THE LOST TRAIL
It was after seven o'clock when Hollis mounted his pony in the rear of
the _Kicker_ office and rode out over the plains toward the Circle
Bar. He was properly elated by the outcome of his affair with Ten Spot.
The latter had come to the _Kicker_ office as an enemy looking for
an opportunity to kill. He had left the office, perhaps not a friend,
but at least a neutral, sympathetic onlooker, for according to Hollis's
interpretation of his words at parting he would take no further part in
Dunlavey's campaign--at least he would do no more shooting.
Hollis was compelled to make a long detour in order to strike the Circle
Bar trail, and when at seven-thirty o'clock he rode down through a dry
arroyo toward a little basin which he must cross to reach a ridge that
had been his landmark during all his trips back and forth from Dry
Bottom to the Circle Bar, dusk had fallen and the shadows of the
oncoming night were settling somberly down over the plains.
He rode slowly forward; there was no reason for haste, for he had told
Potter to say nothing about the reason of his delay in leaving Dry
Bottom, and Potter would not expect him before nine o'clock. Hollis had
warmed toward Potter this day; there had been in the old printer's
manner that afternoon a certain solicitous concern and sympathy that had
struck a responsive chord in his heart. He was not a sentimentalist, but
many times during his acquaintance with Potter he had felt a genuine
pity for the man. It had been this sentiment which had moved him to ask
Potter to remove temporarily to the Circle Bar, though one consideration
had been the fact at the Circle Bar he would most of the time be beyond
the evil influence of Dry Bottom's saloons. That Potter appreciated this
had been shown by his successful fight against temptation the night
before, when postponement of the publication of the _Kicker_ would
have been fraught with serious consequences.
Riding down through the little basin at the end of the arroyo Hollis
yielded to a deep, stirring satisfaction over the excellent beginning he
had made in his fight against Dunlavey and the interests behind him.
Many times he smiled, thinking of the surprise his old friends in the
East must have felt over the perusal of their copies of the
_Kicker_; over the information that he--who had been something of a
figure in Eastern newspaperdom--had become the owner and editor of a
newspaper in a God-forsaken town in New Mexico, and that at the outset
he was waging war against interests that ridiculed a judge of the United
States Court. He smiled grimly. They might be surprised, but they must
feel, all who knew him, that he would stay and fight until victory
rewarded him or until black, bitter defeat became his portion. There
could be no compromise.
When he reached the ridge toward which he had been riding for the
greater part of an hour night had come. The day had been hot, but there
had been a slight breeze, and in the _Kicker_ office, with the
front and rear doors open, he had not noticed the heat very much. But
just as he reached the ridge he became aware that the breeze had died
down; that waves of hot, sultry air were rising from the sun-baked
earth. Usually at this time of the night there were countless stars, and
now as he looked up into the great, vast arc of sky he saw no stars at
all except away down in the west in a big rift between some mountains.
He pulled up his pony and sat motionless in the saddle, watching the
sky. A sudden awe for the grandeur of the scene filled him. He
remembered to have seen nothing quite like it in the East.
Back toward Dry Bottom, and on the north and south, rose great, black
thunderheads with white crests, seeming like mountains with snowcapped
peaks. Between the thunder-heads were other clouds, of grayish-white,
fleecy, wind-whipped, weird shapes, riding on the wings of the
Storm-Kings. Other clouds flanked these, moving slowly and
majestically--like great ships on the sea--in striking contrast to the
fleecy, unstable shapes between the thunderheads, which, though rushing
always onward, were riven and broken by the irresistible force behind
them. To Hollis it seemed there were two mighty opposing forces at work
in the sky, marshalling, maneuvering, preparing for conflict. While he
sat motionless in the saddle watching, a sudden gust of cold wind
swirled up around him, dashed some fine, flint-like sand against his
face and into his eyes, and then swept onward. He was blinded for an
instant, and allowed the reins to drop on his pony's neck while he
rubbed his eyes with his fingers. He sat thus through an ominous hush
and then to his ears came a low, distant rumble.
He touched his pony lightly on the flanks with his spurs and headed it
along the ridge, convinced that a storm was coming and suddenly
realizing that he was many miles from shelter.
He had traveled only a little distance when clouds of sand and dust,
wind-driven, enveloped him, blinding him again, stinging his face and
hands and blotting out the landmarks upon which he depended to guide him
to the Circle Bar. The sky had grown blacker; even the patch of blue
that he had seen in the rift between the distant mountains was now gone.
There was nothing above him--it seemed--except inky black clouds,
nothing below but chaos and wind. He could not see a foot of the trail
and so he gave the pony the rein, trusting to its instinct.
When Norton had provided him with an outfit the inevitable tarpaulin had
not been neglected. Hollis remembered that this was attached to the
cantle of the saddle, and so, after he had proceeded a little way along
the crest of the ridge, he halted the pony, dismounted, unstrapped the
tarpaulin, and folded it about him. Then he remounted and continued on
his way, mentally thanking Norton for his foresight.
The pony had negotiated the ridge; had slowly loped down its slope to a
comparatively low and level stretch of country, and was traveling
steadily forward, when Hollis noticed a change in the atmosphere. It had
grown hot again--sultry; the heat seemed to cling to him. An ominous
calm had succeeded the aerial disturbance. From a great distance came a
slight sound--a gentle sighing--gradually diminishing until it died away
entirely. Then again came the ominous, premonitory silence--an absolute
absence of life and movement. Hollis urged the pony forward, hoping the
calm would last until he had covered a goodly part of the distance to
the Circle Bar. For a quarter of an hour he went on at a good pace. But
he had scarcely reached the edge of a stretch of broken country--which
he dreaded even in the daylight--when the storm was upon him.
It did not come unheralded. A blinding flash of lightning illuminated
miles of the surrounding country, showing Hollis the naked peaks of
ridges and hills around him; gullies, draws, barrancas, the levels, lava
beds, fantastic rock shapes--mocking his ignorance of the country. He
saw them all for an instant and then they were gone and
darkness--blacker than before--succeeded. It was as though a huge map
had suddenly been thrust before his eyes by some giant hand, an intense
light thrown upon it, and the light suddenly turned off. Immediately
there came a heavy crash as though the Storm-Kings, having marshalled
their forces, had thrown them together in one, great, clashing onrush.
And then, straight down, roaring and shrieking, came the deluge.
The wise little plains-pony halted, standing with drooping head,
awaiting the end of the first fierce onslaught. It lasted long and when
it had gone another silence, as ominous as the preceding one, followed.
The rain ceased entirely and the pony again stepped forward, making his
way slowly, for the trail was now slippery and hazardous. The baked
earth had become a slimy, sticky clay which clung tenaciously to the
pony's hoofs.
For another quarter of an hour the pony floundered through the mud,
around gigantic boulders, over slippery hummocks, across little gullies,
upon ridges and small hills and down into comparatively level stretches
of country. Hollis was beginning to think that he might escape a bad
wetting after all when the rain came again.
This time it seemed the Storm-Kings were in earnest. The rain came down
in torrents; Hollis could feel it striking against his tarpaulin in
long, stinging, vicious slants, and the lightning played and danced
along the ridges and into the gullies with continuing energy, the
thunder following, crashing in terrific volleys. It was uncomfortable,
to say the least, and the only consoling thought was that the deluge
would prove a God-send to the land and the cattle. Hollis began to wish
that he had remained in Dry Bottom for the night, but of course Dry
Bottom was not to be thought of now; he must devote all his energy to
reaching the ranch.
It was slow work for the pony. After riding for another quarter of an
hour Hollis saw, during another lightning flash, another of his
landmarks, and realized that in the last quarter of an hour he had
traveled a very short distance. The continuing flashes of lightning had
helped the pony forward, but presently the lightning ceased and a dense
blackness succeeded. The pony went forward at an uncertain pace; several
times it halted and faced about, apparently undecided about the trail.
After another half hour's travel and coming to a stretch of level
country, the pony halted again, refusing to respond to Hollis's repeated
urging to go forward without guidance. For a long time Hollis continued
to urge the animal--he cajoled, threatened--but the pony would not
budge. Hollis was forced to the uncomfortable realization that it had
lost the trail.
For a long time he sat quietly in the saddle, trying in the dense
darkness to determine upon direction, but he finally gave it up and with
a sudden impulse took up the reins and pulled the pony to the left,
determined to keep to the flat country as long as possible.
He traveled for what seemed several miles, the pony gingerly feeling its
way, when suddenly it halted and refused to advance. Something was
wrong. Hollis leaned forward, attempting to peer through the darkness
ahead, but not succeeding. And now, as though having accomplished its
design by causing Hollis to lose the trail, the lightning flashed again,
illuminating the surrounding country for several miles.
Hollis had been peering ahead when the flash came and he drew a deep
breath of horror and surprise. The pony had halted within a foot of the
edge of a high cliff whose side dropped away sheer, as though cut with a
knife. Down below, perhaps a hundred feet, was an immense basin, through
which flowed a stream of water. To Hollis's right, parallel with the
stream, the cliff sloped suddenly down, reaching the water's edge at a
distance of two or three hundred feet. Beyond that was a stretch of
sloping country many miles in area, and, also on his right, was a long,
high, narrow ridge. He recognized the ridge as the one on which he and
Norton had ridden some six weeks before--on the day he had had the
adventure with Ed Hazelton. Another flash of lightning showed him two
cotton-wood trees--the ones pointed out to him by Norton as marking Big
Elk crossing--the dead line set by Dunlavey and his men.
Hollis knew his direction now and he pulled the pony around and headed
it away from the edge of the cliff and toward the flat country which he
knew led down through the canyon to Devil's Hollow, where he had taken
leave of Ed and Nellie Hazelton. He was congratulating himself upon his
narrow escape when a flash of lightning again illuminated the country
and he saw, not over a hundred feet distant, sitting motionless on their
ponies, a half dozen cowboys. Also on his pony, slightly in advance of
the others, a grin of derision on his face, was Dunlavey.