A LESSON
The heat-wave, which had made even the desert-dwellers pant, came to an
end with the Jail Canyon waterspout; the nights became bearable, the
rocks cooled off and the sun ceased to strike through men's clothes. But
there was one, still clinging to her faded bib-overalls, who took no joy
in the blessed release. Wilhelmina was worried, for the sightseers from
Blackwater had disappeared as soon as Wunpost rode away; and now, two
days later, his dog had come back, meeching and whining and licking its
feet. Good Luck had left Wunpost and returned to the ranch, where he was
sure of food and a friend; but now that he was fed he begged and
whimpered uneasily and watched every move that she made. And every time
that she started towards the trail where Wunpost had ridden away he
barked and ran eagerly ahead. Billy stood it until noon, then she caught
up Tellurium and rode off after the dog.
He led up the trail, where he had run so often before, but over the
ridge he turned abruptly downhill and Billy refused to follow. Wunpost
certainly had taken the upper trail, for there were his tracks leading
on; and the dog, after all, had no notion of leading her to his master.
He was still young and inexperienced, though with that thoroughbred
smartness which set him apart from the ordinary cur; but when she made
as though to follow he cut circles with delight and ran along enticingly
in front of her. So Billy rode after him, and at the foot of the hill
she found mule-tracks heading off north. Wunpost had made a wide detour
and come back, probably at night, to throw off his pursuers and start
fresh; but as she followed the tracks she found where several horse
tracks had circled and cut into his trail. She picked up Good Luck, who
was beginning to get footsore, and followed the mule-tracks at a lope.
Near the mouth of the canyon they struck out over the mud, which the
cloudburst had spread out for miles, but now they were across and going
down the slope which a thousand previous floods had laid. Ahead lay Warm
Springs, where the Indians sometimes camped; but the trail cut out
around them and headed for Fall Canyon, the next big valley to the
north. She rode on steadily, her big pistol that Wunpost had once
borrowed now back in its accustomed place; and the fact that she had
failed to tell her parents of her intentions did not keep her from
taking up the hunt. Wunpost was in trouble, and she knew it; and now she
was on her way, either to find him or to make sure he was safe.
The trail up Fall Canyon twists and winds among wash boulders, over
cut-banks and up sandy gulches; but at the mouth of the canyon it
plunges abruptly into willow-brush and leads on up the bed of a dry
creek. Once more the steep ridges closed in and made deep gorges, the
hillsides were striped with blues and reds; and along the ancient trail
there were tunnels and dumps of rock where prospectors had dug in for
gold. There were dog tracks in the mud showing where Good Luck had come
down, and she knew Wunpost must be up there somewhere; but when she came
upon a mule, lying down under his pack, she started and clutched at her
gun. The mule jumped up noisily and ran smashing through the willows,
then turned with a terrifying snort; and as she drew rein and stopped
Good Luck sprang to the ground and rushed silently off up the canyon.
Billy followed along cautiously, driving the snorting mule before her
and looking for something she feared to find. A buzzard rose up slowly,
flopping awkwardly to clear the canyon wall, and her heart leapt once
and stood still. There in the open lay Wunpost's horse, its sharp-shod
feet in the air, and there was a bullet-hole through its side. She
stopped and looked about, at the ridge, at the sky, at the knife-like
gash ahead; and then she set her teeth and spurred up the canyon to
where the dog had set up a yapping.
He was standing by a tunnel at the edge of the creek, wagging his tail
and waiting expectantly; and when she came in sight he dashed half-way
to meet her and turned back to the hole in the hill. She rode up to its
mouth, her eyes straining into the darkness, her breath coming in short,
quick gasps; and Tellurium, advancing slowly, suddenly flew back and
snorted as a voice came out from the depths.
"Hello, there!" it hailed; "say, bring me a drink of water. This is
Calhoun--I'm shot in the leg."
"Well, what are you hiding in there for?" burst out Billy as she
dismounted; "why don't you crawl out and get some yourself?"
Now that she knew he was alive a swift impatience swept over her, an
unreasoning anger that he had caused her such a fright, and as she
unslung her canteen and started for the tunnel her stride was almost
vixenish. But when she found him stretched out on the bare, uneven rocks
with one bloody leg done up in bandages, she knelt down suddenly and
held out the canteen, which he seized and almost drained at one drink.
"Fine! Fine!" he smacked; "began to think you wasn't coming--did you
bring along that medicine I wrote for?"
"Why, what medicine?" exclaimed Billy. "No, I didn't find a note--Good
Luck must have lost it on the way."
"Well, never mind," he said; "just catch one of my mules and we'll go
back to the ranch after dark."
"But who shot you?" clamored Billy, "and what are you in here for? We'll
start back home right now!"
"No we won't!" he vetoed; "there's some Injuns up above there and
they're doing their best to git me. You can't see 'em--they're hid--but
when I showed myself this noon some dastard took a crack at me with his
Winchester. Did you happen to bring along a little grub?"
"Why, yes," assented Billy, and went out in a kind of trance--it was so
unreasonable, so utterly absurd. Why should Indians be watching to shoot
down Wunpost when he had always been friendly with them all? And for
that matter, why should anyone desire to kill him--that certainly could
never lead them to his mine. The men who had come to the ranch were
Blackwater prospectors--she knew them all by sight--and if it was they
who had followed him she was absolutely sure that Wunpost had started
the fight. She stepped out into the dazzling sunshine and looked up at
the ridges that rose tier by tier above her, but she had no fear either
of white men or Indians, for she had done nothing to make them her
enemies. Whoever they were, she knew she was safe--but Wunpost was
hiding in a cave. All his bravado gone, he was afraid to venture out
even to wet his parched throat at the creek.
"What were you doing?" she demanded when she had given him her lunch,
and Wunpost reared up at the challenge.
"I was riding along that trail," he answered defiantly, "and I wasn't
doing a thing. And then a bullet came down and got me through the leg--I
didn't even hear the shot. All I know is I was riding and the next thing
I knew I was down and my horse was laying on my leg. I got out from
under him somehow and jumped over into the brush, and I've been hiding
here ever since. But it's Lynch that's behind it--I know that for a
certainty--he's hired some of these Injuns to bushwhack me."
"Have you seen them?" she asked unbelievingly.
"No, and I don't need to," he retorted. "I guess I know Injuns by this
time. That's just the way they work--hide out on some ridge and pot a
man when he goes by. But they're up there, I know it, because one of
them took a shot at me this noon--and anyhow I can just _feel_
'em!"
"Well, _I_ can't," returned Billy, "and I don't believe they're
there; and if they are they won't hurt me. They all know me too well,
and we've always been good to them. I'm going up to catch your mules."
"No, look out!" warned Wunpost; "them devils are treacherous, and I
wouldn't put it past 'em to shoot you. But you wait till I get this leg
of mine fixed and I'll make some of 'em hard to ketch!"
"Now you see what you get," burst out Billy heartlessly, "for taking Mr.
Lynch to Poison Spring. I'm sorry you're shot, but when you get well I
hope this will be a lesson to you. Because if it wasn't for your dog,
and me running away from home, you never would get away from here
alive."
"Well, for cripes' sake!" roared Wunpost, "don't you think I know that
now? What's the use of rubbing it in? And you're dead right it'll be a
lesson--I'll ride the ridges, after this, and the next time I'll try to
shoot first. But you go up the canyon and throw the packs off them mules
and bring me Old Walker to ride. I ain't crippled; I'm all right, but
this leg is sure hurting me and I believe I'll take a chance. Saddle him
up and we'll start for the ranch."
Billy stepped out briskly, half smiling at his rage and at the straits
to which his anger had brought him; but when she heard his heavy
groaning as she helped him into the saddle her woman's heart was
touched. After all he was just a child, a big reckless boy, still
learning the hard lessons of life; and it had certainly been treacherous
for the assassin to shoot him without even giving him a chance. She rode
close beside him as they went down the canyon, to protect him from
possible bullets; and if Wunpost divined her purpose it did not prevent
him from keeping her between him and the ridge. The wound and the long
wait had shattered his nerves and made him weak and querulous, and he
cursed softly whenever he hit his sore leg; but back at the ranch his
spirits revived and he insisted upon going on to Blackwater.
Cole Campbell had cleaned his wound and drenched it well with dilute
carbolic, but though it was clean and would heal in a few days, Wunpost
demanded to be taken to town. He was restless and uneasy in the presence
of these people, whose standards were so different from his own; but
behind it all there was some hidden purpose which urged him on to Los
Angeles. It was shown in the set lips, the stern brooding stare and his
impatience with his motion-impeding leg; but to Billy it was shown most
by his oblivious glances and the absence of all proper gratitude. She
had done a brave deed in following his dog back and in rescuing him from
the bullets of his enemies, but when she drew near and tried to engage
him in conversation his answers were mostly in monosyllables. Only once
did he rouse up, and that was when she said that Lynch was even with him
now, and the look in his eyes gave Billy to understand that he was not
even with Lynch. That was it--he was unrepentant, he was brooding
revenge, he was planning even more desperate deeds; but he would not
tell her, or even admit that he was worried about anything but his leg.
It was hurting him, he said, and he wanted a good doctor to see it
before it grew worse; but when he went away he avoided her eye and Billy
ran off and wept.