Randall Parrish - Molly McDonald

R >> Randall Parrish >> Molly McDonald

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18

"Now, Hughes," he said quietly. "I'll talk, and you listen. In my
judgment you are a miserable sneaking cur, and I am going to trust you
just so far as I can watch you. I suppose I ought to shoot you where
you are, and have done with it. You killed one of the best men who
ever lived, a friend of mine, Sam Wasson--"

"Who?"

"Sam Wasson, a government scout."

Hughes dropped his face into his hands.

"Good Lord! I knew him!"

The Sergeant drew a deep breath, and into his face there came a look
almost of sympathy.

"Then you begin to realize the sort of fool you are," he went on
soberly. "They don't make better men out here; his little finger was
worth more than your whole body. But killing you won't bring Sam back,
and besides I reckon you 've told me the straight story, an' his
shooting was an accident in a way. Then you 're more useful to me just
now alive than you would be dead. My name is Hamlin, sergeant Seventh
Cavalry, and I am here after that man Le Fevre. We trailed his outfit
from Dodge until the storm struck us, and then came straight through
travelling by compass. I did not know the man's name was Le Fevre
until you told me; up in Kansas he is known as Dupont."

"That 's it; that's the name he took when he sold the cattle."

"The officer robbed and killed was Major McDonald, and it is his
daughter they hold. The fellow Dupont quarrelled with and shot was a
deserter named Connors. We found the body. Now where do you suppose
Le Fevre is?"

Hughes stared into the fire, nervously pulling his beard.

"Wall, I 'd say in west yere somewhar along the Cimarron. 'T ain't
likely he had a compass, an' the wind wus from the nor'east. Best they
could do, the ponies would drift. The Injuns would keep the gineral
direction, o' course, storm 'er no storm, an' Gene is some plainsman
himself, but thet blizzard would sheer 'em off all the same. I reckon
they 're under the banks ten mile, er more, up thar. An' soon as there
's a change in weather, they 'll ride fer Black Kettle's camp. Thet's
my guess, mister."

Hamlin turned the situation over deliberately in his mind, satisfied
that Hughes had reviewed the possibilities correctly. If Le Fevre's
party had got through at all, then that was the most likely spot for
them to be hiding in. They would have drifted beyond doubt, farther
than Hughes supposed, probably, as he had been sheltered from the real
violence of the wind as it raged on the open plain. They might be
fifteen, even twenty miles away, and so completely drifted in as to be
undiscoverable except through accident. What course then was best to
pursue? The storm was likely to continue violent for a day, perhaps
two days longer. His horses were exhausted, and Carroll helpless. It
might not even be safe to leave the latter alone. Yet if the frozen
man could be left in the hut to take care of himself and the ponies,
would there be any hope of success in an effort to proceed up the river
on foot? He could make Hughes go--that was n't the difficulty--but
probably they could n't cover five miles a day through the snowdrifts.
And, even if they did succeed in getting through in time to intercept
the fugitives, the others would possess every advantage--both position
for defense, and horses on which to escape. Hughes, lighting his pipe,
confident now in his own mind that he was personally safe, seemed to
sense the problem troubling the Sergeant.

"I reckon I know this yere kintry well 'nough," he said lazily, "ter
give yer a pointer er two. I 've rounded up long-horns west o' yere.
Them fellers ain't goin' to strike out fer the Canadian till after the
storm quits. By thet time yer ponies is rested up in better shape than
theirs will be, and we kin strike 'cross to the sou'west. We 're bound
either to hit 'em, or ride 'cross thar trail."

"But the woman!" protested Hamlin, striding across the floor. "What
may happen to her in the meanwhile? She is an Eastern girl,
unaccustomed to this life,--a--a lady."

"Yer don't need worry none 'bout thet. Ef she 's the right kind she
'll stan' more 'n a man when she has to. I reckon it won't be none too
pleasant 'long with Gene an' them Cheyenne bucks, but if she 's pulled
through so far, thar ain't nuthin' special goin' ter happen till they
git to the Injun camp."

"You mean her fate will be decided in council?"

"Sure; thet's Cheyenne law. Le Fevre knows it, an' ol' Koleta would
knife him in a minute if he got gay. He's a devil all right--thet ol'
buck--but he 's afraid of Black Kettle, an' thar won't be no harm done
to the gal."

The Sergeant walked over to the fire, and stared down into the red
embers, striving to control himself. He realized the truth of all
Hughes said, and yet had to fight fiercely his inclination to hasten to
her rescue. The very thought of her alone in those ruthless hands was
torture. There was no selfishness in the man's heart, no hope of
winning this girl for himself, yet he knew now that he loved her; that
for him she was the one woman in all the world. Her face was in his
memory; the very soughing of the wind seemed her voice calling him.
But the real man in him--the plainsman instinct--conquered the
impetuosity of the lover. There must be no mistake made--no rash,
hopeless effort. Better delay, than ultimate failure, and Hughes' plan
was the more practical way. He lifted his head, his lips set with
decision.

"You're right, old man. We'll wait," he said sternly. "Now to get
ready. Have you a corral?"

The other made a gesture with his hand.

"Twenty rod b'low, under the bluff."

"We 'll drive the horses down, feed and water them. But first come
with me; there is a half-frozen man up yonder."

They ploughed through the snow together, choking and coughing in the
thick swirl of flakes that beat against their faces. The three horses,
powdered white, stood tails to the storm, with heads to the bluff,
while the drifts completely covered Carroll. He was sleeping, warm in
the blankets, and the two men picked him up and stumbled along with
their burden to the shelter of the cabin. Then Hughes faced the
blizzard again, leading the horses to the corral, while Hamlin
ministered to the semi-conscious soldier, laying him out upon a pile of
soft skins, and vigorously rubbing his limbs to restore circulation.
The man was stupid from exposure, and in some pain, but exhibited no
dangerous symptoms. When wrapped again in his blankets, he fell
instantly asleep. Hughes returned, mantled with snow, and, as the door
opened, the howl of the storm swept by.

"No better outside?"

"Lord, no! Worse, if anything. Wind more east, sweepin' the snow up
the valley. We 'll be plum shet up in an hour, I reckon. Hosses all
right, though."

In the silence they could hear the fierce beating against the door, the
shrieking of the storm-fiend encompassing them about.

CHAPTER XXIX

THE CHASE

Hamlin never forgot those two days and nights of waiting, while the
storm roared without and the clouds of drifting snow made any dream of
advance impossible. Trained as he was to patience, the delay left
marks in his face, and his nerves throbbed with pain. His mind was
with her constantly, even in moments of uneasy sleep, picturing her
condition unsheltered from the storm, and protected only by Le Fevre
and his two Indian allies. If he could only reach them, only strike a
blow for her release, it would be such a relief. The uncertainty
weighed upon him, giving unrestricted play to the imagination, and,
incidentally awakening a love for the girl so overwhelming as almost to
frighten him. He had fought this feeling heretofore, sternly,
deliberately, satisfied that such ambition was hopeless. He would not
attempt to lower her to his level, nor give her the unhappiness of
knowing that he dared misconstrue her frank friendliness into aught
more tender. But these misfortunes had changed the entire outlook.
Now he flung all pretence aside, eager to place his life on the altar
to save her. Even a dim flame of hope began blazing in his heart--hope
that he might yet wring from Le Fevre a confession that would clear his
name. He knew his man at last--knew him, and would track him now with
all the pitiless ingenuity of a savage. Once he could stand erect,
absolved of disgrace, a man again among men, he would ignore the
uniform of the ranks, and go to her with all the pride of his race.
Ay! and down in his heart he knew that she would welcome his coming;
that her eyes would not look at the uniform, but down into the depths
of his own.

He thought of it all as he paced the floor, or stared into the fire,
while outside the wind raged and howled, piling the snow against the
cabin front, and whirling in mad bursts up the valley. It would be
death to face the fury of it on those open plains. There was nothing
left him but to swear, and pace back and forth. Twice he and Hughes
fought their way to the corral, found the horses sheltered in a little
cove, and brought them food and water. The struggle to accomplish this
was sufficient proof of the impossibility of going farther. Exhausted
and breathless they staggered back into the quietness of the cabin,
feeling as though they had been beaten by clubs. Once, desperate to
attempt something, Hamlin suggested searching for the bodies of Wasson
and Wade, but Hughes shook his head, staring at the other as though
half believing him demented. The Sergeant strode to the door and
looked out into the smother of snow; then came back without a word of
protest.

Carroll improved steadily, complaining of pain where the frost had
nipped exposed flesh, yet able to sit up, and eat heartily. There
remained a numbness in his feet and legs, however, which prevented his
standing alone, and both the others realized that he would have to be
left behind when the storm abated. Hughes would go without doubt; on
this point the Sergeant was determined. He did not altogether like or
trust the man; he could not blot from memory the cowardly shot which
had killed Wasson, nor entirely rid himself of a fear that he, himself,
had failed an old comrade, in not revenging his death; yet one thing
was clear--the man's hatred for Le Fevre made him valuable.
Treacherous as he might be by nature, now his whole soul was bent on
revenge. Moreover he knew the lay of the land, the trail the fugitives
would follow, and to some extent Black Kettle's camp. Little by little
Hamlin drew from him every detail of Le Fevre's life in the cattle
country, becoming more and more convinced that both men were thieves,
their herds largely stolen through connivance with Indians.
Undoubtedly Le Fevre was the bigger rascal of the two, and possessed
greater influence because of his marriage into the tribe.

It was the second midnight when the wind died down. Hamlin, sleeping
fitfully, seemed to sense the change; he rose, forced the door open,
and peered out eagerly. There was lightness to the sky, and all about,
the unbroken expanse of snow sparkled in cold crystals. Nothing broke
the white desolation but the dark waters of the river still unfrozen,
and the gaunt limbs of the cottonwoods, now standing naked and
motionless. The silence was profound, seeming almost painful after the
wild fury of the past days. He could hear the soft purr of the water,
and Carroll's heavy breathing. And it was cold, bitterly cold, the
chill of it penetrating to his very bones. But for that he had no
care--his mind had absorbed the one important fact; the way was open,
they could go. He shook Hughes roughly into wakefulness, giving
utterance to sharp, tense orders, as though he dealt with a man of his
own troop.

"Turn out--lively, now. Yes, the storm is over. It's midnight, or a
little after, and growing cold. Put on your heavy stuff, and bring up
the two best horses. Come, now; you 'll step off quicker than that,
Hughes, if you ride with me. I 'll have everything ready by the time
you get here. Eat! Hell! We 'll eat in the saddle! What's that,
Carroll?'

"Ye ain't a-goin' to leave me yere alone, are ye, Sergeant?"

"No; there 'll be two horses to keep you company. You've got a snap,
man; plenty to eat, and a good fire--what more do you want--a nurse?
Hughes, what, in the name of Heaven, are you standing there for?
Perhaps you would like to have me stir you up. I will if those horses
are not here in ten minutes."

The cowman, muffled to the ears in a buffalo coat, plunged profanely
into the drift, slamming the door behind him. Hamlin hastily glanced
over the few articles piled in readiness on the bench--ammunition,
blankets, food--paying no heed to Carroll's muttering of discontent.
By the time Hughes returned, he had everything strapped for the
saddles. He thrust the cowman's rifle under his own flap, but handed
the latter a revolver, staring straight into his eyes as he did so.

"I reckon you and I have got enough in common in this chase to play
square," he said grimly. "We 're both out after Le Fevre, ain't we?"

"You bet."

"All right, then; here 's your gun. If you try any trickery, Hughes, I
'd advise that you get me the first shot, for if you miss you 'll never
have another."

The man drew the sleeve of his coat over his lips, his eyes shifting
before the Sergeant's steady gaze.

"I ain't thet sort," he muttered uneasily. "Yer don't need to think
thet o' me."

"Maybe not," and Hamlin swung into the saddle carelessly. "Only I
thought I 'd tell you beforehand what would happen if you attempt any
fool gun-play. Take the lead, you know the trail."

Carroll, supporting himself by the table, crept across to the door and
watched them, reckless as to the entering cold. The glare of the white
snow revealed clearly the outlines of the disappearing horsemen, as
they rode cautiously down the bank. The thin fringe of shore ice broke
under the weight of the ponies' hoofs, as the riders forced them
forward into the icy water. A moment later the two crept up the sharp
incline of the opposite shore, appearing distinct against the sky as
they attained the summit. Hamlin waved his hand, and then, on a lope,
the figures vanished into the gloom. Crying, and swearing at his
helplessness, the deserted soldier closed the door, and crept back
shivering into his blankets.

Hughes turned his horse's head to the southwest, and rode steadily
forward, the buffalo overcoat giving him a shaggy, grotesque appearance
in the spectral light reflected from the snow. Without a word Hamlin
followed, a pace behind. Their route lay for the first few miles
across a comparatively level plateau, over which the fierce wind of the
late storm had swept with such violence as to leave the surface packed
firm. The night shut them in silently, giving to their immediate
surroundings a mournful loneliness most depressing. There were no
shadows, only the dull snow-gleam across which they passed like
spectres, the only sound the crunching of their horses' hoofs on the
crust. The Sergeant, staring about, felt that he had never looked upon
a more depressing spectacle than this gloomy landscape, desolate and
wind-swept, still over-arched with low-lying storm clouds, black and
ominous.

They advanced thus for two hours, making no attempt to force their
animals, and scarcely exchanging a word, both men watchful of the snow
underfoot in search of a possible trail, when the character of the
country began to change. The level plain broke into a series of ridges
of irregular formation, all evidently heading toward some more southern
valley. In the depressions the snow lay banked in deep drifts, and,
after plunging desperately through two of these, unable to judge
correctly in the dim light where to ride, Hughes turned more to the
south, skirting along the bare slope of a ridge, trusting some turn
lower down would yield them the necessary westerning.

"It's over the ponies' heads down thar, Sergeant," he said, pointing
sideways into the dark hollow, "an' we 're bound to strike a
cross-ridge afore we come to the bluffs."

"What bluffs? The Canadian?"

"Yep; it 's badly broken kintry a long ways west o' yere. Bad lands,
mostly, an' a hell o' a place for cattle to hide out."

"Hughes, do you know where Black Kettle's camp is?"

"Well, no, not exactly. Las' winter the Cheyennes was settled 'bout
opposite the mouth o' Buffalo Creek, an' thar 're down thar somewhar
now. Thar 's one thing sure--they ain't any east o' thet. As we ain't
hit no trail, I reckon as how Le Fevre's outfit must hev drifted
further then I calc'lated."

"I thought so at the time," commented the other quietly. "However, we
will have to make the circle, and, if the country out yonder is as you
describe, they will be no better off. They 'll have to follow the
ridges to get through. We may get a glimpse when daylight comes."

They rode on steadily, keeping down below the crest of the hills, yet
picking a passage where the snow had been swept clear. The
slipperiness of the incline made their progress slow, as they dared not
risk the breaking of a horse's leg in that wilderness, and the faint
light glimmer was most confusing. The wind had ceased, the calm was
impressive after the wild tumult, but the cold seemed to strengthen as
the dawn advanced, viciously biting the exposed faces of the men. The
straining ponies were white with frost. In the gray of a cheerless
dawn they reached the first line of bluffs, and drew rein just below
the summit, where they could look on across the lower ridges to the
westward.

It was a wild, desolate scene, the dull gray sky overhead, the black
and white shading below. Mile on mile the picture unrolled to the
horizon, the vista widening slowly as the light increased, bringing
forth the details of barren, wind-swept ridges and shallow valleys
choked with snow. Not a tree, not a shrub, not even a rock broke the
dead monotony. All was loneliness and silence. The snow lay gleaming
and untrampled, except as here and there a dull brown patch of dead
grass darkened the side of a hill. Hamlin shadowed his eyes with
gloved hands, studying intently inch by inch the wide domain. Suddenly
he arose in his stirrups, bending eagerly forward.

"By heaven! There they are, Hughes," he exclaimed, feeling the hot
blood course through his veins. "See, on the incline of that third
ridge. There is a shadow there, and they are not moving. Here; draw
in back of me; now you can see. It looks as though they had a horse
down."

Hughes stared long in the direction indicated, his eyes narrowed into
mere slits.

"Ah! that's it," he said at last. "Horse broke a leg; shot it jest
then--I seen the flash. Now they 're goin' on. See! One fellow
climbin' up behind 'nother, an' the horse left lyin' thar on the snow."

"How many people do you make out?" and Hamlin's voice shook a little.
"There's four, ain't there?"

At that distance the fugitives looked like mere black dots. It could
scarcely be determined that they moved, and yet their outlines were
distinct against the background of white snow, while the two watchers
possessed the trained vision of the plains. Hughes answered after a
deliberate inspection, without so much as turning his head.

"Thar's four; leastwise thar was four hosses, and two--the Injuns
likely--are ridin' double. Thar animals are 'bout played, it looks ter
me--just able ter crawl. Ain't had no fodder is 'bout the size o' it.
We ought to be able ter head thet bunch off 'fore they git to the
Canadian at thet rate o' travel--hey, Sergeant?"

Hamlin's eyes followed the long sweep of the cross-ridge, studying its
trend, and the direction of the intervening valleys. Once down on the
other slope all this extensive view would be hidden; they would have to
ride blindly, guessing at the particular swale along which those others
were advancing. To come to the summit again would surely expose them
to those keen Indian eyes. They would be searching the trail ahead
ceaselessly, noting every object along the crests of the ridges.
However, if the passage around was not blocked with snow, they ought to
attain the junction in ample time. With twice as far to travel, their
ponies were strong and fit, and should win out against Le Fevre's
starved beasts. He waved his gloved hand.

"We 'll try it," he said shortly; "come on, Hughes."

He led off along the steep side of the hill, and forcing his horse into
a sharp trot, headed straight out into the white wilderness; Hughes,
without uttering a word, brought down his quirt on his pony's flank and
followed.

CHAPTER XXX

THE FIGHT IN THE SNOW

The slope toward the south had not been swept clear by the wind, and
the horses broke through the crust to their knees, occasionally
stumbling into hollows where the drifts were deep. This made progress
slow, although Hamlin pressed forward recklessly, fully aware of what
it would mean should the fugitives emerge first, and thus achieve a
clear passage to the river. What was going on there to the right,
behind the fringe of low hills, could not be conjectured, but to the
left the riders could see clearly for a great distance over the
desolate, snow-draped land, down to the dark waters of the Canadian and
the shore beyond. It was all a deserted waste, barren of movement, and
no smoke bore evidence of any Indian encampment near by. A mile or
more to the west the river took a sharp bend, disappearing behind the
bluffs, and on the open plain, barely visible against the unsullied
mantle of snow, were dark specks, apparently moving, but in erratic
fashion. The distance intervening was too great for either man to
distinguish exactly what these might be, yet as they plunged onward
their keen eyes searched the valley vigilantly through the cold clear
air.

"Some of your long-horns, Hughes?" asked the Sergeant finally, pointing
as he turned and glanced back. "Quite a bunch of cattle, it looks to
me."

"Them thar ain't cows," returned the other positively. "Tha 're too
closely bunched up. I reckon it 'll be Black Kettle's pony herd."

"Then his village will lie in beyond the big bend there," and Hamlin
rose in his stirrups, shading his eyes. "The herders have n't driven
them far since the storm broke. You don't see any smoke, do you?"

Hughes shook his head.

"You would n't likely see none against thet gray sky; them ponies is
two er maybe three miles off, an' ther camp is likely a mile er so
further. Thar 's a big bend thar, as I remember; a sort o' level spot
with bluff all 'round, 'cept on the side o' ther river. We hed a
cattle corral thar onc't, durin' a round-up. Most likely that's whar
they are."

"And Le Fevre is heading straight for the spot. Well, he 'll have to
come out on this bench first."

"Yep, there sure ain't no valleys lying between. How many o' these
yere gulch openings have we got past already?"

"Three; there 's the fourth just ahead. That's the one they were
trailing through. No doubt about that, is there?"

"Not 'less them Injuns took to the ridge. They wus sure in the fourth
valley when we fust sighted the outfit back thar. Whatcher goin' ter
do, Sergeant? Jump 'em a hoss-back, an' just pump lead?"

Hamlin had thought this over as he rode and already had planned his
attack. The opening to the valley, along which Le Fevre's exhausted
party were slowly advancing toward them, seemed favorable--it was
narrow and badly choked with snow. It offered an ideal place for a
surprise and was far enough away from the Indian encampment--if the
latter was situated as Hughes believed, in the great bend above--so
that no echo of shots would carry that distance, even through the crisp
atmosphere. There were two things the Sergeant had determined to
accomplish if possible--the rescue of Miss Molly uninjured, and the
capture of Le Fevre. No matter how deeply he despised the man he could
not afford to have him killed. So far as the Indians were concerned
there would be no mercy shown, for if either one escaped he would carry
the news to the village. With all this in his mind the Sergeant swung
out of the saddle, dropping the rein to the ground, confident that the
tired cow-pony would remain quiet. His belt was buckled outside the
army overcoat, and he drew his revolver, tested it, and slipped it back
loosely into the holster. Then he pulled out the rifle from under the
flap of the saddle, grimly handling it in his gloved fingers. Hughes,
his head sunk into his fur collar, his hot breath steaming in the cold
atmosphere, watched him curiously.

"Lookin' fer a right smart fight, I reckon," he said, a trifle
uneasily. "Believe me, yer ain't goin' ter find thet fellar no spring
chicken. He 's some on ther gun play."

"I hope he knows enough to quit when he 's cornered," returned the
other pleasantly, sweeping his eyes to the opening in the hills, "for I
'm aiming to take him back to Kansas alive."

"The hell ye are!"

"That 's the plan, pardner, and I 've got reason for it. I knew Le
Fevre once, years ago, during the war, and I 've been some anxious to
get my hands on him ever since. He 's worth far more to me alive than
dead, just now, and, Hughes," his voice hardening, "you 'll bear that
fact in mind when the fracas begins. From now on this is my affair,
not yours. You understand? You get busy with the two bucks, and leave
the white man to me. Come on now,--dismount."

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18