THE HESITATING LARIAT
Bess could discern in the distance the stage with its little, trailing
cloud of dust. “Please let us mount again. I’m quite rested, and want
to reach the stream before the stage arrives.”
“You are thirsty, Miss Fletcher?” he asked, solicitously, hastening to
assist her to remount.
The horses started eagerly forward, the scent of fresh water in their
nostrils.
“We are nearly half-way home. The bridge yonder is about half the
distance,” said West.
Suddenly he was so alarmed by a shrill cry from the girl that he
brought the surprised Eagle almost to his haunches with a sudden stop.
“Look!” she cried, pointing to the right of her. Instantly West turned
his horse. “My God!” he cried, starting Eagle across the rolling land.
She saw a horse throw his rider, and in a moment more drag him by the
foot, which in some way had become fastened in the stirrup.
Bess tried in vain to restrain Mauchacho, who insisted upon following
his companion. Scarcely a half mile intervened, and Bess could see
Eagle speeding like a veritable bird. She saw West swinging his lariat
about his head with measured movements. Suddenly he hesitated, holding
his hand for the instant still—then with one more vigorous swing the
rope shot out, hissing and uncoiling like a huge snake, and in the
instant it caught the fleeing horse firmly by both front feet and threw
him with a crash to the ground. At the same moment Eagle braced himself
like a rock, and West secured the lariat about the pommel of the
saddle. So swiftly had it all happened that Bess cried out in amazement
and wonder.
West reached the frightened horse, now struggling wildly, in time to
save the man from being kicked to death. The foot had been wrenched
from the stirrup, and the man lay silent and motionless upon the ground.
When Bess reached the spot she sprang from her horse and hastened
forward to be of assistance.
“I cannot see how anyone who knows a horse could possibly have such an
accident,” West was saying, as if to himself. “The horse surely could
not have seen a ‘rattler,’ as it is too early for them; and, besides,
I have never seen one down on this flat. Looks to me like confounded
carelessness!”
“Oh, is he hurt?” she inquired, but West had mounted Mauchacho and was
speeding to the stream. Bess lifted the bruised and bleeding head into
her lap. As she carefully wiped the dirt from the eyes and face she
discovered to her surprise that it was the same Mr. Davis whom she had
only met the evening before on the train at Selish.
“See—look!” she exclaimed excitedly, as West returned, his hat dripping
with the water it contained. “It is Mr. Davis!”
Henry West nearly spilled the precious liquid. His eyes flashed with
hatred, and his teeth clenched so hard that she could scarcely hear his
words. “You—know—that—that—devil!”
Bess was so confounded at the look of enmity and hate that she turned
pale with fear.
The next moment, with trembling hands, she was helping Henry West to
resuscitate the unconscious man. Cool, dripping handkerchiefs bathed
his brow and temples. Upon examining the foot which had caused so much
mischief, West saw that it was swelling rapidly, and soon dexterous
fingers had unfastened the laces and were tenderly removing the shoe.
All the passion was gone from his face, leaving it pale and anxious.
Again he hastened to the stream, quickly returning with the hat filled
with water. How they worked, these two! Perspiration streamed from
their faces as they chafed his arms and hands and bathed the bruised
and swollen ankle. Once they caught a fleeting twitch of the eyelids,
and, encouraged by the knowledge that there was still life, they
renewed all their efforts.
Suddenly West put his hand upon the man’s breast, Bess thought to feel
his heart beats, but instantly she understood as he drew a flask from
the inside of the coat. West forced the lips apart and succeeded in
pouring some of the brandy into Davis’ mouth. The effect was almost
instantaneous. The eyelids fluttered and a groan of torture escaped
the lips. Again he relapsed into unconsciousness, but for only a few
minutes, for soon he opened his eyes and looked into the girl’s face.
Then a spasm of pain contracted his face frightfully, and even West
turned aside that he might not see. They gave him more of the brandy,
which seemed to strengthen the man, and also made the suffering, for
the moment at least, less acute. Not a word had they spoken since that
first moment.
West now watched for the stage, standing near Mauchacho, first
releasing the horse which he had thrown. With trailing reins the animal
now stood quietly beside Eagle, who seemed to be looking at him with
“horse” contempt.
Just then the stage came in sight from behind a rise, and West swung
upon Mauchacho, hastening to hail it. Soon Bess could see the men
hurrying to where she sat with her again unconscious burden. With a
strong blanket for a stretcher, four of them carefully placed the
wounded man upon it, and bore him to the stage. James brought Eagle and
Davis’ horse, while Bess walked behind, leading Mauchacho. Carefully
they placed Davis in the stage. James insisted that his sister continue
her journey in the vehicle while he rode with West. They stopped at the
bridge to water the horses, and then proceeded slowly on their way.
Bess was doing everything in her power to alleviate the pain of the
man, whose head now rested against her shoulder. She did not move, and
scarcely dared to breathe, lest she should disturb him. She could feel
the damp, cold drops of perspiration standing out like beads on the
white forehead and the bruised cheek. So great was her sympathy that
she, too, seemed to be in the torture of pain. The other occupants of
the stage watched her with interest and appreciation.
West rode near to tell her that James and he would hasten on and have
a more comfortable conveyance at Polson by which to bring Mr. Davis to
the _HW_ Ranch.