THE CHASE
Hamlin never forgot those two days and nights of waiting, while the
storm roared without and the clouds of drifting snow made any dream of
advance impossible. Trained as he was to patience, the delay left
marks in his face, and his nerves throbbed with pain. His mind was
with her constantly, even in moments of uneasy sleep, picturing her
condition unsheltered from the storm, and protected only by Le Fevre
and his two Indian allies. If he could only reach them, only strike a
blow for her release, it would be such a relief. The uncertainty
weighed upon him, giving unrestricted play to the imagination, and,
incidentally awakening a love for the girl so overwhelming as almost to
frighten him. He had fought this feeling heretofore, sternly,
deliberately, satisfied that such ambition was hopeless. He would not
attempt to lower her to his level, nor give her the unhappiness of
knowing that he dared misconstrue her frank friendliness into aught
more tender. But these misfortunes had changed the entire outlook.
Now he flung all pretence aside, eager to place his life on the altar
to save her. Even a dim flame of hope began blazing in his heart--hope
that he might yet wring from Le Fevre a confession that would clear his
name. He knew his man at last--knew him, and would track him now with
all the pitiless ingenuity of a savage. Once he could stand erect,
absolved of disgrace, a man again among men, he would ignore the
uniform of the ranks, and go to her with all the pride of his race.
Ay! and down in his heart he knew that she would welcome his coming;
that her eyes would not look at the uniform, but down into the depths
of his own.
He thought of it all as he paced the floor, or stared into the fire,
while outside the wind raged and howled, piling the snow against the
cabin front, and whirling in mad bursts up the valley. It would be
death to face the fury of it on those open plains. There was nothing
left him but to swear, and pace back and forth. Twice he and Hughes
fought their way to the corral, found the horses sheltered in a little
cove, and brought them food and water. The struggle to accomplish this
was sufficient proof of the impossibility of going farther. Exhausted
and breathless they staggered back into the quietness of the cabin,
feeling as though they had been beaten by clubs. Once, desperate to
attempt something, Hamlin suggested searching for the bodies of Wasson
and Wade, but Hughes shook his head, staring at the other as though
half believing him demented. The Sergeant strode to the door and
looked out into the smother of snow; then came back without a word of
protest.
Carroll improved steadily, complaining of pain where the frost had
nipped exposed flesh, yet able to sit up, and eat heartily. There
remained a numbness in his feet and legs, however, which prevented his
standing alone, and both the others realized that he would have to be
left behind when the storm abated. Hughes would go without doubt; on
this point the Sergeant was determined. He did not altogether like or
trust the man; he could not blot from memory the cowardly shot which
had killed Wasson, nor entirely rid himself of a fear that he, himself,
had failed an old comrade, in not revenging his death; yet one thing
was clear--the man's hatred for Le Fevre made him valuable.
Treacherous as he might be by nature, now his whole soul was bent on
revenge. Moreover he knew the lay of the land, the trail the fugitives
would follow, and to some extent Black Kettle's camp. Little by little
Hamlin drew from him every detail of Le Fevre's life in the cattle
country, becoming more and more convinced that both men were thieves,
their herds largely stolen through connivance with Indians.
Undoubtedly Le Fevre was the bigger rascal of the two, and possessed
greater influence because of his marriage into the tribe.
It was the second midnight when the wind died down. Hamlin, sleeping
fitfully, seemed to sense the change; he rose, forced the door open,
and peered out eagerly. There was lightness to the sky, and all about,
the unbroken expanse of snow sparkled in cold crystals. Nothing broke
the white desolation but the dark waters of the river still unfrozen,
and the gaunt limbs of the cottonwoods, now standing naked and
motionless. The silence was profound, seeming almost painful after the
wild fury of the past days. He could hear the soft purr of the water,
and Carroll's heavy breathing. And it was cold, bitterly cold, the
chill of it penetrating to his very bones. But for that he had no
care--his mind had absorbed the one important fact; the way was open,
they could go. He shook Hughes roughly into wakefulness, giving
utterance to sharp, tense orders, as though he dealt with a man of his
own troop.
"Turn out--lively, now. Yes, the storm is over. It's midnight, or a
little after, and growing cold. Put on your heavy stuff, and bring up
the two best horses. Come, now; you 'll step off quicker than that,
Hughes, if you ride with me. I 'll have everything ready by the time
you get here. Eat! Hell! We 'll eat in the saddle! What's that,
Carroll?'
"Ye ain't a-goin' to leave me yere alone, are ye, Sergeant?"
"No; there 'll be two horses to keep you company. You've got a snap,
man; plenty to eat, and a good fire--what more do you want--a nurse?
Hughes, what, in the name of Heaven, are you standing there for?
Perhaps you would like to have me stir you up. I will if those horses
are not here in ten minutes."
The cowman, muffled to the ears in a buffalo coat, plunged profanely
into the drift, slamming the door behind him. Hamlin hastily glanced
over the few articles piled in readiness on the bench--ammunition,
blankets, food--paying no heed to Carroll's muttering of discontent.
By the time Hughes returned, he had everything strapped for the
saddles. He thrust the cowman's rifle under his own flap, but handed
the latter a revolver, staring straight into his eyes as he did so.
"I reckon you and I have got enough in common in this chase to play
square," he said grimly. "We 're both out after Le Fevre, ain't we?"
"You bet."
"All right, then; here 's your gun. If you try any trickery, Hughes, I
'd advise that you get me the first shot, for if you miss you 'll never
have another."
The man drew the sleeve of his coat over his lips, his eyes shifting
before the Sergeant's steady gaze.
"I ain't thet sort," he muttered uneasily. "Yer don't need to think
thet o' me."
"Maybe not," and Hamlin swung into the saddle carelessly. "Only I
thought I 'd tell you beforehand what would happen if you attempt any
fool gun-play. Take the lead, you know the trail."
Carroll, supporting himself by the table, crept across to the door and
watched them, reckless as to the entering cold. The glare of the white
snow revealed clearly the outlines of the disappearing horsemen, as
they rode cautiously down the bank. The thin fringe of shore ice broke
under the weight of the ponies' hoofs, as the riders forced them
forward into the icy water. A moment later the two crept up the sharp
incline of the opposite shore, appearing distinct against the sky as
they attained the summit. Hamlin waved his hand, and then, on a lope,
the figures vanished into the gloom. Crying, and swearing at his
helplessness, the deserted soldier closed the door, and crept back
shivering into his blankets.
Hughes turned his horse's head to the southwest, and rode steadily
forward, the buffalo overcoat giving him a shaggy, grotesque appearance
in the spectral light reflected from the snow. Without a word Hamlin
followed, a pace behind. Their route lay for the first few miles
across a comparatively level plateau, over which the fierce wind of the
late storm had swept with such violence as to leave the surface packed
firm. The night shut them in silently, giving to their immediate
surroundings a mournful loneliness most depressing. There were no
shadows, only the dull snow-gleam across which they passed like
spectres, the only sound the crunching of their horses' hoofs on the
crust. The Sergeant, staring about, felt that he had never looked upon
a more depressing spectacle than this gloomy landscape, desolate and
wind-swept, still over-arched with low-lying storm clouds, black and
ominous.
They advanced thus for two hours, making no attempt to force their
animals, and scarcely exchanging a word, both men watchful of the snow
underfoot in search of a possible trail, when the character of the
country began to change. The level plain broke into a series of ridges
of irregular formation, all evidently heading toward some more southern
valley. In the depressions the snow lay banked in deep drifts, and,
after plunging desperately through two of these, unable to judge
correctly in the dim light where to ride, Hughes turned more to the
south, skirting along the bare slope of a ridge, trusting some turn
lower down would yield them the necessary westerning.
"It's over the ponies' heads down thar, Sergeant," he said, pointing
sideways into the dark hollow, "an' we 're bound to strike a
cross-ridge afore we come to the bluffs."
"What bluffs? The Canadian?"
"Yep; it 's badly broken kintry a long ways west o' yere. Bad lands,
mostly, an' a hell o' a place for cattle to hide out."
"Hughes, do you know where Black Kettle's camp is?"
"Well, no, not exactly. Las' winter the Cheyennes was settled 'bout
opposite the mouth o' Buffalo Creek, an' thar 're down thar somewhar
now. Thar 's one thing sure--they ain't any east o' thet. As we ain't
hit no trail, I reckon as how Le Fevre's outfit must hev drifted
further then I calc'lated."
"I thought so at the time," commented the other quietly. "However, we
will have to make the circle, and, if the country out yonder is as you
describe, they will be no better off. They 'll have to follow the
ridges to get through. We may get a glimpse when daylight comes."
They rode on steadily, keeping down below the crest of the hills, yet
picking a passage where the snow had been swept clear. The
slipperiness of the incline made their progress slow, as they dared not
risk the breaking of a horse's leg in that wilderness, and the faint
light glimmer was most confusing. The wind had ceased, the calm was
impressive after the wild tumult, but the cold seemed to strengthen as
the dawn advanced, viciously biting the exposed faces of the men. The
straining ponies were white with frost. In the gray of a cheerless
dawn they reached the first line of bluffs, and drew rein just below
the summit, where they could look on across the lower ridges to the
westward.
It was a wild, desolate scene, the dull gray sky overhead, the black
and white shading below. Mile on mile the picture unrolled to the
horizon, the vista widening slowly as the light increased, bringing
forth the details of barren, wind-swept ridges and shallow valleys
choked with snow. Not a tree, not a shrub, not even a rock broke the
dead monotony. All was loneliness and silence. The snow lay gleaming
and untrampled, except as here and there a dull brown patch of dead
grass darkened the side of a hill. Hamlin shadowed his eyes with
gloved hands, studying intently inch by inch the wide domain. Suddenly
he arose in his stirrups, bending eagerly forward.
"By heaven! There they are, Hughes," he exclaimed, feeling the hot
blood course through his veins. "See, on the incline of that third
ridge. There is a shadow there, and they are not moving. Here; draw
in back of me; now you can see. It looks as though they had a horse
down."
Hughes stared long in the direction indicated, his eyes narrowed into
mere slits.
"Ah! that's it," he said at last. "Horse broke a leg; shot it jest
then--I seen the flash. Now they 're goin' on. See! One fellow
climbin' up behind 'nother, an' the horse left lyin' thar on the snow."
"How many people do you make out?" and Hamlin's voice shook a little.
"There's four, ain't there?"
At that distance the fugitives looked like mere black dots. It could
scarcely be determined that they moved, and yet their outlines were
distinct against the background of white snow, while the two watchers
possessed the trained vision of the plains. Hughes answered after a
deliberate inspection, without so much as turning his head.
"Thar's four; leastwise thar was four hosses, and two--the Injuns
likely--are ridin' double. Thar animals are 'bout played, it looks ter
me--just able ter crawl. Ain't had no fodder is 'bout the size o' it.
We ought to be able ter head thet bunch off 'fore they git to the
Canadian at thet rate o' travel--hey, Sergeant?"
Hamlin's eyes followed the long sweep of the cross-ridge, studying its
trend, and the direction of the intervening valleys. Once down on the
other slope all this extensive view would be hidden; they would have to
ride blindly, guessing at the particular swale along which those others
were advancing. To come to the summit again would surely expose them
to those keen Indian eyes. They would be searching the trail ahead
ceaselessly, noting every object along the crests of the ridges.
However, if the passage around was not blocked with snow, they ought to
attain the junction in ample time. With twice as far to travel, their
ponies were strong and fit, and should win out against Le Fevre's
starved beasts. He waved his gloved hand.
"We 'll try it," he said shortly; "come on, Hughes."
He led off along the steep side of the hill, and forcing his horse into
a sharp trot, headed straight out into the white wilderness; Hughes,
without uttering a word, brought down his quirt on his pony's flank and
followed.