UNSEEN DANGER
Once he paused, blinded by the snow, flung up his arm, and fired,
imagining he saw the dim shape of a man on the ridge summit. There was
no return shot, no visible movement. Reckless, mad with rage, he
sprang up the wind-swept side, and reached the crest. It was deserted,
except for tracks already nearly obliterated by the fierce wind.
Helpless, baffled, the Sergeant stared about him into the driving
flakes, his ungloved, stiffening hand gripping the cold butt of his
Colt, ready for any emergency. Nothing but vacancy and silence
encompassed him. At his feet the snow was still trampled; he could see
where the man had kneeled to fire; where he had run down the opposite
side of the hill. There had been only one--a white man from the
imprint--and he had fled south, vanishing in the smother.
It required an effort for the Sergeant to recover, to realize his true
position, and the meaning of this mysterious attack. He was no longer
numb with cold or staggering from weakness. The excitement had sent
the hot blood pulsing through his veins; had brought back to his heart
the fighting instinct. Every desire urged him forward, clamoring for
revenge, but the aroused sense of a plainsman held him motionless,
staring about, listening for any sound. Behind him, down there in the
hollow, were huddled the horses of his outfit, scarcely distinguishable
from where he stood. If he should venture farther off, he might never
be able to find a way back again. Even in the gray light of dawn he
could see nothing distinctly a dozen yards distant. And Wasson had the
compass. This was the thought which brought him tramping back through
the drifts--Wasson! Wade was dead, Carroll little better, but the
scout might have been only slightly wounded. He waded through the snow
to where the man lay, face downward, his hand still gripping the rein.
Before Hamlin turned him over, he saw the jagged wound and knew death
had been instantaneous. He stared down at the white face, already
powdered with snow; then glared about into the murky distances,
revolver ready for action, every nerve throbbing. God! If he ever met
the murderer! Then swift reaction came, and he buried his eyes on the
neck of the nearest horse, and his body shook with half-suppressed
sobs. The whole horror of it gripped him in that instant, broke his
iron will, and left him weak as a child.
But the mood did not last. Little by little he gained control, stood
up again in the snow, and began to think. He was a man, and must do a
man's work. With an oath he forced himself to act; reloaded his
revolver, thrust it back into the holster at his hip, and, with one
parting glance at poor Sam, ploughed across through the drifts to
Carroll. He realized now his duty, the thing he must strive to
accomplish. Wade and Wasson were gone; no human effort could aid them,
but Carroll lived, and might be saved. And it was for him alone now to
serve Molly. The sudden comprehension of all this stung like the lash
of a whip, transformed him again into a fighter, a soldier of the sort
who refuses to acknowledge defeat. His eyes darkened, his lips pressed
together in a straight line.
Carroll lay helpless, inert, his head hanging down against the neck of
his horse. The Sergeant jerked him erect, roughly beating him into
consciousness; nor did he desist until the fellow's eyes opened in a
dull stare.
"I 'll pound the life out of you unless you brace up, George," he
muttered. "That 's right--get mad if you want to. It will do you
good. Wait until I get that quirt; that will set your blood moving.
No! Wake up! Die, nothing! See here, man, there 's the river just
ahead."
He picked up his glove, undid the reins from Wasson's stiffened
fingers, and urged the horses forward. Carroll lurched drunkenly in
the saddle, yet retained sufficient life to cling to the pommel, and
thus the outfit plunged blindly forward into the storm, leaving the
dead men where they lay. There was nothing else to do; Hamlin's heart
choked him as he ploughed his way past, but he had no strength to lift
those heavy bodies. Every ounce of power must be conserved for the
preservation of life. Little as he could see through the snow blasts
there was but one means of passage, that along the narrow rift between
the ridges. The snow lay deep here, but they floundered ahead, barely
able to surmount the drifts, until suddenly they emerged upon an open
space, sheltered somewhat by the low hills and swept clean by the wind.
Directly beneath, down a wide cleft in the bank, dimly visible,
appeared the welcome waters of the Cimarron. The stream was but partly
frozen over, the dark current flowing in odd contrast between the banks
of ice and snow.
The Sergeant halted, examining his surroundings cautiously, expecting
every instant to be fired upon by some unseen foe. The violence of the
storm prevented his seeing beyond a few yards, and the whirling snow
crystals blinded him as he faced the fury of the wind sweeping down the
valley. Nothing met his gaze; no sound reached his ears; about him was
desolation, unbroken whiteness. Apparently they were alone in all that
intense dreariness of snow. The solemn loneliness of it--the dark,
silently flowing river, the dun sky, the wide, white expanse of plain,
the mad violence of the storm beating against him--brought to him a
feeling of helplessness. He was a mere atom, struggling alone against
Nature's wild mood. Then the feeling clutched him that he was not
alone; that from somewhere amid those barren wastes hostile eyes
watched, skulking murderers sought his life. Yet there was no sign of
any presence. He could not stand there and die, nor permit Carroll to
freeze in his saddle. It would be better to take a chance; perhaps the
assassins had fled, believing their work accomplished; perhaps they had
become confused by the storm.
Foot by foot, feeling his passage, he advanced down the gully, fairly
dragging his own horse after him. Behind, held by the straining
lariat, lurched the others, the soldier swaying on the back of the
last, swearing and laughing in delirium, clutching at snowflakes with
his hands. At the end of the ravine, under shelter of the bank, Hamlin
trampled back the snow, herding the animals close, so as to gain the
warmth of their bodies. Here they were well protected from the cruel
lash of the wind and the shower of snow which blew over them and
drifted higher and higher in the open space beyond. Working
feverishly, the blood again circulating freely through his veins, the
Sergeant hastily dragged blankets from the pack, and spread them on the
ground, depositing Carroll upon them. Then he set about vigorously
rubbing the soldier's exposed flesh with snow. The smart of it,
together with the roughness of handling, aroused the latter from
lethargy, but Hamlin, ignoring his resentment, gripped the fellow with
hands of iron, never ceasing his violent ministrations until his
swearing ended in silence. Then he wrapped him tightly in the
blankets, and stood himself erect, glowing from the exercise. Carroll
glared up at him angrily out of red-rimmed eyes.
"I 'll get you for that, you big boob!" he shouted, striving to release
his arms from the clinging blankets. "You wait! I 'll get you!"
"Hush up, George, and go to sleep," the other retorted, poking the
shapeless body with his foot, his thoughts already elsewhere. "Don't
be a fool. I 'll get a fire if I can, and something hot into you.
Within an hour you 'll be a man again. Now see here--stop that! Do
you hear? You lie still right where you are, Carroll, until I come
back, or I 'll kick your ribs in!" He bent down menacingly, scowling
into the upturned face. "Will you mind, or shall I have to hand you
one?"
Carroll shrank back like a whipped child, his lips muttering something
indistinguishable. The Sergeant, satisfied, turned and floundered
through the drifts to the bank of the stream. He was alert and
fearful, yet determined. No matter what danger of discovery might
threaten, he must build a fire to save Carroll's life. The raging
storm was not over with; there was no apparent cessation of violence in
the blasts of the icy wind, and the snow swept about him in blinding
sheets. It would continue all day, all another night, perhaps, and
they could never live through without food and warmth. He realized the
risk fully, his gloved hand gripping the butt of his revolver, as he
stared up and down the snow-draped bluffs. He wished he had picked up
Wasson's rifle. Who was it that had shot them up, anyhow? The very
mystery added to the dread. Could it have been Dupont? There was no
other conception possible, yet it seemed like a miracle that they could
have kept so close on the fellow's trail all night long through the
storm. Yet who else would open fire at sight? Who else, indeed, would
be in this God-forsaken country? And whoever it was, where had he
gone? How had he disappeared so suddenly and completely? He could not
be far away, that was a certainty. No plainsman would attempt to ford
that icy stream, nor desert the shelter of these bluffs in face of the
storm. It would be suicidal. And if Dupont and his Indians were close
at hand, Miss McDonald would be with them. He had had no time in which
to reason this out before, but now the swift realization of the close
proximity of the girl came to him like an electric shock. Whatever the
immediate danger he must thaw out Carroll, and thus be free himself.
He could look back to where the weary horses huddled beneath the bank,
grouped about the man so helplessly swaddled in blankets on the ground.
They were dim, pitiable objects, barely discernible through the flying
scud, yet Hamlin was quick to perceive the advantage of their
position--the overhanging bluff was complete protection from any attack
except along the open bank of the river. Two armed men could defend
the spot against odds. And below, a hundred yards away, perhaps--it
was hard to judge through that smother--the bare limbs of several
stunted cottonwoods waved dismally against the gray sky. Hesitating,
his eyes searching the barrenness above to where the stream bent
northward and disappeared, he turned at last and tramped downward along
the edge of the stream. Across stretched the level, white prairie,
beaten and obscured by the storm, while to his left arose the steep,
bare bluff, swept clear by the wind, revealing its ugliness through the
haze of snow. Not in all the expanse was there visible a moving object
nor track of any kind. He was alone, in the midst of indescribable
desolation--a cold, dead, dreary landscape.
He came to the little patch of forest growth, a dozen gaunt, naked
trees at the river's edge, stunted, two of them already toppling over
the bank, apparently undermined by the water, threatening to fall
before each blast that smote them. Hoping to discover some splinters
for a fire, Hamlin kicked a clear space in the snow, yet kept his face
always toward the bluff, his eyes vigilantly searching for any skulking
figure. Silent as those desert surroundings appeared, the Sergeant
knew he was not alone. He had a feeling that he was being watched,
spied upon; that somewhere near at hand, crouching in that solitude,
the eyes of murder followed his every movement. Suddenly he
straightened up, staring at the bluff nearly opposite where he stood.
Was it a dream, an illusion, or was that actually the front of a cabin
at the base of the bank? He could not believe it possible, nor could
he be sure. If so, then it consisted merely of a room excavated in the
side of the hill, the opening closed in by cottonwood logs. It in no
way extended outward beyond the contour of the bank, and was so
plastered with snow as to be almost indistinguishable a dozen steps
away. Yet those were logs, regularly laid, beyond a doubt; he was
certain he detected now the dim outlines of a door, and a smooth wooden
shutter, to which the snow refused to cling, the size and shape of a
small window. His heart throbbing with excitement, the Sergeant
slipped in against the bluff for protection, moving cautiously closer
until he convinced himself of the reality of his strange discovery by
feeling the rough bark of the logs. It was a form of habitation of
some kind beyond question; apparently unoccupied, for there were no
tracks in the snow without, and no smoke of a fire visible anywhere.