CHAPTER XXVII
THE TRAIL
She was ready, crouched close to the window of her room, when thesignal came, but first she was not sure, because the sound was as faintas a memory. Moreover, it might have been a freakish whistling in thewind, which rose stronger and stronger. It had piled thethunder-clouds high and higher, and now and again a heavy drop of raintapped at her window like a thrown pebble.
So she waited, and at last heard the whistle a second time,unmistakably clear. In a moment she was hurrying down to the stable,climbed into the saddle, and rode at a cautious trot out among thesand-hills.
For a time she saw no one, and commenced to fear that the whole thinghad been a gruesomely real, practical jest. So she stopped her horseand imitated the signal whistle as well as she could. It was repeatedimmediately behind her--almost in her ear, and she turned to make outthe dark form of a tall horseman.
"A bad night for the start," called Wilbur. "Do you want to wait tillto-morrow?"
She could not answer for a moment, the wind whipping against her face,while a big drop stung her lips.
She said at length: "Would a night like this stop Pierre--or McGurk?"
For answer she heard his laughter.
"Then I'll start. I must never stop for weather."
He rode up beside her.
"This is the start of the finish."
"What do you mean?"
"Nothing. But somewhere on this ride, I've an idea a question will beanswered for me."
"What question?"
Instead of replying he said: "You've got a slicker on?"
"Yes."
"Then follow me. We'll gallop into the wind a while and get the horseswarmed up. Afterward we'll take the valley of the Old Crow and followit up to the crest of the range."
His horse lunged out ahead of hers, and she followed, leaning farforward against a wind that kept her almost breathless. For severalminutes they cantered steadily, and before the end of the gallop shewas sitting straight up, her heart beating fast, a faint smile on herlips, and the blood running hot in her veins. For the battle wasbegun, she knew, by that first sharp gallop, and here at the start shefelt confident of her strength. When she met Pierre she could forcehim to turn back with her.
Wilbur checked his horse to a trot; they climbed a hill, and just asthe rain broke on them with a rattling gust they swung into the valleyof the Old Crow. Above them in the sky the thunder rode; the rainwhipped against the rocks like the rattle of a thousand flying hoofs;and now and again the lightning flashed across the sky.
Through that vast accompaniment they moved on in the night straighttoward the heart of the mountains which sprang into sight with everyflash of the lightning and seemed toppling almost above them, yet theywere weary miles away, as she knew.
By those same flashes she caught glimpses of the face of Wilbur. Shehardly knew him. She had seen him always big, gentle, handsome,good-natured; now he was grown harder, with a stern set of the jaw, anda certain square outline of face. It had seemed impossible. Now shebegan to guess how the law could have placed a price upon his head.For he belonged out here with the night and the crash of the storm,with free, strong, lawless things about him.
An awe grew up in her, and she was filled half with dread and half withcuriosity at the thought of facing him, as she must many a time, acrossthe camp-fire. In a way, he was the ladder by which she climbed to anunderstanding of Pierre le Rouge, Red Pierre. For that Pierre, sheknew, was to big Wilbur what Dick himself was to the great mass oflaw-abiding men. Accident had cut Wilbur adrift, but it was more thanaccident which started Pierre on the road to outlawry; it was the sheerlove of dangerous chance, the glory in fighting other men. This wasPierre.
What was the man for whom Pierre hunted? What was McGurk? Not eventhe description of Wilbur had proved very enlightening. Her thought ofhim was vague, nebulous, and taking many forms. Sometimes he was talland dark and stern. Again he was short and heavy and somewhat deformedof body. But always he was everywhere in the night about her.
She guessed at his voice rumbling through an echo of the thunder; sheheard the sound of his pursuing horse in the rattle of the followingrain. Her work was to keep this relentless lone rider away fromPierre; it was as if she strove to keep the ocean tide away from theshore. They seemed doomed to meet and shock.
All this she pondered as they began the ride up the valley, but as thelong journey continued, and the hours and the miles rolled past them, aracking weariness possessed her and numbed her mind. She began to wishdesperately for morning, but even morning might not bring an end to theride. That would be at the will of the outlaw beside her. Finally,only one picture remained to her. It stabbed across the darkness ofher mind--the red hair and the keen eyes of Pierre.
The storm decreased as they went up the valley. Finally the wind felloff to a pleasant breeze, and the clouds of the rain broke in thecenter of the heavens and toppled west in great tumbling masses. Inhalf an hour's time the sky was clear, and a cold moon looked down onthe blue-black evergreens, shining faintly with the wet, and on thedead black of the mountains.
For the first time in all that ride her companion spoke: "In an hourthe gray will begin in the east. Suppose we camp here, eat, get a bitof sleep, and then start again?"
As if she had waited for permission, fighting against her weariness,she now let down the bars of her will, and a tingling stupor swept overher body and broke in hot, numbing waves on her brain.
"Whatever you say. I'm afraid I couldn't ride much further to-night."
"Look up at me."
She raised her head.
"No; you're all in. But you've made a game ride. I never dreamedthere was so much iron in you. We'll make our fire just inside thetrees and carry water up from the river, eh?"
A scanty growth of the evergreens walked over the hills and skirtedalong the valley, leaving a broad, sandy waste in the center where theriver at times swelled with melted snow or sudden rains and rushed overthe lower valley in a broad, muddy flood.
At the edge of the forest he picketed the horses in a little open spacecarpeted with wet, dead grass. It took him some time to find dry wood.So he wrapped her in blankets and left her sitting on a saddle. As thechill left her body she began to grow delightfully drowsy, and vaguelyshe heard the crack of his hatchet. He had found a rotten stump andwas tearing off the wet outer bark to get at the dry wood within.
After that it was only a moment before a fire sputtered feebly andsmoked at her feet. She watched it, only half conscious, in her utterweariness, and seeing dimly the hollow-eyed face of the man who stoopedabove the blaze. Now it grew quickly, and increased to a sharp-pointedpyramid of red flame. The bright sparks showered up, crackling andsnapping, and when she followed their flight she saw the darkly noddingtops of the evergreens above her.
With the fire well under way, he took the coffee-pot to get water fromthe river, and left her to fry the bacon. The fumes of the frying meatwakened her at once, and brushed even the thought of her exhaustionfrom her mind. She was hungry--ravenously hungry.
So she tended the bacon slices with care until they grew brown andcrisped and curled at the edges. After that she removed the pan fromthe fire, and it was not until then that she began to wonder why Wilburwas so long in returning with the water. The bacon grew cold; sheheated it again and was mightily tempted to taste one piece of it, butrestrained herself to wait for Dick.
Still he did not come. She stood up and called, her high voice risingsharp and small through the trees. It seemed that some sound answered,so she smiled and sat down. Ten minutes passed and he was still gone.A cold alarm swept over her at that. She dropped the pan and ran outfrom the trees.
Everywhere was the bright moonlight--over the wet rocks, and sand, andglimmering on the slow tide of the river, but nowhere could she seeWilbur, or a form that looked like a man. Then the moonlight glintedon something at the edge of the river. She ran to it and found theco
ffee-can half in the water and partially filled with sand.
A wild temptation to scream came over her, but the tight muscles of herthroat let out no sound. But if Wilbur were not here, where had hegone? He could not have vanished into thin air. The ripple of thewater washing on the sand replied. Yes, that Current might have rolledhis body away.
To shut out the grim sight of the river she turned. Stretched acrossthe ground at her feet she saw clearly the impression of a body in themoist sand.