CHAPTER XXX
LURKING BEASTS
The moment that he had helped haul the climber to safety Gowan hadridden away with the horses to the camp. He now came jogging back withthe tent and all else that they had not been carrying with them intheir skirting of the canyon edge. He unloaded the packs and hastenedto pitch the tent.
As he was finishing, Isobel called to him sharply. "What are you doingthere, Kid? That can wait. Come here."
"Yes, Miss Chuckie," he replied with ready obedience. But when he camedown the slope to the little group, his mouth was like a thin gashacross his lean jaws. He stared coldly at Ashton between narrowedlids. "Want me to help tote him up by the fire?" he asked.
"No!" she replied. "It is Tom! He is down there--his leg broken--andno food! You must go down to him."
"Go down?" queried the puncher. "What good would that do? I couldn'thelp him with that climb. He weighs a good two hundred."
"You can take food down to him and let him know that help is coming.You must!"
Gowan looked sullenly at the unconscious man. "Sorry, Miss Chuckie.It's no go. I ain't a mountain sheep."
"But _he_ came up!"
"That's different. It's a sight easier going up cliffs than climbingdown. No, you'll have to excuse me, Miss Chuckie."
The girl flamed with indignant anger. "You coward! You saw him comeup, after all that time down in those fearful depths--after fightinghis way all those miles along the terrible river--yet you dare not godown! You coward! you quitter!"
The puncher's face turned a sickly yellow, and he seemed to shrink inon himself. His voice sank to a husky whisper: "You can say that, MissChuckie! Any man say it, he'd be dead before now. If you want to know,I've got a mighty good reason for not wanting to go down. It ain'tthat I'm afraid. You can bank on that. It's something else. I'll goquick enough--but it's got to be on one condition. You've got topromise to marry me."
"_Marry you?_"
"Yes. You know how I've felt towards you all these years. Promise tomarry me, and I'll go to hell and back for you. I'll do anything foryou. I'll save him!"
"You cur! You'd force me to bargain myself to you!" she cried, fairlybeside herself with righteous fury. "I thought you a man! You cur--youcowardly cur!"
Gowan turned from her and walked rapidly away along the canyon edge,his head hunched between his shoulders, his hands downstretched at histhighs, the fingers crooked convulsively.
"Oh!" gasped Genevieve. "You've driven him away! Call him back! Weneed him! He must go for help!"
The words shocked the girl out of her rash anger. Her flushed facewhitened with fear. "Kid!" she screamed. "Come back, Kid! You must goto the ranch--bring the men!"
The cry of appeal should have brought him back to her on the run. Itpierced high above the booming reverberations of the canyon. Yet hepaid no heed. He neither halted nor paused nor even looked back. Ifanything, he hurried away faster than before.
"Kid! dear Kid! forgive me! Come back and help us!" shrieked thegirl.
He kept on down along the canyon rim, his chin sunk on his breast, hisdownstretched hands bent like claws. She ran a little way after him;only to flutter back again, wringing her hands, distracted. "Whatshall we do? what shall we do?"
"Be quiet, dear--be quiet!" urged Genevieve. "You've driven him away.We must do the best we can. You must go yourself. I can stay andwatch--"
"No, no!" cried Isobel. "The way he looked at Lafe!--I dare not go! Hemay come back--and I not here!"
She knelt to place her trembling hand on Ashton's forehead.
Genevieve looked at the setting sun. "There is no time to lose," shesaid. "Saddle my horse while I nurse Baby. I cannot take him with medown the mountain, in the dark."
"Genevieve! You dare go--at night?"
"Someone must bring help, else Tom--all alone down in that dreadfulchasm--!"
"But you may lose the way! I will go!"
"No, no, you must stay, Belle. I saw his eyes. He may come back. Icould not protect Lafayette, but you--There is no other way. I mustleave Baby, and go."
Wondering at the courage of the young mother, Isobel ran to saddle theoldest of the picketed horses. He was the slowest of them all, but hewas surefooted and steady and very wise. When she brought him down theridge, Genevieve placed the newly fed baby in her arms and went withthe glasses to peer down the sheer precipices. There in the blacknessso far beneath her the glowing fire illuminated an outstretched form.It was her husband, lying flat on his back and gazing up at theheights. Almost she could fancy that he saw her as she saw him.
But she did not linger. Time was too precious. She dropped him a kiss,and ran to spring upon the waiting pony. She did not pause even tokiss the big-eyed baby. The thirsty pony needed no urging to start ata lively jog up the slope of the first ridge. As he topped the crestand broke into a lope the sun dipped below the western edge of HighMesa. A few seconds later horse and rider disappeared from Isobel'sanxious gaze down the far side of the ridge.
"Old Buck knows the trail," murmured the girl. "He knows he is headedfor the waterhole. Yet if--if he _should_ lose the trail!"
A spasm of fear sent her hand to the pistol hilt under the fold of herskirt and twisted her head about. She glared along the canyon rim.Gowan was still striding away from her. She watched him fixedly, herhand clutched fast on the hilt of her pistol, until he disappearedaround a mass of rocks.
The whinnying of the horses after their companion at last drew herattention. They had not been watered since the previous evening.Cuddling close the frightened baby, the girl fetched a basin and oneof the water cans, to sponge out the dusty nostrils of the animals andgive each two or three swallows.
Then, when she had soothed the fretful child to sleep, she laid him ina snug nest of blankets between a rock and a fallen tree, and went towatch beside Ashton. He lay as she had left him, in a stupor of sleepand exhaustion.
Gradually the twilight faded. Stars began to twinkle in the cloudlesssky. She watched and waited while the dusk deepened. When she couldbarely see objects a few yards away, she stooped over the unconsciousman and, putting out all her supple young strength, half dragged, halfcarried him up the slope to a hiding place that she had chosen, inunder an overhanging ledge. There she spread pine needles and blanketson the soft mold and lifted him upon them, so that nothing hard shouldpress against his wounds.
The fire had burned low. It was a full hundred yards away from thehiding place. She went to replenish it and take a hasty look down atthat outstretched form in the depths. But soon she stole back to thesleeping man under the rock, going, as she had come, by a roundaboutway in the darkness.
Night settled down close and dense over the plateau. The girl crouchedbeside the sleeper, her eyes peering out into the blackness, the drawnpistol ready in her hand. She could see only a few feet in the dimstarlight. But her ears, accustomed to the dull monotone of thebooming canyon, heard every sound--the click of the horses' hoofs, eventhe munching of the nearest one, the hoot of the owls that flittedoverhead, the distant yelps and wails of coyotes.
An hour passed, two hours--a third. She crept around to replenish thefire. When she returned she heard the baby fretting. Swiftly shegroped her way to him and carried him to the hiding place, to quiethis outcry. He sucked in a little of the beaten egg and cream that shehad ready for Ashton. It satisfied his hunger, and he fell asleep,clasped against her soft warm bosom. She crouched down with him in herlap, her right hand again clasped on the pistol hilt, ready for theexpected attack.
She waited as before, silent, motionless, every sense alert. Anotherhour dragged by, and another. Midnight passed. Suddenly, on the ridgeslope above her, one of the horses snorted and plunged. She raised thepistol. The horse became quiet. But something came gliding around therocks, a low form vaguely outlined in the darkness. It might have beena creeping man. It turned towards the hiding place. The girl foundherself looking into a pair of glaring eyes. She thrust out thepistol, with her forefinger pointing along the barrel. Th
e darknesswas too deep for her to aim by the sights.
Before she could press the trigger, the beast bounded away, with asnarl far deeper, far more ferocious than any coyote could haveuttered. The girl did not fire. The wolf had seen the glint of herpistol barrel and had fled. He would not return. But she shuddered anddrew the sleeping baby close as she thought of what might havehappened had she left him alone in the nest between the rock and thetree.
The precious, helpless child! He was of her own blood, the son of herstrong, splendid brother ... of her brother, lying down there in thoseawful depths, helpless--in agony!...