Whispering Smith

by Frank H. Spearman

  CHAPTER XLIII

  CLOSING IN

  In the morning the sun rose with a mountain smile. The storm had sweptthe air till the ranges shone blue and the plain sparkled under acloudless sky. Bob Scott and Wickwire, riding at daybreak, picked up atrail on the Fence River road. A consultation was held at the bridge,and within half an hour Whispering Smith, with unshaken patience, wasin the saddle and following it.

  With him were Kennedy and Bob Scott. Sinclair had ridden into thelines, and Whispering Smith, with his best two men, meant to put it upto him to ride out. They meant now to get him, with a trail orwithout, and were putting horseflesh against horseflesh and craftagainst craft.

  At the forks of the Fence they picked up Wickwire, Kennedy taking himon the up road, while Scott with Whispering Smith crossed to theCrawling Stone. When Smith and Scott reached the Frenchman they partedto cover in turn each of the trails by which it is possible to get outof the river country toward the Park and Williams Cache.

  By four o'clock in the afternoon they had all covered the ground sowell that the four were able to make their rendezvous on the big Fencedivide, south of Crawling Stone Valley. They then found, to theirdisappointment, that, widely separated as they had been, both partieswere following trails they believed to be good. They shot a steer,tagged it, ate dinner and supper in one, and separated underWhispering Smith's counsel that both the trails be followed into thenext morning--in the belief that one of them would run out or that thetwo would run together. At noon the next day Scott rode through thehills from the Fence, and Kennedy with Wickwire came through TwoFeather Pass from the Frenchman with the report that the game had lefttheir valleys.

  Without rest they pushed on. At the foot of the Mission Mountains theypicked up the tracks of a party of three horsemen. Twice within tenmiles afterward the men they were following crossed the river. Eachtime their trail, with some little difficulty, was found again. At alittle ranch in the Mission foothills, Kennedy and Scott, leavingWickwire with Whispering Smith, took fresh horses and pushed ahead asfar as they could ride before dark, but they brought back news. Thetrail had split again, with one man riding alone to the left, whiletwo had taken the hills to the right, heading for Mission Pass and theCache. With Gene Johnson and Bob at the mouth of the Cache there waslittle fear for that outlet. The turn to the left was the unexpected.Over the little fire in the ranch kitchen where they ate supper, thefour men were in conference twenty minutes. It was decided that Scottand Kennedy should head for the Mission Pass, while Whispering Smith,with Wickwire to trail with him, should undertake to cut off,somewhere between Fence River and the railroad, the man who had gonesouth, the man believed to be Sinclair. It was a late moon, and whenScott and Kennedy saddled their horses Whispering Smith and Wickwirewere asleep.

  With the cowboy, Whispering Smith started at daybreak. No one saw themagain for two days. During those two days and nights they were in thesaddle almost continuously. For every mile the man ahead of them rodethey were forced to ride two miles and often three. Late in the secondnight they crossed the railroad, and the first word from them came inlong despatches sent by Whispering Smith to Medicine Bend andinstructions to Kennedy and Scott in the north, which were carried byhard riders straight to Deep Creek.

  On the morning of the third day Dicksie Dunning, who had gone homefrom Medicine Bend and who had been telephoning Marion and GeorgeMcCloud two days for news, was trying to get Medicine Bend again onthe telephone when Puss came in to say that a man at the kitchen doorwanted to see her.

  "Who is it, Puss?"

  "I d'no, Miss Dicksie; 'deed, I never seen him b'fore."

  Dicksie walked around on the porch to the kitchen. A dust-covered mansitting on a limp horse threw back the brim of his hat as he touchedit, lifted himself stiffly out of the saddle, and dropped to theground. He laughed at Dicksie's startled expression. "Don't you knowme?" he asked, putting out his hand. It was Whispering Smith.

  He was a fearful sight. Stained from head to foot with alkali,saddle-cramped and bent, his face scratched and stained, he stood witha smiling appeal in his bloodshot eyes.

  Dicksie gave a little uncertain cry, clasped her hands, and, with ascream, threw her arms impulsively around his neck. "Oh, I did notknow you! What has happened? I am so glad to see you! Tell me whathas happened. Are you hurt?"

  He stammered like a school-boy. "Nothing has happened. What's this?Don't cry; nothing at all has happened. I didn't realize what a trampI look or I shouldn't have come. But I was only a mile away and I hadheard nothing for four days from Medicine Bend. And how are you? Didyour ride make you ill? No? By Heaven, you are a game girl. That was aride! How are they all? Where's your cousin? In town, is he? I thoughtI might get some news if I rode up, and oh, Miss Dicksie--jiminy! somecoffee. But I've got only two minutes for it all, only two minutes; doyou think Puss has any on the stove?"

  Dicksie with coaxing and pulling got him into the kitchen, and Pusstumbled over herself to set out coffee and rolls. He showed himselfravenously hungry, and ate with a simple directness that speedilyaccounted for everything in sight. "You have saved my life. Now I amgoing, and thank you a thousand times. There, by Heaven, I'veforgotten Wickwire! He is with me--waiting down in the cottonwoods atthe fork. Could Puss put up a lunch I could take to him? He hasn't hada scrap for twenty-four hours. But, Dicksie, your tramp is a hummer!I've tried to ride him down and wear him out and lose him, and, byHeaven, he turns up every time and has been of more use to me than twomen."

  She put her hand on Whispering Smith's arm. "I told him if he wouldstop drinking he could be foreman here next season." Puss was puttingup the lunch. "Why need you hurry away?" persisted Dicksie. "I've athousand things to say."

  He looked at her amiably. "This is really a case of must."

  "Then, tell me, what favor may I do for you?" She looked appealinglyinto his tired eyes. "I want to do something for you. I must! don'tdeny me. Only, what shall it be?"

  "Something for me? What can I say? You'll be kind to Marion--Ishouldn't have to ask that. What can I ask? Stop! there is one thing.I've got a poor little devil of an orphan up in the Deep Creekcountry. Du Sang murdered his father. You are rich and generous,Dicksie; do something for him, will you? Kennedy or Bob Scott willknow all about him. Bring him down here, will you, and see he doesn'tgo to the dogs? You're a good girl. What's this, crying? Now you arefrightened. Things are not so bad as that. You want to knoweverything--I see it in your eyes. Very well, let's trade. You tell meeverything and I'll tell you everything. Now then: Are you engaged?"

  They were standing under the low porch with the sunshine breakingthrough the trees. She turned away her face and threw all of herhappiness into a laugh. "I won't tell."

  "Oh, that's enough. You have told!" declared Whispering Smith. "Iknew--why, of course I knew--but I wanted to make you own up. Well,here's the way things are. Sinclair has run us all over God's creationfor two days to give his pals a chance to break into Williams Cache toget the Tower W money they left with Rebstock. For a fact, we haveridden completely around Sleepy Cat and been down in the Spanish Sinkssince I saw you. He doesn't want to leave without the money, anddoesn't know it is in Kennedy's hands, and can't get into the Cache tofind out. Now the three--whoever the other two are--and Sinclair--aretrying to join forces somewhere up this valley, and Kennedy, Scott,Wickwire, and I are after them; and every outlet is watched, and itmust all be over, my dear, before sunset to-night. Isn't that fine? Imean to have the thing wound up somehow. Don't look worried."

  "Do not--do not let him kill you," she cried with a sob.

  "He will not kill me; don't be afraid."

  "I _am_ afraid. Remember what your life is to all of us!"

  "Then, of course, I've got to think of what it is to myself--being theonly one I've got. Sometimes I don't think much of it; but when I geta welcome like this it sets me up. If I can once get out of thisaccursed man-slaughtering business, Dicksie--How old are you?Nineteen? Well, you've got the finest chap in all these mountains
, andGeorge McCloud has the finest----"

  With a bubbling laugh she shook her finger at him. "_Now_ you arecaught. Say the finest woman in these mountains if you dare! Say thefinest woman!"

  "The finest woman of nineteen in all creation!" He swung with a laughinto the saddle and waved his hat. She watched him ride down the roadand around the hill. When he reappeared she was still looking and hewas galloping along the lower road. A man rode out at the fork to meethim and trotted with him over the bridge. Riding leisurely across thecreek, their broad hats bobbing unevenly in the sunshine, they spurredswiftly past the grove of quaking asps, and in a moment were lostbeyond the trees.