The Golden Woman: A Story of the Montana Hills

by Ridgwell Cullum

  CHAPTER XXXV

  FROM OUT OF THE ABYSS

  Joan swayed where she stood. She stumbled and fell; and the fall wenton, and on, and on. It seemed to her that she was rushing down throughendless space toward terrors beyond all believing. It seemed to herthat a terrific wind was beating on her, and driving her downwardtoward a fiercely storm-swept ocean, whose black, hideous waves wereever reaching up to engulf her.

  She cried out. She knew she cried out, and she knew she cried out invain. Some one, it seemed to her, was far, far up above her, watching,seeking to aid her, but powerless to respond to her heart-brokencries. Still she called, and she knew she must go on calling, till thedark seas below drowned the voice in her throat.

  Now shadows arose about her, mocking, cruel shadows. They weredefinite figures, but she could not give them definite form in hermind. She reached out toward them, clutching vainly at flutteringshapes, but ever missing them in her headlong career. She sped on,buffeted and hurtling, and torn; on, on, making that hideous journeythrough space.

  Her despairing thoughts flashed at lightning speed through herwhirling brain. Faster they came, faster and faster, till she had notime to recognize, no power to hold them. She could see them, yes, shecould literally see them sweep by, vanishing like shadows in thatblack space of terror.

  Then came a sudden accession of sharp stabbing pain. It seemed to tickthrough her body as might a clock, and each stab came as with the swayof the pendulum, and with a regularity that was exquisite torture. Thestabs of pain came quicker, the pendulum was working faster. Fasterand faster it swung, and so the torture was ever increasing. Now thepain was in her head, her eyes, her ears, her brain. The agony wasexcruciating. Her head was bursting. She cried louder and louder, and,with every cry, the pain increased until she felt she was going mad.Then suddenly the pendulum stopped swinging and her cries and heragony ceased, and all was still, silent and dark.

  It might have been a moment, or it might have been ages. Suddenly thiswonderful peace was disturbed. It was as though she had just awakenedfrom a deep refreshing sleep in some strange, unfamiliar world. Thedarkness remained, but it was the darkness of peace. The beating windhad gone, and she only heard it sighing afar off. She was callingagain, but no longer in despair. She was calling to that some one farabove her with the certain knowledge that she would be answered. Thedarkness was passing, too. Yes, and she was no longer falling, butsoaring up, up, winging her way above, without effort, without pain.

  The savage waves were receding, their voices had died to a low murmur,like the voice of a still, summer sea on a low foreshore. Now, too,between every cry she waited for that answer which she knew must beforthcoming. It was some man's voice she was awaiting, some man,whose name ever eluded her searching brain. She strained to hear tillthe pulses of her ear-drums throbbed, for she knew when she heard thevoice she would recognize the speaker.

  Hark, there it was, far, far away. Yes, she could hear it, but how farshe must have fallen. There it was again. It was louder, and--nearer.Again and again it came. It was quite plain. It was a voice that sether brain and heart afire with longing. It was a voice she loved morethan all the world. Hark! What was that it said? Yes, there it wasagain.

  "Pore little gal, pore little Joan."

  Now she knew, and a flood of thankfulness welled up in her heart. Agreat love thrilled through her veins, and tears flooded her eyes,tears of thankfulness and joy. Tears for herself, for him, for all theworld. It was Buck's voice full of pity and a tender love.

  In a moment she was awake. She knew she was awake to a sort of dazedconsciousness, because instantly her brain was flooded with all thehorror of memory. Memory of the storm, the fire, of the devastation ofher home.

  For long minutes she had no understanding of anything else. She wasconsumed by the tortures of that memory. Yes, it was still storming,she could hear the howling of the wind, the roar of thunder, and thehiss and crackling of fire. Where was she? Ah, she knew. She wasoutside, with the fire before and behind her. And her aunt was at herside. She reached out a hand to reassure herself, and touchedsomething soft and warm. But what was that? Surely it was Buck's voiceagain?

  "Thank God, little gal, I tho't you was sure dead."

  In desperate haste she struggled to rise to her feet, but everythingseemed to rock and sway under her. And then, as Buck spoke again, sheabandoned her efforts.

  "Quiet, little gal, lie you still, or I can't hold you. You're deadsafe fer the moment. I've got you. We're tryin' to git out o' thishell, Caesar an' me. An' Caesar's sure doin' his best. Don't you worrit.The Padre's behind, an' he's got your auntie safe."

  Joan's mind had suddenly become quite clear. There was no longer anydoubt in it. Now she understood where she was. Buck had come to saveher. She was in his arms, on Caesar's back--and she knew she would besaved.

  With an effort she opened her eyes and found herself looking into thedark face of the man she loved, and a great sigh of contentmentescaped her. She closed them again, but it was only to open themalmost immediately. Again she remembered, and looked about her.

  Everywhere was the lurid glow of fire, and she became aware of intenseheat. Above her head was the roar of tempest, and the vivid, hellishlight of the storm. Buck had called it "hell."

  "The whole world seems to be afire," she said suddenly.

  Buck looked down into her pale face.

  "Well nigh," he said. Then he added, "Yes, it's afire, sure. It'safire that bad the Almighty alone guesses if we'll git out."

  But his doubt inspired no apprehension. Somehow Joan's confidence wasthe effect of his strong supporting arm.

  She stirred again in his arms. But it was very gently.

  "Buck," she said, "let me sit up. It will ease you--and help poorCaesar. I'm--I'm not afraid now."

  Buck gave a deep-throated laugh. He felt he wanted to laugh, now hewas sure that Joan was alive.

  "You don't need. Say, you don't weigh nuthin'. An' Caesar, why, Caesar'smighty proud I'm lettin' him carry you."

  But the girl had her way, and, in a moment, was sitting up with onearm about the man's broad shoulders. It brought her face near to his,and Buck bent his head toward her, and kissed the wonderful ripe lipsso temptingly adjacent.

  For a moment Joan abandoned herself to the joy of that kiss. Then therhythmic sway of Caesar's body under her reminded her that there wereother things. She wanted to ask Buck how they had known and come toher help. She wanted to ask a dozen woman's questions. But sherefrained. Buck had spoken of "hell," and she gazed about her seekingthe reason of his doubt.

  In a few minutes she was aware of it all. In a few minutes sherealized that he had well named the country through which they wereriding. In a few minutes she knew that it was a race for life, andthat their hope was in the great heart of Caesar.

  Far as the eye could see in that ruddy light, tortured and distortedby the flashes of storm above, was an ocean of fire spread out. Thecrowning billows of smoke, like titanic foam-crests, rolled awayupward and onward before them. They, too, were ruddy-tinted by thereflection from below. They crowded in every direction. They sweptalong abreast of them, they rose up behind them, and the distance waslost in their choking midst. The scorching air was laden tosuffocation by the odors of burning resin. She knew they were on atrail, a narrow, confined trail, which was lined by unburnt woods. Andthe marvel of it filled her.

  "These woods are untouched," she said.

  Again Buck laughed. It was a grim laugh which had no mirth, but yetwas it dashed by a wonderful recklessness.

  "So far," he said. Then he added, with a quick look up at the belchingsmoke, "If they weren't I don't guess we'd be here now. Say, it'sGod's mercy sure this trail heads from the farm southeast. Further onit swings away at a fork. One trail goes due east, an' the othersou'west. One of 'em's sure cut by the fire. An' the other--wal, it'sa gamble with luck."

  "It's the only way out?" The girl's eyes were wide with her questionand the knowledge of the meaning of a reply in
the affirmative.

  "That's so."

  "We're like--rats in a trap."

  A sharp oath escaped the man's lips.

  "We ain't beat yet," he cried fiercely.

  The reply was the heart of the man speaking. Joan understood it. Andfrom it she understood more. She understood the actual peril in themidst of which they were.

  There was nothing more to be said. Buck's whole attention was upon thebillows of smoke and the lurid reflections thereon. The thunders abovethem, the blinding lightnings, left him undisturbed. The wind, thesmoke and the fire were his only concern now. Already, ahead, he couldsee in the vague light where the trail gave to the left. Beyond thatwas the fork.

  Joan gave no thought to these things. She had no right understandingof how best they could be served. She was studying the face of theman, the dark, brave face that was now her whole world. She was awareof the horseman behind, with his burden, she was aware of the horrorssurrounding them, but the face of the man held her, held her without aqualm of fear--now. If death lay before them she was in his arms.

  Buck's thoughts were far enough from death. He had snatched the womanhe loved from its very jaws, and he had no idea of yielding. There wasno comfort for him in the thought of their dying together. Living,yes. Life was more sweet to him just then than ever it had beenbefore. And he meant that they two should live on, and on.

  They passed the bend and the forking trail loomed up amidst theshadows. The crisis had come. And as they reached the vital spot Bucktook hold of the horse and reined him up. In a moment the Padre was athis side with his inanimate burden.

  Joan stared at the still form of her relative while the men talked.

  "It's got us beat to the eastward," said Buck, without a moment'shesitation.

  "Yes. The fire's right across the trail. It's impassable."

  The Padre's eyes were troubled. The eastward trail led to the openplains.

  "We must make the other," Buck said sharply, gathering up his reins.

  "Yes. That means----"

  "Devil's Hill, if the fire ain't ahead of us."

  "And if it is?" Curiously enough the Padre, even, seemed to seekguidance from Buck.

  "It sure will be if we waste time--talkin'."

  Caesar leapt at his bit in response to the sharp stroke of the spur.

  Now Buck had no thought for anything but the swift traveling fire onhis left. It was the pace of his horse against the pace at which thegale was driving this furnace. It was the great heart of his horseagainst endurance. Would it stand the test with its double burden? Ifthey could reach that bald, black hill, there was safety and rest. Ifnot--but they must reach it. They must reach it if it was the lastservice he ever claimed from his faithful servant. For once in hislife the mystery of the hill afforded Buck hope and comfort. For onceit was a goal to be yearned for, and he could think of no greaterdelight than to rest upon its black summit far from the reach of thehungry flames, that now, like an invading army, were seeking by everymeans to envelop him.

  Could they make it?

  A hundred thoughts and sensations were passing through the man's bodyand mind. He was sub-consciously estimating Caesar's power by the gaitat which he was traveling. He was guessing at the rate of the racingfire. He was calculating the direction of the wind to an absurdfraction. He was observing without interest the racing of a strangelyassorted commingling of forest creatures down the trail, seekingsafety in flight from the speeding fire. He cared nothing for them. Hehad no feelings of pity for anything or any one but Joan. Every hopein his heart, every atom of power in his body, every thought was forher well-being and ultimate safety. Oh, for the rain; oh, for such arain as he had seen that time before.

  But the storming heavens were dry-eyed and merciless. That freakishphenomenon of a raging thunder-storm without the usual deluge of rainwas abroad with all its deadly danger. It was extraordinary. It was soextraordinary that Buck was utterly at a loss. Why, why? And hisimpatient questioning remained without answer. There had been everyindication of rain and yet none had come----What was that?

  Caesar suddenly seemed to sway drunkenly. He shook his head in themanner of a horse irritated, and alarm set his ears flat back in hishead, and he stretched his neck, and, of his own accord, increased hispace. Buck saw nothing to cause this sudden disturbance other thanthat which had been with them all the time, and yet his horse's alarmwas very evident.

  A moment later occurred something still more unusual. Caesar stumbled.He did not fall. It was a mere false step, and, as he recovered, Buckfelt the poor beast trembling under him. Was it the end of hisendurance? No. The horse was traveling even faster than before, and hefound it necessary to check the faithful creature, an attention thatquickly aroused its opposition.

  Buck's puzzled eyes lifted from his horse to the rapidly nearing fire.It must be that Caesar must have realized its proximity, and, in hiseffort to outstrip it, had brought about his own floundering. So he nolonger checked the willing creature, and the race went on at the verylimit of the horse's pace. Then, in a moment, again came that absurdreeling and uncertainty. And Buck's added puzzlement found expressionin words, while his eyes watched closely for some definite cause.

  "Ther's suthin' amiss with Caesar," he said, with an unconcern ofmanner which his words belied.

  "What do you mean?" Joan's eyes lifted to his in sudden alarm. Thenshe added, "I seemed to notice something."

  "Seems like he's--drunk." Buck laughed.

  "Perhaps--the earth's shaking. I shouldn't wonder, with this--thisstorm."

  "Shaking?"

  Buck echoed her word, but his mind had suddenly seized upon it with adifferent thought from hers. If the earth were shaking, it would notbe with the storm above. His eyes peered ahead. Devil's Hill lay lessthan a mile away, and that was where he reckoned the fire would strikethe trail. Devil's Hill. A sudden uncomfortable repulsion at thethought of its barren dome took hold of him. For some subtle reason itno longer became the haven to be yearned for that it had been. Ratherwas it a resting-place to be sought only in extremity--if the earthwere shaking.

  His attention now became divided between the fire and Caesar. The horsewas evidently laboring. He was moving without his accustomed freedomof gait, and yet he did not seem to be tiring.

  Half the distance to the foot of the hill had been covered. The firewas nearing rapidly, so near indeed was it that the air was alive witha perfect hail of glowing sparks, swept ahead of it by the terrificwind. The scorching air was becoming unendurable, and the mentalstrain made the trail seem endless, and their efforts almost hopeless.Buck looked down at the girl's patient face.

  "It's hot--hot as hell," he said with another meaningless laugh.

  The girl read through his words and the laugh--read through them tothe thought behind them, and promptly protested.

  "Don't worry for me. I can stand--anything now."

  The added squeeze of her arm upon his shoulders set Buck's teethgritting.

  Suddenly he reined Caesar in.

  "I must know 'bout that--shakin'," he said.

  For a second the horse stood with heaving body. It was only a moment,but in that moment he spread out his feet as though to save himselffrom falling. Then in answer to the spur he sped on.

  "It's the earth, sure," cried Buck. And had there been another escapehe would have turned from the barren hill now rising amidst thebanking smoke-clouds ahead of him.

  "Earthquake!" said the girl.

  "Yes."

  Nothing more was said. The air scorched their flesh, and Joan wasfearful lest the falling sparks should fire her clothing. With everypassing moment Caesar was nearing their forbidding goal. The fire wasso adjacent that the roar and crackle of it shrieked in their ears,and through the trees shone the hideous gleam of flame. It was neckand neck, and their hope lay beneath them. Buck raked the creature'sflanks again with his spurs, and the gallant beast responded. On, onthey sped at a gait that Buck knew well could not last for long. Butwith every stride the hill
was coming nearer, and it almost seemed asif Caesar understood their necessity, and his own. Once Joan lookedback. That sturdy horse of the Padre was doggedly pursuing. Step forstep he hugged his stable companion's trail, but he was far, farbehind.

  "The Padre," cried Joan. "They are a long way back."

  "God help him!" cried Buck, through clenched teeth. "I can't. To waitfer him sure means riskin' you."

  "But----" Joan broke off and turned her face up to the canopy of smokedriving across them. "Rain!" she cried, with a wild thrill of hope."Rain--and in a deluge."

  In a moment the very heavens seemed to be emptying their reservoirs.It came, not in drops, but in streams that smote the earth, the fire,themselves with an almost crushing force. In less than half a minutethey were drenched to the skin, and the water was pouring in streamsfrom their extremities.

  "We've won out," cried Buck, with a great laugh.

  "Thank God," cried Joan, as she turned her scorched face up to receivethe grateful water.

  Buck eased the laboring Caesar.

  "That fire won't travel now, an'--ther's the hill," the man nodded.

  They had steadied to a rapid gallop. The hill, as Buck indicated, wasjust ahead. Joan's anxious eyes looked for the beginning of the slope.Yes, it was there. Less than two hundred yards ahead.

  The air filled with steam as the angry fire strove to battle with itsarch-enemy. But the rain was as merciless in its onslaught as had beenthe storm, and the fire itself. The latter had been given full scopeto work its mischief, and now it was being called to its account.Heavier and heavier the deluge fell, and the miracle of itsirresistible power was in the rapid fading of the ruddy glow in thesmoke-laden atmosphere. The fire was beaten from the outset and itsretreat before the opposing element was like a panic flight.

  In five minutes Caesar was clawing his way up over the boulder-strewnslopes of the hill, and Joan knew that, for the time at least, theywere safe. She knew, too, if the rain held for a couple of hours, theblazing woods would be left a cold waste of charred wreckage.

  * * * * *

  But the rain did not hold. It lasted something less than a quarter ofan hour. It was like a merciful act of Providence that came at the onemoment when it could serve the fugitives. The chances had been allagainst them. Buck had known it. The fire must have met them at thefoot of the hill and so barred their ultimate escape. The Padre behindhad been inevitably doomed.