CHAPTER XXIII
"Listen!"
Anson whispered tensely. His poise was motionless, his eyes rovedeverywhere. He held up a shaking, bludgy finger, to command silence.
A third and stranger sound accompanied the low, weird moan of the wind,and the hollow mockery of the brook--and it seemed a barely perceptible,exquisitely delicate wail or whine. It filled in the lulls between theother sounds.
"If thet's some varmint he's close," whispered Anson.
"But shore, it's far off," said Wilson.
Shady Jones and Moze divided their opinions in the same way.
All breathed freer when the wail ceased, relaxing to their formerlounging positions around the fire. An impenetrable wall of blacknesscircled the pale space lighted by the camp-fire; and this circlecontained the dark, somber group of men in the center, the dyingcamp-fire, and a few spectral trunks of pines and the tethered horses onthe outer edge. The horses scarcely moved from their tracks, and theirerect, alert heads attested to their sensitiveness to the peculiaritiesof the night.
Then, at an unusually quiet lull the strange sound gradually arose to awailing whine.
"It's thet crazy wench cryin'," declared the outlaw leader.
Apparently his allies accepted that statement with as much relief asthey had expressed for the termination of the sound.
"Shore, thet must be it," agreed Jim Wilson, gravely.
"We'll git a lot of sleep with thet gurl whinin' all night," growledShady Jones.
"She gives me the creeps," said Moze.
Wilson got up to resume his pondering walk, head bent, hands behind hisback, a grim, realistic figure of perturbation.
"Jim--set down. You make me nervous," said Anson, irritably.
Wilson actually laughed, but low, as if to keep his strange mirth wellconfined.
"Snake, I'll bet you my hoss an' my gun ag'in' a biscuit thet in abootsix seconds more or less I'll be stampedin like them hosses."
Anson's lean jaw dropped. The other two outlaws stared with roundeyes. Wilson was not drunk, they evidently knew; but what he really wasappeared a mystery.
"Jim Wilson, are you showin' yellow?" queried Anson, hoarsely.
"Mebbe. The Lord only knows. But listen heah.... Snake, you've seen an'heard people croak?"
"You mean cash in--die?"
"Shore."
"Wal, yes--a couple or so," replied Anson, grimly.
"But you never seen no one die of shock--of an orful scare?"
"No, I reckon I never did."
"I have. An' thet's what's ailin' Jim Wilson," and he resumed his doggedsteps.
Anson and his two comrades exchanged bewildered glances with oneanother.
"A-huh! Say, what's thet got to do with us hyar? asked Anson, presently.
"Thet gurl is dyin'!" retorted Wilson, in a voice cracking like a whip.
The three outlaws stiffened in their seats, incredulous, yetirresistibly swayed by emotions that stirred to this dark, lonely,ill-omened hour.
Wilson trudged to the edge of the lighted circle, muttering to himself,and came back again; then he trudged farther, this time almost outof sight, but only to return; the third time he vanished in theimpenetrable wall of light. The three men scarcely moved a muscle asthey watched the place where he had disappeared. In a few moments hecame stumbling back.
"Shore she's almost gone," he said, dismally. "It took my nerve, butI felt of her face.... Thet orful wail is her breath chokin' in herthroat.... Like a death-rattle, only long instead of short."
"Wal, if she's gotta croak it's good she gits it over quick," repliedAnson. "I 'ain't hed sleep fer three nights. ... An' what I need iswhisky."
"Snake, thet's gospel you're spoutin'," remarked Shady Jones, morosely.
The direction of sound in the glen was difficult to be assured of, butany man not stirred to a high pitch of excitement could have told thatthe difference in volume of this strange wail must have been caused bydifferent distances and positions. Also, when it was loudest, it wasmost like a whine. But these outlaws heard with their consciences.
At last it ceased abruptly.
Wilson again left the group to be swallowed up by the night. His absencewas longer than usual, but he returned hurriedly.
"She's daid!" he exclaimed, solemnly. "Thet innocent kid--who neverharmed no one--an' who'd make any man better fer seein' her--she'sdaid!... Anson, you've shore a heap to answer fer when your time comes."
"What's eatin' you?" demanded the leader, angrily. "Her blood ain't onmy hands."
"It shore is," shouted Wilson, shaking his hand at Anson. "An' you'llhev to take your medicine. I felt thet comin' all along. An' I feel somemore."
"Aw! She's jest gone to sleep," declared Anson, shaking his long frameas he rose. "Gimme a light."
"Boss, you're plumb off to go near a dead gurl thet's jest died crazy,"protested Shady Jones.
"Off! Haw! Haw! Who ain't off in this outfit, I'd like to know?" Ansonpossessed himself of a stick blazing at one and, and with this hestalked off toward the lean-to where the girl was supposed to be dead.His gaunt figure, lighted by the torch, certainly fitted the weird,black surroundings. And it was seen that once near the girl's shelter heproceeded more slowly, until he halted. He bent to peer inside.
"SHE'S GONE!" he yelled, in harsh, shaken accents.
Than the torch burned out, leaving only a red glow. He whirled it about,but the blaze did not rekindle. His comrades, peering intently, lostsight of his tall form and the end of the red-ended stick. Darkness likepitch swallowed him. For a moment no sound intervened. Again the moan ofwind, the strange little mocking hollow roar, dominated the place. Thenthere came a rush of something, perhaps of air, like the soft swishingof spruce branches swinging aside. Dull, thudding footsteps followed it.Anson came running back to the fire. His aspect was wild, his face pale,his eyes were fierce and starting from their sockets. He had drawn hisgun.
"Did--ye--see er hear--anythin'?" he panted, peering back, then allaround, and at last at his man.
"No. An' I shore was lookin' an' listenin'," replied Wilson.
"Boss, there wasn't nothin'," declared Moze.
"I ain't so sartin," said Shady Jones, with doubtful, staring eyes. "Ibelieve I heerd a rustlin'."
"She wasn't there!" ejaculated Anson, in wondering awe. "She's gone!...My torch went out. I couldn't see. An' jest then I felt somethin' waspassin'. Fast! I jerked 'round. All was black, an' yet if I didn't seea big gray streak I'm crazier 'n thet gurl. But I couldn't swear toanythin' but a rushin' of wind. I felt thet."
"Gone!" exclaimed Wilson, in great alarm. "Fellars, if thet's so, thenmebbe she wasn't daid an' she wandered off. ... But she was daid! Herheart hed quit beatin'. I'll swear to thet."
"I move to break camp," said Shady Jones, gruffly, and he stood up. Mozeseconded that move by an expressive flash of his black visage.
"Jim, if she's dead--an' gone--what 'n hell's come off?" huskily askedAnson. "It, only seems thet way. We're all worked up.... Let's talksense."
"Anson, shore there's a heap you an' me don't know," replied Wilson."The world come to an end once. Wal, it can come to another end.... Itell you I ain't surprised--"
"THAR!" cried Anson, whirling, with his gun leaping out.
Something huge, shadowy, gray against the black rushed behind the menand trees; and following it came a perceptible acceleration of the air.
"Shore, Snake, there wasn't nothin'," said Wilson, "presently."
"I heerd," whispered Shady Jones.
"It was only a breeze blowin' thet smoke," rejoined Moze.
"I'd bet my soul somethin' went back of me," declared Anson, glaringinto the void.
"Listen an' let's make shore," suggested Wilson.
The guilty, agitated faces of the outlaws showed plain enough in theflickering light for each to see a convicting dread in his fellow. Likestatues they stood, watching and listening.
Few sounds stirred in the strange silence. Now and then the horsesheaved h
eavily, but stood still; a dismal, dreary note of the wind inthe pines vied with a hollow laugh of the brook. And these low soundsonly fastened attention upon the quality of the silence. A breathing,lonely spirit of solitude permeated the black dell. Like a pit ofunplumbed depths the dark night yawned. An evil conscience, listeningthere, could have heard the most peaceful, beautiful, and mournfulsounds of nature only as strains of a calling hell.
Suddenly the silent, oppressive, surcharged air split to a short,piercing scream.
Anson's big horse stood up straight, pawing the air, and came down witha crash. The other horses shook with terror.
"Wasn't--thet--a cougar?" whispered Anson, thickly.
"Thet was a woman's scream," replied Wilson, and he appeared to beshaking like a leaf in the wind.
"Then--I figgered right--the kid's alive--wonderin' around--an' she letout thet orful scream," said Anson.
"Wonderin' 'round, yes--but she's daid!"
"My Gawd! it ain't possible!"
"Wal, if she ain't wonderin' round daid she's almost daid," repliedWilson. And he began to whisper to himself.
"If I'd only knowed what thet deal meant I'd hev plugged Beasley insteadof listenin'.... An' I ought to hev knocked thet kid on the head an'made sartin she'd croaked. If she goes screamin' 'round thet way--"
His voice failed as there rose a thin, splitting, high-pointed shriek,somewhat resembling the first scream, only less wild. It came apparentlyfrom the cliff.
From another point in the pitch-black glen rose the wailing, terriblecry of a woman in agony. Wild, haunting, mournful wail!
Anson's horse, loosing the halter, plunged back, almost falling over aslight depression in the rocky ground. The outlaw caught him and draggedhim nearer the fire. The other horses stood shaking and straining. Mozeran between them and held them. Shady Jones threw green brush on thefire. With sputter and crackle a blaze started, showing Wilson standingtragically, his arms out, facing the black shadows.
The strange, live shriek was not repeated. But the cry, like that ofa woman in her death-throes, pierced the silence again. It left aquivering ring that softly died away. Then the stillness clamped downonce more and the darkness seemed to thicken. The men waited, and whenthey had begun to relax the cry burst out appallingly close, rightbehind the trees. It was human--the personification of pain andterror--the tremendous struggle of precious life against horrible death.So pure, so exquisite, so wonderful was the cry that the listenerswrithed as if they saw an innocent, tender, beautiful girl tornfrightfully before their eyes. It was full of suspense; it thrilledfor death; its marvelous potency was the wild note--that beautiful andghastly note of self-preservation.
In sheer desperation the outlaw leader fired his gun at the black wallwhence the cry came. Then he had to fight his horse to keep him fromplunging away. Following the shot was an interval of silence; the horsesbecame tractable; the men gathered closer to the fire, with the haltersstill held firmly.
"If it was a cougar--thet 'd scare him off," said Anson.
"Shore, but it ain't a cougar," replied Wilson. "Wait an' see!"
They all waited, listening with ears turned to different points, eyesroving everywhere, afraid of their very shadows. Once more the moan ofwind, the mockery of brook, deep gurgle, laugh and babble, dominated thesilence of the glen.
"Boss, let's shake this spooky hole," whispered Moze.
The suggestion attracted Anson, and he pondered it while slowly shakinghis head.
"We've only three hosses. An' mine 'll take ridin'--after them squalls,"replied the leader. "We've got packs, too. An' hell 'ain't nothin' onthis place fer bein' dark."
"No matter. Let's go. I'll walk an' lead the way," said Moze, eagerly."I got sharp eyes. You fellars can ride an' carry a pack. We'll git outof here an' come back in daylight fer the rest of the outfit."
"Anson, I'm keen fer thet myself," declared Shady Jones.
"Jim, what d'ye say to thet?" queried Anson. "Rustlin' out of this blackhole?"
"Shore it's a grand idee," agreed Wilson.
"Thet was a cougar," avowed Anson, gathering courage as the silenceremained unbroken. "But jest the same it was as tough on me as if it hedbeen a woman screamin' over a blade twistin' in her gizzards."
"Snake, shore you seen a woman heah lately?" deliberately asked Wilson.
"Reckon I did. Thet kid," replied Anson, dubiously.
"Wal, you seen her go crazy, didn't you?"
"Yes."
"'An' she wasn't heah when you went huntin' fer her?"
"Correct."
"Wal, if thet's so, what do you want to blab about cougars for?"
Wilson's argument seemed incontestable. Shady and Moze nodded gloomilyand shifted restlessly from foot to foot. Anson dropped his head.
"No matter--if we only don't hear--" he began, suddenly to grow mute.
Right upon them, from some place, just out the circle of light, rose ascream, by reason of its proximity the most piercing and agonizing yetheard, simply petrifying the group until the peal passed. Anson's hugehorse reared, and with a snort of terror lunged in tremendous leap,straight out. He struck Anson with thudding impact, knocking him overthe rocks into the depression back of the camp-fire, and plunging afterhim. Wilson had made a flying leap just in time to avoid being struck,and he turned to see Anson go down. There came a crash, a groan, andthen the strike and pound of hoofs as the horse struggled up. Apparentlyhe had rolled over his master.
"Help, fellars!" yelled Wilson, quick to leap down over the little bank,and in the dim light to grasp the halter. The three men dragged thehorse out and securely tied him close to a tree. That done, theypeered down into the depression. Anson's form could just barely bedistinguished in the gloom. He lay stretched out. Another groan escapedhim.
"Shore I'm scared he's hurt," said Wilson.
"Hoss rolled right on top of him. An' thet hoss's heavy," declared Moze.
They got down and knelt beside their leader. In the darkness his facelooked dull gray. His breathing was not right.
"Snake, old man, you ain't--hurt?" asked Wilson, with a tremor in hisvoice. Receiving no reply, he said to his comrades, "Lay hold an' we'llheft him up where we can see."
The three men carefully lifted Anson up on the bank and laid him nearthe fire in the light. Anson was conscious. His face was ghastly. Bloodshowed on his lips.
Wilson knelt beside him. The other outlaws stood up, and with one darkgaze at one another damned Anson's chance of life. And on the instantrose that terrible distressing scream of acute agony--like that of awoman being dismembered. Shady Jones whispered something to Moze. Thenthey stood up, gazing down at their fallen leader.
"Tell me where you're hurt?" asked Wilson.
"He--smashed--my chest," said Anson, in a broken, strangled whisper.
Wilson's deft hands opened the outlaw's shirt and felt of his chest.
"No. Shore your breast-bone ain't smashed," replied Wilson, hopefully.And he began to run his hand around one side of Anson's body and thenthe other. Abruptly he stopped, averted his gaze, then slowly ran thehand all along that side. Anson's ribs had been broken and crushed inby the weight of the horse. He was bleeding at the mouth, and his slow,painful expulsions of breath brought a bloody froth, which showed thatthe broken bones had penetrated the lungs. An injury sooner or laterfatal!
"Pard, you busted a rib or two," said Wilson.
"Aw, Jim--it must be--wuss 'n thet!" he whispered. "I'm--in orful--pain.An' I can't--git any--breath."
"Mebbe you'll be better," said Wilson, with a cheerfulness his facebelied.
Moze bent close over Anson, took a short scrutiny of that ghastly face,at the blood-stained lips, and the lean hands plucking at nothing. Thenhe jerked erect.
"Shady, he's goin' to cash. Let's clear out of this."
"I'm yours pertickler previous," replied Jones.
Both turned away. They untied the two horses and led them up to wherethe saddles lay. Swiftly the blankets went on, swiftly the sadd
lesswung up, swiftly the cinches snapped. Anson lay gazing up at Wilson,comprehending this move. And Wilson stood strangely grim and silent,somehow detached coldly from that self of the past few hours.
"Shady, you grab some bread an' I'll pack a bunk of meat," said Moze.Both men came near the fire, into the light, within ten feet of wherethe leader lay.
"Fellars--you ain't--slopin'?" he whispered, in husky amaze.
"Boss, we air thet same. We can't do you no good an' this hole ain'thealthy," replied Moze.
Shady Jones swung himself astride his horse, all about him sharp, eager,strung.
"Moze, I'll tote the grub an' you lead out of hyar, till we git past thewust timber," he said.
"Aw, Moze--you wouldn't leave--Jim hyar--alone," implored Anson.
"Jim can stay till he rots," retorted Moze. "I've hed enough of thishole."
"But, Moze--it ain't square--" panted Anson. "Jim wouldn't--leave me.I'd stick--by you.... I'll make it--all up to you."
"Snake, you're goin' to cash," sardonically returned Moze.
A current leaped all through Anson's stretched frame. His ghastly faceblazed. That was the great and the terrible moment which for long hadbeen in abeyance. Wilson had known grimly that it would come, by onemeans or another. Anson had doggedly and faithfully struggled againstthe tide of fatal issues. Moze and Shady Jones, deep locked in theirself-centered motives, had not realized the inevitable trend of theirdark lives.
Anson, prostrate as he was, swiftly drew his gun and shot Moze. Withoutsound or movement of hand Moze fell. Then the plunge of Shady's horsecaused Anson's second shot to miss. A quick third shot brought noapparent result but Shady's cursing resort to his own weapon. He triedto aim from his plunging horse. His bullets spattered dust and gravelover Anson. Then Wilson's long arm stretched and his heavy gun banged.Shady collapsed in the saddle, and the frightened horse, throwing him,plunged out of the circle of light. Thudding hoofs, crashings of brush,quickly ceased.
"Jim--did you--git him?" whispered Anson.
"Shore did, Snake," was the slow, halting response. Jim Wilson must havesustained a sick shudder as he replied. Sheathing his gun, he folded ablanket and put it under Anson's head.
"Jim--my feet--air orful cold," whispered Anson.
"Wal, it's gittin' chilly," replied Wilson, and, taking a secondblanket, he laid that over Anson's limbs. "Snake, I'm feared Shady hityou once."
"A-huh! But not so I'd care--much--if I hed--no wuss hurt."
"You lay still now. Reckon Shady's hoss stopped out heah a ways. An'I'll see."
"Jim--I 'ain't heerd--thet scream fer--a little."
"Shore it's gone.... Reckon now thet was a cougar."
"I knowed it!"
Wilson stalked away into the darkness. That inky wall did not seem soimpenetrable and black after he had gotten out of the circle of light.He proceeded carefully and did not make any missteps. He groped fromtree to tree toward the cliff and presently brought up against a hugeflat rock as high as his head. Here the darkness was blackest, yet hewas able to see a light form on the rock.
"Miss, are you there--all right?" he called, softly.
"Yes, but I'm scared to death," she whispered in reply.
"Shore it wound up sudden. Come now. I reckon your trouble's over."
He helped her off the rock, and, finding her unsteady on her feet, hesupported her with one arm and held the other out in front of him tofeel for objects. Foot by foot they worked out from under the denseshadow of the cliff, following the course of the little brook. Itbabbled and gurgled, and almost drowned the low whistle Wilson sent out.The girl dragged heavily upon him now, evidently weakening. At length hereached the little open patch at the head of the ravine. Halting here,he whistled. An answer came from somewhere behind him and to the right.Wilson waited, with the girl hanging on his arm.
"Dale's heah," he said. "An' don't you keel over now--after all thenerve you hed."
A swishing of brush, a step, a soft, padded footfall; a looming, darkfigure, and a long, low gray shape, stealthily moving--it was the lastof these that made Wilson jump.
"Wilson!" came Dale's subdued voice.
"Heah. I've got her, Dale. Safe an sound," replied Wilson, steppingtoward the tall form. And he put the drooping girl into Dale's arms.
"Bo! Bo! You're all right?" Dale's deep voice was tremulous.
She roused up to seize him and to utter little cries of joy
"Oh, Dale!... Oh, thank Heaven! I'm ready to drop now.... Hasn't it beena night--an adventure?... I'm well--safe--sound.... Dale, we owe it tothis Jim Wilson."
"Bo, I--we'll all thank him--all our lives," replied Dale. "Wilson,you're a man!... If you'll shake that gang--"
"Dale, shore there ain't much of a gang left, onless you let Burt gitaway," replied Wilson.
"I didn't kill him--or hurt him. But I scared him so I'll bet he'srunnin' yet.... Wilson, did all the shootin' mean a fight?"
"Tolerable."
"Oh, Dale, it was terrible! I saw it all. I--"
"Wal, Miss, you can tell him after I go.... I'm wishin' you good luck."
His voice was a cool, easy drawl, slightly tremulous.
The girl's face flashed white in the gloom. She pressed against theoutlaw--wrung his hands.
"Heaven help you, Jim Wilson! You ARE from Texas!... I'll rememberyou--pray for you all my life!"
Wilson moved away, out toward the pale glow of light under the blackpines.