PLANS FOR ESCAPE
Desperate as he certainly felt their situation to be, for a moment or
two Hamlin was unable to cast aside the influence of the girl, or
concentrate his thoughts on some plan for escape. It may have been the
gentle pressure of her hand upon his sleeve, but her voice continued to
ring in his ears. He had never been a woman's man, nor was he
specially interested in this woman beside him. He had seen her fairly,
with his first appreciative glance, when he had climbed into the stage
on the preceding day. He had realized there fully the charm of her
face, the dark roguish eyes, the clear skin, the wealth of dark hair.
Yet all this was impersonal; however pretty she might be, the fact was
nothing to him and never could be. Knowing who she was, he
comprehended instantly the social gulf stretching unbridged between
them. An educated man himself, with family connections he had long ago
ceased to discuss, he realized his present position more keenly than he
otherwise might. He had enlisted in the army with no misunderstanding
as to what a private's uniform meant. He had never heretofore supposed
he regretted any loss in this respect, his nature apparently satisfied
with the excitement of active frontier service, yet he vaguely knew
there had been times when he longed for companionship with women of the
class to which he had once belonged. Fortunately his border stations
offered little temptation in this respect, and he had grown to believe
that he had actually forgotten. That afternoon even--sweetly fair as
Miss McDonald undoubtedly appeared--he had looked upon her without the
throb of a pulse, as he might upon a picture. She was not for him even
to admire--she was Major McDonald's daughter, whom he had been sent to
guard. That was all then.
Yet he knew that somehow it was different now--the personal element had
entered unwelcomed, into the equation. Sitting there in the dark,
Gonzales' body crumpled on the floor at his feet, and Moylan lying
stiff and cold along the back seat, with this girl grasping his sleeve
in trust, she remained no longer merely the Major's daughter--she had
become _herself_. And she did not seem to care and did not seem to
realize that there were barriers of rank, which under other
circumstances must so utterly separate them. She liked him, and
frankly told him so, not as she would dismiss an inferior with
kindness, but as though he was an equal, as though he was a gentleman.
Somehow the very tone of her voice, the clinging touch of her hand,
sent the blood pumping through his veins. Something besides duty
inspired him; he was no longer merely a soldier, but had suddenly
become transformed into a man. Years of repression, of iron
discipline, were blotted out, and he became even as his birthright made
him. "Molly McDonald," "Molly McDonald," he whispered the name
unconsciously to himself. Then his eyes caught the distant flicker of
Indian fire, and his teeth locked savagely.
There was something else to do besides dream. Because the girl had
spoken pleasantly was no reason why he should act the fool. Angry at
himself, he gripped his faculties, and faced the situation, aroused,
intent. He must save himself--and _her_! But how? What plan promised
any possibility of success? He had their surroundings in a map before
his eyes. His training had taught him to note and remember what others
would as naturally neglect. He was a soldier of experience, a
plainsman by long training, and even in the fierceness of the Indians'
attack on the stage his quick glance had completely visualized their
surroundings. He had not appreciated this at the time, but now the
topography of the immediate region was unrolled before him in detail;
yard by yard it reappeared as though photographed. He saw the widely
rutted trail, rounding the bluff at the right a hundred yards away,
curving sharply down the slope and then disappearing over the low hill
to the left, a slight stream trickling along its base. Below, the
short buffalo-grass, sunburned and brittle, ran to the sandy edge of
the river, which flowed silently in a broad, shallow, yellow flood
beneath the star gleam. Under the protection of that bank, but
somewhat to the left, where a handful of stunted cottonwood trees had
found precarious foothold in the sand, gleamed the solitary Indian
fire. About its embers, no doubt, squatted the chiefs and older
warriors, feasting and taking council, while the younger bucks lay,
rifles in hand, along the night-enshrouded slope, their cruel, vengeful
eyes seeking to distinguish the outlines of the coach against the black
curtain of the bluff.
This had proven thus far their salvation--that steep uplift of earth
against which the stage had crashed in its mad dash--for its
precipitant front had compelled the savages to attack from one
direction only, a slight overhang, not unlike a roof, making it
impossible even to shoot down from above. But this same sharp incline
was now likewise a preventive of escape. Hamlin shook his head as he
recalled to mind its steep ascent, without root or shrub to cling to.
No, it would never do to attempt that; not with her. Perhaps alone he
might scramble up somehow, but with her the feat would be impossible.
He dismissed this as hopeless, his memory of their surroundings
drifting from point to point aimlessly. He saw the whole barren vista
as it last stood revealed under the glow of the sun--the desolate
plateau above, stretching away into the dim north, the brown level of
the plains, broken only by sharp fissures In the surface, treeless,
extending for unnumbered leagues. To east and west the valley, now
scarcely more green than those upper plains, bounded by its verdureless
bluffs, ran crookedly, following the river course, its only sign of
white dominion the rutted trail. Beyond the stream there extended
miles of white sand-dunes, fantastically shapen by the wind, gradually
changing into barren plains of alkali. Between crouched the vigilant
Indian sentinels, alert and revengeful.
Certain facts were clear--to remain meant death, torture for him if
they were taken alive, and worse than death for her. Perspiration
burst out upon his face at the thought. No! Great God! not that; he
would kill her himself first. Yet this was the truth, the truth to be
faced. The nearest available troops were at Dodge, a company of
infantry. If they started at once they could never arrive in time to
prevent an attack at daybreak. The Indians undoubtedly knew this,
realized the utter helplessness of their victims, and were acting
accordingly. Otherwise they would never have lighted that fire nor
remained on guard. Moreover if the two of them should succeed in
stealing forth from the shelter of the coach, should skulk unseen amid
the dense blackness of the overhanging bluff, eluding the watchers,
what would it profit in the end? Their trail would be clear; with the
first gray of dawn those savage trackers would be at work, and they
would be trapped in the open, on foot, utterly helpless even to fight.
The man's hands clenched and unclenched about his rifle-barrel in an
agony of indecision, his eyes perceiving the silhouette of the girl
against the lighter arc of sky. No, not that--not that! They must
hide their trail, leave behind no faintest trace of passage for these
hounds to follow. Yet how could the miracle be accomplished? Out from
the mists of tortured memory came, as a faint hope, a dim recollection
of that narrow gully cutting straight down across the trail, over which
the runaway had crashed in full gallop. That surely could not be far
back, and was of sufficient depth to hide them in the darkness. He was
uncertain how far it extended, but at some time it had been a
water-course and must have reached the river. And the river would hide
their trail! A new hope sprang into his eyes. He felt the sudden
straightening up of his body.
"What--what is it?" she questioned, startled. "Do you see anything?
Are they coming?"
"No, no," almost impatiently. "It is still as death out there, but I
almost believe I have discovered a means of escape. Do you remember a
gully we ran over while I was on top of the stage?"
"I am not sure; was it when that awful jolt came?"
"Yes, it flung me to the foot-board just when I had untangled the
lines. We could not have travelled a dozen yards farther before we
struck this bluff--could we?"
"I hardly think so," yet evidently bewildered by his rapid questioning.
"Only I was so confused and frightened I can scarcely remember. Why
are you so anxious to know?"
"Because," he returned earnestly, bending toward her, "I believe that
gash in the earth is going to get us out of here. Anyhow it is the
only chance I can figure. If we can creep through to the river,
undiscovered, I 'll agree to leave Mister Indian guessing as to where
we 've gone."
The new note of animation in the man's voice aroused her, but she
grasped his arm tighter.
"But--but, oh, can we? Won't they be hiding there too?"
"It's a chance, that's all--but better than waiting here for a
certainty. See here, Miss McDonald," and he caught her hand in his
own, forgetful of all save his own purpose and the necessity of
strengthening her to play out the game, "the trend of that gulf is to
the west; except up here close to the bluff it runs too far away for a
guard line. The Indians will be lying out here on the open prairie;
they will creep as close in as they dare under cover of darkness. I
'll bet there are twenty red snakes now within a hundred feet of
us--oh, don't shiver and lose your nerve! They 'll not try to close
that gap yet; it's too dangerous with us on guard and only one side of
the coach exposed. That fellow was trying us out a while ago, and they
've kept quiet ever since I let drive at him. They know the limits of
the safety zone, and will keep there until just before daylight. That
is when they 'll try to creep up upon us. Have you got the time?"
She opened her watch, feeling for the hands with her fingers, wondering
vaguely at her own calmness. The cool resourcefulness of Hamlin was
like a tonic.
"It--it is a little after one o'clock," she said slowly, "although I am
not sure my watch is exactly right."
"Near enough; there are signs of daylight at four--three hours left;
that ought to be sufficient, but with no darkness to spare. Will you
go with me? Will you do exactly as I say?"
She drew a swift breath, holding her hand to her side.
"Oh, yes," her voice catching, "what--what else can I do? I cannot
stay here with those dead men!"
"But I want you to go because--well, because you trust me," he urged, a
new trace of tenderness in his lowered voice. "Because you know I
would give my life to defend you."
He was not sure, but he thought her face was suddenly uplifted, her
eyes seeking to see him in the darkness.
"I do," she answered gravely, "you must believe I do; but I have never
been in such peril before, in such a situation of horror, and I am all
unnerved. There doesn't seem to be anything left me but--to trust you."
"That is good; all I can ask. I know you are all right, but I want you
to keep your nerve. We are going to take a big chance; we 've got to
do it--a single misplay, a slip of the foot, an incautious breath may
cost our lives."
"Are you going to try to get away? To elude the Indians?"
"Yes, and there is but one possibility of success--to creep the length
of the gully there, and so reach the river. Here is Gonzales' belt.
Don't be afraid of it; it is not dead men who are going to hurt us.
Swing the strap over your shoulder this way, and slip the revolver into
the holster. That's right; we'll carry as little as we can, and leave
our hands free." He hesitated, staring about in the darkness, swiftly
deciding what to take. "Do you happen to know if either of the
passengers carried any grub?"
"Grub?"
"Plains' term for food," impatiently, "rations; something for lunch _en
route_."
"Oh, yes, Mr. Moylan did; said he never took chances on having to go
hungry. It was in a flat leather pouch."
"Haversack. I have it. That will be enough to carry, with the
canteen. Now there is only one thing more before we leave. We must
impress those fellows with the notion that we are wide-awake, and on
guard yet. See any movement out there?"
"I--I am not sure," she answered doubtfully. "There is a black smudge
beyond that dead pony; lean forward here and you can see what I
mean--on the ground. I--I imagined it moved just then." She pointed
into the darkness. "It is the merest shadow, but seemed to wiggle
along, and then stop; it's still now."
Hamlin focussed his keen eyes on the spot indicated, shading them with
one hand.
"Slide back further on the seat," he whispered softly, "and let me in
next the window."
There was a moment's silence, the only sound the wind. The girl
gripped the back of the seat nervously with both hands, holding her
breath; the Sergeant, the outline of his face silhouetted against the
sky, stared motionless into the night without. Suddenly, not making a
sound, he lifted the rifle to his shoulder.