On the night of her failure at the cave, Kate came back to the cabin and
went to her room without any word to Buck or Lee Haines, but when they
sat before the fire, silent, or only murmuring, they could hear her
moving about. Whatever sleep they got before morning was not free from
dreams, for they knew that something was impending, and after breakfast
they learned what it was. She struck straight out from the shoulder.
She was going up to the cave and if Dan was away she would take Joan by
force; she needed help; would they give it? They sat for a long time,
looking at each other and then avoiding Kate with their eyes. It was
not the fear of death but of something more which both of them connected
with the figure of Whistling Dan. It was not until she took her light
cartridge belt from the wall and buckled on her gun that they rose
to follow. Before the first freshness of the morning passed they were
winding up the side of the mountain, Kate a little in the lead, for she
alone knew the way.
Where they rounded the shoulder, the men reined the horses with which
Kate had provided them and sat looking solemnly at each other.
“Maybe we'll have no chance to talk alone again,” said Lee Haines. “This
is the last trail either for Barry or for us. And I don't think that
Barry is that close to the end of his rope. Buck, give me your hand
and say good-bye. All that a man can do against Whistling Dan, and that
isn't much, I'll do. Having you along won't make us a whit stronger.”
“Thanks,” growled Buck Daniels. “Jes save that kind farewell till I show
yaller. Hurry up, she's gettin' too far ahead.”
At the bottom of the ravine, where they dismounted for the precipitous
slope above, Kate showed her first hesitation.
“You both know what it means?” she asked them.
“We sure do,” replied Buck.
“Dan will find out that you've helped me, and then he'll never forgive
you. Will you risk even that?”
“Kate,” broke in Lee Haines, “don't stop for questions. Keep on and
we'll follow. I don't want to think of what may happen.”
She turned without a word and went up the steep incline.
“What d'you think of your soft girl now?” panted Buck at the ear of
Haines. The latter flashed a significant look at him but said nothing.
They reached the top of the canyon wall and passed on among the
boulders.
Kate had drawn back to them now, and they walked as cautiously as if
there were dried leaves under foot.
She had only lifted a finger of warning, and they knew that they were
near to the crisis. She came to the great rock around which she had
first seen the entrance to the cave on the day before. Inch by inch,
with Buck and Lee following her example, they worked toward the edge of
the boulder and peered carefully around it.
There opened the cave, and in front of it was Joan playing with what
seemed to be a ball of gray fur. Her hair tumbled loose and bright about
her shoulders; she wore the tawny hide which Kate had seen before, and
on her feet, since the sharp rocks had long before worn out her boots,
she had daintily fashioned moccasins. Bare knees, profusely scratched,
bare arms rapidly browning to the color of the fur she wore, Haines and
Buck had to rub their eyes and look again before they could recognize
her.
They must have made a noise--perhaps merely an intaking of breath
inaudible even to themselves but clear to the ears of Joan. She was on
her feet, with bright, wild eyes glancing here and there. There was no
suggestion of childishness in her, but a certain willingness to flee
from a great danger or attack a weaker force. She stood alert, rather
than frightened, with her head back as if she scented the wind to learn
what approached. The ball of gray fur straightened into the sharp ears
and the flashing teeth of a coyote puppy. Buck Daniels' foot slipped on
a pebble and at the sound the coyote darted to the shadow of a little
shrub and crouched there, hardly distinguishable from the shade which
covered it, and the child, with infinitely cunning instinct, raced to
a patch of yellow sand and tawny rocks among which she cowered and
remained there moveless.
One thing at least was certain. Whistling Dan was not in the cave, for
if he had been the child would have run to him for protection, or at
least cried out in her alarm. This information Haines whispered to Kate
and she nodded, turning a white face toward him. Then she stepped out
from the rock and went straight toward Joan.
There was no stir in the little figure. Even the wind seemed to take
part in the secret and did not lift the golden hair. Once the eyes of
the child glittered as they turned toward Kate, but otherwise she made
no motion, like a rabbit which will not budge until the very shadow of
the reaching hand falls over it.
So it was with Joan, and as Kate leaned silently over her she sprang to
her feet and darted between the hands of her mother and away among the
rocks. Past the reaching hands of Lee Haines she swerved, but it was
only to run straight into the grip of Buck Daniels. Up to that moment
she had not uttered a sound, but now she screamed out, twisted in his
arms, and beat furiously against his face.
“Joan!” cried Kate. “Joan!”
She reached Buck and unwound his arms from the struggling body of the
child.
“Honey, why are you afraid? Oh, my baby!”
For an instant Joan stood free, wavering, and her eyes held steadily
upon her mother bright with nothing but fear and strangeness. Then
something melted in her little round face, she sighed.
“Munner!” and stole a pace closer. A moment later Kate sat with Joan in
her arms, rocking to and fro and weeping.
“What's happened?” gasped Haines to Daniels. “What's happened to the
kid?”
“Don't talk,” answered Buck, his face gray as that of Kate. “It's Dan's
blood.”
He drew a great breath.
“Did you see her try to--to bite me while I was holdin' her?”
Kate had started to her feet, holding Joan in one arm and dashing away
her tears with the free hand. All weakness was gone from her.
“Hurry!” she commanded. “We haven't any time to lose. Buck, come here!
No, Lee, you're stronger. Honey, this is your Uncle Lee. He'll take care
of you; he won't hurt you. Will you go to him?”
Joan shrank away while she examined him, but the instincts of a child
move with thrice the speed of a mature person's judgment; she read the
kindly honesty which breathed from every line of Haines' face, and held
out her arms to him.
Then they started down the slope for the horses, running wildly, for the
moment they turned their backs on the cave the same thought was in
the mind of each, the same haunting fear of that small, shrill whistle
pursuing. Half running, half sliding, they went down to the bottom of
the gorge. While the pebble they started rushed after them in small
avalanches, and they even had to dodge rocks of considerable size
which came bounding after, Joan, alert upon the shoulder of Lee Haines,
enjoyed every moment of it; her hair tossed in the sun, her arms were
outstretched for balance. So they reached the horses, and climbed into
the saddles. Then, without a word from one to the other, but with many a
backward look, they started on the flight.
By the time they reached the shoulder of the hill on the farther side,
with a long stretch of down slope before, they had placed a large
handicap between them and the danger of pursuit, but still they were
not at ease. On their trail, sooner or later, would come three powers
working towards one end, the surety of Black Bart following a scent,
the swiftness of Satan which never tired, and above all the rider who
directed them both and kept them to their work. His was the arm which
could strike from the distance and bring them down. They spurted down
the hill.
No sooner were they in full motion than Joan, for the first time, seemed
to realize what it was all about. She was still carried by Lee Haines,
who cradled her easily in his powerful left arm, but now she began to
struggle. Then she stiffened and screamed: “Daddy Dan! Daddy Dan!”
“For God's sake, stop her mouth or he'll hear!” groaned Buck Daniels.
“He can't!” said Haines. “We're too far away even if he were at the cave
now.”
“I tell you he'll hear! Don't talk to me about distance.”
Kate reined her horse beside Lee.
“Joan!” she commanded.
They were sweeping across the meadow now at an easy gallop. Joan
screamed again, a wild plea for help.
“Joan!” repeated Kate, and her voice was fierce. She raised her quirt
and shook it. “Be quiet, Munner whip--hard!”
Another call died away on the lips of Joan. She looked at her mother
with astonishment and then with a new respect.
“If you cry once more, munner whip!”
And Joan was silent, staring with wonder and defiance.
When they came close to the cabin, Lee Haines drew rein, but Kate
motioned him on.
“Where to?” he called.
“Back to the old ranch,” she answered. “We've got to have help.”
He nodded in grim understanding, and they headed on and down the slope
towards the valley.