THE FLIGHT
When the Texan had departed Bat Lajune eyed the side-saddle with
disgust. "Dat damn t'ing, she ain' no good. A'm git de reg'lar
saddle."
Slowly he pushed open the side door of the hotel and paused in the
darkened hallway to stare at the crack of yellow light that showed
beneath the door of Number 11.
"A'm no lak' dis fool 'roun' wit' 'omen." He made a wry face and
knocked gingerly.
Jennie Dodds opened the door, and for a moment eyed the half-breed with
frowning disfavour.
"Look a here, Bat Lajune, is this on the level? They say you're the
squarest Injun that ever swung a rope. But Injun or white, you're a
man, an' I wouldn't trust one as far as I could throw a mule by the
tail."
"Mebbe-so you lak' you com' 'long an' see, eh?"
"I got somethin' else to do besides galavantin' 'round the country
nights with cowboys an' Injuns."
The half-breed laughed and turned to Alice. "Better you bor' some
pants for ride de horse. Me, A'm gon' git nudder saddle. 'Fore you
ride little ways you bre'k you back."
"Go over to the livery barn an' tell Ross to put my reg'lar saddle on
in place of the side-saddle, an' when you come back she'll be ready."
Jennie Dodds slipped from the room as the outer door closed upon the
half-breed's departure, and returned a few minutes later with her own
riding outfit, which she tossed onto the bed.
"Jest you climb into them, dearie," she said. "Bat's right. Them
side-saddles is sure the dickens an' all, if you got any ways to go."
"But," objected Alice, "I can't run off with all your things this way!"
She reached for her purse. "I'll tell you, I'll buy them from you,
horse and all!"
"No you won't, no such thing!" Jennie Dodds assumed an injured tone.
"Pity a body can't loan a friend nuthin' without they're offered to git
payed for it. You can send the clothes back when you're through with
'em. An' here's a sack. Jest stick what you need in that. It'll tie
on behind your saddle, an' you can leave the rest of your stuff here in
your grip an I'll ship it on when you're ready for it. Better leave
them night-gowns an' corsets an' such like here. You ain't goin' to
find no use for 'em out there amongst the prickly pears an' sage brush.
Law me! I don't envy you your trip none! I'd jest like to know what
for devilment that Tex Benton's up to. Anyways, you don't need to be
afraid of him--like Purdy. But men is men, an' you got to watch 'em."
As the girl chattered on she helped Alice to dress for the trail and
when the "war-bag" was packed and tied with a stout cord, the girl
crossed to the window and drew back the shade.
"The Injun's back. You better be goin'." The girl slipped a small
revolver from her pocket and pressed it into Alice's hand. "There's a
pocket for it in the bloomers. Cinnabar Joe give it to me a long time
ago. Take care of yourself an' don't be afraid to use it if you have
to. An' mind you let me hear jest the minute you git anywheres. I'll
be a-dyin' to know what become of you."
Alice promised and as she passed through the door, leaned swiftly and
kissed the girl squarely upon the lips.
"Good-bye," she whispered. "I won't forget you," and the next moment
she stepped out to join the waiting half-breed, who with a glance of
approval at her costume, took the bag from her hand and proceeded to
secure it behind the cantle. The girl mounted without assistance, and
snubbing the lead-rope of the pack-horse about the horn of his saddle,
the half-breed led off into the night.
Hour after hour they rode in silence, following a trail that wound in
easy curves about the bases of hillocks and small buttes, and dipped
and slanted down the precipitous sides of deep coulees where the
horses' feet splashed loudly in the shallow waters of fords. As the
moon dipped lower and lower, they rode past the darkened buildings of
ranches nestled beside the creeks, and once they passed a band of sheep
camped near the trail. The moonlight showed a sea of grey, woolly
backs, and on a near-by knoll stood a white-covered camp-wagon, with a
tiny lantern burning at the end of the tongue. A pair of hobbled
horses left off snipping grass beside the trail and gazed with mild
interest as the two passed, and beneath the wagon a dog barked. At
length, just as the moon sank from sight behind the long spur of Tiger
Butte, the trail slanted into a wide coulee from the bottom of which
sounded the tinkle of running water.
"Dis Snake Creek," remarked the Indian; "better you git off now an'
stretch you leg. Me, A'm mak' de blanket on de groun' an' you ketch-um
little sleep. Mebbe-so dem com' queek--mebbe-so long tam'."
Even as he talked the man spread a pair of new blankets beside the
trail and walking a short distance away seated himself upon a rock and
lighted a cigarette.
With muscles aching from the unaccustomed strain of hours in the
saddle, Alice threw herself upon the blankets and pillowed her head on
the slicker that the half-breed had folded for the purpose. Almost
immediately she fell asleep only to awake a few moments later with
every bone in her body registering an aching protest at the unbearable
hardness of her bed. In vain she turned from one side to the other, in
an effort to attain a comfortable position. With nerves shrieking at
each new attitude, all thought of sleep vanished and the girl's brain
raced madly over the events of the past few hours. Yesterday she had
sat upon the observation platform of the overland train and complained
to Endicott of the humdrum conventionality of her existence! Only
yesterday--and it seemed weeks ago. The dizzy whirl of events that had
snatched her from the beaten path and deposited her somewhere out upon
the rim of the world had come upon her so suddenly and with such
stupendous import that it beggared any attempt to forecast its outcome.
With a shudder she recalled the moment upon the verge of the bench when
in a flash she had realized the true character of Purdy and her own
utter helplessness. With a great surge of gratitude--and--was it only
gratitude--this admiration and pride in the achievement of the man who
had rushed to her rescue? Alone there in the darkness the girl flushed
to the roots of her hair as she realized that it was for this man she
had unhesitatingly and unquestioningly ridden far into the night in
company with an unknown Indian. Realized, also, that above the pain of
her tortured muscles, above the uncertainty of her own position, was
the anxiety and worry as to the fate of Endicott. Where was he? Had
Tex lied when he told her there would be no lynching? Even if he
desired could he prevent the cowboys from wreaking their vengeance upon
the man who had killed one of their number? She recalled with a
shudder the cold cynicism of the smile that habitually curled the lips
of the Texan. A man who could smile like that could lie--could do
anything to gain an end. And yet--she realized with a puzzled frown
that in her heart was no fear of him--no terror such as struck into her
very soul at the sudden unmasking of Purdy. "It's his eyes," she
murmured; "beneath his cynical exterior lies a man of finer fibre."
Some distance away a match flared in the darkness and went out, and
dimly by the little light of the stars Alice made out the form of the
half-breed seated upon his rock beside the trail. Motionless as the
rock itself the man sat humped over with his arms entwining his knees.
A sombre figure, and one that fitted intrinsically into the scene--the
dark shapes of the three horses that snipped grass beside the trail,
the soft murmur of the waters of the creek as they purled over the
stones, the black wall of the coulee, with the mountains rising
beyond--all bespoke the wild that since childhood she had pictured, but
never before had seen. Under any other circumstances the setting would
have appealed, would have thrilled her to the soul. But now--over and
over through her brain repeated the question: Where is he?
A horse nickered softly and raising his head, sniffed the night air.
The Indian stepped from his rock and stood alert with his eyes on the
reach of the back-trail. And then softly, almost inaudibly to the ears
of the girl came the sound of horses' hoofs pounding the trail in
monotonous rhythm.
Leaping to her feet she rushed forward in time to see Bat catch up the
reins of the three horses and slip noiselessly into the shelter of a
bunch of scrub willows. In a moment she was at his side and the Indian
thrust the reins into her hand.
"Better you wait here," he whispered hurriedly. "Mebbe-so, som'wan
else com' 'long. Me, A'm gon' for look." With the words the man
blended into the shadows and, clutching the reins, the girl waited with
every nerve drawn tense.
Nearer and nearer came the sound of the thudding hoofs. The riders had
reached the dip of the trail now and the rhythmic pound of the horses'
feet changed to a syncopated shuffle as the animals made the steep
descent. At the edge of the creek they paused for a moment and then
Alice, could hear the splash of their feet in the water and the deep
sucking sound of horses drinking.
A low peculiar whistle cut the air and the next moment a voice which
the girl recognized as the Texan's sounded plainly through the dark.
"You got here, did you? Where's the girl?" Alice could not catch the
answer but at the next words of the Texan she started forward tugging
at the reins of the refractory cayuses.
"Come alive, now, an' get your outfit together. There's prob'ly a big
posse out an' we got to scratch gravel some lively to keep ahead of
'em, which little item the future prosperity of all concerned, as the
fellow says, depends on--not only the hangee here, but us accessories,
the law bein' some specific in outlinin' the disposal of aiders an'
abettors of felonious transmigrations."
The half-breed relieved her of the horses and Alice rushed to the side
of Endicott who had reined his horse out of the water and dismounted
stiffly.
"Oh, Winthrop!" she cried joyfully. "Then they didn't hang you,
and----"
Endicott laughed: "No, they didn't hang me but they put a lot of local
colour into the preliminaries. I certainly thought my time had come,
when friend Tex here gave the word to throw off the rope." The girl
flashed a grateful glance into the face of the Texan who sat his horse
with the peculiar smile curling his lips.
"Oh, how can I ever thank you?" she cried impulsively. "I think you
are just _splendid_! And I'll never, _never_ distrust you again. I've
been a perfect fool and----"
"Yes," answered the man gruffly, and Alice noticed that the smile was
gone from his lips. "But you ain't out of the woods yet. Bat's got
that horse packed an' as soon as Winthrup, there, can crawl up the side
of that bronc we better be hittin' the trail. If we can make the
timber at the head of Cow Creek divide by daylight, we can slip down
into the bad lands tomorrow night."
Endicott painfully raised a foot to the stirrup, and the Texan turned
abruptly to the girl.
"Can you make it?" he asked. She replied with an eager affirmative and
the Texan shot her a glance of approval as he watched her mount, for
well he knew that she must have fared very little better than Endicott
in the matter of aching muscles.
Mile after mile the four rode in silence, Tex in the lead with Bat
Lajune close by his side. An occasional backward glance revealed the
clumsy efforts of the pilgrim to ease himself in the saddle, and the
set look of determination upon the tired face of the girl.
"Winthrup ain't wearin' well," thought the cowboy as his lips twisted
into a smile, "but what could you expect with a name like that? I'm
afraid Winthrup is goin' to wish I hadn't interfered none with his
demise, but he won't squawk, an' neither will she. There's the makin's
of a couple of good folks wasted in them two pilgrims," and he frowned
darkly at the recollection of the note of genuine relief and gladness
with which the girl had greeted Endicott; a frown that deepened at the
girl's impulsive words to himself, "I think you are just splendid.
I'll never distrust you again." "She's a fool!" he muttered under his
breath. At his side the half-breed regarded him shrewdly from under
the broad brim of his hat.
"Dat girl she dam' fine 'oman. She got, w'at you call, de nerve."
"It's a good thing it ain't daytime," growled the Texan surlily, "or
that there tongue of yourn would get sun-burnt the way you keep it
a-goin'."
Upon the crest of a high foothill that is a spur of Tiger Ridge, Tex
swerved abruptly from the trail and headed straight for the mountains
that loomed out of the darkness. On and on he rode, keeping wherever
possible to the higher levels to avoid the fences of the nesters whose
fields and pastures followed the windings of the creek bottoms.
Higher and higher they climbed and rougher grew the way. The scrub
willows gave place to patches of bull pine and the long stretches of
buffalo grass to ugly bare patches of black rock. In and out of the
scrub timber they wended, following deep coulees to their sources and
crossing steep-pitched divides into other coulees. The fences of the
nesters were left far behind and following old game trails, or no
trails at all, the Texan pushed unhesitatingly forward. At last, just
as the dim outlines of the mountains were beginning to assume definite
shape in the first faint hint of the morning grey, he pulled into a
more extensive patch of timber than any they had passed and dismounting
motioned the others to the ground.
While the Texan prepared breakfast, Bat busied himself with the
blankets and when the meal was finished Alice found a tent awaiting
her, which the half-breed had constructed by throwing the pack-tarp
over a number of light poles whose ends rested upon a fallen
tree-trunk. Never in her life, thought the girl, as she sank into the
foot-thick mattress of pine boughs that underlay the blankets, had a
bed felt so comfortable, so absolutely satisfying. But her conscious
enjoyment of its comfort was short-lived for the sounds of men and
horses, and the low soughing of the wind in the pine-tops blended into
one, and she slept. Endicott, too, fell asleep almost as soon as he
touched the blankets which the half-breed had spread for him a short
distance back from the fire, notwithstanding the scant padding of pine
needles that interposed between him and mother earth.
Beside the fire the half-breed helped Tex wash the dishes, the while he
regarded the cowpuncher shrewdly as if to fathom what was passing in
his mind.
"Back in Wolf Rivaire, dey t'ink de pilgrim git hang. W'at for dey
mak' de posse?" he asked at length. The Texan finished washing the tin
plates, dried his hands, and rolled a cigarette, which he lighted
deliberately with a brand from the fire.
"Bat," he said with a glance toward the sleeping Endicott, "me an' you
has be'n right good friends for quite a spell. You recollect them four
bits, back in Las Vegas--" The half-breed interrupted him with a grin
and reaching into his shirt front withdrew a silver half-dollar which
depended from his neck by a rawhide thong.
"_Oui_, A'm don' git mooch chance to ferget dat four bit."
"Well, then, you got to help me through with this here, like I helped
you through when you stole Fatty's horse." The half-breed nodded and
Tex continued: "When that outfit goes up against the Wolf River hooch
you can bet someone's going to leak it out that there wasn't no reg'lar
bony-fido hangin' bee. That'll start a posse, an' that's why we got to
stay _cached_ good an' tight till this kind of blows over an' gives us
a chance to slip acrost the Misszoo. Even if it don't leak out, an'
any one should happen to spot the pilgrim, that would start a posse,
_pronto_, an' we'd get ours for helpin' him to elope."
"'Spose dey git de pilgrim," persisted the half-breed, "de, w'at you
call, de jury, dey say 'turn 'um loose' 'cause he keel dat Purdy for
try to----"
Tex hurled his cigarette into the blaze. "You're a damn smart Injun,
ain't you? Well, you just listen to me. I'm runnin' this here little
outfit, an' there's reasons over an' above what I've orated, why the
pilgrim is goin' to be treated to a good lib'ral dose of the rough
stuff. If he comes through, he'll stack up pretty close to a top hand,
an' if he don't--" The Texan paused and scowled into the fire. "An'
if he don't it's his own damn fault, anyhow--an' there you are."
The half-breed nodded, and in the dark eyes the Texan noted a
half-humorous, half-ominous gleam; "Dat, w'at you call, '_reason over
an' 'bove_', she damn fine 'oman. A'm t'ink she lak' de pilgrim more'n
you. But mebbe-so you show heem up for w'at you call, de yellow, you
git her 'way, but--me, A'm no lak' I see her git harm." With which
declaration the half-breed rose abruptly and busied himself with the
horses, while the Texan, without bothering to spread his blankets,
pulled his hat over his face and stretched out beside the fire.