the wagon-trains camped in the open prairie.
As if evoked by that thought he saw Indians riding towards him then. It
was what he was looking for and least desired to see. He glimpsed them
as they crossed a hollow; a moment later they trotted over a little
rise. There were three of them, they were less than a mile away; they
were heading directly for the spot where he lay. This time an encounter
could not be avoided. All his high hopes came tumbling down like a house
of cards.
Conacher ran down the hill to alarm his camp. There was no time to ride
away. Best for them to keep the shelter they had. A word told Loseis and
Mary-Lou what was upon them. They led the horses close up behind the
bluff of trees, and tied them. They scattered the remaining embers of
the fire, and beat them out. Conacher and Loseis took up a position
within the trees facing the summit of the rise, gun in hand. The girl’s
face was pale and resolute.
“I can shoot straight, too,” she said quietly.
They waited.
“All three of them are together now,” said Conacher. “We must get them
all. And their horses too. If we get them all it will be some time
before Gault learns what has happened. We will still have a chance.”
The three horsemen appeared at the top of the rise, and reined up. They
were quite at their ease. Each slung a leg over his saddle to rest, and
produced a pipe. There they stayed, silhouetted against the tender blue
sky. One had a pair of field-glasses which was passed from hand to hand.
Conacher and Loseis instinctively drew back a little further amongst the
saplings. Suddenly the horses behind them whinnied; and Conacher groaned
in bitterness of spirit.
However, at that moment a small troop of wild horses appeared out of a
depression to the north. Led by a bay stallion with arched neck and
streaming tail, they trotted past. In the chorus of neighing and
whinnying which arose, the sounds made by Conacher’s horses escaped the
notice of the Crees.
After what seemed like an age-long wait to the watchers hidden in the
poplars, the three Indians slipped out of their saddles, tightened
girths and mounted again.
“Now for it!” whispered Conacher. “Do not fire until they are within a
hundred feet. Bring down the horses first. You take the piebald and I’ll
take the other two.”
But to their amazement and delight the riders wheeled and disappeared
the way they had come. For a moment they stared at the empty place with
hanging mouths. Then Conacher made as if to run out from among the
trees. Loseis clutched him.
“It may be a trick!” she gasped.
They waited several minutes, not daring to rejoice yet.
“I _must_ go look!” said Conacher. “I must know what they are doing.”
Loseis made no further effort to restrain him; and he ran up to the top
of the rise, and flung himself down. At first he could see nothing but
grass. Then the three riders rose mysteriously out of the grass,
trotting away as they had come; showing their backs . . . their _backs_!
Conacher nearly choked with joy. He waited awhile yet to make doubly
sure. They disappeared and appeared again, holding steadily to the east.
They shrank to mere specks in the green sea.
Conacher leaped to his feet, and charged back down the hill, yelling and
brandishing his gun. Loseis snatched up her gun warily. Not until he
came close did she comprehend that this was a pantomime of joy. He swept
her clean off her feet in his embrace.
“They’ve gone back!” he shouted. “This was the outer edge of their
patrol. They’ve given up the search! After this we’ve got nothing to
contend with but nature!”