THE CRAZY WOMAN WINS
It would have been idle for Laramie to deny to himself, as she stepped
without hesitation under his roof, that he loved her; or that he could
step in after her and close his door for her and for him--even for an
hour--against the storm and the world, without a thrill deeper than he
had ever felt.
He leaned his rifle against the cabin wall; a blanket had been hung
completely over the window and he let down two heavy bars across the
door. Kate, in front of the fire, followed him with her eyes. "Don't
mind this," he said, noticing her look. "The place is watched a good
deal. I couldn't afford too much of a surprise any time."
While he was searching for a lamp, her eyes ran quickly over the dark
interior, lighted fitfully as the driftwood, snapping on the stone
hearth, flared at times into a blaze. Kate herself, despite the doubts
and fears of her situation, was conscious of a strange feeling in being
under Laramie's roof--at one with him in so far as he could make her
feel so. Like a roll of fleeting film, strange pictures flashed across
her mind and she could not help thinking more and more about the man
and his stubborn isolation.
He had taken off his coat and was trying to light the lamp. She looked
narrowly at the face illumined by the spluttering flare of the wick as
he stood over it, looking down and adjusting the flame; he seemed, she
was thinking--for her at least--so easy to get along with--for everyone
else, so hard.
A pounding at the door gave her a start. Hawk was returning from the
barn where he had taken the horses. Laramie showed no surprise and
walked over to lift the double bar only after he had got the lamp to
burn to suit him. She felt startled again when Laramie in the simplest
way made the formidable outlaw, who now walked in, known to her. The
picture of him as he swung roughly inside from the wild night was
unforgettable. Erect and with his piercing eyes hollowed by illness,
his impassive features made slender by suffering and framed by the
striking beard, Hawk seemed to Kate to confirm in his appearance every
fantastic story she had ever heard of him.
Not till after Laramie had urged him and Kate herself had joined in the
plea, would he come near her or near to the fire.
"A wet night and a blind trail do pretty well at mixing things up,"
observed Laramie. "However, we needn't make any further secrets. Abe,
here, has got it in his mind to head for a hospital tonight. You," he
looked at Kate, "are heading for home. I don't like either scheme very
much but I'm an innocent bystander. We'll ride three together till the
trails fork. Then," he spoke again to Kate, "we'll put you on a sure
trail for the ranch, and the two of us will head into town. It isn't
the way I planned, but it's one way out."
"The sooner we get started the better," said Hawk, curtly. The two men
discussed for a moment the trip; then Laramie and Hawk left the house
for the barn and corral to get up horses. Before leaving, Laramie
showed Kate how to drop the bars and cautioned her not to neglect to
secure the door. "Some of this bunch Van Horn has got out wouldn't be
very agreeable company."
"Surely they wouldn't harm me!"
"It would mean a nasty fight for us when we bring up the horses."
Kate secured the door. Wet and uncomfortable but undismayed by the
various turns of her predicament she sat down to study the fire. Her
eyes wandered through the gloom to the dark corners of the rough room
and over the crude furnishings.
The long, slender snowshoes on the wall, the big beaded moccasins with
them, the coiled lariats hung on the pegs in company with old spurs;
the bunk in the corner strewn with Indian blankets from the far-off
Spanish country, and overflowing with the skin of a grizzly--all
brought to mind and reflected an active life. The firelight glinted
the bright, bluish barrels of the rifles on the rack, to Kate, almost
sinisterly, for some of them must suggest a side of Laramie's life she
disliked to dwell on--yet she allowed herself to wonder which rifle he
took when he armed not for elk or grizzlies but for men. And then at
the side of the fireplace she saw fastened on the rough wall a faded
card photograph of a young woman--almost a girl. It was simply
framed--Kate wondered whether it might be his mother. Over the crude
wooden frame was hung an old rosary, the crucifix depending from the
picture. The beads were black and worn by use as if they had slipped
many times through girlish fingers.
She had a long time to let her thoughts run. The two men were not soon
back and she was beginning to wonder what might have happened, when,
standing at the door to listen, she heard noises outside and Laramie's
voice. She let him in at once. "You didn't have the door barred," he
said, suspiciously.
"Oh, yes, but I heard you speak."
He was alone. "We're ready," he said. "No dry clothes for you, but we
can't help it."
She protested she did not mind the wet. Hawk in the saddle was waiting
with their horses. Rain was still falling and with the persistent
certainty of a mountain storm. Kate, mounting with Laramie's help, got
her lines into her hands. "It's pretty dark," he said, standing at her
stirrup. "We'll have to ride slow. I go first, Hawk next, then you;
if our horses can make the trail yours likely can. I don't think we'll
meet anybody, but if we do it's better to know now what to do. If you
hear any talk that sounds like trouble, push out of the line as quick
as you can and throw yourself flat on the ground. Stay there till you
don't hear any more shooting, but hang on to your lines so you don't
lose your horse.
"The only other trouble might be your getting lost from us." He spoke
slowly as if thinking. "That must depend a good deal on you. Keep as
close as you can. Can you whistle?" Kate thought she could. "If you
can't make us hear," he continued, "shoot--have you got a pistol?" She
had none. He brought her a double action revolver from the cabin and
showed her how it worked. "Don't use it unless you have to. It might
be heard by more than us."
Kate stuck the revolver under her wet belt. "Why couldn't I ride with
you?" she asked.
"There's more danger riding ahead."
"No more for me than for you."
"I wouldn't say that. But if you want to try it, all right. Keep
close. Don't be afraid of bumping me--and Hawk can follow us."
There was nothing in the night to encourage heading into it. That men
could find their way with every possibility of landmark and sight
blotted out and nothing of sound above the downpour except the
tumultuous roar of the Turkey which they were following, was to Kate a
mystery of mysteries. Even the lightning soon deserted them. Their
pace was halted by washouts, obstructed by debris in the trail. In
places, the creek running bank-full, backed up over their path.
At times, Laramie halting his companions, rode slowly ahead, sounding
out the overflows and choosing the footing. Where streamlets poured
over rock outcroppings the horses slipped. Frequently to get his
bearings, Laramie felt his way forward by reaching for trees and
scraped his knees against them as he pushed his horse close. And in
spite of everything to confuse, intimidate and hold them back, they
slipped and floundered on their way, until quite suddenly a new roar
from out of the impenetrable dark struck their ears.
Laramie halted their party, and the three in silence, listened.
"That," said Laramie, after a moment, to Hawk, "sounds like the Crazy
Woman."
He went ahead to investigate. He was gone a long time, yet he groped
half a mile down the road and made his way back to his companions
without a signal. He was on foot. "We're all right," was the report
he brought, "it's a little dryer ahead. While I'm down," he said to
Kate, "I'll try your cinches. It's a mean night."
"Did you ever see such a night?" she echoed, shuddering.
"Plenty of 'em," returned Laramie. "Once we cross the creek the going
will be better."
Of the going between them and the creek, Laramie prudently said
nothing. It was the worst of the journey. Two stretches were filled
with backwater. Across these they cautiously waded and swam the
horses. When they gained high ground adjoining the creek, Kate
breathed more freely. There was a halt for reconnaissance. For this,
Laramie and Hawk, after placing Kate where she would be safe whether
they should come back or not, went forward together.
The splashing and floundering of their horses as the two left her side,
was gradually lost in the roar of the night and she was alone in the
darkness. They were gone a good while but Kate had enough of confused
and conflicting thought to occupy her reflections. After a long
interval the report of a Colt's struck her anxious ear. She swallowed
in sudden fear to listen more keenly. If there were a fight it would
be followed by another report and more. With her heart beating fast
she listened, but there was no successor to the single shot and,
calming somewhat, she speculated on just what it might mean. Again she
waited with such patience as she could until the measured splash of a
horse's feet nearing her through the shallow water announced someone's
approach. Laramie was back and alone.
Almost anybody in the world would have been welcome at such a juncture.
He called and she answered quickly, but he brought unwelcome news--the
little bridge that spanned the creek at this point was out.
"We can't get across, can we?" she exclaimed in disappointment.
"We can swim the creek if you're game for it."
"Could we possibly get across?"
"If I didn't expect to get across I'd sure never try it. It'll be a
wet crossing."
"I couldn't be wetter."
"Hawk asked if you could swim."
"I can't."
"I told him I didn't suppose you could."
"Are we all to go together?"
"He's over now. He signaled a minute ago. I told him I'd get you
across if he'd get you out. It's close to daybreak. Better take off
your coat."
While he strapped her coat to the saddle, she lightened and freed
herself as much as possible, disengaged, as he directed, her feet from
the stirrups, and they started for the creek. At the point he had
chosen for the plunge, he gave her a few admonitions, chiefly to the
effect of doing nothing except to cling to her seat in getting into the
flood and getting out. Just as her horse poised beside Laramie's a
wave of dread swept over her. It was very literally a plunge into the
dark. "Are you afraid?" he asked, divining her feeling.
Pride dictated her answer: "No," she said stoutly. "Though, of
course," she added with an attempt at lightness, "I'd prefer to cross
on a bridge."
"All in getting used to it, I suppose. I guess I've crossed here a
hundred times before there was any bridge. Don't get scared if your
head goes under water when your horse jumps in. The bank here is a
little high, but it's clean jumping. Say when you're ready."
"I'm ready."
"Go!"
With his hand on her bridle, he spoke loudly and sharply, kicked her
horse with one foot and punched his own horse with the other at the
same time. The next instant, gripped by an overpowering fear, and
breathless, Kate felt herself jerked into the air, then she plunged
headlong forward and sank into the boiling flood. Down, down she went,
her ears swooning with water, mouth and eyes tight shut, and moving she
knew not where or how until her head rose out of the flood and a voice
yelled above the tumult: "You're all right! Horse's doing fine. Hang
on!"
Then she was conscious of a hand clutching her upper arm, a hand so
strong her flesh winced within its grip. And she could feel the
powerful strokes of her horse as he panted and swam under her.
Above the terrifying swirl of the waters, carrying in the hardly
distinguishable light of the breaking day, a mass of debris that swept
about the two riders, the only sound was the hard breathing of the
horses and a shout repeated by Laramie, until at last it was answered
by Hawk somewhere in the darkness ahead.
Urging the horses to their task, Laramie guided them to where Kate
could make out portions of the creek bank. She could realize how fast
they were being carried down stream by the wild sweep of the current.
Trees flashed past her like phantoms, as if the bank were mad instead
of the creek. It seemed impossible she could ever make the bank, now
very near, and get up out of the water; only Laramie's hand locked firm
now in her horse's mane, his strong voice as he urged the horses or
called to Hawk, gave her the slightest hope of coming out alive.
Laramie cried to her to duck as a cottonwood leaning over the water
almost tore her cap and hair from her head. The next instant the
cottonwood was gone and, looking ahead, she saw a horseman on a slope
in the bank, his own horse half submerged. They had reached one of
several old fords. Here the two men had purposed to get Kate ashore.
But she did not know that this was the last of the ford crossings for a
mile--the only shelving bank--nor why Laramie made such superhuman
efforts to head her horse toward Hawk, to get to where the horse could
ground his feet. Hawk, in an effort to catch Kate's bridle, spurred
down to them till his own horse was afloat. Kate's horse struggled
desperately, lost headway and was swept below the ford opening. The
two men with shouts, curses and entreaties, guiding their own horses,
urged the hapless beast to greater effort; it was evident he could not
reach the ford.
"The roan can't make it," shouted Hawk. "Crowd him up to the ledge
where I can get hold of her."
Hawk, reining his horse hastily about, got him back up the shelving
ford, spurred down the bank to where Kate, despite Laramie's efforts,
was being driven by the sweep of the water and sprang from his horse.
Where Kate's horse struggled at that moment the creek bank rose
vertically above the peak of the flood. Deep water gave the horse no
chance for a foothold and it swam helplessly. Hawk, running along the
ledge, awaited his chance. It came at a moment that Laramie succeeded
in crowding the roan to the bank. Hawk saw the opportunity and held
his hand out to Kate:
"Reach up!" he shouted.
"Give him both hands!" cried Laramie, punching and pushing her horse
against the bank. As Kate swept along, her hands upstretched, Hawk
caught her wrists and, bracing himself in the slipping earth, dragged
her up and out of the saddle. The roan, with Laramie's hand on his
bridle, swept on downstream. The clay bank, under the strain of the
double load, gave under Hawk's feet. But without releasing Kate's
hands he threw himself flat and, matching his dead weight against the
chance of being dragged in, caught her with one arm and flung the other
backward into the dark. A clump of willow shoots clutched in his
sinewy fingers gave him a stay and, putting forth all his strength, he
drew Kate slowly up. She scrambled across his prostrate body to safety.
The force of the gnawing current had already undercut the soft clay.
The next instant the whole bank began to sink. Hawk shouted to Kate to
run. She saw him struggling in the crumbling earth. Crying out in her
excitement she stretched her hands toward him. He waved her back. As
he did so, a great section of the bank on which he was struggling
broke, and in the big, soft splash, Hawk went into the creek.