THE FLIGHT TO MURPHY'S THROAT
For all that the way was hard, rough with stones and choked by a tangle
of rank growth, the three in the coulee made fast progress over the
first two miles. Charley led. After him came Marylyn, to whom the
loathed split in the plain was become a place of refuge. In the rear,
covering her sister against possible attack, followed Dallas.
As they went, now running, now falling into a quick walk, then running
again, nettles stung their ankles; gooseberry branches tore their
swinging hands; willows lashed their faces. But terror calloused, and
they knew no hurts. Marylyn stepped on something soft and moving--she
only increased her pace. On, on, they sped, stumbling blindly, gasping
with open mouth--yet persevering.
The strain told first on the younger girl. So far, her strength had been
unnatural--born of the terror that made her unconscious of any wound. It
did not long endure. Before three miles had been travelled, as she sank
in a shallow pool to wet her lips, it utterly failed her. She could not
rise, and pleaded faintly for rest.
"Just a minute, Dallas, please--I can't go--my side hurts."
Dallas helped her through a hindering weave of pond-weeds and lilies,
and laid her upon some marsh-grass beyond. Meanwhile, Charley stole
back a short distance. But the respite was brief, for he returned
straightway and twitched at their dresses, when the elder girl lifted
the younger to her feet, whispering encouragement.
"Try again, honey. You got your breath. Try again."
Once more they pressed forward. The lightning had ceased. With a last
grumble, and a scatter of drops, the clouds were pulling apart. Here and
there a few stars shone. These thinned the darkness considerably, and,
at a point where the coulee shallowed, Dallas was able dimly to see the
toiling shapes ahead. Marylyn was wavering.
"Spunky little sister!" urged the elder girl. Lifting the rifle to her
left shoulder, she came alongside to give the support of an arm.
"Where's the cartridge belt?" she whispered.
"Heavy,"--panted the other--"dropped it."
And now despite Dallas' aid, Marylyn straggled weakly. Another mile, and
with scarcely a sigh of warning, she sank again, exhausted.
"Charley," called Dallas. The Squaw joined them. "You take one
arm--that's it." She took the other. Thus they proceeded.
Marylyn was almost a dead weight. When the channel was clogged with
rocks, she could not put one jaded foot before the other, and was fairly
dragged. On clear sandy stretches she did better. Complete collapse was
near, however; her head was swinging upon her breast; she prattled
brokenly.
Finally Dallas stopped. "Hide--hide," she counselled between breaths, "a
dark place----"
Ignoring the advice, the outcast thrust his bow and arrows into her
hands; then squatting before Marylyn, he seized her wrist, drew her,
limp and half-dead, upon his back, and staggered on.
"Hold to Charley, dear," begged Dallas. "He's carrying you pick-a-back."
The younger girl murmured gratefully, and locked her hands beneath The
Squaw's chin. This left his arms free to part a path through the
thickets of burweed and plantain that choked the defile, and, for fully
a half-hour, he kept a good jog. But, well worn and hampered as he was,
he began then to wobble.
Dallas gave him the weapons and received Marylyn upon her own shoulders.
Notwithstanding the long way, her vigour remained splendid. And when
there came a tendency to lag, she fought it stoutly. Not until her limbs
refused their service, did she drop down.
Under her wild rye made a cool, stiff couch. She reached through it and
dug her fingers into the wet earth. Marylyn toppled over back and lay
beside her, prone. Charley leaned on an elbow, breathing hard,
watching----
When, far behind, down the shadowy crack through which they had come,
sounded wild whoops.
They scrambled up, terror-stricken. Like hunted deer, they whipped away
again, knowing that, in their wake, instead of the one man they had
seen, was a horde!
Once more, though after brave effort, it was Marylyn who compelled a
halt. Dallas strove to rouse her. "Try a little longer, honey. Come on,
come on." But the other only sobbed hysterically, until Charley put his
hand upon her mouth.
"Can't we crawl out?" demanded Dallas. "Quick, they'll pass."
The Squaw shook his head, coming close that she might see his answer.
"No use?"
He shook his head again and signed that their pursuers had horses.
It was a moment of supreme despair. She laid her arms upon her knees,
her face upon her arms. Their puny human power had failed. Where else
could they look for succour? Would Lounsbury or the troopers come--in
time?
Then, tearfully, prayerfully, in this utmost need, she raised her eyes
to the sky. "It's not for me," she faltered; "it's for Marylyn."
That upward glance was not in vain. In front of her, lifting their
plume-like tops against the heavens, she saw the clump of burial trees.
Instantly she took heart, for her quick brain devised a plan--to hide in
the cottonwoods!
But all three might not stay, for, however much the Sioux avoided the
laden boughs, they would stop to search them if there were not those
ahead to draw them past. And _one_ of those ahead must be a woman.
So she decided. Bending to her sister, she lifted her to a sitting
position. "Honey," she said firmly, "you see the big trees there? The
Indians are afraid of 'em--remember? They'll go by. We'll put you up on
a limb, and you keep quiet. You'll be safe. We'll go on--for help."
"Yes--yes--Dallas, only--I can't walk."
"Charley!" The elder girl bade him assist. Without understanding fully,
he obeyed. Together they carried Marylyn toward the cottonwoods, out of
which several lank, grey bodies shifted into view and shot away. Dallas
chose a tree that grew close to the steep bank. Here, in the narrow
space between trunk and rooty wall, she ordered Charley to get down on
all fours. Then, taking Marylyn upon her shoulders as before, and
steadying herself with both hands, she stood on The Squaw's back. Little
by little, bracing with legs and arms, he raised his load. Marylyn was
now below a thick branch. By reaching up, and summoning the remnant of
her strength, she was able to clasp it, to put a foot over, to get
astride.
"Lie down," continued Dallas; "they won't stop; don't speak."
Hurriedly, she and Charley resumed their way up the wolf-haunted bottom,
over rocks, through puddles, into pigmy forests of cherry and plum. But
now, careless of lost time, Dallas ran with backward looks and frequent
haltings, giving strict heed to the whereabouts of those behind.
They had travelled a good distance when she judged that the savages were
nearing the burial-place, that the time for her ruse was come. Letting
the outcast go on, she paused for breath; then lifted her voice--and
sent back through the night, a long, inviting call.
Down the wind came instant answer; a great howl of glee. And as if her
presence ahead was unexpected, as if it tempted to a better speed, a
jargon of cries swelled hideously, and drew on.
"She's safe!" shouted Dallas, exultantly; "Charley, she's safe!"
Another yowl from a score of throats.
And now began a race.
From the start it was unequal, and the gain on the side of the pursuers.
For the biting poison that had made the Indians bold to the point of
open defiance was now stirring them into fleeter going. They kept up a
constant jabbering. They broke into short, puffy whoops. And gradually,
but surely, the rods decreased between quarry and pack.
The sweat dreening from their faces, The Squaw and Dallas strained
forward. But now of the two, one could scarcely keep a walk. Her
strength was ebbing to the final drop.
"Charley--Charley--I'm tired!"
The outcast stumbled back to help her.
A little while, and she whispered again. "Can't go--stop--can't----"
Every breath was sawing at her sore lungs. She tottered, pitched
forward, and went down.
It was then that Charley pointed to the front, and as if to a
vantage-place. Dallas looked, and saw, at the end of sheer walls, an
oblong opening of greyish light. She hailed it dumbly. There was where
the coulee narrowed until a man, standing in its bed with arms
outstretched, could place the tips of his fingers against either rocky
wall. There a last stand might be made. The Throat!
One helping the other, they dragged themselves on and into the opening.
The time had narrowed. Close behind, crashing through a thicket, were
the warriors, announcing themselves with shrill whoops.
Dallas waited, propped against a stone. The words of the old Texas song
began to run in her mind:
"_We saw the Indians coming,
We heard them give a yell,
My feelings at that moment
No mortal tongue could tell._"
She was spent. She had no hope of being spared from death. Yet she was
strangely calm and unafraid.
"Marylyn'll be happy," she said. "I know John Lounsbury well enough for
that."
She became conscious of thirst. A branch of wild roses, shining with
raindrops, bobbed above her. She bent the flowers to her mouth, one by
one, and sucked their moisture.
She looked to the front again, across the spreading meadow. She heard
the cheeps of awakening birds, and small movements in trees and grass.
The grey of the sky was turning to pink. There was a lifting fore-glow
in the east.
"See, Charley," she said, "there'll be good light to fight in. But--but
there's just one charge."