CHAPTER XXVI
ON THE LITTLE BLUFF RIVER
Away to the west, where the plains cease and the hills begin, wherethe Little Bluff River debouches upon the plains from its secret paththrough canyon and crevasse, Jim Thorpe was standing beside a low scrubbush, gazing ruefully at his distressed horse. The poor brute was tootired to move from where he stood, nipping at the rich prairie grassabout his feet. He still had the strength and necessary appetite to dothis, but that was about all.
In his anxiety to serve the woman he loved Jim had done what years agohe had vowed never to do. He had ridden his willing servant to astandstill.
The saddle had been removed for more than an hour and was lying besidethe bush, and the man, all impatience and anxiety, was considering hisposition and the possibility of fulfilling his mission. The outlookwas pretty hopeless. He judged that he had at least ten miles to go,with no other means of making the distance than his own two legs.
And then, what would be the use? Doc Crombie was probably on the road.He had heard the men preparing for the start before he left thevillage. True, they had not overtaken him, but that was nothing. Therewere other ways of reaching the rustlers' hollow. He knew of at leastthree trails, and the difference in the distance between them wasinfinitesimal.
For all he knew the other men might have already reached theirdestination. Yes, they probably had. He had been out of the saddlemore than an hour. It was rotten luck. What would Eve think? He hadfailed her in her extremity. At least his horse had. And it was muchthe same thing. He realized now the folly of his attempt on a tiredhorse. But then there had been no time to get a fresh one. Nopossibility of getting one without rousing suspicion. Truly his luckwas devilish.
He sat down, his back propped against the stump of a dead sapling. Andfrom beneath the wide brim of his hat, pressed low down upon hisforehead, he gazed steadily out over the greensward at the southernsky-line. His face was moody. His feelings were depressed. What couldhe do? In profound thought he sat clasping one knee, which was drawnup almost to his chin.
The beauty and peace of the morning had no part in his thoughts justnow. Bitter and depressed feelings alone occupied him. Behind him thenoisy little river sped upon its tumultuous way, just below sharp,high banks, and entirely screened from where he sat. There was agossipy, companionable suggestion in the bustling of the noisy waters.But the feeling was lost upon him. He prayed for inspiration, forhelp. It was not for himself. It was for a woman. And the bitternessof it all was that he, he with all his longing, was denied the powerto help her.
He turned from the hills with a feeling of irritation. Away to hisleft the prairie rolled upward, a steady rise to a false sky-linesomething less than a mile away. There was sign of neither man, norbeast, nor habitation of any sort in the prospect. There was just theriver bank on which he sat to break up the uniformity of the plain.Here was bush, here were trees, but they were few and scattered.
Presently he rose from his seat and moved over to his horse. Theanimal lifted its head and looked wistfully into his face. The maninterpreted the appeal in his own fashion. And the look hurt him. Itwas as if the poor beast were asking to be allowed to go on feeding alittle longer. Jim was soft-hearted for all dumb animals, and hequietly and softly swore at his luck. However, he resaddled the animalto protect its back from the sun and turned back again to the bush.
But he never reached his seat. At that instant the quiet was suddenlyand harshly broken. The stillness of the plain seemed literally splitwith the crack of firearms. Two shots rang out in rapid succession,and the faintest of echoes from the distant hills suggested anopposing fire at long range. But the first two shots were near,startlingly near.
All was still again. The man stood staring out in the direction whencecame those ominous sounds. No, all was not quite still again. Hisquick ears detected a faint pounding of hoofs, and a racing thoughtflew through his brain. His movements became swift, yet deliberate. Hecrossed over to his horse and replaced the bit in its mouth. Then hefaced round at the rising ground and watched the sky-line. It wasthence that the reports had come, and his practiced ears had warnedhim that they were pistol shots.
Now he shaded his eyes gazing at one particular spot on the sky-line.For his horse, too, was gazing thither, with its ears sharply pricked.And, in consequence, he knew that the man, or men who had fired thoseshots were there, beyond the rise.
Also he was gripping a heavy revolver in his hand.]
He waited. Suddenly a moving speck broke the sky-line. Momentarily itgrew larger. Now it was sufficiently silhouetted for him to recognizeit. A horseman was coming toward him, racing as hard as spurs coulddrive the beast under him.
Just for a moment he wondered. Then he glanced swiftly round at theriver behind him. Yes, the river. This man was riding from the hills.And he understood in a flash. He was pursued. The hounds had him outin the open. The only shelter for miles around was the sparse bush atthe riverside, and--the river itself. His interest became excitement,and a sudden wild hope. He now searched the horizon behind the man.There was not a soul in sight--and yet--those two shots.
But the situation suddenly became critical for himself. He realizedthat the fugitive had seen him. From a low bending attitude over hishorse's neck the man had suddenly sat erect. Also he was gripping aheavy revolver in his hand.
Suddenly a further excitement stirred the waiting man. As the fugitivesat up he recognized him. It was Will Henderson.
He was still a hundred yards away, but the distance was rapidlynarrowing. At fifty yards he, Jim, would be well within range, and thememory of those two shots warned him that the revolver in thehorseman's hand was no sort of bluff. It meant business, sure enough,and his own identity was not in the least likely to add to his safety.He must convey his peaceful intentions at once.
It was difficult. He dared not shout. He knew how the voice traveledover the plains. Suddenly he remembered. He was one of the few prairiemen who still clung to the white handkerchief of civilization. He drewone out of his pocket. It was anything but clean, but it would serve.Throwing up both arms he waved it furiously at the man. This he didthree times. Then, dropping it to the ground, he held up both hands inthe manner of a prairie surrender.
There was a moment of anxious waiting, then, to his relief, he sawWill head his hard blowing horse in his direction. But still retaininghis hold of his pistol, he came on. And in those few moments before hereached him Jim had an opportunity of close observation.
First he saw that the horse was nearly done. Evidently the chase hadbeen, if short, at least a hard one, and if the hunters were closebehind, there was little enough chance of escape for him. The man'seyes were alight and staring with the suspicious look of the hunted.His young mouth was set desperately, and the watching man read in hisface a determination to sell his life at the highest price he coulddemand. And somehow, in spite of all that had gone, he felt a greatpity for him.
Then, in a moment, his pity fled. It was the color of the man's shirtthat first caught his attention. It was identical with his own. Fromthis he examined the rest of his clothing. Will Henderson was clad asmuch like himself as possible. And the meaning of it was quite plainto him.
The horseman came up. He flung himself back in the saddle and reinedhis horse up with a jerk.
"What's your game?" he demanded fiercely, still gripping thethreatening revolver, as Jim dropped his hands.
"I came to warn you--but my horse foundered. See."
Jim pointed at the dejected beast. "I came because she asked me tocome," he added.
Will glanced back up the hill. It needed little enough imagination toguess what he was looking for.
"Well, the game's up, and--I'm hunted. They're about three milesbehind--all except one." He laughed harshly. Then he caught Jim'seyes. "You came because she sent you? That means you're goin' to helpme, I guess, but only--because she sent you. Are you goin' to?" Heedged his gun forward so that the other could not miss seeing it.
But Jim had
no fear. He was thinking with all the power of his brain.Time was everything. He doubted they had more than five minutes. Heknew this patch of country by heart, which was one of the reasons hehad taken the northern trail. Now his knowledge served him.
He answered instantly, utterly ignoring the threatening gun.
"Yes. Now get this quickly. Your only chance is to drop down into thatriver. It's shallow, though swift--about two feet to possibly two anda half. Ride down stream for two miles. It winds tremendously, so theothers won't see you. You'll come to a thick patch of woods on eitherbank. Take the left bank, and make through the woods, north. Then keepright on to some foot-hills about ten miles due north. Once there youcan dodge 'em, sure. Anyway it's up to you. Leave 'em to me, whenthey come up. I'll do my best to put 'em off."
Jim's voice was cold enough, but he spoke rapidly. Will, who hadturned again to scan the sky-line, now looked down at him suspiciously.
"Is this bluff--or straight business?" he demanded harshly.
Jim shrugged.
"You best get on--if you're going to clear. You said they were threemiles off," he reminded him, in the same cold manner.
Will looked back. He was still doubtful, but--he realized he must takethe advice. He had delayed too long now for anything else.
"She sent you, eh?" he asked, sharply. "It's not your own doin'?"
"I've no sympathy with--cattle-thieves," Jim retorted. "Git, quick!"
His eyes were on the horizon now. And it was his alert look thatfinally decided the doubting man. He swung his horse round, and rodefor the river.
"So long," he called back. But there was no word of thanks. Neitherhad the other any response to his farewell.
Jim watched him till he disappeared, then he turned again to therising grassland and watched for the coming of the hunters. And as hewatched his thoughts reverted to the doctrine of the one-way trail.Will was traveling it hard. For him there was certainly no turningback now.
But his horse had ceased grazing again, and once more stood with earspricked, gazing up the slope. Its master understood. This was nomoment to consider abstract problems, however they might interest him.Stern reality lay ahead of him, and he knew he was in for anunpleasant time. He linked his arm through his horse's reins, and,with head bent, trailed slowly up the incline, pausing and stooping toexamine the hoof-prints of Will Henderson's horse, as though it were atrail he had just discovered, and was anxious to learn its meaning. Hewas thinking hard the while, and calculating his chances when thehunters should come up.
While he appeared to be studying the track so closely, he yet waswatching the hill-crest ahead. He knew the men were rapidlyapproaching, for the rumble of galloping horses was quite distinct tohis well-trained ears. He wanted his intentness to be at its closestwhen the gang first discovered him.
He had his wish. As the men topped the ridge he was on one kneestudying a clearer imprint than usual. Doc Crombie and Smallbones,riding at the head of a party of five men, saw him, and the lattershouted his joy.
"Gee! we've got him! Say----" He broke off, staring hard at thekneeling figure. The outline was familiar. Suddenly Jim stood up, andthe little man instantly recognized him. "Guess you lost thatthree-year-old 'driver,' Doc," he cried, his face alight with malice."Ther's our man, an'--it's Jim Thorpe. I thought I rec'nized him fromthe first, when he broke cover. This is bully!"
But the stern-faced doctor had no answer for him. His eyes were fixedon the man, who now stood calmly waiting for him to approach.Experienced in such matters as he was, he looked for the threateninggun in Jim Thorpe's hand. There was none. On the contrary, the manseemed to be waiting for them in the friendliest spirit. There was hishorse, too; why was he on foot? It struck him that the riddle wantedmore reading than Smallbones had given it. He was not so sure he hadyet lost that three-year-old "driver."
Jim made no change of position as they clattered up. Smallbones wasahead, with a gun leveled as he came.
"Hands up! Hands up, you dogone skunk, or I'll blow your roof off!" hecried fiercely.
But Jim only grinned. It was not a pleasant grin, either, for thehardware dealer's epithet infuriated him.
"Don't be a blamed fool, Smallbones," he said sharply. "You'rerattled."
"Put your darned hands up, or----!"
But Doc Crombie knocked the little man's gun up.
"Say, push that back in its kennel," he cried, harshly. "You sureain't safe with a gun."
Then, after seeing that his comrade obeyed him, and permitting himselfa shadowy grin at the man's crestfallen air, he turned to Jim Thorpe.
"Wal?" he drawled questioningly.
"Thanks, Doc," said Jim, with a cheery smile. "I guess you saved mylife. Smallbones shouldn't be out without his nurse." Then he glancedswiftly down at the track he had been examining. "Say, I've hit atrail right here. It goes on down to the river, an' I can't locateit further. I was just going back on it a piece. Guess you've comealong in the same direction. See, here it is. A horse gallopinghell-for-leather. Guess it's not a lope. By the splashing of sand, I'dsay he was racing." He looked fearlessly into the doctor's eyes, buthis heart was beating hard with guilty consciousness. He was trying toestimate the man's possible attitude.
"That's the trail we're on," the doctor said sharply. "Say, how longyou been here?" he inquired, glancing at Jim's horse.
"Well, round about here, getting on for two hours."
"What are you out here for, anyway?"
Jim glanced from the doctor to Smallbones, and then on at the rest ofthe men. They were all cattlemen, none of them were villagers. Helaughed suddenly.
"Say, is this an--er--inquisition?"
"Sure." The doctor's reply rapped out tartly.
"Well, that being the way of things, guess I'd best tell you first aslast. You see, I got back to the village yesterday afternoon. As maybeyou know, I've been out nearly two days on the trail. Well, late lastnight, Elia Marsham came to me with a yarn about a hollow in thehills, where he said he'd seen the rustlers at work. He told me how tofind it, an'--well, I hit the trail. I hoped to head you, and get 'emmyself, but," with a shrug, "I guess I was a fool some. My plugpetered out two hours back, and I had to quit. You see he was stale atthe start."
"An' this trail?" snapped the doctor.
"I was way back there down the river a goodish piece, getting a sleepby the bush, and easing my plug, when I woke up quick. Seemed to me Iheard a gunshot. Maybe I was dreaming. Anyway I sat up and tooknotice, but didn't see a thing. So, after a while, I got dozing again.Then my plug started to neigh, and kept whinnying. I got around then,guessing something was doing. So I started to chase up the river.Then I found this trail. It's new, fresh done this morning, sure.Guess it must have been some feller passing that worried my horse. Yousay you're on this trail? Whose? It isn't--eh?" as the doctor nodded."Then come right on down to the river. We're losing time."
Jim turned to lead his horse away, but Smallbones laughed. There wasno mistaking the derision, the challenge of that laugh. Jim turnedagain, and the look he favored the hardware dealer with was one thatdid not escape the doctor, who promptly interposed.
"If you're right an' he's wrong, you've got time in plenty to correcthim later, Jim," he said, in his stern fashion. "Meanwhiles you'llkeep your face closed, Smallbones, or--light right out." Then heturned back to Jim. "Ther' ain't a heap o' hurry now, boy, fer thatfeller. His horse was nigh done," he went on, glancing at the dejectedcreature Jim was leading. "Done jest about as bad as yours. An' hisplug was the same color, and he was rigged out much as you are." Thenhis tone became doubly harsh. "Say, the feller we're chasin' was yourbuild. He was so like you in cut, and his plug so like yours, that ifI put it right here to the vote I'm guessin' you'd hang so quick you'dwonder how it was done. But then, you see, I've got two eyes, an' someelegant savvee, which some folks ain't blessed with," with an eye inSmallbones' direction. "An' I tell you right here ther's just the factyour plug is stone cold between you an' a rawhide rope. You jestcouldn't b
e the man we're chasin' 'less you're capable o' miracles.Get me? But I'm goin' to do some straight talk. Not more than tenminutes gone the feller we're after shot down one o' the boys backther' over the rise. That boy was on a fast hoss, an' was close onthat all-fired Dago's heels. Wal, he got it plenty, an' we're goin'back to bury that honest citizen later. Meanwhiles, ten minutes gonethat rustler got down here, an' as you say, made that river, an'you--you didn't see him. Get me? You're jest goin' to show me wher'you sat."
For a second Jim's heart seemed to stand still. He was not used tolying. However, he realized only too well how the least hesitationwould surely hang him, and he promptly nodded his head.
"Sure I will. Come right along." And he led the way diagonally fromthe horseman's tracks, so as to strike the river obliquely.
It was a silent procession, and the air was charged with possibledisaster. Jim walked ahead, his horse hanging back and being urgedforward by no very gentle kicks from Smallbones.
And as he walked he thought hard. He was struggling to remember alikely spot. He dare not choose one where grass lay under foot. Thesemen had eyes like hawks for a spot on such ground. There was only oneunderlay where their eyes could be fooled, and that was under theshelter of a pine tree, where the pine-needles prevented impress andyielded no trace of footsteps. Was there such a spot near by? Hevaguely remembered a small cluster of such trees beside his track, buthe couldn't remember how far away it lay. He knew he must take a bigrisk.
He did not hesitate, and, though slowly, he walked deliberately in adefinite direction, winding in and out the bush. Then to his intenserelief, after about five minutes' walking, he saw the trees he waslooking for. Yes, they were right in his track, and he remembered nowskirting them as he came along. But he was not yet clear of trouble byany means. What was the underlay like?
He avoided giving any sign of his destination. That was mostimportant. And he was fearful lest he should be questioned. He knewthe shrewdness of the redoubtable doctor, and he feared it. He was onhis own track now, which showed plain enough in the grass. And as hecame to the clump of pines he still kept on until he had practicallypassed it. He did this purposely. It was necessary to satisfy himselfthat the ground under the trees was bare except for a thick carpet ofpine-needles. Fortune was with him for once, and he suddenly turnedand led his horse in among the trees. As he walked he disturbed thecarpet as much as he could without attracting attention, and havingcome to a halt, he quickly turned his horse about the further todisturb the underlay. Then he flung himself into a sitting posture atthe foot of one of the trees, at the same time deliberately raising adust with his feet.
"This is the spot," he said, looking frankly up into the doctor'sface. "I s'pose I must have been here somewhere around two hours. Howfar have we come? A matter of two hundred yards? Look out there. It'smore or less a blank outlook of trees."
But Doc Crombie was studying the ground. Jim sprang up and began tomove round his horse, feeling the cinchas of his saddle. He felt hecould reasonably do this, and further disturb the underlay withoutexciting suspicion. It was a dreadful moment for him, for he notedthat all eyes were closely scrutinizing the ground.
Suddenly the doctor fixed an eagle glance on his face. Jim met it. Hebelieved it to be the final question. But the man gave him nosatisfaction. He left him with the uncertainty as to whether he hadwholly fooled him or not. His words were peremptory.
"We'll git back an' finish the hunt," he declared. Then, "Will thatdurned plug carry you now?"
Jim shrugged.
"Maybe at a walk."
"Wal, git right on."
Jim obeyed. It would have been madness to refuse. But his brain wasdesperately busy.
They rode back to the river bank at the point where the fugitive hadtaken to the water. Most of the men dismounted, and, with noses to theground, they studied the tracks. Two or three moved along the bankvainly endeavoring to discover the man's further direction; and two ofthem rode across to the opposite side. But the banks told themnothing. Their quarry had obviously not crossed the water. A quarterof an hour was spent thus, Jim helping all he knew; then finally DocCrombie called his men together.
"We'll git right on," he declared authoritatively.
"Which way?" inquired Smallbones. He was angry, but looked depressed.
The doctor considered a moment, and the men stood round waiting.
"We'll head up-stream for the hills," he said at last. "Guess he'llmake that way. We'll divide up on either side of the river. Guess youbest take three men, Smallbones, an' cross over. You, Thorpe, 'll stopwith me."
But Thorpe shook his head. He saw an opportunity to play a big handfor Eve, and, win or lose, he meant to play it. He would not haveattempted it on a man less keen than the doctor.
"You're wrong, Doc," he said coolly, and all eyes were at once turnedupon him. Every man in the party was at once agog with interest, fornot one of them but shared Smallbones' suspicion in some degree,however little it might be.
"See here," Jim went on, with a great show of enthusiasm, "do you knowthis river? Well," as the doctor shook his head, "I do. That's why Icame this trail. I guessed if any of the rustlers were liable to hitthe trail, it 'ud be somewhere around this river. You figger he's goneup-stream. I'd gamble he's gone down. There's a heavy timber two milesor so down-stream, and that timber is a sheer cover right up to thehills farther north. D'you get me? Well, personally, I don't thinkhe's gone up-stream--so I hunt down."
He was relying on the independence of his manner and the truth of hisarguments for success, and he achieved it even beyond his hopes. DocCrombie's eyes blazed.
"You'll hunt with me, Jim Thorpe," he cried sharply.
But Jim was ready. This was what he was looking for.
"See here, Doc, I'm not out for foolishness, neither are you. Oh, yes,I know I'm suspected, and there's folks, especially our friendSmallbones, would like to hang me right off. Well, get busy and do thehanging, I shan't resist, and you'll all live to regret it; that is,except Smallbones. However, this is my point. This suspicion is on me,and I've got to clear it. I'm a sight more interested than any of youfellows. I believe that fellow has headed down-stream, and I claimthe right, in my own self-defense, to follow him as far as my horsewill let me. I want to hit his trail, and I'll run him to earth if Ihave to do it on foot. And I tell you right here you've no authorityto stop me. I'm not a vigilante, and you're not a sheriff, nor even a'deputy.' I tell you you have neither moral nor legal right to preventme clearing myself in my own way."
"Want to get rid of us," snarled Smallbones.
Jim turned on him like a knife.
"I've a score to settle with you, and, small as you are, you're goingto get all that's coming to you--later."
"You'll have to get busy quick, or you won't have time," grinned thelittle man, making a hideous motion of hanging.
But further bickering was prevented by the doctor. At this moment herose almost to the greatness which his associates claimed for him.Bitter as his feelings were at thus openly being defied and flouted,he refused to blind himself to the justness of the other's plea. Heeven acquiesced with a decent grace, although he refused--as Jim knewhe would--to change his own opinions.
"Hit your trail, boy," he cried, in his large, harsh voice. "Guess yousure got the rights of a free citizen, an'--good luck."
He rode off; and Smallbones, with a venomous glance back at thetriumphant Jim, started across the river. Jim remounted his horse androde off down the river. He glanced back at the retreating party withthe doctor, and sighed his relief. He felt as though he had beenpassing through a lifetime of crime, and ahead lay safety.
He did not attempt to push his tired horse faster than a walk, butcontinued on until he came to the woods, where he knew Will had soughtshelter; then he off-saddled. He had no intention of proceedingfarther until sundown.
He thanked his stars that he had read Doc Crombie aright. He wouldnever have dared to bluff a lesser man than he.
And then, ha
ving seated himself for rest under a bush, his last wakingthoughts were black with the despair of an honest man who has finallyand voluntarily made it impossible to prove his own innocence.
The One-Way Trail: A story of the cattle country Page 28
