THE SCREAM AT NIGHT.
How long Blaze had been slumbering he could scarcely have even guessed;
but suddenly, and without any assignable cause, he found himself
wide awake. He looked around; he listened. He saw nothing but dim
shadows, heard nothing but the regular breathing of the two sleepers
by his side. Yet his first thought was of danger. He was accustomed to
premonitions. Men who live in an atmosphere of peril meet with them,
understand them, act on them.
He leisurely and thoughtfully unrolled himself from his blanket and
arose to his feet. "Most durn queer," he soliloquized, turning his eyes
in every direction. "This old hoss's narves must be gittin' weak, er
thar's sumthin' wrong a-brewin'. Don't often feel this here way; last
time I did was t'other night, when the copper-bellies was a-cumin' in
onto us without words er warnin'. I'll jist scout around a bit, an' see
if enny thing's broke loose."
Taking his rifle with him, the trapper noiselessly stole away from the
vicinity. He moved around the camp in a gradually increasing circle,
pausing but once in his pace, and that was when he was opposite to the
point where he believed Martin's cabin lay. Full ten minutes passed,
when he heard footsteps and the voices of men engaged in conversation.
Sinking upon the ground at the foot of the tree by which he was
standing, Blaze watched and waited.
Both men were strangers to him; but one of them already has been
introduced to the reader, under the name of Endicott. He had had time
to leave Martin and meet with another man, who seemed a friend; and to
him was imparting information, both as to what had already occurred
that night in the vicinity of Back Load Trace, and as to what might
occur. His words, that spoke of violence and treachery, appeared to
fall upon sympathizing ears. As they drew nearer, all the time becoming
more deeply interested in their conversation, Blaze gave a start
of surprise and recognition; he crouched closely in the shadow and
listened with redoubled interest.
Charles Endicott has been already described, and his companion merits
notice. He, too, differed in something from the class of men one
naturally expects to find on the very outer verge of semi-civilization.
He was a man of perhaps thirty-five years of age, of medium hight. He
walked with a steady, stealthy, cat-like pace, his head, for the most
part, bent down; but now and then it was lifted, and he cast a sharp,
steady gaze around him. The features were firmly cut, the eyes were
steady; yet an undescribable something seemed to be shifting across his
face, which would say to a stranger: Beware of Eben Rothven!
"Yes, Eben, it does make a change in the programme, I'll admit, but,
it's a change to the advantage of both. Don't you see that?"
"I see that we waste here a couple of weeks, and no one knows what the
end of it all will be. You can't count on a woman, and especially such
a woman as you say this is. Break them down physically and mentally,
trample the life out of them, and then they'll rise again. Out of a
wreck that, were it of manhood, would founder with the first breath of
wind, will rise again a good stout ship. You think you can waken the
old dream in her, do you? Why, man, I'm surprised at you! The deadest
thing on the earth is a dead love, and there is no mending a broken
idol. Take my advice and let her go. She will be a burden that will
sink us both. We are on the trail to fortune now; don't let us lose it,
or fly wild at the first scent that crosses it."
"You're welcome to your philosophy about dead idols and the like;
welcome to shake your head and prophesy; but, what I want is your help.
Of course I will get it in some shape or other; but, I prefer it to be
freely and enthusiastically given."
"How much does my help enter into your calculations? I tell you frankly
that I am none of your dashing adventurers, ready to ride into Martin's
camp of Free Trappers. So far as a word of advice and a sacrifice of
time goes, you may count on me; but, don't expect me to stand behind
you, to assist in any mad experiment you see proper to try."
"My 'count' is upon your services as a Reverend--a title and authority
that, as far as you and I know, is still legitimately borne. I want to
use you; a piece of joinery of your handiwork will last for all time. I
can not believe that the cause by fair means is hopeless, and shall try
them first; after that, why, there are a few stout hands and bold heads
at our back, and we must e'en make the most of our stock in trade. To
be sure, we are on the road toward fortune in other directions; but
this is a _certainty_. The woman is worth her weight in gold, almost;
and, besides, it's no new dream with me. It's not so many years since
she was an idol of mine."
"Yes, I've heard of it--and I think, too, that you handled it--or would
have handled it--not over tenderly. Do you think she would forgive
that?"
"That was no fault of mine. I would have done better if the fates had
let me; but they were against me. What could I do, hedged in as I was?
If I could have sunk my past record, and stood out a new man, I'd not
have let 'e'en the winds of heaven visit her face too roughly.' Perhaps
I've got colder and harder since then; but, if so, I think my tongue
can move as glibly and smoothly as ever, and there are fair excuses to
be made for all that was seemingly wrong in the past."
"There is a limit, you may find, to human credulity. You can not wash
out the recollections of the past. Do you think it was any light cause
that drove her out of the world, out of society, refinement, and all
that women of her stamp hold dear? Every day she has spent here, every
rude face and lonely hour that she has seen or felt has cried out
against you. Why, man, you murdered her name, and that is a crime no
woman could ever forgive."
Endicott was silent a moment before the impressiveness of his
companion. Then, by an effort, he broke into a short laugh: "'Is Saul
also among the prophets?' Since when has Eben Rothven set himself up as
a judge of the workings of the human soul? Of course, what you say may
be true as holy writ. But what of it? Fair means or foul--I don't mince
matters. This is no new plan of mine, and so, when opportunity comes,
I can decide on my course quickly. Delay never makes a man. She knows
nothing of the financial aspect of the affair, even now; while I did,
years before it was revealed to the world, or to those who chose to
notice. The time for action has come. Are you with me?"
The man called Rothven hesitated a moment, as if weighing the matter in
his mind; then answered simply: "I am."
"Come on, then," and the two left the spot.
Much of this conversation was Greek to Blaze, but, somehow, he got
it in his head that it related to his new-made friend, Harry Winkle.
He seated himself leisurely against the tree to think it all over.
Both these conspirators were strangers to him, they did not belong to
Martin's men; who were they? He might perhaps have learned more as
to that by following them, but he neglected to do so. And, pondering
over the thing, he must have fallen asleep, for consciousness faded
away. For how long, he could not at once, perhaps, have told, but he
came back to life with a sudden shock, that brought him upon his feet
like the thrill of a strong galvanic battery. He was wakened by a
woman's scream, long, shrill, cutting into and through his ears like an
Indian's death-wail.
He listened to catch it again, but it was not repeated. For a moment
all was silence; then he heard the steady beat of horses' hoofs
stretching away at fullest gallop, and then, the sharp, quick report
of a rifle. He heard the footsteps coming nearer and nearer, and he
crouched in the shadow of the tree, with his hand upon the lock of his
weapon, almost nervously waiting for whatever might follow.
Suddenly he felt a hand laid upon his shoulder. He started, and
turned with a quick motion of offense. It was Winkle, rifle in hand.
The moonlight fell past the tree full upon his face, on which was an
excited if not a wild look.
"Am I crazy to-night? or did you hear it, too? I've seen a ghost this
night, and now, again, I heard it scream for help. What was it, Blaze?"
This he hurriedly asked.
"If yer a lunatic there's a pair on 'em, fur I heard it too. Lay low
here a minnit, an you'll see some more on it."
The hoof-beats sounded nearer; they swept on and on toward them. Then
three horses emerged from the trees out into the light, and neared the
spot where the two men were concealed.
"Is it he?" whispered Winkle, hissing the words out between his
clenched teeth, and with a sharp click the hammer of his rifle went
back.
But Blaze, quickly reaching back, seized his arm.
"Hold hard, there's more ner he thar."
The horsemen raced by like a tornado. It was a party of Blackfeet! And
across the saddle-bow of the savage nearest to Blaze, was flung, or
held, the form of a woman! In a moment Winkle's eye had caught sight of
that which Blaze had perceived--the woman. For a moment he seemed to
lose all control of himself, all power for action. Just one glimpse of
a white, wild face, and a hand clutching fiercely.
"Did you see it--did you see it?" he asked.
"Yes! I seen it! They've just went an' gone an' done it. Thar's grit
in the red-skins, thar are. But you'll be able to see another corpse
along Back Load Trail afore many hours. Dick Martin will be behind 'em
in the shake of a buck's tail--Hello! What's bu'sted?"
The man by his side had sunk, stiff and motionless, upon the grass.
"Blast my tail-feather, ef the young cuss hain't fainted. Thar must be
somethin' _wrong_ in the upper story, sure!"