blurred and a storm appeared brewing. Fresno dismounted, dropping the
halter of the mustang. Then he let go his own bridle. The eyes he bent
on Allie made her turn hers away as from something that could scorch
and stain. He pulled her off the saddle, rudely, with coarse and meaning
violence.
Allie pushed him back and faced him. In a way she had been sheltered
all her life, yet she had lived among such men as this man, and she knew
that resistance or pleadings were useless; they would only inflame him.
She was not ready yet to court death.
“Wait,” she said.
“A-huh!” he grunted, breathing heavily. He was an animal, slow-witted
and brutal.
“Fresno, I am Durade’s girl!” she went on.
“I thought I knowed you. But you’re grown to be a woman an’ a dam’
pretty one.”
Allie drew him aside, farther from the others, who had renewed a loud
altercation. “Fresno, it’s gold you want,” she affirmed, rather than
asked.
“Sure. But no small stake like thet’d be my choice ag’in’ you,” he
leered, jerking a thumb back at his companions.
“You remember Horn?” went on Allie.
“Horn! The miner who made thet big strike out near Sacramento?”
“Yes, that’s who I mean,” replied Allie, hurriedly. “We--we left
California in his caravan. He brought all his gold with him.”
Fresno showed a growing interest.
“We were attacked by Sioux.... Horn buried all that gold--on the spot.
All--all the others were killed--except me.... And I know where--” Allie
shuddered with what the words brought up. But no memory could weaken
her.
Fresno opened his large mouth to bawl this unexpected news to his
comrades.
“Don’t call them--don’t tell them,” Allie whispered. “There’s only one
condition. I’ll take you where that gold’s hidden.”
“Girl, I can make you tell,” he replied, menacingly.
“No, you can’t.”
“You ain’t so smart you think I’ll let you go--jest for some gold?” he
queried. “Gold’ll be cheap along this trail soon. An’ girls like you are
scarce.”
“No, that’s not what I meant.... Get rid of the others--and I’ll take
you where Horn buried his gold.”
Fresno stared at her. He grinned. The idea evidently surprised and
flattered him; yet it was perplexing.
“But Frank--he’s my pard--thet one with the black hat,” he protested. “I
couldn’t do no dirt to Frank.... What’s your game, girl? I’ll beat you
into tellin’ me where thet gold is.”
“Beating won’t make me tell,” replied Allie, with intensity. “Nothing
will--if I don’t want to. My game is for my life. You know I’ve no
chance among four men like you.”
“Aw, I don’t know about thet,” he blustered. “I can take care of you....
But, say, if you’d stand fer Frank, mebbe I’ll take you up.... Girl, are
you lyin’ about thet gold?”
“No.”
“Why didn’t the trapper dig it up? You must hev told him.”
“Because he was afraid to keep it in or near his cabin. We meant to
leave it until we were ready to get out of the country.”
That appeared plausible to Fresno and he grew more thoughtful.
Meanwhile the altercation among the other three ruffians assumed
proportions that augured a fight.
“I’ll divide this sack when I git good an’ ready,” declared Sandy.
“But, pard, thet’s no square deal,” protested Old Miles. “I’m a-gittin’
mad. I seen you meant to keep it all.”
The dark-faced ruffian shoved a menacing fist under Sandy’s nose. “When
do I git mine?” he demanded.
Fresno wheeled and called, “Frank, you come here!”
The other approached sullenly. “Fresno, thet Sandy is whole hog or
none!” he exclaimed.
“Let ‘em fight it out,” replied Fresno. “We’ve got a bigger game....
Besides, they’ll shoot each other up. Then we’ll hev it all. Come, give
‘em elbow room.”
He led Allie and his horse away a little distance.
“Fetch them packs, Frank,” he called. The mustang followed, and
presently Frank came with one of the packs. Fresno slipped the saddle
from his horse, and, laying it under a tree, he pulled gun and rifle
from their sheaths. The gun he stuck in his belt; the rifle he leaned
against a branch.
“Sandy’ll plug Old Miles in jest another minnit,” remarked Fresno.
“What’s this other game?” queried Frank, curiously.
“It’s gold, Frank--gold,” replied Fresno; and in few words he told
his comrade about Horn’s buried treasure. But he did not mention the
condition under which the girl would reveal its hiding-place. Evidently
he had no doubt that he could force her to tell.
“Let’s rustle,” cried Frank, his dark face gleaming. “We want to git out
of this country quick.”
“You bet! An’ I wonder when we’ll be fetchin’ up with them railroad
camps we heerd about... Camps full of gold an’ whisky an’ wimmen!”
“We’ve enough on our hands now,” replied Frank. “Let’s rustle fer
thet--”
A gun-shot interrupted him. Then a hoarse curse rang out--and then two
more reports from a different gun.
“Them last was Sandy’s,” observed Fresno, coolly. “An’ of course they
landed... Go see if Old Miles hit Sandy.”
Frank strode off under the trees.
Allie had steeled herself to anything, and those shots warned her that
now she had two less enemies to contend with, and that she must be quick
to seize the first opportunity to act. She could leap upon the mustang,
and if she was lucky she could get away. She could jump for the
Winchester and surely shoot one of these villains, perhaps both of them.
But the spirit that gave her the nerve to attempt either plan bade her
wait, not too long, but longer, in the hope of a more favorable moment.
Frank returned to Fresno, and he carried the sack of gold that had
caused dissension. Fresno laughed.
“Sandy’s plugged hard--low down,” said Frank. “He can’t live. An’ Old
Miles is croaked.”
“A-huh! Frank, I’ll go git the other packs. An’ you see what’s in this
sack,” said Fresno.
When he got out of sight, Allie slipped the lasso from her waist.
“I don’t need that hanging to me,” she said.
“Sure you don’t, sweetheart,” replied the ruffian Frank. “Thet man
Fresno is rough with ladies. Now I’m gentle.... Come an’ let me spill
this sack in your lap.”
“I guess not,” replied Allie.
“Wal, you’re sure a cat... Look at her eyes!... All right, don’t git mad
at me.”
He spilled the contents of the sack out on the sand, and bent over it.
What had made Allie’s eyes flash was the recognition of her opportunity.
She did not hesitate an instant. First she looked to see just where the
mustang stood. He was near, with the rope dragging, half coiled. Allie
suddenly noticed the head and ears of the mustang. He heard something.
She looked up the valley slope and saw a file of Indians riding down,
silhouetted against the sky. They were coming fast. For an
instant Allie’s senses reeled. Then she rallied. Her situation was
desperate--almost hopeless. But here was the issue of life or death, and
she met it.
In one bound she had the rifle. Long before, she had ascertained that it
was loaded. The man Frank heard the click of the raising hammer.
“What’re you doin’?” he demanded, fiercely.
“Don’t get up!” warned Allie. She stepped backward nearer the mustang.
“Look up the slope!... Indians!”
But he paid no heed. He jumped up and strode toward her.
“Look, man!” cried Allie, piercingly. He came on. Then Fresno appeared,
running, white of face.
Allie, without leveling the rifle, fired at Frank, even as his clutching
hands struck the weapon.
He halted, with sudden gasp, sank to his knees, fell against the tree,
and then staggered up again.
Allie had to drop the rifle to hold the frightened mustang. She mounted
him, urged him away, and hauled in the dragging lasso. Once clear of
brush and stones, he began to run. Allie saw a clear field ahead, but
there were steep rocky slopes boxing the valley. She would be hemmed in.
She got the mustang turned, and ran among the trees, keeping far over to
the left. She heard beating hoofs off to the right, crashings in brush,
and then yells. An opening showed the slope alive with Indians riding
hard. Some were heading down, and others up the valley to cut off her
escape; the majority were coming straight for the clumps of trees.
Fresno burst out of cover mounted on Sandy’s bay horse. He began to
shoot. And the Indians fired in reply. All along the slopes rose white
puffs of smoke, and bullets clipped dust from the ground in front of
Allie. Fresno drew ahead. The bay horse was swift. Allie pulled her
mustang more to the left, hoping to get over the ridge, which on that
side was not high. To her dismay, Indians appeared there, too. She
wheeled back to the first course and saw that she must attempt what
Fresno was trying.
Then the robber Frank appeared, riding out of the cedars. The Indian
riders closed rapidly in on him, shooting all the time. His horse
was hit, and stumbling, it almost threw the rider. Then the horse ran
wildly--could not be controlled. One Indian was speeding from among the
others. He had a bow bent double, and suddenly it straightened. Allie
saw dust fly from Frank’s back. He threw up his arms and slid off
under the horse, the saddle slipping with him. The horse, wounded and
terrorized, began to plunge, dragging man and saddle.
Ahead, far to the right, Fresno was gaining on his pursuers. He was
out of range now, but the Indians kept shooting. Then Allie’s situation
became so perilous that she saw only the Indians to the left, with their
mustangs stretched out so as to intercept her before she got out into
the wider valley.
Her mustang did not need to be goaded. The yells behind and on all
sides, and the whistling bullets, drove him to his utmost. Allie had all
she could do to ride him. She was nearly blinded by the stinging wind,
yet she saw those lithe, half-naked savages dropping gradually back and
she knew that she was gaining. Her hair became loose and streamed in the
wind. She heard the yells then. No more rifles cracked. Her pursuers had
discovered that she was a girl and were bent on her capture.
Fleet and strong the mustang ran, sure-footed, leaping the washes, and
outdistancing the pursuers on the left. Allie thought she could turn
into the big valley and go down the main trail before the Indians
chasing Fresno discovered her. But vain hope! Across the width of the
valley where it opened out, a string of Indians appeared, riding back to
meet her.
A long dust line, dotted with bobbing objects, to the right. Behind a
close-packed bunch of hard riders. In front an opening trap of yelling
savages. She was lost. And suddenly she remembered the fate of her
mother. Her spirit sank, her strength fled. Everything blurred around
her. She lost control of the mustang. She felt him turning, slowing, the
yells burst hideously in her ears. Like her mother’s--her fate. A roar
of speedy hoof-beats seemed to envelop her, and her nostrils were filled
with dust. They were upon her. She prayed for a swift stroke--then for
her soul. All darkened--her senses were failing. Neale’s face glimmered
there--in space--and again was lost. She was slipping--slipping--A rude
and powerful hold fastened upon her. Then all faded.
13
When Allie Lee came back from that black gap in her consciousness she
was lying in a circular tent of poles and hides.
For a second she was dazed. But the Indian designs and trappings in
the tent brought swift realization--she had been brought captive to the
Sioux encampment. She raised her head. She was lying on a buffalo robe;
her hands and feet were bound; the floor was littered with blankets and
beaded buckskin garments. Through a narrow opening she saw that the day
was far spent; Indians and horses passed to and fro; there was a bustle
outside and jabber of Indian jargon; the wind blew hard and drops of
rain pattered on the tent.
Allie could scarcely credit the evidence of her own senses. Here she was
alive! She tried to see and feel if she had been hurt. Her arms and body
appeared bruised, and they ached, but she was not in any great pain. Her
hopes arose. If the Sioux meant to kill her they would have done it
at once. They might intend to reserve her for torture, but more likely
their object was to make her a captive in the tribe. In that case
Slingerland would surely find her and get her freedom.
Rain began to fall more steadily. Allie smelled smoke and saw the
reflection of fires on the wall of the tent. Presently a squaw entered.
She was a huge woman, evidently old, very dark of face, and wrinkled.
She carried a bowl and platter which she set down, and, grunting, she
began to untie Allie’s hands. Then she gave the girl a not ungentle
shake. Allie sat up.
“Do you--do they mean--to harm and kill me?” asked Allie.
The squaw shook her head to indicate she did not understand, but her
gestures toward the things she had brought were easy to interpret. Allie
partook of the Indian food, which was coarse and unpalatable, but it
satisfied her hunger. When she had finished the squaw laboriously tied
the thongs round Allie’s wrists, and, pushing her back on the robe,
covered her up and left her.
After that it grew dark rapidly, and the rain increased to a torrent.
Allie, hardly realizing how cold she had been, began to warm up under
the woolly robe. The roar of the rain drowned all other sounds outside.
She wondered if Slingerland had returned to his cabin, and, if so, what
he had done. She felt sorry for him. He would take the loss hard. But he
would trail her; he would hear of a white girl captive in the Sioux camp
and she would soon be free. How fortunate she was! A star of Providence
had watched over her. The prayer she had breathed had been answered. She
thought of Neale. She would live for him; she would pray and fight off
harm; she would find him if he could not find her. And lying there bound
and helpless in an Indian camp, captive of the relentless Sioux, for all
she knew in peril of death, with the roar of wind and rain around her,
and the darkness like pitch, she yet felt her pulses throb and thrill
and her spirit soar at remembrance of the man she loved. In the end she
would find Neale; and it was with his name trembling on her lips that
she fell asleep.
More than once during the night she awoke in the pitchy darkness to hear
the wind blow and the rain roar. The dawn broke cold and gray, and the
storm gradually diminished. Allie lay alone for hours, beginning to
suffer by reason of her bonds and cramped limbs. The longer she was left
alone the more hopeful her case seemed.
In the afternoon she was visited by the squaw, released and fed as
before. Allie made signs that she wanted to have her feet free, so that
she could get up and move about. The squaw complied with her wishes.
Allie could scarcely stand; she felt dizzy; a burning, aching sensation
filled her limbs.
Presently the old woman led her out. Allie saw a great number of tents,
many horses and squaws and children, but few braves. The encampment lay
in a wide valley, similar to all the valleys of that country, except
that it was larger. A stream in flood swept yellow and noisy along the
edge of the encampment. The children ran at sight of Allie, and the
women stared. It was easy to see that they disapproved of her. The few
braves looked at her with dark, steady, unfathomable eyes. The camp
appeared rich in color--in horses and trappings; evidently this tribe
was not poor. Allie saw utensils, blankets, clothing--many things never
made by Indians.
She was led to a big lodge with a tent adjoining. Inside an old Indian
brave, grizzled and shrunken, smoked before a fire; and as Allie was
pushed into the tent a young Indian squaw appeared. She was small,
with handsome, scornful face and dark, proud eyes, gorgeously clad in
elaborate beaded and fringed buckskin--evidently an Indian princess or
a chief’s wife. She threw Allie a venomous glance as she went out. Allie
heard the old squaw’s grunting voice, and the young one’s quick and
passionate answers.
There was nothing for Allie to do but await developments. She rested,
rubbing her sore wrists and ankles, thankful she had been left unbound.
She saw that she was watched, particularly by the young woman, who often
walked to the opening to glance in. The interior of this tent presented
a contrast to the other in which she had been confined. It was dry and
clean, with floor of rugs and blankets; and all around hung beaded
and painted and feathered articles, some for wear, and others for what
purpose she could not guess.
The afternoon passed without further incident until the old squaw
entered, manifestly to feed Allie, and tie her up as heretofore. The
younger squaw came in to watch the latter process.
Allie spoke to her and held out her bound hands appealingly. This
elicited no further response than an intent look.
Night came. Allie lay awake a good while, and then she fell asleep. Next
morning she was awakened by an uproar. Whistling and trampling mustangs,
whoops of braves, the babel of many voices, barking of dogs, movement,
bustle, sound--all attested to the return of the warriors. Allie’s heart
sank for a moment; this would be the time of trial for her. But the
clamor subsided without any disturbance near her tent. By and by the
old squaw returned to attend to her needs. This time on the way out she
dropped a blanket curtain between the tent and the lodge.
Soon Indians entered the lodge, quite a number, with squaws among them,
judging by their voices. A harangue ensued, lasting an hour or more; it
interested Allie, especially because at times she heard and recognized
the quick, passionate utterance of the young squaw.
Soon Allie’s old attendant shuffled in, and unbound her, then, lifting
the curtain she motioned to Allie to come out. Allie went into the
lodge. An early sun lighted the place brightly. It was full of Indians.
In the center stood a striking figure, probably a chief, tall and lean,
with scars on his naked breast. His face was bronze, with deep lines,
somber and bitter, and cruel thin lips, and eyes that glittered like
black fire. His head had the poise of an eagle.
His piercing glance scarcely rested an instant upon Allie. He motioned
for her to be taken away. Allie, as she was led back, got a glimpse of
the young squaw. Sullen, with bowed head, and dark rich blood thick
in her face, with heaving breast and clenched hands, she presented a
picture of outraged pride and jealousy.
Probably the chief had decided to claim Allie as his captive, a decision
which would be fiercely resented by the young Indian bride.
The camp quieted down after that. Allie peeped through a slit between
the hides of which her tent was constructed, and she saw no one but
squaws and children. The mustangs appeared worn out. Evidently the
braves and warriors were resting after a hard ride or fight or foray.
Nothing happened. The hours dragged. Allie heard the breathing of heavy
sleepers. About dark she was fed again and bound.
That night she was awakened by a gentle shake. A hand moved from her
shoulder to her lips. The pale moonlight filtered into the tent. Allie
saw a figure kneeling beside her and she heard a whispered “‘Sh-s-s-sh!”
Then her hands and feet were freed. She divined then that the young
squaw had come to let her go, in the dead of night. Her heart throbbed
high as her liberator held up a side of the tent. Allie crawled out.
A bright moon soared in the sky. The camp was silent. The young woman
slipped after her, and with a warning gesture to be silent she led Allie
away toward the slope of the valley. It was a goodly distance. Not a
sound disturbed the peace of the beautiful night. The air was cold and
still. Allie shivered and trembled. This was the most exciting adventure
of all. She felt a sudden tenderness and warmth for this Indian girl.
Once the squaw halted, with ear intent, listening. Allie’s heart stopped
beating. But no bark of dog, no sound of pursuit, justified alarm. At
last they reached the base of the slope.
The Indian pointed high toward the ridge-top. She made undulating
motions of her hand, as if to picture the topography of the ridges, and
the valleys between; then kneeling, she made a motion with her finger
on the ground that indicated a winding trail. Whereupon she stealthily
glided away--all without a spoken word.
Allie was left alone--free--with direction how to find the trail. But
what use was it for her to find it in that wilderness? Still, her star
kept drawing her spirit. She began to climb. The slope was grassy, and
her light feet left little trace. She climbed and climbed until she
thought her heart would burst. Once upon the summit, she fell in the
grass and rested.
Far below in the moon-blanched valley lay the white tents and the
twinkling camp-fires. The bay of a dog floated up to her. It was a
tranquil, beautiful scene. Rising, she turned her back upon it, with a
muttered prayer for the Indian girl whose jealousy and generosity had
freed her, and again she faced the ridge-top and the unknown wilderness.
A wolf mourned, and the sound, clear and sharp, startled her. But
remembering Slingerland’s word that no beast would be likely to harm her
in the warm season, she was reassured. Soon she had crossed the narrow
back of the ridge, to see below another valley like the one she had
left, but without the tents and fires. Descent was easy and she covered
ground swiftly. She feared lest she should come upon a stream in flood.
Again she mounted a slope, zigzagging up, going slowly, reserving her
strength, pausing often to rest and to listen, and keeping a straight
line with the star she had marked. Climbing was hard work, however
slowly she went, just as going down was a relief to her wearied legs.
In this manner she climbed four ridges and crossed three valleys before
a rest became imperative. Now dawn was near, as was evidenced by the
paling stars and the gray in the east. It would be well for her to
remain on high ground while day broke.
So she rested, but, soon cooling off, she suffered with the cold.
Huddling down in the grass against a stone, and facing the east, she
waited for dawn to break.
The stars shut their eyes; the dark blue of sky turned gray; a pale
light seemed to suffuse itself throughout the east. The valley lay
asleep in shadow, the ridges awoke in soft gray mist. Far down over the
vastness and openness of the plains appeared a ruddy glow. It warmed, it
changed, it brightened. A sea of cloudy vapors, serene and motionless,
changed to rose and pink; and a red curve slid up over the distant
horizon. All that world of plain and cloud and valley and ridge
quickened as with the soul of day, while it colored with the fire of
sun. Red, radiant, glorious, the sun rose.
It was the dispeller of gloom, the bringer of hope. Allie Lee, lost on
the heights, held out her arms to the east and the sun, and she cried:
“Oh, God!... Oh, Neale--Neale!”
When she turned to look down into the valley below she saw the white
winding ribbon-like trail, and with her eyes she followed it to where
the valley opened wide upon the plains.
She must go down the slope to the cover of the trees and brush, and
there work along eastward, ever with eye alert. She must meet with
travelers within a few days, or perish of starvation, or again fall into
the hands of the Sioux. Thirst she did not fear, for the recent heavy
rain had left waterholes everywhere.
With action her spirit lightened and the numbness of hands and feet left
her. Time passed swiftly. The sun stood straight overhead before she
realized she had walked miles; and it declined westward as she skulked
like an Indian from tree to tree, from bush to bush, along the first
bench of the valley floor.
Night overtook her at the gateway of the valley. The vast monotony of
the plains opened before her like a gulf. She feared it. She found a
mound of earth with a wind-worn shelf in its side and overgrown with
sage; and into this she crawled, curled in the sand and prayed and
slept.
Next day she took up a position a few hundred yards from the trail and
followed its course, straining her eyes to see before and behind her,
husbanding her strength with frequent rests, and drinking from every
pool.