In the astonishment with which Mary’s unexpected presence confused him
for a moment, Alan stood at the edge of the trap, staring down at her
pale face, heedless of the terrific gun-fire that was assailing the
cabin. That she had not gone with Keok and Nawadlook, but had come back
to him, filled him with instant dread, for the precious minutes he had
fought for were lost, and the priceless time gained during the parley
with Rossland counted for nothing.
She saw his disappointment and his danger, and sprang up to seize his
hand and pull him down beside her.
“Of course you didn’t expect me to go,” she said, in a voice that no
longer trembled or betrayed excitement. “You didn’t want me to be a
coward. My place is with you.”
He could make no answer to that, with her beautiful eyes looking at him
as they were, but he felt his heart grow warmer and something rise up
chokingly in his throat.
“Sokwenna is dead, and Rossland lies out there—shot under a flag of
truce,” he said. “We can’t have many minutes left to us.”
He was looking at the square of light where the tunnel from the
cellar-pit opened into the ravine. He had planned to escape through
it—alone—and keep up a fight in the open, but with Mary at his side it
would be a desperate gantlet to run.
“Where are Keok and Nawadlook?” he asked.
“On the tundra, hurrying for the mountains. I told them it was your
plan that I should return to you. When they doubted, I threatened to
give myself up unless they did as I commanded them. And—Alan—the ravine
is filled with the rain-mist, and dark—” She was holding his free hand
closely to her breast.
“It is our one chance,” he said.
“And aren’t you glad—a little glad—that I didn’t run away without you?”
Even then he saw the sweet and tremulous play of her lips as they
smiled at him in the gloom, and heard the soft note in her voice that
was almost playfully chiding; and the glory of her love as she had
proved it to him there drew from him what he knew to be the truth.
“Yes—I am glad. It is strange that I should be so happy in a moment
like this. If they will give us a quarter of an hour—”
He led the way quickly to the square of light and was first to creep
forth into the thick mist. It was scarcely rain, yet he could feel the
wet particles of it, and through this saturated gloom whining bullets
cut like knives over his head. The blazing cabin illumined the open on
each side of Sokwenna’s place, but deepened the shadows in the ravine,
and a few seconds later they stood hand in hand in the blanket of fog
that hid the coulée.
Suddenly the shots grew scattering above them, then ceased entirely.
This was not what Alan had hoped for. Graham’s men, enraged and made
desperate by Rossland’s death, would rush the cabin immediately.
Scarcely had the thought leaped into his mind when he heard swiftly
approaching shouts, the trampling of feet, and then the battering of
some heavy object at the barricaded door of Sokwenna’s cabin. In
another minute or two their escape would be discovered and a horde of
men would pour down into the ravine.
Mary tugged at his hand. “Let us hurry,” she pleaded.
What happened then seemed madness to the girl, for Alan turned and with
her hand held tightly in his started up the side of the ravine,
apparently in the face of their enemies. Her heart throbbed with sudden
fear when their course came almost within the circle of light made by
the burning cabin. Like shadows they sped into the deeper shelter of
the corral buildings, and not until they paused there did she
understand the significance of the hazardous chance they had taken.
Already Graham’s men were pouring into the ravine.
“They won’t suspect we’ve doubled on them until it is too late,” said
Alan exultantly. “We’ll make for the kloof. Stampede and the herdsmen
should arrive within a few hours, and when that happens—”
A stifled moan interrupted him. Half a dozen paces away a crumpled
figure lay huddled against one of the corral gates.
“He is hurt,” whispered Mary, after a moment of silence.
“I hope so,” replied Alan pitilessly. “It will be unfortunate for us if
he lives to tell his comrades we have passed this way.”
Something in his voice made the girl shiver. It was as if the vanishing
point of mercy had been reached, and savages were at their backs. She
heard the wounded man moan again as they stole through the deeper
shadows of the corrals toward the nigger-head bottom. And then she
noticed that the mist was no longer in her face. The sky was clearing.
She could see Alan more clearly, and when they came to the narrow trail
over which they had fled once before that night it reached out ahead of
them like a thin, dark ribbon. Scarcely had they reached this point
when a rifle shot sounded not far behind. It was followed by a second
and a third, and after that came a shout. It was not a loud shout.
There was something strained and ghastly about it, and yet it came
distinctly to them.
“The wounded man,” said Alan, in a voice of dismay. “He is calling the
others. I should have killed him!”
He traveled at a half-trot, and the girl ran lightly at his side. All
her courage and endurance had returned. She breathed easily and
quickened her steps, so that she was setting the pace for Alan. They
passed along the crest of the ridge under which lay the willows and the
pool, and at the end of this they paused to rest and listen. Trained to
the varied night whisperings of the tundras Alan’s ears caught faint
sounds which his companion did not hear. The wounded man had succeeded
in giving his message, and pursuers were scattering over the plain
behind them.
“Can you run a little farther?” he asked.
“Where?”
He pointed, and she darted ahead of him, her dark hair streaming in a
cloud that began to catch a faint luster of increasing light. Alan ran
a little behind her. He was afraid of the light. Only gloom had saved
them this night, and if the darkness of mist and fog and cloud gave way
to clear twilight and the sun-glow of approaching day before they
reached the kloof he would have to fight in the open. With Stampede at
his side he would have welcomed such an opportunity of matching rifles
with their enemies, for there were many vantage points in the open
tundra from which they might have defied assault. But the nearness of
the girl frightened him. She, after all, was the hunted thing. He was
only an incident. From him could be exacted nothing more than the price
of death; he would be made to pay that, as Sokwenna had paid. For her
remained the unspeakable horror of Graham’s lust and passion. But if
they could reach the kloof, and the hiding-place in the face of the
cliff, they could laugh at Graham’s pack of beasts while they waited
for the swift vengeance that would come with Stampede and the herdsmen.
He watched the sky. It was clearing steadily. Even the mists in the
hollows were beginning to melt away, and in place of their dissolution
came faintly rose-tinted lights. It was the hour of dawn; the sun sent
a golden glow over the disintegrating curtain of gloom that still lay
between it and the tundras, and objects a hundred paces away no longer
held shadow or illusionment.
The girl did not pause, but continued to run lightly and with
surprising speed, heeding only the direction which he gave her. Her
endurance amazed him. And he knew that without questioning him she had
guessed the truth of what lay behind them. Then, all at once, she
stopped, swayed like a reed, and would have fallen if his arms had not
caught her.
“Splendid!” he cried.
She lay gasping for breath, her face against his breast. Her heart was
a swiftly beating little dynamo.
They had gained the edge of a shallow ravine that reached within half a
mile of the kloof. It was this shelter he had hoped for, and Mary’s
splendid courage had won it for them.
He picked her up in his arms and carried her again, as he had carried
her through the nigger-head bottom. Every minute, every foot of
progress, counted now. Range of vision was widening. Pools of sunlight
were flecking the plains. In another quarter of an hour moving objects
would be distinctly visible a mile away.
With his precious burden in his arms, her lips so near that he could
feel their breath, her heart throbbing, he became suddenly conscious of
the incongruity of the bird-song that was wakening all about them. It
seemed inconceivable that this day, glorious in its freshness, and
welcomed by the glad voice of all living things, should be a day of
tragedy, of horror, and of impending doom for him. He wanted to shout
out his protest and say that it was all a lie, and it seemed absurd
that he should handicap himself with the weight and inconvenient bulk
of his rifle when his arms wanted to hold only that softer treasure
which they bore.
In a little while Mary was traveling at his side again. And from then
on he climbed at intervals to the higher swellings of the gully edge
and scanned the tundra. Twice he saw men, and from their movements he
concluded their enemies believed they were hidden somewhere on the
tundra not far from the range-houses.
Three-quarters of an hour later they came to the end of the shallow
ravine, and half a mile of level plain lay between them and the kloof.
For a space they rested, and in this interval Mary smoothed her long
hair and plaited it in two braids. In these moments Alan encouraged
her, but he did not lie. He told her the half-mile of tundra was their
greatest hazard, and described the risks they would run. Carefully he
explained what she was to do under certain circumstances. There was
scarcely a chance they could cross it unobserved, but they might be so
far ahead of the searchers that they could beat them out to the kloof.
If enemies appeared between them and the kloof, it would be necessary
to find a dip or shelter of rock, and fight; and if pursuers from
behind succeeded in out-stripping them in the race, she was to continue
in the direction of the kloof as fast as she could go, while he
followed more slowly, holding Graham’s men back with his rifle until
she reached the edge of the gorge. After that he would come to her as
swiftly as he could run.
They started. Within five minutes they were on the floor of the tundra.
About them in all directions stretched the sunlit plains. Half a mile
back toward the range were moving figures; farther west were others,
and eastward, almost at the edge of the ravine, were two men who would
have discovered them in another moment if they had not descended into
the hollow. Alan could see them kneeling to drink at the little coulée
which ran through it.
“Don’t hurry,” he said, with a sudden swift thought. “Keep parallel
with me and a distance away. They may not discover you are a woman and
possibly may think we are searchers like themselves. Stop when I stop.
Follow my movements.”
“Yes, sir!”
Now, in the sunlight, she was not afraid. Her cheeks were flushed, her
eyes bright as stars as she nodded at him. Her face and hands were
soiled with muck-stain, her dress spotted and torn, and looking at her
thus Alan laughed and cried out softly:
“You beautiful little vagabond!”
She sent the laugh back, a soft, sweet laugh to give him courage, and
after that she watched him closely, falling in with his scheme so
cleverly that her action was better than his own—and so they had made
their way over a third of the plain when Alan came toward her suddenly
and cried, “Now, _run!_”
A glance showed her what was happening. The two men had come out of the
ravine and were running toward them.
Swift as a bird she was ahead of Alan, making for a pinnacle of rock
which he had pointed out to her at the edge of the kloof.
Close behind her, he said: “Don’t hesitate a second. Keep on going.
When they are a little nearer I am going to kill them. But you mustn’t
stop.”
At intervals he looked behind him. The two men were gaining rapidly. He
measured the time when less than two hundred yards would separate them.
Then he drew close to Mary’s side.
“See that level place ahead? We’ll cross it in another minute or two.
When they come to it I’m going to stop, and catch them where they can’t
find shelter. But you must keep on going. I’ll overtake you by the time
you reach the edge of the kloof.”
She made no answer, but ran faster; and when they had passed the level
space she heard his footsteps growing fainter, and her heart was ready
to choke her when she knew the time had come for him to turn upon their
enemies. But in her mind burned the low words of his command, his
warning, and she did not look back, but kept her eyes on the pinnacle
of rock, which was now very near. She had almost reached it when the
first shot came from behind her.
Without making a sound that would alarm her, Alan had stumbled, and
made pretense of falling. He lay upon his face for a moment, as if
stunned, and then rose to his knees. An instant too late Graham’s men
saw his ruse when his leveled rifle gleamed in the sunshine. The speed
of their pursuit was their undoing. Trying to catch themselves so that
they might use their rifles, or fling themselves upon the ground, they
brought themselves into a brief but deadly interval of inaction, and in
that flash one of the men went down under Alan’s first shot. Before he
could fire again the second had flattened himself upon the earth, and
swift as a fox Alan was on his feet and racing for the kloof. Mary
stood with her back against the huge rock, gasping for breath, when he
joined her. A bullet sang over their heads with its angry menace. He
did not return the fire, but drew the girl quickly behind the rock.
“He won’t dare to stand up until the others join him,” he encouraged
her. “We’re beating them to it, little girl! If you can keep up a few
minutes longer—”
She smiled at him, even as she struggled to regain her breath. It
seemed to her there was no way of descending into the chaos of rock
between the gloomy walls of the kloof, and she gave a little cry when
Alan caught her by her hands and lowered her over the face of a ledge
to a table-like escarpment below. He laughed at her fear when he
dropped down beside her, and held her close as they crept back under
the shelving face of the cliff to a hidden path that led downward, with
a yawning chasm at their side. The trail widened as they descended, and
at the last they reached the bottom, with the gloom and shelter of a
million-year-old crevasse hovering over them. Grim and monstrous rocks,
black and slippery with age, lay about them, and among these they
picked their way, while the trickle and drip of water and the
flesh-like clamminess of the air sent a strange shiver of awe through
Mary Standish. There was no life here—only an age-old whisper that
seemed a part of death; and when voices came from above, where Graham’s
men were gathering, they were ghostly and far away.
But here, too, was refuge and safety. Mary could feel it as they picked
their way through the chill and gloom that lay in the silent passages
between the Gargantuan rocks. When her hands touched their naked sides
an uncontrollable impulse made her shrink closer to Alan, even though
she sensed the protection of their presence. They were like colossi,
carved by hands long dead, and now guarded by spirits whose voices
guttered low and secretly in the mysterious drip and trickle of unseen
water. This was the haunted place. In this chasm death and vengeance
had glutted themselves long before she was born; and when a rock
crashed behind them, accidentally sent down by one of the men above, a
cry broke from her lips. She was frightened, and in a way she had never
known before. It was not death she feared here, nor the horror from
which she had escaped above, but something unknown and indescribable,
for which she would never be able to give a reason. She clung to Alan,
and when at last the narrow fissure widened over their heads, and light
came down and softened their way, he saw that her face was deathly
white.
“We are almost there,” he comforted. “And—some day—you will love this
gloomy kloof as I love it, and we will travel it together all the way
to the mountains.”
A few minutes later they came to an avalanche of broken sandstone that
was heaped half-way up the face of the precipitous wall, and up this
climbed until they came to a level shelf of rock, and back of this was
a great depression in the rock, forty feet deep and half as wide, with
a floor as level as a table and covered with soft white sand. Mary
would never forget her first glimpse of this place; it was unreal,
strange, as if a band of outlaw fairies had brought the white sand for
a carpet, and had made this their hiding-place, where wind and rain and
snow could never blow. And up the face of the cavern, as if to make her
thought more real, led a ragged fissure which it seemed to her only
fairies’ feet could travel, and which ended at the level of the plain.
So they were tundra fairies, coming down from flowers and sunlight
through that fissure, and it was from the evil spirits in the kloof
itself that they must have hidden themselves. Something in the humor
and gentle thought of it all made her smile at Alan. But his face had
turned suddenly grim, and she looked up the kloof, where they had
traveled through danger and come to safety. And then she saw that which
froze all thought of fairies out of her heart.
Men were coming through the chaos and upheaval of rock. There were many
of them, appearing out of the darker neck of the gorge into the clearer
light, and at their head was a man upon whom Mary’s eyes fixed
themselves in horror. White-faced she looked at Alan. He had guessed
the truth.
“That man in front?” he asked.
She nodded. “Yes.”
“Is John Graham.”
He heard the words choking in her throat.
“Yes, John Graham.”
He swung his rifle slowly, his eyes burning with a steely fire.
“I think,” he said, “that from here I can easily kill him!”
Her hand touched his arm; she was looking into his eyes. Fear had gone
out of them, and in its place was a soft and gentle radiance, a prayer
to him.
“I am thinking of tomorrow—the next day—the years and years to come,
_with you_,” she whispered. “Alan, you can’t kill John Graham—not until
God shows us it is the only thing left for us to do. You can’t—”
The crash of a rifle between the rock walls interrupted her. The snarl
of a bullet followed the shot. She heard it strike, and her heart
stopped beating, and the rigidity of death came into her limbs and body
as she saw the swift and terrible change in the stricken face of the
man she loved. He tried to smile at her, even as a red blot came where
the streak of gray in his hair touched his forehead. And then he
crumpled down at her feet, and his rifle rattled against the rocks.
She knew it was death. Something seemed to burst in her head and fill
her brain with the roar of a flood. She screamed. Even the men below
hesitated and their hearts jumped with a new sensation as the terrible
cry of a woman rang between the rock walls of the chasm. And following
the cry a voice came down to them.
“John Graham, I’m going to kill you—_kill you_—”
And snatching up the fallen rifle Mary Standish set herself to the task
of vengeance.