CHAPTER XVII.
A MASTER-STROKE OF VILLAINY.
Piegan shortly proved that he made no vain boast when he asserted hisability to follow their track. A lifetime on the plains, and a naturalfitness for the life, had made him own brother to the Indian in thematter of nosing out dim trails. The crushing of a tuft of grass, abroken twig, all the half-hidden signs that the feet of horses and menleave behind, held a message for him; nothing, however slight, escapedhis eagle eye. And he did it subconsciously, without perceptible effort.The surpassing skill of his tracking did not strike me forcibly atfirst, for I can read an open trail as well as the average cowman, andthe mark of their passing lay plain before us; the veriest pilgrim, newcome from graded roads and fenced pastures, could have counted thenumber of their steps--each hoof had stamped its impression in the softloam as clearly as a steel die-cut in soaked leather. But that was wherethey had ridden while the land was still plastic from the rain. Farther,wind and sun had dried the ridge-turf to its normal firmness and bakedthe dobe flats till in places they were of their old flinty hardness.Yet Piegan crossed at a lope places where neither MacRae nor I couldglimpse a sign--and when we would come again to soft ground the trail ofthe three would rise up to confront us, and bid us marvel at thekeenness of his vision. He had a gift that we lacked.
We followed in the wake of Piegan Smith with what speed thecoulee-gashed prairie permitted, and about three o'clock halted for halfan hour to let our horses graze; we had been riding steadily over fourhours, and it behooved us to have some thought for our mounts. Withinten minutes of starting again we dipped into a wide-bottomed coulee andcame on the place where the three had made their first night-camp--apatch of dead ashes, a few half-burned sticks, and the close-croppedgrass-plots where each horse had circled a picket-pin.
Beyond these obvious signs, there was nothing to see. Nothing, at least,that I could see except faint tracks leading away from the spot. Thesewe had followed but a short distance when Piegan, who was scrutinizingthe ground with more care than he had before shown, pulled up with anexclamation.
"Blamed if they ain't got company, from the look uh things," he grunted,squinting down. "I thought that was considerable of a trail for them t'make. You fellers wait here a minute. I want t' find out which way themtracks come in."
He loped back, swinging in north of the campground. While he was gone,MacRae and I leaned over in our saddles and scanned closely thegrass-carpeted bottom-land. That the hoofs of passing horses had presseddown the rank growth of grass was plain enough, but whether the hoofs ofsix or a dozen we could only guess. Piegan turned, rode to where theyhad built their fire, circled the place, then came back to us.
"All right," he said. "I was sure there was more livestock left thatcampin'-place than we followed in. They come from the north--fourhosses, two uh them rode an' the other two led, I think, from the waythey heaved around a-crossin' a washout back yonder."
A mile or so farther we crossed a bare sandy stretch on the flat bottomof another coulee, and on its receptive surface the trail lay like aprinted page--nine distinct, separate horse-tracks.
"Five riders an' four extra hosses, if I ain't read the sign wrong,"Piegan casually remarked. "Say, we'll have our hands full if we bumpinto this bunch unexpected, eh?"
"They'll make short work of us if they get half a chance," Mac agreed."But we'll make it a surprise party if we can."
From there on Piegan set a pace that taxed our horses' mettle--that wasone consolation--we were well mounted. All three of us were good for astraightaway chase of a hundred miles if it came to a showdown. Pieganknew that we must do our trailing in daylight, and rode accordingly. Hekept their trail with little effort, head cocked on one side like asaucy meadowlark, and whistled snatches of "Hell Among the Yearlin's,"as though the prospect of a sanguinary brush with thieves was pleasingin the extreme.
The afternoon was on its last lap when we came in sight of StonyCrossing. The trail we followed wound along the crest of a ridge midwaybetween the Crossing and Ten Mile Spring, where we had left Baker'soutfit that rainy morning. The freighters had moved camp, but the mudand high water had held them, for we could see the white-sheeted wagonsand a blur of cattle by the cottonwood grove where Hank Rowan had madehis last stand. Presently we crossed the trail made by the string ofwagons; it was fresh; made that morning, I judged. A little farther, ona line between the Crossing and the Spring, Piegan pulled up again, andthis time the cause of his halting needed no explanation. The bunch hadstopped and tarried there a few minutes, as the jumbled hoof-marks borewitness, and the track of two horses led away toward Ten Mile Spring.
"Darn it all!" Piegan grumbled. "Now, what d'yuh reckon's the meanin' uhthat? Them two has lit straight for where Baker's layout was camped thismornin'. What for? Are they pullin' out uh the country with the coin? Orare they lookin' for you fellers?"
"Well"--MacRae thought a moment--"considering the care they've taken tocover up their movements, I don't see what other object they could havein view but making a smooth getaway. They've worked it nicely allaround. You know that if there was anything they wanted they weren'ttaking any risk by going to any freight camp. We're the only men in thecountry that know why they are pulling out this way--and _they_ knowthat we daren't go in and report it, because they've managed to put uson the dodge. They have reason to be sure that headquarters wouldn't fora minute listen to a yarn like we'd have to tell--they'd have time toride to Mexico, while we sucked our thumbs in the guardhouse waiting forthe rest of the Police to get wise by degrees."
"Then I tell yuh what let's do," Piegan abruptly decided. "I like t'know what's liable t' happen when I'm on a jaunt uh this kind. One of usbetter head in for the Crossin' an' find out for sure if any uh themfellers come t' the camp, an' what he wanted there. An' seein' nobodyoutside uh Horner knows I'm in on this play, I reckon I better gom'self. If there should happen t' be a stray trooper hangin' roundthere, the same would be mighty awkward for you fellers. So I'll go. Youpoke along the trail slow, an' I'll overhaul yuh."
"All right," MacRae agreed, and Piegan forthwith departed for theCrossing.
After Piegan left us we rode at a walk, and even then it was somethingof a task to follow the faint impression. In the course of an hour acluster of dark objects appeared on the bench, coming rapidly toward us.MacRae brought the glasses to bear on them at once, for there was alwaysthe unpleasant possibility of Mounted Policemen cutting in on our trail;the riders of every post along the line were undoubtedly on the watchfor us.
"It's Piegan and another fellow," Mac announced shortly. "They'releading two extra horses, and Piegan has changed mounts himself. Iwonder what's up--they seem to be in a dickens of a hurry."
We got off and waited for them, wondering what the change of horsesmight portend. They swung down to us on a run, and it needed no secondglance at the features of Piegan Smith to know that he brought with hima fresh supply of trouble. His scraggly beard was thrust forwardaggressively, and his deep-set eyes fairly blazed between narrowed lids.
"Slap your saddles on them fresh hosses," he grated harshly from theback of a deep-chested, lean-flanked gray. "Let the others go--to hellif they want to!"
"What's up?" I asked sharply, and MacRae flung the same query over oneshoulder as he fumbled at the tight-drawn latigo-knot.
Piegan rose in his stirrups and raised a clenched fist; the seamed faceof him grew purple under its tan, and the words came out like thechallenge of a range-bull.
"Them--them ---- ---- ---- ---- ---- has got your girl!" he roared.
The latigo dropped from MacRae's hand. "What?" he turned on Piegansavagely, incredulously.
"I said it--I said it! Yuh heard me, didn't yuh!" Piegan shouted. "Thismornin' about sunrise. That Hicks--the damned ---- ---- ---- he come t'Baker's as they hooked up t' leave the Spring. He had a note for her,an' she dropped everything an' jumped on a hoss he'd brought an' rodeaway with him, cryin' when she left. He told Horner you'd bin shotresistin' arrest, an' wanted t' see
her afore yuh cashed in. They ain'tseen hide nor hair uh her since. Aw, don't stand starin' at me thataway.Hurry up! They ain't got twelve hours' start--an' by God I'll smell 'emout in the dark for this!"
It was like a knife-thrust in the back; such a devilish and unexpectedturn of affairs that for half a second I had the same shuddery feelingthat came to me the night I stooped over Hans Rutter and gasped at sightof what the fiends had done. MacRae whitened, but the full import ofPiegan's words stunned him to silence. The bare possibility of Lyn Rowanbeing at the dubious mercy of those ruthless brutes was something thatcalled for more than mere words. He hesitated only a moment, nervouslytwisting the saddle-strings with one hand, then straightened up and toreloose the cinch fastening.
After that outburst of Piegan's no one spoke. While Mac and Itransferred our saddles to the Baker horses, Piegan swung down from hisgray and, opening the pack on the horse we had been leading, took out alittle bundle of flour and bacon and coffee and tied it behind thecantle of his saddle. A frying-pan and coffee-pot he tossed to me. Thenwe mounted and took to the trail again, stripped down to fighting-trim,unhampered by a pack-horse.
Of daylight there yet remained a scant two hours in which we could hopeto distinguish a hoof-mark. Piegan leaned over his saddle-horn and tookhills and hollows, wherever the trail led, with a rush that unrolled themiles behind us at a marvelous rate. For an hour we galloped silently,matching the speed of fresh, wiry horses against the dying day, no soundarising in that wilderness of brown coulee banks and dun-colored prairiebut the steady beat of hoofs, and the purr of a rising breeze from theeast. Then I became aware that Piegan, watching the ground throughhalf-closed eyelids, was speaking to us. From riding a little behind, togive him room to trail, we urged our horses alongside.
"Them fellers at Baker's camp," he said, without looking up, "would 'a'come in a holy minute if there'd been hosses for 'em t' ride. But theyonly had enough saddle-stock along t' wrangle the bulls--an' I tookthree uh the best they had. Three of us is enough, anyhow. We kain'tride up on them fellers now an' go t' shootin'. They're all togetheragain. I seen, back a ways, where them two hoss-tracks angled back fromthe spring. They must 'a' laid up at that camp we passed till sometimebefore daylight--seein' that damned Hicks come t' Baker's early thismornin'. An' if they didn't travel very fast t'-day--which ain't likely,'cause they probably figure they're dead safe, and their track don'tshow a fast gait--there's just a chance that we'll hit 'em by dark if weburn the earth. We're good for thirty miles before night covers up theirtrack. Don't yuh worry none, old boy," he bellowed at MacRae. "Old InjunSmith'll see yuh through. God! I could 'a' cried m'self when I hit thatcamp an' the old nigger woman went t' bawlin' when I told her yuh wasboth out on the bench, sound as a new dollar. That was the first theysuspicioned anythin' was wrong. Them dirty, low-lived ---- ---- ----!"
Piegan lapsed into a string of curses. MacRae, apparently unmoved,nodded comprehension. But I knew what he was thinking, and I knew thatwhen once we got within striking distance of Hicks, Gregory & Co., therewould be new faces in hell without delay.
We slowed our horses to a walk to ascend an abrupt ridge. When we gainedthe top a vast stretch of the Northwest spread away to the east andnorth. Piegan lifted his eyes from the trail for an instant.
"Great Lord!" he said. "Look at the buffalo. It'll be good-by t' thesetracks before long."
As far as the eye could reach the prairie was speckled with the herds,speckled with groups of buffalo as the sky is dotted with clusters ofbright stars on a clear night. They moved, drifting slowly, in asoutherly direction, here in sharply defined groups, there in longlines, farther in indistinct masses. But they moved; and the air thatfilled our nostrils was freighted with the tang of smoke.
We did not halt on the ridge. There was no need. We knew withoutspeculating what the buffalo-drift and the smoke-tinged air presaged;and it bade us make haste before the tracks were quite obliterated.
So with the hill behind us, and each of us keeping his thoughts tohimself--none of them wholly pleasant, judging by my own--we gallopeddown the long slope, a red sunset at our backs and in our faces a galeof dry, warm wind, tainted with the smell of burning grass. And at thebottom of the slope, in the depths of a high-walled coulee where theevening shadows were mustering for their stealthy raid on the gildeduplands, we circled a grove of rustling poplars and jerked our horses upshort at sight of a scarlet blotch among the gloom of the trees.