CHAPTER XVIII
TELLTALE BULLETS
De Launay headed up into the hills, making for the spot he and othersfamiliar with the region knew as The Crater. Back about half a milefrom the rim of Shoestring Canyon, which, itself, had originally beencut out of lava from extinct volcanoes of the range, rose a vastbasalt peak, smooth and precipitous on the side toward the canyon. Itslower slopes had once been terraced down to the flat bench land whichrimmed the canyon, but, unnumbered ages ago, the subterranean forceshad burst their way through and formed a crater whose sides fellsteeply away to the flats on three sides. The fourth was backed by thebasalt cliff.
Although long extinct, the volcano had left reminders in the shape ofwarm springs which had an appreciable effect on the temperature withinthe basin of the ancient crater. The atmosphere in the place was, evenin winter, quite moderate compared with that of the rest of the range.There was, in the center of the crater, a small pond or lake, of whichthe somewhat lukewarm water was quite potable.
This spot, once a common enough rendezvous for the riders on rodeo,was his objective and toward it he climbed, with mademoiselle's warmbody in his arms. Behind him straggled the pack horses.
Solange lay quiet, but under his arm he felt her shiver from time totime. His downward glance at her fell only on her hat and a casualwisp of glistening hair which escaped from it. He felt for and foundone of her hands. It clutched his with a hot, dry clasp.
Somewhat alarmed, he raised his hand to her face. That she had feverwas no longer to be doubted.
She was talking low to herself, but she spoke in Basque which he didnot understand. He spoke to her in French.
"I knew you would come; that I should find you," she answered at once."That terrible man! He could not frighten me. It is certain thatthrough you I shall find this Louisiana!"
"Yes," he answered. "You'll find Louisiana."
He wondered what she knew of Louisiana and why she wished to find him,concluding, casually, that she had heard of him as one who might knowsomething of her father's death. Well, if she sought Louisiana, shehad not far to look: merely to raise her head.
"I thought I heard him singing," said Solange.
"I reckon you did," he answered. "Are you riding easy?"
"Yes--but I am cold, and then hot again. The man hurt me."
De Launay swore under his breath and awkwardly began to twist from hisMackinaw, which, when it was free, he wrapped around her. Then,holding her closer, he urged his horse to greater speed.
But, once upon the bench and free to look about him toward the steepslope of the crater's outer walls, he was dismayed at the unexpectedchange in the landscape.
On the rocky slopes there had once stood a dense thicket of lodgepolepine, slender and close, through which a trail had been cut. But,years ago, a fire had swept the forest, leaving the gaunt stems andbare spikes to stand like a plantation of cane or bamboo on thecrumbling lava. Then a windstorm had rushed across the mountains,leveling the dead trees to the ground, throwing them in wild, heapingchaos of jagged spikes and tangled branches. The tough cones, openedby the fire, had germinated and seedlings had sprung up amidst theriot of logs, growing as thick as grass. They were now about theheight of a tall man's head, forming, with the tangled abatis of spikytrunks, a seemingly impenetrable jungle.
There might be a practicable way through, but to search for it wouldtake more time than the man had to spare. He must get the girl to restand shelter before her illness gained much further headway, and heknew that a search for a passage might well take days instead of thehours he had at his command. He wished that he had remained in thecanyon where he might have pitched camp in spite of the danger from theprospector. But a return meant a further waste of time and he decidedto risk an attempt to force his way through the tangle.
Carefully he headed into it. The going was not very hard at first asthe trees lay scattered on the edge of the windfall. But, as he wormedinto the labyrinth, the heaped up logs gave more and more resistanceto progress, and it soon became apparent that he could never winthrough to the higher slopes which were free of the tangle.
If he had been afoot and unencumbered, the task would have been hardenough but not insuperable. Mounted, with pack horses carrying loadsprojecting far on the sides, to catch and entangle with spikybranches, the task became impossible. Yet he persisted, with a feelingthat his best chance lay in pressing onward.
The lurching horse, scrambling over the timber, jolted and shook hisburden and Solange began again to talk in Basque. Behind them the packhorses straggled, leaping and crashing clumsily in the jungle ofimpeding tree trunks. De Launay came to a stop and looked despairinglyabout him.
About thirty yards away, among the green saplings and gray downtimber, stood a bluish shape, antlered, with long ears standingerect. The black-tailed deer watched him curiously, and without anyapparent fear. De Launay knew at once that the animal was unaccustomedto man and had not been hunted. He stared at it, wondering that it didnot run.
Now it moved, but not in the stiff leaps of its kind when in flight.He had expected this, but not what happened. There was no particularmystery in the presence of the agile animal among the down logs. Butwhen it started off at a leisurely and smooth trot, winding in and outand upward, he leaped joyously to the only conclusion possible. Thedeer was following a passable trail through the jungle and a trailwhich led upward.
He marked the spot where he had seen it and urged his horse toward it.It was difficult going, but he made it and found there, as he hadhoped, a beaten game trail, narrow, but fairly clear.
It took time and effort to gather the horses, caught and snaredeverywhere among the logs, but it was finally done. Then he pushed on.It was not easy going. The trail was narrow for packs, and snagscontinually caught in ropes and tarpaulins, but De Launay took an axfrom his pack and cut away the worst of the obstacles. Finally theywon through to the higher slopes where the trees no longer lay on theground.
But it was growing late and the gray sky threatened more snow. Hepressed on up to the rim of the crater and lost no time in the descenton the other side. The willing horses slid down behind him and, beforedarkness caught them, he had reached the floor of the little valley,almost free from snow, grass-grown and mildly pleasant in contrast tothe biting wind of the outer world.
Jingling and jogging, the train of horses broke into a trot across themeadow and toward the grove of trees that marked the bank of the pond.Here there was an old cabin, formerly used by the riders, but longsince abandoned. Deer trotted out of their way and stood at a distanceto look curiously. A sleepy bear waddled out of the trees, eyed themsuperciliously and then trotted clumsily away. The place seemed to beswarming with game. Their utter unconcern showed that this haven hadnot been entered for years.
Snow lay on the surrounding walls in patches, but there was hardly atrace of it on the valley floor. Steaming springs here and thereexplained the reason for the unseasonable warmth of the place. Thegrass grew lush and rich on the rotten lava soil.
"The Vale of Avalon, Morgan _la f?e_," said De Launay with a smile.Solange murmured and twisted restlessly in his arms.
He dismounted before the cabin, which seemed to be in fair condition.It was cumbered somewhat with d?bris, left by mountain rats whichhaunted the place, but there were two good rooms, a fairly tightroof, and a bunk built in the wall of the larger chamber. There was arusty iron stove and the bunk room boasted a rough stone fireplace.
De Launay's first act was to carry the girl in. His second was tothrow off several packs and drag them to the room. He then took the axand made all haste to gather an armful of dry pitch pine, with whichhe soon had a roaring fire going in the ancient fireplace. Then, witha pine branch, he swept out the place, cleaned the bunk thoroughly andcleared the litter from the floors. Solange reclined against a pile ofbedding and canvas and fairly drank in the heat from the fire.
He found a clump of spruce and hacked branches from it, with which hefilled the bunk, making a thic
k, springy mattress. On this he spread atarpaulin, and then heaped it with blankets. Solange, flushed and halfcomatose, he carried to the bed.
The damp leather of her outer garments oppressed him. He knew theymust come off. Hard soldier as he was, the girl, lying there withhalf-closed eyes and flushed face, awed him. Although he had neversupposed himself oppressed with scruples, it seemed a sacrilege totouch her. Although she could not realize what he was doing, his handstrembled and his face was flushed as he forced himself to the task ofdisrobing her. But, at last, he had the cumbering, slimy outergarments free and her body warmly wrapped in the coverings.
Food came next. She wanted broth and he had no fresh meat. Her riflerendered that problem simple, however. He had hardly to step from thegrove before game presented itself. He shot a young buck, feeling likea criminal in violating the animal's calm confidence. Workingfeverishly he cleaned the carcass, cut off the saddle and a hindquarter, hung the rest and set to work to make broth in the Dutchoven.
The light had long since failed, but the fire gave a ruddy light.Solange supped the broth out of a tin cup, raised on his arm, andimmediately after fell back and went to sleep. Feeling her cheek, hefound that it was damp with moisture and cool.
He bound up her head with a dampened bandage and left her to sleep.Then he began the postponed toil of arranging the camp.
After her things had been brought in and placed in her room, he atlast came to his own packs. He ate his supper and then spread hisbedding on the ground just outside the door of the cabin. As heunrolled the tarpaulin, he noted a jagged rent in it which he at firstthought had been caused by a snag in passing through the down timber.
But when the bed had been spread out he found that the blankets werealso pierced. Searching, he found a hard object, which on beingexamined, turned out to be a bullet, smashed and mushroomed.
De Launay smiled grimly as he turned this over in his hand. He readilysurmised that it was the ball that Banker had fired at him and which,missing him as he ducked, had struck the pack on the horse behind him.Something about it, however, roused a queer impression in him. It was,apparently, an ordinary thirty-caliber bullet, yet he sensed somesubtle difference in size and weight, some vague resemblance toanother bullet he had felt and weighed in his hand.
Taking his camp lantern he went into the cabin and sat down before arude table of slabs in the room where the stove was. He took from hispocket the darkened, jagged bullet that Solange had given him andcompared it with the ball he had taken from his pack. The first wassplit and mushroomed much more than the other, but the butts of bothwere intact. They seemed to be of the same size when held together.
Yet they were both of ordinary caliber. Probably nine out of ten menwho carried rifles used those of thirty-thirty caliber. Bulletsdiffered only in jacketing and the shape of the nose. A Winchester wasround, with little of the softer metal projecting from the jacket,while a U.?M.?C. was flatter and more of the lead showed. But thebases were the same.
Still, De Launay was vaguely dissatisfied. It seemed to him thatthere was something in these two misshapen bullets that should beinvestigated. He took one of Solange's cartridges from his pocket andlooked at it. Then, with strong teeth, he jerked the ball from theshell and compared the bullet with those he held in his hand. To allseeming they were much the same.
Still, the feeling of dissatisfaction persisted. In some subtle waythe two mushroomed bullets were the same and yet were different to theunused one. De Launay tried to force Solange's bullet back into theshell, finding that it went in after some force was applied. Then,withdrawing it, he took the other two and tried to do the same withthem.
The difference became apparent at once. The two used bullets werelarger than the 30-30; almost imperceptibly so, but enough greater indiameter to make it clear that they did not fit the shell.
De Launay weighed the bullets in his hand and his face was grim. Aftera while he put the two in his pocket, threw the one he had pulled fromthe shell into the stove and rose to look at Solange. He held thelantern above her and stood for a moment, the light on her hairglinting back with flashes of red and blue and orange. He stooped andraised a lock of it on his hand, marveling at its fine texture and itsspun-glass appearance. His hand touched her face, finding it damp andcool.
The iron lines of his face relaxed and softened. He stooped andbrushed her forehead with his lips. Solange murmured in her sleep andhe caught his own nickname, "Louisiana."
He saw that the fire was banked and then went out and turned in to hisblankets, regardless of the drizzle of snow that was falling andmelting in the warm atmosphere.
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