THE FIGHT IN THE SNOW
The slope toward the south had not been swept clear by the wind, and
the horses broke through the crust to their knees, occasionally
stumbling into hollows where the drifts were deep. This made progress
slow, although Hamlin pressed forward recklessly, fully aware of what
it would mean should the fugitives emerge first, and thus achieve a
clear passage to the river. What was going on there to the right,
behind the fringe of low hills, could not be conjectured, but to the
left the riders could see clearly for a great distance over the
desolate, snow-draped land, down to the dark waters of the Canadian and
the shore beyond. It was all a deserted waste, barren of movement, and
no smoke bore evidence of any Indian encampment near by. A mile or
more to the west the river took a sharp bend, disappearing behind the
bluffs, and on the open plain, barely visible against the unsullied
mantle of snow, were dark specks, apparently moving, but in erratic
fashion. The distance intervening was too great for either man to
distinguish exactly what these might be, yet as they plunged onward
their keen eyes searched the valley vigilantly through the cold clear
air.
"Some of your long-horns, Hughes?" asked the Sergeant finally, pointing
as he turned and glanced back. "Quite a bunch of cattle, it looks to
me."
"Them thar ain't cows," returned the other positively. "Tha 're too
closely bunched up. I reckon it 'll be Black Kettle's pony herd."
"Then his village will lie in beyond the big bend there," and Hamlin
rose in his stirrups, shading his eyes. "The herders have n't driven
them far since the storm broke. You don't see any smoke, do you?"
Hughes shook his head.
"You would n't likely see none against thet gray sky; them ponies is
two er maybe three miles off, an' ther camp is likely a mile er so
further. Thar 's a big bend thar, as I remember; a sort o' level spot
with bluff all 'round, 'cept on the side o' ther river. We hed a
cattle corral thar onc't, durin' a round-up. Most likely that's whar
they are."
"And Le Fevre is heading straight for the spot. Well, he 'll have to
come out on this bench first."
"Yep, there sure ain't no valleys lying between. How many o' these
yere gulch openings have we got past already?"
"Three; there 's the fourth just ahead. That's the one they were
trailing through. No doubt about that, is there?"
"Not 'less them Injuns took to the ridge. They wus sure in the fourth
valley when we fust sighted the outfit back thar. Whatcher goin' ter
do, Sergeant? Jump 'em a hoss-back, an' just pump lead?"
Hamlin had thought this over as he rode and already had planned his
attack. The opening to the valley, along which Le Fevre's exhausted
party were slowly advancing toward them, seemed favorable--it was
narrow and badly choked with snow. It offered an ideal place for a
surprise and was far enough away from the Indian encampment--if the
latter was situated as Hughes believed, in the great bend above--so
that no echo of shots would carry that distance, even through the crisp
atmosphere. There were two things the Sergeant had determined to
accomplish if possible--the rescue of Miss Molly uninjured, and the
capture of Le Fevre. No matter how deeply he despised the man he could
not afford to have him killed. So far as the Indians were concerned
there would be no mercy shown, for if either one escaped he would carry
the news to the village. With all this in his mind the Sergeant swung
out of the saddle, dropping the rein to the ground, confident that the
tired cow-pony would remain quiet. His belt was buckled outside the
army overcoat, and he drew his revolver, tested it, and slipped it back
loosely into the holster. Then he pulled out the rifle from under the
flap of the saddle, grimly handling it in his gloved fingers. Hughes,
his head sunk into his fur collar, his hot breath steaming in the cold
atmosphere, watched him curiously.
"Lookin' fer a right smart fight, I reckon," he said, a trifle
uneasily. "Believe me, yer ain't goin' ter find thet fellar no spring
chicken. He 's some on ther gun play."
"I hope he knows enough to quit when he 's cornered," returned the
other pleasantly, sweeping his eyes to the opening in the hills, "for I
'm aiming to take him back to Kansas alive."
"The hell ye are!"
"That 's the plan, pardner, and I 've got reason for it. I knew Le
Fevre once, years ago, during the war, and I 've been some anxious to
get my hands on him ever since. He 's worth far more to me alive than
dead, just now, and, Hughes," his voice hardening, "you 'll bear that
fact in mind when the fracas begins. From now on this is my affair,
not yours. You understand? You get busy with the two bucks, and leave
the white man to me. Come on now,--dismount."
Hughes came to the ground with evident reluctance, swearing savagely.
"What do yer think I 'm yere for," he demanded roughly, "if it wa'n't
to shoot that cuss?"
Hamlin strode swiftly over, and dropped a hand on the shaggy shoulder.
"You are here because I ordered you to come with me; because if you
hadn't I would have killed you back there in the shack, you red-handed
murderer. Now listen, Hughes. I know what you are--a cattle thief.
You and Le Fevre belong to the same outfit, only he was the smarter of
the two. I have spared your life for a purpose, and if you fail me now
I 'll shoot you down as I would a dog. Don't try to threaten me, you
cur, for I am not that kind. I am not trusting you; I have n't from
the first, but you are going into this fight on my side, and under my
orders."
The two men glared into each other's eyes, silent, breathing hard, but
there was a grim determination about the Sergeant's set jaw that left
Hughes speechless. He grinned weakly, stamping down the snow under
foot. Hamlin's continued silence brought a protest to his lips.
"Damn if I know why you say that," he began. "Haven't I been square?"
"Because I know your style, Hughes. You hate Le Fevre for the dirty
trick he played on you, but you 'd sell out to him again in five
minutes if you thought there was any money in it. I don't propose
giving you the chance. You 'll go ahead, and you are in more danger
from me than that outfit yonder. Now move, and we 'll take a look up
the valley."
They ploughed a way through the drifts to the mouth of the narrow
opening between the hills, dropping to their knees in the snow, and
cautiously creeping forward the last few yards. Hamlin, convinced that
fear alone could control the ex-cowthief, kept slightly to the rear.
"Now wait, Hughes," he said, his voice lowered but still tense with
command. "Be careful, man. Crawl up there in between those drifts,
and look over. Keep down low, you fool."
The two men wriggled slowly forward, smothered in the snowdrift, until
Hughes' eyes barely topped the surface. Hamlin lay outstretched a foot
below, watchful for the slightest sign of treachery. The cowman stared
up the depression, blinking his eyes in the snow glare. The impatient
Sergeant gripped his arm.
"Well, what is it? Are they coming?"
"You bet, an' about dead, from the looks of 'em. Them fellars ain't
lookin' fer nuthin'. I reckon I could stand up straight yere an' they
'd never see me. Take a look yerself; it's safe 'nough."
Hamlin drew himself up, and peered out over the snow, but still gripped
the other's arm. With his first glance up the valley there swept over
him a strange feeling of sympathy for those he was hunting. It was a
dismal, depressing picture--the bare, snow-covered hillsides, and
between, floundering weakly through the drifts, the little party of
fugitives, the emaciated ponies staggering with weakness, the men on
foot, reeling as they tramped forward, their heads lowered in utter
weariness. The girl alone was in saddle, so wrapped about in blankets
as to be formless, even her face concealed. The manner in which she
swayed to the movements of the pony, urged on by one of the Indians,
was evidence that she was bound fast, and helpless. At sight of her
condition Hamlin felt his old relentless purpose return. He was
plainsman enough to realize what suffering those men had passed through
before reaching such extremity, and was quick to appreciate the full
meaning of their exhaustion, and to sympathize with it. He had passed
through a similar baptism, and remembered the desperate clutch of the
storm-king.
But the sight of that poor girl swaying helplessly in the saddle, a
bound prisoner in the midst of those ruffians, who had murdered her
father before her eyes and who were bearing her to all the unspeakable
horrors of Indian captivity, instantly stifled within him every plea of
mercy. No matter what they had suffered, they were a ruthless,
merciless gang of cut-throats and thieves, fleeing from justice,
deserving of no consideration. Yet their distressed appearance, their
lack of vigilance, rendered him careless. They seemed too weak to
resist, too exhausted to fight; the cold plucking at their hearts had
seemingly already conquered. It was this impression which caused him
to act recklessly, rising to his feet, rifle in hand, directly in their
track, halting their advance with stern command.
"Hands up! Quick now, the three of you! Don't wait, Dupont; I 've got
the drop!"
The white man was in front, a huge, shapeless figure in his furs, his
black beard frosted oddly. He stood motionless, astounded at this
strange apparition in blue cavalry overcoat, which had sprung up so
suddenly in that wilderness. For an instant he must have deemed the
vision confronting him some illusion of the desert, for he never
stirred except to rub a gloved hand across his eyes.
"By all the gods, Dupont," roared the Sergeant impatiently, "do you
want me to shoot? Damn you, throw up your hands!"
Slowly, as though his mind was still in a dream, the man's hands were
lifted above his head, one grasping a short, sawed-off gun. The
expression upon his face was ugly, as he began to dimly understand what
this unexpected hold-up meant. There followed an instant of silence,
in which Hamlin, forgetful of Hughes, who still remained lying quiet in
the snow, took a step or two forward, rifle at shoulder. The two
Indians, swathed in blankets, but with arms upraised, were in direct
line, motionless as statues. He could see the gleam of their dark
eyes, and even noticed the figure of the girl straighten in the saddle.
Dupont gave fierce utterance to an oath. Apparently he failed to
recognize the soldier, but as Hughes rose to his knees, suspicion
leaped instantly to his brain.
"A hold-up, hey!" he said coolly. "Hughes, you sneaking old coward,
come out into the open once. What is it you want?"
"Nothing to that, Dupont," returned the Sergeant, glancing back
questioningly toward his companion. "Your old partner is here under my
orders. I am Sergeant Hamlin, Seventh Cavalry. Throw down that gun!"
"What! You--"
"Yes, you are my prisoner, I 've followed you from Dodge. Throw down
the gun!"
It was dropped sullenly into the snow.
"Now, Hughes, go ahead, and disarm those Indians."
The cowman shuffled forward, revolver in hand, circling to keep safely
beyond reach of Dupont, who eyed him maliciously. The latter was so
buttoned up in a buffalo coat as to make it impossible for him to reach
a weapon, and Hamlin permitted his eyes to waver slightly, as he
watched the Indians. What occurred the next instant came so suddenly
as scarcely to leave an impression. It was swift, instinctive action,
primitive impulse. An Indian hand fell beneath its blanket covering;
there was a flash of flame across a pony's saddle; Hughes sprang
backward, and went reeling into the snow. Hamlin fired, as the savage
dodged between the horse's legs, sending him sprawling, and, ignoring
the other Indian, swung about to cover Dupont. Swift as he moved, he
was too late. With one desperate spring backward the white man was
behind the woman's pony, sheltered by her shapeless figure, gripping
the animal's bit. The second Indian dropped to his knees and opened
fire. With a sudden lurch forward the Sergeant plunged headlong in the
snow.