The speed and fury with which Clinch's cavalcade swept on in the
direction of the mysterious shot left Hale no chance for reflection. He
was conscious of shouting incoherently with the others, of urging his
horse irresistibly forward, of momentarily expecting to meet or overtake
something, but without any further thought. The figures of Clinch and
Rawlins immediately before him shut out the prospect of the narrowing
trail. Once only, taking advantage of a sudden halt that threw them
confusedly together, he managed to ask a question.
“Lost their track--found it again!” shouted the ostler, as Clinch, with
a cry like the baying of a hound, again darted forward. Their horses
were panting and trembling under them, the ascent seemed to be growing
steeper, a singular darkness, which even the density of the wood did not
sufficiently account for, surrounded them, but still their leader
madly urged them on. To Hale's returning senses they did not seem in a
condition to engage a single resolute man, who might have ambushed in
the woods or beaten them in detail in the narrow gorge, but in another
instant the reason of their furious haste was manifest. Spurring his
horse ahead, Clinch dashed out into the open with a cheering shout--a
shout that as quickly changed to a yell of imprecation. They were on
the Ridge in a blinding snow-storm! The road had already vanished under
their feet, and with it the fresh trail they had so closely followed!
They stood helplessly on the shore of a trackless white sea, blank and
spotless of any trace or sign of the fugitives.
“'Pears to me, boys,” said the ostler, suddenly ranging before them,
“ef you're not kalkilatin' on gittin' another party to dig ye out, ye'd
better be huntin' fodder and cover instead of road agents. 'Skuse me,
gentlemen, but I'm responsible for the hosses, and this ain't no time
for circus-ridin'. We're a matter o' six miles from the station in a bee
line.”
“Back to the trail, then,” said Clinch, wheeling his horse towards the
road they had just quitted.
“'Skuse me, Kernel,” said the ostler, laying his hand on Clinch's rein,
“but that way only brings us back the road we kem--the stage road--three
miles further from home. That three miles is on the divide, and by the
time we get there it will be snowed up worse nor this. The shortest cut
is along the Ridge. If we hump ourselves we ken cross the divide afore
the road is blocked. And that, 'skuse me, gentlemen, is MY road.”
There was no time for discussion. The road was already palpably
thickening under their feet. Hale's arm was stiffened to his side by
a wet, clinging snow-wreath. The figures of the others were almost
obliterated and shapeless. It was not snowing--it was snowballing! The
huge flakes, shaken like enormous feathers out of a vast blue-black
cloud, commingled and fell in sprays and patches. All idea of their
former pursuit was forgotten; the blind rage and enthusiasm that had
possessed them was gone. They dashed after their new leader with only an
instinct for shelter and succor.
They had not ridden long when fortunately, as it seemed to Hale, the
character of the storm changed. The snow no longer fell in such large
flakes, nor as heavily. A bitter wind succeeded; the soft snow began
to stiffen and crackle under the horses' hoofs; they were no longer
weighted and encumbered by the drifts upon their bodies; the smaller
flakes now rustled and rasped against them like sand, or bounded from
them like hail. They seemed to be moving more easily and rapidly, their
spirits were rising with the stimulus of cold and motion, when suddenly
their leader halted.
“It's no use, boys. It can't be done! This is no blizzard, but a regular
two days' snifter! It's no longer meltin', but packin' and driftin'
now. Even if we get over the divide, we're sure to be blocked up in the
pass.”
It was true! To their bitter disappointment they could now see that
the snow had not really diminished in quantity, but that the now
finely-powdered particles were rapidly filling all inequalities of
the surface, packing closely against projections, and swirling in
long furrows across the levels. They looked with anxiety at their
self-constituted leader.
“We must make a break to get down in the woods again before it's too
late,” he said briefly.
But they had already drifted away from the fringe of larches and dwarf
pines that marked the sides of the Ridge, and lower down merged into
the dense forest that clothed the flank of the mountain they had lately
climbed, and it was with the greatest difficulty that they again reached
it, only to find that at that point it was too precipitous for the
descent of their horses. Benumbed and speechless, they continued to toil
on, opposed to the full fury of the stinging snow, and at times obliged
to turn their horses to the blast to keep from being blown over the
Ridge. At the end of half an hour the ostler dismounted, and, beckoning
to the others, took his horse by the bridle, and began the descent. When
it came to Hale's turn to dismount he could not help at first recoiling
from the prospect before him. The trail--if it could be so called--was
merely the track or furrow of some fallen tree dragged, by accident
or design, diagonally across the sides of the mountain. At times it
appeared scarcely a foot in width; at other times a mere crumbling
gully, or a narrow shelf made by the projections of dead boughs and
collected debris. It seemed perilous for a foot passenger, it appeared
impossible for a horse. Nevertheless, he had taken a step forward when
Clinch laid his hand on his arm.
“You'll bring up the rear,” he said not unkindly, “ez you're a stranger
here. Wait until we sing out to you.”
“But if I prefer to take the same risks as you all?” said Hale stiffly.
“You kin,” said Clinch grimly. “But I reckoned, as you wern't familiar
with this sort o' thing, you wouldn't keer, by any foolishness o' yours,
to stampede the rocks ahead of us, and break down the trail, or send
down an avalanche on top of us. But just ez you like.”
“I will wait, then,” said Hale hastily.
The rebuke, however, did him good service. It preoccupied his mind,
so that it remained unaffected by the dizzy depths, and enabled him
to abandon himself mechanically to the sagacity of his horse, who was
contented simply to follow the hoofprints of the preceding animal, and
in a few moments they reached the broader trail without a mishap. A
discussion regarding their future movements was already taking place.
The impossibility of regaining the station at the Summit was admitted;
the way down the mountain to the next settlement was still left to them,
or the adjacent woods, if they wished for an encampment. The ostler once
more assumed authority.
“'Skuse me, gentlemen, but them horses don't take no pasear down the
mountain to-night. The stage-road ain't a mile off, and I kalkilate to
wait here till the up stage comes. She's bound to stop on account of the
snow; and I've done my dooty when I hand the horses over to the driver.”
“But if she hears of the block up yer, and waits at the lower station?”
said Rawlins.
“Then I've done my dooty all the same. 'Skuse me, gentlemen, but them ez
hez their own horses kin do ez they like.”
As this clearly pointed to Hale, he briefly assured his companions that
he had no intention of deserting them. “If I cannot reach Eagle's Court,
I shall at least keep as near it as possible. I suppose any messenger
from my house to the Summit will learn where I am and why I am delayed?”
“Messenger from your house!” gasped Rawlins. “Are you crazy, stranger?
Only a bird would get outer Eagle's now; and it would hev to be an eagle
at that! Between your house and the Summit the snow must be ten feet by
this time, to say nothing of the drift in the pass.”
Hale felt it was the truth. At any other time he would have worried over
this unexpected situation, and utter violation of all his traditions.
He was past that now, and even felt a certain relief. He knew his
family were safe; it was enough. That they were locked up securely,
and incapable of interfering with HIM, seemed to enhance his new,
half-conscious, half-shy enjoyment of an adventurous existence.
The ostler, who had been apparently lost in contemplation of the steep
trail he had just descended, suddenly clapped his hand to his leg with
an ejaculation of gratified astonishment.
“Waal, darn my skin ef that ain't Hennicker's 'slide' all the time! I
heard it was somewhat about here.”
Rawlins briefly explained to Hale that a slide was a rude incline for
the transit of heavy goods that could not be carried down a trail.
“And Hennicker's,” continued the man, “ain't more nor a mile away. Ye
might try Hennicker's at a push, eh?”
By a common instinct the whole party looked dubiously at Hale. “Who's
Hennicker?” he felt compelled to ask.
The ostler hesitated, and glanced at the others to reply. “There ARE
folks,” he said lazily, at last, “ez beleeves that Hennicker ain't much
better nor the crowd we're hunting; but they don't say it TO Hennicker.
We needn't let on what we're after.”
“I for one,” said Hale stoutly, “decidedly object to any concealment of
our purpose.”
“It don't follow,” said Rawlins carelessly, “that Hennicker even knows
of this yer robbery. It's his gineral gait we refer to. Ef yer think it
more polite, and it makes it more sociable to discuss this matter afore
him, I'm agreed.”
“Hale means,” said Clinch, “that it wouldn't be on the square to take
and make use of any points we might pick up there agin the road agents.”
“Certainly,” said Hale. It was not at all what he had meant, but he felt
singularly relieved at the compromise.
“And ez I reckon Hennicker ain't such a fool ez not to know who we are
and what we're out for,” continued Clinch, “I reckon there ain't any
concealment.”
“Then it's Hennicker's?” said the ostler, with swift deduction.
“Hennicker's it is! Lead on.”
The ostler remounted his horse, and the others followed. The trail
presently turned into a broader track, that bore some signs of
approaching habitations, and at the end of five minutes they came upon
a clearing. It was part of one of the fragmentary mountain terraces, and
formed by itself a vast niche, or bracketed shelf, in the hollow flank
of the mountain that, to Hale's first glance, bore a rude resemblance
to Eagle's Court. But there was neither meadow nor open field; the few
acres of ground had been wrested from the forest by axe and fire, and
unsightly stumps everywhere marked the rude and difficult attempts at
cultivation. Two or three rough buildings of unplaned and unpainted
boards, connected by rambling sheds, stood in the centre of the
amphitheatre. Far from being protected by the encircling rampart, it
seemed to be the selected arena for the combating elements. A whirlwind
from the outer abyss continually filled this cave of AEolus with driving
snow, which, however, melted as it fell, or was quickly whirled away
again.
A few dogs barked and ran out to meet the cavalcade, but there was no
other sign of any life disturbed or concerned at their approach.
“I reckon Hennicker ain't home, or he'd hev been on the lookout afore
this,” said the ostler, dismounting and rapping on the door.
After a silence, a female voice, unintelligibly to the others,
apparently had some colloquy with the ostler, who returned to the party.
“Must go in through the kitchin--can't open the door for the wind.”
Leaving their horses in the shed, they entered the kitchen, which
communicated, and presently came upon a square room filled with smoke
from a fire of green pine logs. The doors and windows were tightly
fastened; the only air came in through the large-throated chimney in
voluminous gusts, which seemed to make the hollow shell of the apartment
swell and expand to the point of bursting. Despite the stinging of the
resinous smoke, the temperature was grateful to the benumbed travellers.
Several cushionless arm-chairs, such as were used in bar-rooms, two
tables, a sideboard, half bar and half cupboard, and a rocking-chair
comprised the furniture, and a few bear and buffalo skins covered
the floor. Hale sank into one of the arm-chairs, and, with a lazy
satisfaction, partly born of his fatigue and partly from some
newly-discovered appreciative faculty, gazed around the room, and then
at the mistress of the house, with whom the others were talking.
She was tall, gaunt, and withered; in spite of her evident years, her
twisted hair was still dark and full, and her eyes bright and piercing;
her complexion and teeth had long since succumbed to the vitiating
effects of frontier cookery, and her lips were stained with the yellow
juice of a brier-wood pipe she held in her mouth. The ostler had
explained their intrusion, and veiled their character under the vague
epithet of a “hunting party,” and was now evidently describing them
personally. In his new-found philosophy the fact that the interest of
his hostess seemed to be excited only by the names of his companions,
that he himself was carelessly, and even deprecatingly, alluded to as
the “stranger from Eagle's” by the ostler, and completely overlooked by
the old woman, gave him no concern.
“You'll have to talk to Zenobia yourself. Dod rot ef I'm gine to
interfere. She knows Hennicker's ways, and if she chooses to take in
transients it ain't no funeral o' mine. Zeenie! You, Zeenie! Look yer!”
A tall, lazy-looking, handsome girl appeared on the threshold of the
next room, and with a hand on each door-post slowly swung herself
backwards and forwards, without entering. “Well, Maw?”
The old woman briefly and unalluringly pictured the condition of the
travellers.
“Paw ain't here,” began the girl doubtfully, “and--How dy, Dick! is that
you?” The interruption was caused by her recognition of the ostler, and
she lounged into the room. In spite of a skimp, slatternly gown, whose
straight skirt clung to her lower limbs, there was a quaint, nymph-like
contour to her figure. Whether from languor, ill-health, or more
probably from a morbid consciousness of her own height, she moved with
a slightly affected stoop that had become a habit. It did not seem
ungraceful to Hale, already attracted by her delicate profile, her
large dark eyes, and a certain weird resemblance she had to some
half-domesticated dryad.
“That'll do, Maw,” she said, dismissing her parent with a nod. “I'll
talk to Dick.”
As the door closed on the old woman, Zenobia leaned her hands on
the back of a chair, and confronted the admiring eyes of Dick with a
goddess-like indifference.
“Now wot's the use of your playin' this yer game on me, Dick? Wot's the
good of your ladlin' out that hogwash about huntin'? HUNTIN'! I'll tell
yer the huntin' you-uns hev been at! You've been huntin' George Lee
and his boys since an hour before sun up. You've been followin' a blind
trail up to the Ridge, until the snow got up and hunted YOU right here!
You've been whoopin' and yellin' and circus-ridin' on the roads like
ez yer wos Comanches, and frightening all the women folk within
miles--that's your huntin'! You've been climbin' down Paw's old slide
at last, and makin' tracks for here to save the skins of them condemned
government horses of the Kempany! And THAT'S your huntin'!”
To Hale's surprise, a burst of laughter from the party followed this
speech. He tried to join in, but this ridiculous summary of the result
of his enthusiastic sense of duty left him--the only earnest believer
mortified and embarrassed. Nor was he the less concerned as he found the
girl's dark eyes had rested once or twice upon him curiously. Zenobia
laughed too, and, lazily turning the chair around, dropped into it. “And
by this time George Lee's loungin' back in his chyar and smokin' his
cigyar somewhar in Sacramento,” she added, stretching her feet out to
the fire, and suiting the action to the word with an imaginary cigar
between the long fingers of a thin and not over-clean hand.
“We cave, Zeenie!” said Rawlins, when their hilarity had subsided to a
more subdued and scarcely less flattering admiration of the unconcerned
goddess before them. “That's about the size of it. You kin rake down the
pile. I forgot you're an old friend of George's.”
“He's a white man!” said the girl decidedly.
“Ye used to know him?” continued Rawlins.
“Once. Paw ain't in that line now,” she said simply.
There was such a sublime unconsciousness of any moral degradation
involved in this allusion that even Hale accepted it without a shock.
She rose presently, and, going to the little sideboard, brought out
a number of glasses; these she handed to each of the party, and then,
producing a demijohn of whiskey, slung it dexterously and gracefully
over her arm, so that it rested on her elbow like a cradle, and, going
to each one in succession, filled their glasses. It obliged each one to
rise to accept the libation, and as Hale did so in his turn he met the
dark eyes of the girl full on his own. There was a pleased curiosity in
her glance that made this married man of thirty-five color as awkwardly
as a boy.
The tender of refreshment being understood as a tacit recognition of
their claims to a larger hospitality, all further restraint was removed.
Zenobia resumed her seat, and placing her elbow on the arm of her chair,
and her small round chin in her hand, looked thoughtfully in the fire.
“When I say George Lee's a white man, it ain't because I know him.
It's his general gait. Wot's he ever done that's underhanded or mean?
Nothin'! You kant show the poor man he's ever took a picayune from. When
he's helped himself to a pile it's been outer them banks or them express
companies, that think it mighty fine to bust up themselves, and swindle
the poor folks o' their last cent, and nobody talks o' huntin' THEM!
And does he keep their money? No; he passes it round among the boys that
help him, and they put it in circulation. HE don't keep it for himself;
he ain't got fine houses in Frisco; he don't keep fast horses for show.
Like ez not the critter he did that job with--ef it was him--none of
you boys would have rid! And he takes all the risks himself; you ken bet
your life that every man with him was safe and away afore he turned his
back on you-uns.”
“He certainly drops a little of his money at draw poker, Zeenie,” said
Clinch, laughing. “He lost five thousand dollars to Sheriff Kelly last
week.”
“Well, I don't hear of the sheriff huntin' him to give it back, nor do
I reckon Kelly handed it over to the Express it was taken from. I heard
YOU won suthin' from him a spell ago. I reckon you've been huntin' him
to find out whar you should return it.” The laugh was clearly against
Clinch. He was about to make some rallying rejoinder when the young girl
suddenly interrupted him. “Ef you're wantin' to hunt somebody, why don't
you take higher game? Thar's that Jim Harkins: go for him, and I'll join
you.”
“Harkins!” exclaimed Clinch and Hale simultaneously.
“Yes, Jim Harkins; do you know him?” she said, glancing from one to the
other.
“One of my friends do,” said Clinch laughing; “but don't let that stop
you.”
“And YOU--over there,” continued Zenobia, bending her head and eyes
towards Hale.
“The fact is--I believe he was my banker,” said Hale, with a smile. “I
don't know him personally.”
“Then you'd better hunt him before he does you.”
“What's HE done, Zeenie?” asked Rawlins, keenly enjoying the
discomfiture of the others.
“What?” She stopped, threw her long black braids over her shoulder,
clasped her knee with her hands, and rocking backwards and forwards,
sublimely unconscious of the apparition of a slim ankle and
half-dropped-off slipper from under her shortened gown, continued, “It
mightn't please HIM,” she said slyly, nodding towards Hale.
“Pray don't mind me,” said Hale, with unnecessary eagerness.
“Well,” said Zenobia, “I reckon you all know Ned Falkner and the
Excelsior Ditch?”
“Yes, Falkner's the superintendent of it,” said Rawlins. “And a square
man too. Thar ain't anything mean about him.”
“Shake,” said Zenobia, extending her hand. Rawlins shook the proffered
hand with eager spontaneousness, and the girl resumed: “He's about
ez good ez they make 'em--you bet. Well, you know Ned has put all his
money, and all his strength, and all his sabe, and--”
“His good looks,” added Clinch mischievously.
“Into that Ditch,” continued Zenobia, ignoring the interruption. “It's
his mother, it's his sweetheart, it's his everything! When other chaps
of his age was cavortin' round Frisco, and havin' high jinks, Ned was in
his Ditch. 'Wait till the Ditch is done,' he used to say. 'Wait till she
begins to boom, and then you just stand round.' Mor'n that, he got all
the boys to put in their last cent--for they loved Ned, and love him
now, like ez ef he wos a woman.”
“That's so,” said Clinch and Rawlins simultaneously, “and he's worth
it.”
“Well,” continued Zenobia, “the Ditch didn't boom ez soon ez they
kalkilated. And then the boys kept gettin' poorer and poorer, and Ned
he kept gettin' poorer and poorer in everything but his hopefulness and
grit. Then he looks around for more capital. And about this time, that
coyote Harkins smelt suthin' nice up there, and he gits Ned to give him
control of it, and he'll lend him his name and fix up a company. Soon ez
he gets control, the first thing he does is to say that it wants half a
million o' money to make it pay, and levies an assessment of two hundred
dollars a share. That's nothin' for them rich fellows to pay, or pretend
to pay, but for boys on grub wages it meant only ruin. They couldn't
pay, and had to forfeit their shares for next to nothing. And Ned made
one more desperate attempt to save them and himself by borrowing money
on his shares; when that hound Harkins got wind of it, and let it be
buzzed around that the Ditch is a failure, and that he was goin' out
of it; that brought the shares down to nothing. As Ned couldn't raise
a dollar, the new company swooped down on his shares for the debts THEY
had put up, and left him and the boys to help themselves. Ned couldn't
bear to face the boys that he'd helped to ruin, and put out, and ain't
been heard from since. After Harkins had got rid of Ned and the boys
he manages to pay off that wonderful debt, and sells out for a hundred
thousand dollars. That money--Ned's money--he sends to Sacramento, for
he don't dare to travel with it himself, and is kalkilatin' to leave the
kentry, for some of the boys allow to kill him on sight. So ef you're
wantin' to hunt suthin', thar's yer chance, and you needn't go inter the
snow to do it.”
“But surely the law can recover this money?” said Hale indignantly. “It
is as infamous a robbery as--” He stopped as he caught Zenobia's eye.
“Ez last night's, you were goin' to say. I'll call it MORE. Them road
agents don't pretend to be your friend--but take yer money and run their
risks. For ez to the law--that can't help yer.”
“It's a skin game, and you might ez well expect to recover a gambling
debt from a short-card sharp,” explained Clinch; “Falkner oughter shot
him on sight.”
“Or the boys lynched him,” suggested Rawlins.
“I think,” said Hale, more reflectively, “that in the absence of legal
remedy a man of that kind should have been forced under strong physical
menace to give up his ill-gotten gains. The money was the primary
object, and if that could be got without bloodshed--which seems to me a
useless crime--it would be quite as effective. Of course, if there was
resistance or retaliation, it might be necessary to kill him.”
He had unconsciously fallen into his old didactic and dogmatic habit of
speech, and perhaps, under the spur of Zenobia's eyes, he had given
it some natural emphasis. A dead silence followed, in which the others
regarded him with amused and gratified surprise, and it was broken only
by Zenobia rising and holding out her hand. “Shake!”
Hale raised it gallantly, and pressed his lips on the one spotless
finger.
“That's gospel truth. And you ain't the first white man to say it.”
“Indeed,” laughed Hale. “Who was the other?”
“George Lee!”