THE SHOT IN THE PASS
Dicksie walked hurriedly through the dining-room and out upon the rear
porch. Her horse was standing where she had left him. Her heart beat
furiously as she caught up the reins, but she sprang into the saddle
and rode rapidly away. The flood of her temper had brought a disregard
of consequence: it was in the glow of her eyes, the lines of her lips,
and the tremor of her nostrils as she breathed long and deeply on her
flying horse.
When she checked Jim she had ridden miles, but not without a course
nor without a purpose. Where the roads ahead of her parted to lead
down the river and over the Elbow Pass to Medicine Bend, she halted
within a clump of trees almost where she had first seen McCloud.
Beyond the Mission Mountains the sun was setting in a fire like that
which glowed under her eyes. She could have counted her heart-beats as
the crimson ball sank below the verge of the horizon and the shadows
threw up the silver thread of the big river and deepened across the
heavy green of the alfalfa fields. Where Dicksie sat, struggling with
her bounding pulse and holding Jim tightly in, no one from the ranch
or, indeed, from the up-country could pass her unseen. She was waiting
for a horseman, and the sun had set but a few minutes when she heard a
sharp gallop coming down the upper road from the hills.
All her brave plans, terror-stricken at the sound of the hoof-beats,
fled from her utterly. She was stunned by the suddenness of the
crisis. She had meant to stop McCloud and speak to him, but before she
could summon her courage a tall, slender man on horseback dashed past
within a few feet of her. She could almost have touched him as he flew
by, and a horse less steady than Jim would have shied under her.
Dicksie caught her breath. She did not know this man--she had seen
only his eyes, oddly bright in the twilight as he passed--but he was
not of the ranch. He must have come from the hill road, she concluded,
down which she herself had just ridden. He was somewhere from the
North, for he sat his horse like a statue and rode like the wind.
But the encounter nerved her to her resolve. Some leaden moments
passed, and McCloud, galloping at a far milder pace toward the fork of
the roads, checked his speed as he approached. He saw a woman on
horseback waiting in his path.
"Mr. McCloud!"
"Miss Dunning!"
"I could not forgive myself if I waited too long to warn you that
threats have been made against your life. Not of the kind you heard
to-day. My cousin is not a murderer, and never could be, I am sure, in
spite of his talk; but I was frightened at the thought that if
anything dreadful should happen his name would be brought into it.
There are enemies of yours in this country to be feared, and it is
against these that I warn you. Good-night!"
"Surely you won't ride away without giving me a chance to thank you!"
exclaimed McCloud. Dicksie checked her horse. "I owe you a double debt
of gratitude," he added, "and I am anxious to assure you that we
desire nothing that will injure your interests in any way in crossing
your lands."
"I know nothing about those matters, because my cousin manages
everything. It is growing late and you have a good way to go, so
good-night."
"But you will allow me to ride back to the house with you?"
"Oh, no, indeed, thank you!"
"It will soon be dark and you are alone."
"No, no! I am quite safe and I have only a short ride. It is you who
have far to go," and she spoke again to Jim, who started briskly.
"Miss Dunning, won't you listen just a moment? Please don't run away!"
McCloud was trying to come up with her. "Won't you hear me a moment? I
have suffered some little humiliation to-day; I should really rather
be shot up than have more put on me. I am a man and you are a woman,
and it is already dark. Isn't it for me to see you safely to the
house? Won't you at least pretend I can act as an escort and let me go
with you? I should make a poor figure trying to catch you on
horseback----"
Dicksie nodded naively. "With that horse."
"With any horse--I know that," said McCloud, keeping at her side.
"But I _can't_ let you ride back with me," declared Dicksie, urging
Jim and looking directly at McCloud for the first time. "How could I
explain?"
"Let me explain. I am famous for explaining," urged McCloud, spurring
too.
"And will you tell me what _I_ should be doing while you were
explaining?" she asked.
"Perhaps getting ready a first aid for the injured."
"I feel as if I ought to run away," declared Dicksie, since she had
clearly decided not to. "It will have to be a compromise, I suppose.
You must not ride farther than the first gate, and let us take this
trail instead of the road. Now make your horse go as fast as you can
and I'll keep up."
But McCloud's horse, though not a wonder, went too fast to suit his
rider, who divided his efforts between checking him and keeping up the
conversation. When McCloud dismounted to open Dicksie's gate, and
stood in the twilight with his hat in his hand and his bridle over his
arm, he was telling a story about Marion Sinclair, and Dicksie in the
saddle, tapping her knee with her bridle-rein, was looking down and
past him as if the light upon his face were too bright. Before she
would start away she made him remount, and he said good-by only after
half a promise from her that she would show him sometime a trail to
the top of Bridger's Peak, with a view of the Peace River on the east
and the whole Mission Range and the park country on the north. Then
she rode away at an amazing run, nodding back as he sat still holding
his hat above his head.
McCloud galloped toward the pass with one determination--that he would
have a horse, and a good one, one that could travel with Jim, if it
cost him his salary. He exulted as he rode, for the day had brought
him everything he wished, and humiliation had been swallowed up in
triumph. It was nearly dark when he reached the crest between the
hills. At this point the southern grade of the pass winds sharply,
whence its name, the Elbow; but from the head of the pass the grade
may be commanded at intervals for half a mile. Trotting down this road
with his head in a whirl of excitement, McCloud heard the crack of a
rifle; at the same instant he felt a sharp slap at his hat. Instinct
works on all brave men very much alike. McCloud dropped forward in his
saddle, and, seeking no explanation, laid his head low and spurred
Bill Dancing's horse for life or death. The horse, quite amazed,
bolted and swerved down the grade like a snipe, with his rider
crouching close for a second shot. But no second shot came, and after
another mile McCloud ventured to take off his hat and put his finger
through the holes in it, though he did not stop his horse to make the
examination. When they reached the open country the horse had settled
into a fast, long stride that not only redeemed his reputation but
relieved his rider's nerves.
When McCloud entered his office it was half-past nine o'clock, and the
first thing he did before turning on the lights was to draw the
window-shades. He examined the hat again, with sensations that were
new to him--fear, resentment, and a hearty hatred of his enemies. But
all the while the picture of Dicksie remained. He thought of her
nodding to him as they parted in the saddle, and her picture blotted
out all that had followed.