CHAPTER XXVIII
It seemed an interminable time to Hope, although it was in reality lessthan an hour, before the breathing of the two sleepers assured her thatshe could leave the tent in safety.
When she stood outside, at the edge of the cut-bank, casting a quickglance over the tents behind, it seemed to her that the moonlight wasbrighter than ever. It was like a soft hazy day. She made her way towarda dark object on the opposite side of the brush, the same that hadattracted Sydney an hour before. This time the small object did notconceal itself, but stood boldly forth.
"I thought you wasn't never comin'," said the boy softly. "It must be'bout mornin' by now. Seems all night! We'll haf to ride like blazes ifwe get there now in time! They're over here," he said, leading the wayalong a winding trail around the side of a wooded hill.
"You're a good boy," said the girl.
"You bet I had the awfulest time gettin' away with your saddle! Everytime I'd get up near it that blame cook'd pop his head out of the tent.I like to never got it a tall!"
"But you did get it," said Hope. "I saw that it wasn't there."
"Yep, an' the blanket an' bridle. I've got 'em all cached up here in thetrees--horses an' everything, an' your horse is saddled. Somebody rodeup while I was waitin' down there on the bank for you, an' I just had tolay low, I tell you!"
"Come, hurry!" whispered the girl. "We've got to kill our horsesto-night!"
"Oh, I've got Dave's pinto, so I don't care," replied the child. Thenafter an instant's pause in which they reached their horses: "Youcouldn't kill this pinto, nohow!"
Perhaps, thought Hope, it would not kill her horse either. She trustednot, for she loved the animal dearly. But it would be a ride for theirvery lives if the soldiers were to reach there in time to avert themischief.
It was a ride for their lives. Ten miles at night over a rough country,through tangled underbrush, and deep matted grass, across stony creekbottoms and rocky hills, ever onward toward Fox Creek at the speed ofthe wind.
Time and again the horses stumbled to their knees, but the riders mighthave been a part of them, so securely did they keep their seats. Thepinto began to lag, at which the girl stopped for an instant, rodebehind, and lashed it furiously with her strong quirt. Then for a timeit kept up with the thoroughbred, but could not long continue the speed.
Upon a high knoll the girl reined up, horse and rider waiting,motionless as a carved statue, for the pinto, whose easy, gracefulrunning gait had changed to short rabbit-like leaps.
"Wish I had another string o' horses!" gasped the child, as he at lengthgained the top of the hill. The girl pointed down the dwindlingfoot-hills to something small and white in the distance.
"See, there are the tents--a mile away. The soldiers--two troops ofthem--out on a pleasure trip. I will go on--you take your time, and goback with the men."
"I want to go with _you_," declared the boy, half crying.
"No," said the girl coaxingly. "You must be their guide, and lead themto the ledge of rocks by the sheep-shed. Think how fine it will be to bea _real_ soldier." Then appalled by a new thought: "Oh, but if youshould get tired and _couldn't_ lead them there, how would they everfind the place? _What shall I do!_ I can't wait for them--I must go backahead. _If_ he shouldn't be there! If something should have warned ordetained him! _What will I do!_"
"Oh, shoot it all, _I'll_ take 'em there all right!" exclaimed the boy,in a very big voice. "Don't you worry. I ain't a bit tired, an' I ain'ta-goin' to be, neither!"
Hope reached over and clasped the child in her arms, a sob coming withher breath.
"_My little man!_" she said softly. Then instructing him to follow her,spurred up her horse to a fresh attempt, and so mad was her ride thatshe scarcely breathed until she dropped to the ground beside a sentinelwho commanded her to halt.
How she roused the camp in the middle of the night was a story LarryO'Hara often delighted to relate. It was Larry who really came to therescue, who shouldered the responsibility of the action, and led thetroops when finally equipped to the scene of the disturbance.
And Hope rode back alone--rode so rapidly that her horse stopped,exhausted, at the foot of the big hill where she had planned therendezvous with Livingston. There she left the noble animal and climbedup toward the summit, sometimes on her hands and knees, so tired had shebecome. And the moon still shone brightly along the horizon of theheavens. An hour of brilliancy, she thought, then darkness before thedawn. When she had dragged herself up the mountain side, hope and fearalternately filling her heart, and hastening her footsteps, a suddenweakness came over her as she saw on the summit the stalwart figure ofLivingston. Then it seemed to her that the night had been a mere dream,or at least ridiculous. How could such a strong, brave-looking manrequire a girl's assistance? It was preposterous! She seemed to shrinkinto herself, in a little cuddled heap among the rocks.
Then a clear whistle sounded on the still air. She knew it was for her.How like a boy, she thought. She tried to answer it, but could not makea sound.
Finally she rose from the rocks and approached him--not the Hope he hadexpected, but a frightened, trembling girl.
He went to meet her, after the manner of a boy, and clasped the handsshe gave him in his own, then kissed each one, and gravely led her tothe summit upon which he had been standing.
"This rock is like a great throne," he said, "where we are going to waitour crown of happiness that is to come with the rising of the sun. Is itnot so? See, you shall sit upon the throne and I here at your feet. Howyou are trembling, dear! And those heavy guns, why did you bring them?"
"To protect myself, perhaps, from one who is inclined to be over-bold,"she replied, with a little nervous laugh as she settled herselfcomfortably on the throne-like rock.
"Hope!" he reproved. A red flush dyed the girl's face.
"And are you not the man?" she inquired.
"Tell me then," he said quietly, "who has a better right!"
She drew back into the very recess of the throne, away from his eyes, soconvincingly near to hers.
"It's a long climb up this steep mountain," she remarked weariedly.
"And you are tired! I can see it now. But it was good of you to come tomeet me here like this, Hope--_sweetheart_!"
"No, no! you must not talk like that!" cried the girl.
"You know I cannot help it when I am with you. I must tell you over andover that I love you--_love you_, Hope! Why not, when my heart sings itall the time? And have you not given me the _right_, dear?"
"Wait! Not now," she said more softly. "Talk about somethingelse--_anything_," she gasped.
"And must I humor you, my queen," he said. "Look down and let me read inyour eyes what I want to find there--then I will talk about anything,everything, until you want to hear what is in my heart!"
"Only daylight can reveal what is in my eyes," she replied. "The lightof the moon is unreal, deceiving. Tell me how long you have been here,and where did you leave your horse?"
"You are evading me for some reason. If I did not believe it to beimpossible, I should say that I am nervous--and that you are nervous.Can you not be yourself to me now--at this time? Why did you want me tomeet you here?"
"You say you love me. Then aren't you content to just sit here insilence beside me?"
"Pardon me, dear, but my love is almost too great for silence. You willadmit that." Then with a touch of amusement in his voice: "Tell me, areyou angry with me that I should speak so plainly to you?"
"No, no! Of course not--only talk about something else just now. Howlong have you been here?"
"An eternity," he replied. "Or perhaps longer. I'm not sure. When I leftyou there at the camp I went directly back to the ranch. The men wereall in bed. I went in and got my rifle and started over here. You see weare both armed!" he laughed, taking a Winchester from behind the throneof rocks. She took it from him and examined it minutely.
"A good gun," she remarked, handing it back.
"Then I started over here,
" he continued, "but had a brief interruptionon the road in the shape of the old squaw that lives down in yourcommunity--old Mother White Blanket. She held me up in theroad--positively held my horse so that I couldn't move while she told astory that would have brought tears to my eyes if I could haveunderstood a word she said, and if my mind hadn't been so full of themost gloriously beautiful girl in the world.
"Finally I had sense enough to give her some money, and after repeating'yes' innumerable times to her broken questions she finally gave mepermission to proceed on my way. I left my horse down at thesheep-shed."
"Couldn't you understand anything she said to you?" questioned Hopeeagerly.
"Not much," he admitted, and Hope, with a relieved little air, which henoticed, sank back among the rocks again.
A silence fell over them for a time, then Livingston raised his head andlooked at the girl intently.
"I think she was trying to tell me something," he said slowly. "She saidit was a warning; but I paid no attention to her delirium. I believe shetried to impress upon me that I was in danger. But I was insanelyanxious to meet you. She said something that I had heard before, thatyou and the twins had driven away the men who attacked and killed poorFritz that night. And this much more I think I understand now, that the'old man,' whoever she meant, had given her a beating, that the twinswere shut up in the stable or somewhere, and that you were a good girlbecause you had given her all your school money. That much is clear tome now. And also that she was very anxious that I should get out of thecountry immediately--which seems to be the sentiment of the majority ofthe people out here. The old woman is no doubt insane."
"Oh, yes," agreed the girl, "there's not a doubt but that she's plumblocoed! I'm glad you didn't allow anything she said to trouble yourmind. She's a regular old beggar. The money was probably what she wasafter. You can't believe a word she says!"
"Yet she spoke convincingly," mused Livingston. "If I hadn't been soabsorbed in the meeting I would have taken more heed of what she said.As it was, I passed her off as a little out of her mind. Of course, Iknew you had no hand in that shooting at the corral, had you, Hope?" heasked in a somewhat anxious voice.
"A ridiculous idea for that old squaw to get in her head," replied thegirl, leaning in a weary fashion back upon the rock.
Whatever suspicion Livingston had entertained vanished for the moment.
"I am glad," he said. "I don't know exactly why, but I am glad that itisn't so. I shouldn't like to think that you had done such a thing--forme."
"The moon takes a long time to set, don't you think?" she remarked. "Itmust be almost time for daylight."
"Are you anxious?" he inquired pointedly. She sat erect in dignifiedsilence and did not reply.
"How much longer must you be humored, dear?" he asked, taking both ofher hands within his own, and drawing her toward him. "I do not believethat the moonlight will tell lies. Look at me!"
She leaped away from him with all her young strength, and stood upon thethrone of rocks, scornfully erect.
"How bad you are--how wicked to talk to me so, to even think that Iwould care for you one minute! Surely you must realize that I know yourpast, _Lord_ Livingston! _Your past!_" she flashed.
"You know my past, and yet you can condemn me," he said, pain andwonderment in his quiet voice. "Perhaps you are right. I haven't alwaysbeen perfect. But I am not bad--Hope! Not _that_! I am a man--I try tobe, before God. Surely you do not mean what you say, my girl--_Hope_!"
"You know just what I mean," said Hope, in a voice strained and harsh."And you know it would be absolutely _impossible_ for me to love you!"
"Then there is nothing more to be said," replied Livingston, turningaway from her. "We will not wait for the sunrise. I will go now." Hewalked from her with long strides.
"Wait," she cried in absolute terror. "_Wait!_ Oh, you wouldn't be sorude as to leave me here--_alone_!" He stopped short, his back stilltoward her. "Please come back!" she begged, approaching him, "I shoulddie of fright!" Somehow she reminded herself of Clarice. "Surely youwill walk back to camp with me!"
"Yes, certainly, pardon me," he replied huskily.
As they turned, a horse came slowly toward them. Hope gave a littlenervous exclamation.
"Your horse," said Livingston, reaching for the bridle. "I thought youwalked."
"No--yes," replied the girl. "I walked up the hill. The horse must havefollowed. We will walk down and lead it. It's too steep to ride down."
But Livingston had stopped short beside the animal, his head bowed,almost upon the saddle.
"Come, shall we go?" asked the girl nervously.
Suddenly the man turned to her, sternness expressed in every line of hisfigure.
"Where have you been?" he commanded.
"For a ride," she replied, feeling for the first time in her life thedesire to scream.
"_For a ride!_ Yes, it must have been a ride! Your horse is nearlydead--listen to his breathing! Crusted with foam from head to foot andstill dripping. You have been----"
"For the soldiers. To protect your ranch from the devils who would killyou and get rid of your sheep--this very hour!"
"And you have lured me here, away from danger--away from the side of mymen, away from my _duty_, with all a woman's cowardice! _But what ofthem!_ You have called me bad! That may be, but I am not bad enough tobe grateful to you for doing this, that you may, perhaps, have intendedfor a kindness! Anything would have been kinder to me than what you havedone to-night."
"Where are you going?" she cried from the rocks where she had thrownherself. But he was running, with all his speed, down the mountainside.