After riding through the Blue Fork Charlie and Buck Tom came to a
stretch of open ground of considerable extent, where they could ride
abreast, and here the latter gave the former some account of the
condition of Shank Leather.
"Tell me, Ritson," said Charlie, "what you mean by Shank `nearly' and
`not quite' belonging to your band."
The outlaw was silent for some time. Then he seemed to make up his mind
to speak out.
"Brooke," he said, "it did, till this night, seem to me that all the
better feelings of my nature--whatever they were--had been blotted out
of existence, for since I came to this part of the world the cruelty and
injustice that I have witnessed and suffered have driven me to
desperation, and I candidly confess to you that I have come to hate
pretty nigh the whole human race. The grip of your hand and tone of
your voice, however, have told me that I have not yet sunk to the lowest
possible depths. But that is not what I mean to enlarge on. What I
wish you to understand is, that after Shank and I had gone to the dogs,
and were reduced to beggary, I made up my mind to join a band of men who
lived chiefly by their wits, and sometimes by their personal courage.
Of course I won't say who they are, because we still hang together, and
there is no need to say what we are. The profession is variously named,
and not highly respected.
"Shank refused to join me, so we parted. He remained for some time in
New York doing odd jobs for a living. Then he joined a small party of
emigrants, and journeyed west. Strange to say, although the country is
wide, he and I again met accidentally. My fellows wanted to overhaul
the goods of the emigrants with whom he travelled. They objected. A
fight followed in which there was no bloodshed, for the emigrants fled
at the first war-whoop. A shot from one of them, however, wounded one
of our men, and one of theirs was so drunk at the time of the flight
that he fell off his horse and was captured. That man was Shank. I
recognised him when I rode up to see what some of my boys were
quarrelling over, and found that it was the wounded man wanting to shove
his knife into Shank.
"The moment I saw his face I claimed him as an old chum, and had him
carried up to our headquarters in Traitor's Trap. There he has remained
ever since, in a very shaky condition, for the fall seems to have
injured him internally, besides almost breaking his neck. Indeed I
think his spine is damaged,--he recovers so slowly. We have tried to
persuade him to say that he will become one of us when he gets well, but
up to this time he has steadily refused. I am not sorry; for, to say
truth, I don't want to force any one into such a line of life--and he
does not look as if he'd be fit for it, or anything else, for many a day
to come."
"But how does it happen that you are in such straits just now?" asked
Charlie, seeing that Buck paused, and seemed unwilling to make further
explanations.
"Well, the fact is, we have not been successful of late; no chances have
come in our way, and two of our best men have taken their departure--one
to gold-digging in California, the other to the happy hunting grounds of
the Redskin, or elsewhere. Luck, in short, seems to have forsaken us.
Pious folk," he added, with something of a sneer, "would say, no doubt,
that God had forsaken us."
"I think pious people would not say so, and they would be wrong if they
did," returned Charlie. "In my opinion God never forsakes any one; but
when His creatures forsake him He thwarts them. It cannot be otherwise
if His laws are to be vindicated."
"It may be so. But what have I done," said Buck Tom fiercely, "to merit
the bad treatment and insufferable injustice which I have received since
I came to this accursed land? I cannot stand injustice. It makes my
blood boil, and so, since it is rampant here, and everybody has been
unjust to me, I have made up my mind to pay them back in their own coin.
There seems to me even a spice of justice in that."
"I wonder that you cannot see the fallacy of your reasoning, Ritson,"
replied Charlie. "You ask, `What have I done?' The more appropriate
question would be, `What have I _not_ done?' Have you not, according to
your own confession, rebelled against your Maker and cast Him off; yet
you expect Him to continue His supplies of food to you; to keep up your
physical strength and powers of enjoying life, and, under the name of
Luck, to furnish you with the opportunity of breaking His own commands
by throwing people in your way to be robbed! Besides which, have you
not yourself been guilty of gross injustice in leading poor weak Shank
Leather into vicious courses--to his great, if not irreparable, damage?
I don't profess to teach theology, Ralph Ritson, my old friend, but I do
think that even an average cow-boy could understand that a rebel has no
claim to forgiveness--much less to favour--until he lays down his arms
and gives in."
"Had any other man but you, Charlie Brooke, said half as much as you
have just said to me, I would have blown his brains out," returned the
outlaw sternly.
"I'm very glad no other man did say it, then," returned Charlie, "for
your hands must be sufficiently stained already. But don't let anger
blind you to the fact, Ralph, that you and I were once old friends; that
I am your friend still, and that, what is of far greater importance, the
Almighty is still your friend, and is proving His friendship by
thwarting you."
"You preach a strange doctrine," said Buck Tom, laughing softly, "but
you must end your sermon here in the meantime, for we have reached the
entrance to Traitor's Trap, and have not room to ride further abreast.
I will lead, and do you follow with care, for the path is none o' the
safest. My asking you to follow me is a stronger proof than you may
think that I believe in your friendship. Most strangers whom I escort
up this gorge are usually requested to lead the way, and I keep my
revolver handy lest they should stray from the track!"
The defile or gorge which they had reached was not inappropriately
named, for, although the origin of the name was unknown, the appearance
of the place was eminently suggestive of blackness and treachery. Two
spurs of the mountain range formed a precipitous and rugged valley
which, even in daylight, wore a forbidding aspect, and at night seemed
the very portal to Erebus.
"Keep close to my horse's tail," said Buck Tom, as they commenced the
ascent. "If you stray here, ever so little, your horse will break his
neck or legs."
Thus admonished, our hero kept a firm hand on the bridle, and closed up
as much as possible on his guide. The moon was by this time clouded
over, so that, with the precipitous cliffs on either side, and the great
mass of the mountains further up, there was only that faint sombre
appearance of things which is sometimes described as darkness visible.
The travellers proceeded slowly, for, besides the danger of straying off
the path, the steepness of the ascent rendered rapid motion impossible.
After riding for about three miles thus in absolute silence, they came
to a spot where the track became somewhat serpentine, and Charlie could
perceive dimly that they were winding amongst great fragments of rock
which were here and there over-canopied by foliage, but whether of trees
or bushes he could not distinguish. At last they came to a halt in
front of what appeared to be a cliff.
"Dismount here," said Buck in a low voice, setting the example.
"Is this the end of our ride?"
"It is. Give me the bridle. I will put up your horse. Stand where you
are till I return."
The outlaw led the horses away, leaving his former friend and
schoolfellow in a curious position, and a not very comfortable frame of
mind. When a man is engaged in action--especially if it be exciting and
slightly dangerous--he has not time to think much about his
surroundings, at least about their details, but now, while standing
there in the intense darkness, in the very heart--as he had reason to
believe--of a robber's stronghold, young Brooke could not help
questioning his wisdom in having thus thrown himself into the power of
one who had obviously deteriorated and fallen very low since the time
when in England they had studied and romped together. It was too late,
however, to question the wisdom of his conduct. There he _was_, and so
he must make the best of it. He did not indeed fear treachery in his
former friend, but he could not help reflecting that the reckless and
perhaps desperate men with whom that friend was now associated might not
be easy to restrain, especially if they should become acquainted with
the fact that he carried a considerable sum of money about him.
He was yet pondering his position when Buck Tom returned.
"Ralph Ritson," he said, laying his hand on the arm of the outlaw,
"you'll forgive my speaking plainly to you, I know. With regard to
yourself I have not a shadow of doubt that you will act the part of an
honourable host, though you follow a dishonourable calling. But I have
no guarantee that those who associate with you will respect my property.
Now, I have a considerable sum of money about me in gold and silver,
which I brought here expressly for the benefit of our poor friend Shank
Leather. What would you advise me to do in regard to it?"
"Intrust it to my care," said Buck promptly.
Charlie could not see the outlaw's face very clearly, but he could
easily detect the half-amused half-mocking tone in which the suggestion
was made.
"My good fellow," said Charlie, in a hearty voice, "you evidently think
I am afraid to trust you. That is a mistake. I do not indeed trust to
any remnant of good that is in your poor human nature, but I have
confidence in the good feeling which God is arousing in you just now. I
will freely hand over the money if you can assure me that you can guard
it from your comrades."
"_This_ will make it secure from _them_," returned Buck, with a short
defiant laugh.
"Humph" exclaimed Charlie with a shrug. "I've not much confidence in
_that_ safeguard. No doubt, in certain circumstances, and on certain
occasions, the revolver is a most important and useful instrument, but,
taking it all round, I would not put much store by it. When you met me
at the Blue Fork to-night, for instance, of what use was my revolver to
me? And, for the matter of that, after you had dropped it on the road
of what use was yours to you? It only wants one of your fellows to have
more pluck and a quicker eye and hand than yourself to dethrone you at
once."
"Well, none of my fellows," returned Buck Tom good-humouredly, "happen
to have the advantage of me at present, so you may trust me and count
this as one o' the `certain occasions' on which a revolver is a most
important instrument."
"I dare say you are right," responded Charlie, smiling, as he drew from
the breast of his coat a small bag and handed it to his companion.
"You know exactly, of course, how much is here?" asked Buck Tom.
"Yes, exactly."
"That's all right," continued Buck, thrusting the bag into the bosom of
his hunting coat; "now I'll see if any o' the boys are at home.
Doubtless they are out--else they'd have heard us by this time. Just
wait a minute."
He seemed to melt into the darkness as he spoke. Another minute and he
re-appeared.
"Here, give me your hand," he said; "the passage is darkish at first."
Charlie Brooke felt rather than saw that they had passed under a portal
of some sort, and were advancing along a narrow passage. Soon they
turned to the left, and a faint red light--as of fire--became visible in
the distance. Buck Tom stopped.
"There's no one in the cave but _him_, and he's asleep. Follow me."
The passage in which they stood led to a third and shorter one, where
the light at its extremity was intense, lighting up the whole of the
place so as to reveal its character. It was a corridor about seven feet
high and four feet wide cut out of the solid earth; arched in the roof
and supported here and there by rough posts to make it still more
secure. Charlie at once concluded that it led to one of those concealed
caverns, of which he had heard more than once while crossing the
country, the entrances of which are made in zig-zag form in order to
prevent the possibility of a ray of light issuing from the outside
opening.
On reaching the end of the third passage he found that his conjecture
was right, for the doorway or opening on his left hand conducted into a
spacious cave, also hollowed out of the earth, but apparently against a
perpendicular cliff, for the inner end of it was of unhewn rock. The
roof of the cave was supported by pillars which were merely sections of
pine-trees with the bark left on. These pillars and the earthen walls
were adorned with antlers, skulls, and horns of the Rocky mountain
sheep, necklaces of grizzly-bear's claws, Indian bows and arrows,
rifles, short swords, and various other weapons and trophies of the
chase, besides sundry articles of clothing. At the inner end of the
cave a large fireplace and chimney had been rudely built, and in this
was roaring the pine-wood fire which had lighted them in, and which
caused the whole interior to glow with a vivid glare that seemed to
surpass that of noon-day.
A number of couches of pine-brush were spread round the walls, and on
one of these lay a sleeping figure. The face was turned towards the
visitor, who saw at a glance that it was that of his former friend and
playmate--but it was terribly changed. Hard toil, suffering, sickness,
dissipation, had set indelible marks on it, and there was a slight curve
about the eyebrows which gave the idea of habitual pain. Yet strange to
say, worn and lined though it was, the face seemed far more attractive
and refined than it had ever been in the days of robust health.
Buck Tom went to the fire and began to stir the contents of a big pot
that hung over it, while Charlie advanced and stood for some minutes
gazing at the countenance of his friend, unwilling to disturb his
slumbers, yet longing to cheer him with the glad news that he had come
to succour him. He chanced, however, to touch a twig of the pine
branches on which the sleeper lay, and Shank awoke instantly, raised
himself on one elbow, and returned his friend's gaze earnestly, but
without the slightest symptom of surprise.
"O Charlie," he said at last in a quiet voice, "I wish you hadn't come
to me to-night."
He stopped, and Charlie felt quite unable to speak, owing to intense
pity, mingled with astonishment, at such a reception.
"It's too bad of you," Shank went on, "worrying me so in my dreams. I'm
weary of it; and if you only knew what a _terrible_ disappointment it is
to me when I awake and don't find you there, you wouldn't tantalise me
so. You always look so terribly real too! Man, I could almost pledge
my life that you are no deception this time, but--but I'm so used to it
now that--"
"Shank, my dear boy," said Charlie, finding words at last, "it _is_ no
deception--"
He stopped abruptly; for the intense look of eager anxiety, doubt, and
hope in the thin expressive face alarmed him.
"Charlie!" gasped, rather than said, the invalid, "you--you never
_spoke_ to me before in my dreams, and--you never _touched_--the grip of
your strong h--O God! _can_ it be true?"
At this point Buck Tom suddenly left off his occupation at the fire and
went out of the cave.