THE ESCAPE
Alice had pressed forward until her horse stood at the very edge of the
seething mêlée. Swiftly, objects took definite shape in the starlight.
Men rushed past her cursing. The marshal lay upon the ground shrieking
contradictory orders, while over him stood the outraged Barras, reviling
him for permitting his man to escape. Other men were shooting, and
between the sounds of the shots the voice of Ike Stork could be heard
loudly bewailing the loss of his horse. Hoof beats sounded behind her,
and glancing backward, Alice could see men mounting the half-dozen
horses that stood saddled before the store and the livery barn. As a
man, already in the saddle, urged the others to hurry he raised his gun
and fired in the direction the Texan had taken.
"They'll kill him!" thought the girl. "No matter how fast his horse is,
those bullets fly faster!" Another shot followed the first, and acting
on the impulse of the moment, with the one thought to save the Texan
from harm, she struck her horse down the flank and shot out into the
trail behind the fleeing cowpuncher. "They won't dare to shoot, now,"
she sobbed as she urged her horse to his best, while in her ears rang a
confusion of cries that she knew were directed at her. Leaning far
forward, she shouted encouragement to her straining animal. In vain her
eyes sought to pierce the darkness for a glimpse of the Texan. Her horse
took a shallow ford in a fountain of spray. A patch of woods slipped
behind, and she knew she was on the trail that led to the Missouri, and
the flat-boat ferry of Long Bill Kearney. She wondered whether Tex would
hold to the trail, or would he leave it and try to lose his pursuers
among the maze of foothills and coulees through which it wound? Maybe he
had turned into the patch of timber and was even now breathing his horse
in the little wild flower glade. If so, her course was plain--to keep on
at top speed and lead his pursuers as far as possible along the trail.
Dimly, she could hear the thunder of hoofs in her wake. She wondered how
long it would be before they overtook her.
On and on she sped, her thoughts racing wildly as the flying feet of her
horse. "What would Win think? What would the horsemen behind her say
when at last they overtook her? Maybe they would arrest her!" The
thought terrified her, and she urged her horse to a still greater burst
of speed. Presently she became aware that the hoof beats behind had
almost died away. Fainter and fainter they sounded, and then--far ahead,
on top of a knoll silhouetted against the star-dotted sky, she saw the
figure of a horseman. Instantly it disappeared where the trail dipped
into a coulee, and with a thrill of wild exhilaration she realized that
her horse had run away from the pursuers, and not only that, he was
actually closing up on the Texan despite the boast of Ike Stork that his
animal could run rings around any others.
She topped the rise, and half way across a wide swale, caught another
glimpse of the horseman. The man pulled up, sharply. There were two
horsemen! She had almost come up to them when suddenly they crashed
together. She distinctly heard the sound of the impact. There was a
short, sharp struggle, and as the horses sprang apart, one of the
saddles was empty, and a rider thudded heavily upon the ground. Then,
faintly at first, but momentarily growing louder and more distinct, she
heard the rumble of pursuing hoofs. She glanced swiftly over her
shoulder and when she returned her eyes to the front one of the riders
was disappearing over the rim of the swale, and the other was struggling
to his feet. For only an instant the girl hesitated, then plunged
straight down the trail after the fleeing rider. As she passed the other
a perfect torrent of vile curses poured from his lips, and with a
shudder, she recognized the voice of Long Bill Kearney. The interruption
of the headlong flight had been short, but it had served to cut down
their lead perceptibly. The sounds of pursuit were plainer even than at
first and glancing over her shoulder as she reached the rim of the
swale, she could see horsemen stringing down into the depression.
Topping the ridge she was surprised to find the Texan only a short
distance ahead. He was plying his quirt mercilessly but the animal moved
slowly, and she could see that he limped. Swiftly she closed up the
distance, and as she rode, she became conscious of a low hoarse
rumbling, a peculiar sound, dull, all pervading, terrifying. Glancing
ahead, beyond the figure of the rider, a cry escaped her. The whole
world seemed to be a sea of wildly tossing water. The Missouri! But
surely, not the Missouri as she had remembered it--this wild roaring
flood! The river they had crossed a year ago on Long Bill's flat-boat
had been a very commonplace stream, flowing smoothly between its banks.
But, this----
As she caught up to the horseman, he whirled, gun in hand. "Tex!" she
screamed.
The gun hand dropped, and the man stared at her in amazement. "What are
you doing here?"
"I came--they had horses and were going to kill you--I rode in between
so they wouldn't shoot----"
"Good God, girl----"
"Hurry!" she cried, frantically, "they're close behind."
"Horse went lame," he jerked out as he plied quirt and spurs. "Got to
make the ferry. Long Bill says the river's broke all records. He's
runnin' away. Left his flat-boat tied to a tree. It's only a little
ways. You go back! I can make it. Had to knock Bill down to keep him
from blockin' my game. Once on that boat, they can't follow."
"But, they're almost here--" Even at the words, a horseman topped the
ridge, and with a yell to his followers, plunged toward them.
The Texan scowled darkly: "Go back! They'll never say I hid behind a
woman's skirts!"
"I won't go back! Oh, hurry, there's the boat! Two more minutes, and
we'll be there! Turn around and shoot! It'll hold 'em!"
"I won't shoot--not when they can't shoot back!"
The foremost horseman was almost upon them when they reached the
flat-boat. He was far in advance of the rest, and as the Texan swung to
the ground the report of a six-gun rang loud, and a bullet sang over
their heads.
The bullet was followed by the sound of a voice: "Shoot, you fool! Keep
a-shootin' till you pile onto the boat, an' I'll shoot back. Them hounds
back there ain't hankerin' fer no close quarters with you--I told 'em
how good you was with yer guns." And Ike Stork followed his words with
two shots in rapid succession.
"Good boy, old hand!" grinned the Texan, "how's that!" Six shots cut the
air like the reports of an automatic, and Ike, swerving sharply,
galloped back in a well-feigned panic of fear. It was the work of a
moment to get the Texan's horse aboard, and Alice followed with her
own.
The man stared. "Get back!" he cried, "I'm goin' across! Go back to
Win!"
"They'll shoot if I don't stay right here! Ike can't hold 'em but a few
minutes, at best. They'd have you at their mercy. This boat moves
slowly."
The Texan took her roughly by the arm. "You go back!" he roared. "Can't
you see it won't do? You can't come! God, girl, can't you see it? The
touch of you drives me crazy!"
"Don't be a fool! And I won't see you shot--so there! Oh, Tex, it's you
who can't see--I do love you--like a sister. I always think of you as my
big brother--I never had a real one."
The Texan backed away. "I don't want no sister! What'll folks say? This
big brother stuff won't go--by a damn sight!" Hoof beats sounded nearer,
and a stream of curses floated to their ears.
"There comes that horrible Long Bill," cried the girl, and before the
Texan could make a move to stop her, she seized an ax from the bottom of
the boat and brought it's keen edge down upon the mooring line. The
flat-boat shuddered and moved, slowly at first, then faster as it worked
into the current. The Texan gazed dumbfounded at the rapidly widening
strip of water that separated them from the shore. But he found scant
time to stare idly at the water. All about them it's surface was clogged
with floating debris. The river had risen to within a foot of the
slender cable that held the boat on its course, and the unwieldy craft
was trembling and jerking as uprooted trees and masses of flotsam caught
on the line, strained it almost to the point of snapping and then rolled
under by the force of the current, allowed the line to spring into place
again. Slowly, the boat, swept by the force of the flood, worked out
into the stream, adding its own weight to the strain on the line. The
craft shuddered as a tree-trunk struck her side, and seizing a pole, the
man shoved her free. The rushing water sucked and gurgled at the edge of
the boat, and Alice stepped nearer to the Texan. "We're moving, anyway,"
she said, "we can't see the shore, now. And the voices of the men have
died away."
"We can't see, because it's cloudin' up, an' we can't hear 'em because
the river's makin' such a racket. With the pull there is on the boat, we
ain't ever goin' to get her past the middle--if I could, I'd work her
back right now where we come from."
"They'd shoot you!"
"If they did it would only be me they'd get--the river won't be so
particular."
"You mean--we're in danger?"
"Danger!" The naïve question angered the cowboy. "Oh, no we ain't in any
danger, not a bit in the world. We're just as safe as if we was sittin'
on a keg of powder with the fuse lit. There's nothin' in the world can
hurt us except this little old Mizoo, an' it wouldn't think of such a
thing----"
"Don't try to be sarcastic, Tex, you do it very clumsily."
"Maybe I do, but I ain't clumsy at guessin' that of all the tight places
I've ever be'n in, this is the tightest. How far can you swim?"
"Not a stroke."
"So can I."
"Anyway, it's better than being lost in a dust storm--we won't shrivel
up and die of thirst."
"No, we won't die of thirst, all right. But you an' me have sure
stumbled into a fine mess. What'll Win think, an' what'll everyone else
think? If we go under, they'll never know any different, an' if we do
happen to get across, it'll be some several days before this river gets
down to where we can get back, an' I can see from here what a lovely
time we're goin' to have explainin' things to the satisfaction of all
parties concerned."
"You seem to be a born pessimist. We're not going under, and what's to
prevent us from waiting out here until the men on the bank go away, and
then going back where we started from?"
A flash of lightning illumined the horizon and the Texan's voice blended
with a low rumble of thunder. "With the force of water the way it is,"
he explained, "we can't move this boat an inch. It'll carry to the
middle on the slack of the line, an' in the middle we'll stay. It'll be
uphill both ways from there an' we can't budge her an inch. Then, either
the line'll bust, or the river will keep on risin' till it just
naturally pulls us under."
"Maybe the river will start to fall," ventured the girl.
"Maybe it won't. We've had enough rain this spring for four summers
already--an' more comin'."
"We'll get out someway." The Texan knew that the words were forced. And
his heart bounded with admiration for this girl who could thus thrust
danger to the winds and calmly assert that there would be a way out. A
nearer flash of lightning was followed by louder thunder. "Sure, we'll
get out," he agreed, heartily. "I didn't mean we wouldn't get out. I was
just lookin' the facts square in the face. There ain't any jackpot that
folks can get into that they can't get out of--somehow."
"Oh, does something awful always happen out here?" the girl asked almost
plaintively. "Why can't things be just--just normal, like they ought to
be?"
"It ain't the country, it's the folks. Get the right combination of
folks together, an' somethin's bound to happen, no matter where you're
at."
Then the storm struck and the girl's reply was lost in the rush of wind
and the crash of thunder, as flash after blinding flash lighted the
surface of the flood. They had reached midstream. The boat had lost its
forward motion and lay tugging at the taut line as the water rushed and
gurgled about it. The rain fell in blinding torrents causing the two
horses to huddle against each other, trembling in mortal fear. The
drift was thicker in the full sweep of the current, and the Texan had
his hands full warding it off the boat with his pole. By the lightning
flashes Alice could see his set, tense face as he worked to keep the
debris from massing against the craft. A heavy object jarred against the
cable, and the next moment the two gazed wide eyed at a huge pine,
branches and roots thrashing in the air, that had lodged against the
line directly upstream. For a few moments it held as the water curled
over it in white masses of foam. Then the trunk rolled heavily, the
roots and branches thrashing wildly in the air, and the whole mass
slipped slowly beneath the cable. It struck the boat with a heavy jar
that canted it at a dangerous angle and caused the terrified horses to
struggle frantically to keep their feet.
"Quick!" roared the Texan, "get to the upper side, before they smash
you!" In vain he was pushing against the trunk of the tree, exerting
every atom of power in his body to dislodge its huge bulk that
threatened each moment to capsize the clumsy craft. But he might as well
have tried to dislodge a mountain. The frightened animals were plunging
wildly, adding the menace of their thrashing hoofs to the menace of the
river. Vainly the Texan sought to quiet them but the sound of his voice
was drowned in the roar of thunder, the swishing splash of rain, and the
gurgle of water that purled among the roots and branches of the pine.
Suddenly the lame horse reared high, pawed frantically for a moment and
with an almost human scream of terror, plunged over the side. Alice
reached swiftly for the flying bridle reins of her own animal and as her
hand closed upon them he quieted almost instantly. Relieved of the
weight of the other horse, the boat shifted its position for the worse,
the bottom canting to a still steeper angle. A flash of lightning
revealed the precariousness of the situation. A few inches more, and the
water would rush over the side, and both realized that she would fill
instantly.
It is a peculiar vagary of the human mind that in moments of greatest
stress trivialities loom large. Thus it was that with almost certain
destruction staring him in the face, the Texan's glance took in the
detail of the brand that stood out plainly upon the wet flank of the
girl's horse. "What you doin' with a Y Bar cayuse?" he cried. "With
Powder Face?" and then, the boat tilted still higher, he felt a splash
of water against his foot, and as he reached out to steady himself his
hand came in contact with the handle of the ax. Seizing the tool, he
sprang erect, poised for an instant upon the edge of the boat which was
already awash, and with the next flash of lightning, brought its blade
down upon the wire cable stretched taut as a fiddle gut. The rebound of
the ax nearly wrenched it from his grasp, the boat shifted as the cable
seemed to stretch ever so slightly, and the Texan noted with
satisfaction that the edge was no longer awash. Another flash of
lightning and he could see the frayed ends where the severed strands
were slowly untwisting. Another blow, and the cable parted. With a jerk
that nearly threw the occupants into the river the boat righted herself,
the flat bottom striking the water with a loud splash. Before Alice
realized what had happened she saw the high flung tree-roots thrash
wildly as the released tree rolled in the water. She screamed a warning
but too late. A root-stub, thick as a man's arm struck the Texan
squarely on top of the head, and without a sound he sank limp and
lifeless to the bottom of the boat.