by Zane Grey
CHAPTER XIX
The memory of a woman had ruined Milt Dale's peace, had confounded hisphilosophy of self-sufficient, lonely happiness in the solitude of thewilds, had forced him to come face to face with his soul and the fatalsignificance of life.
When he realized his defeat, that things were not as they seemed, thatthere was no joy for him in the coming of spring, that he had been blindin his free, sensorial, Indian relation to existence, he fell intoan inexplicably strange state, a despondency, a gloom as deep as thesilence of his home. Dale reflected that the stronger an animal, thekeener its nerves, the higher its intelligence, the greater must be itssuffering under restraint or injury. He thought of himself as a highorder of animal whose great physical need was action, and now theincentive to action seemed dead. He grew lax. He did not want to move.He performed his diminishing duties under compulsion.
He watched for spring as a liberation, but not that he could leave thevalley. He hated the cold, he grew weary of wind and snow; he imaginedthe warm sun, the park once more green with grass and bright withdaisies, the return of birds and squirrels and deer to heir old haunts,would be the means whereby he could break this spell upon him. Then hemight gradually return to past contentment, though it would never be thesame.
But spring, coming early to Paradise Park, brought a fever to Dale'sblood--a fire of unutterable longing. It was good, perhaps, thatthis was so, because he seemed driven to work, climb, tramp, and keepceaselessly on the move from dawn till dark. Action strengthened his laxmuscles and kept him from those motionless, senseless hours of brooding.He at least need not be ashamed of longing for that which could neverbe his--the sweetness of a woman--a home full of light, joy, hope, themeaning and beauty of children. But those dark moods were sinkings intoa pit of hell.
Dale had not kept track of days and weeks. He did not know when the snowmelted off three slopes of Paradise Park. All he knew was that an agehad dragged over his head and that spring had come. During his restlesswaking hours, and even when he was asleep, there seemed always in theback of his mind a growing consciousness that soon he would emerge fromthis trial, a changed man, ready to sacrifice his chosen lot, to give uphis lonely life of selfish indulgence in lazy affinity with nature,and to go wherever his strong hands might perform some real serviceto people. Nevertheless, he wanted to linger in this mountain fastnessuntil his ordeal was over--until he could meet her, and the world,knowing himself more of a man than ever before.
One bright morning, while he was at his camp-fire, the tame cougar gavea low, growling warning. Dale was startled. Tom did not act like thatbecause of a prowling grizzly or a straying stag. Presently Dale espieda horseman riding slowly out of the straggling spruces. And with thatsight Dale's heart gave a leap, recalling to him a divination of hisfuture relation to his kind. Never had he been so glad to see a man!
This visitor resembled one of the Beemans, judging from the way he sathis horse, and presently Dale recognized him to be John.
At this juncture the jaded horse was spurred into a trot, soon reachingthe pines and the camp.
"Howdy, there, you ole b'ar-hunter!" called John, waving his hand.
For all his hearty greeting his appearance checked a like response fromDale. The horse was mud to his flanks and John was mud to his knees,wet, bedraggled, worn, and white. This hue of his face meant more thanfatigue.
"Howdy, John?" replied Dale.
They shook hands. John wearily swung his leg over the pommel, but didnot at once dismount. His clear gray eyes were wonderingly riveted uponthe hunter.
"Milt--what 'n hell's wrong?" he queried.
"Why?"
"Bust me if you ain't changed so I hardly knowed you. You've beensick--all alone here!"
"Do I look sick?"
"Wal, I should smile. Thin an' pale an' down in the mouth! Milt, whatails you?"
"I've gone to seed."
"You've gone off your head, jest as Roy said, livin' alone here. Youoverdid it, Milt. An' you look sick."
"John, my sickness is here," replied Dale, soberly, as he laid a hand onhis heart.
"Lung trouble!" ejaculated John. "With thet chest, an' up in thisair?... Get out!"
"No--not lung trouble," said Dale.
"I savvy. Had a hunch from Roy, anyhow."
"What kind of a hunch?"
"Easy now, Dale, ole man.... Don't you reckon I'm ridin' in on youpretty early? Look at thet hoss!" John slid off and waved a hand atthe drooping beast, then began to unsaddle him. "Wal, he done great. Webogged some comin' over. An' I climbed the pass at night on the frozensnow."
"You're welcome as the flowers in May. John, what month is it?"
"By spades! are you as bad as thet?... Let's see. It's the twenty-thirdof March."
"March! Well, I'm beat. I've lost my reckonin'--an' a lot more, maybe."
"Thar!" declared John, slapping the mustang. "You can jest hang up heretill my next trip. Milt, how 're your hosses?"
"Wintered fine."
"Wal, thet's good. We'll need two big, strong hosses right off."
"What for?" queried Dale, sharply. He dropped a stick of wood andstraightened up from the camp-fire.
"You're goin' to ride down to Pine with me--thet's what for."
Familiarly then came back to Dale the quiet, intent suggestiveness ofthe Beemans in moments foreboding trial.
At this certain assurance of John's, too significant to be doubted,Dale's thought of Pine gave slow birth to a strange sensation, as if hehad been dead and was vibrating back to life.
"Tell what you got to tell!" he broke out.
Quick as a flash the Mormon replied: "Roy's been shot. But he won't die.He sent for you. Bad deal's afoot. Beasley means to force Helen Raynerout an' steal her ranch."
A tremor ran all through Dale. It seemed another painful yet thrillingconnection between his past and this vaguely calling future. Hisemotions had been broodings dreams, longings. This thing his friend saidhad the sting of real life.
"Then old Al's dead?" he asked.
"Long ago--I reckon around the middle of February. The property went toHelen. She's been doin' fine. An' many folks say it's a pity she'll loseit."
"She won't lose it," declared Dale. How strange his voice sounded to hisown ears! It was hoarse and unreal, as if from disuse.
"Wal, we-all have our idees. I say she will. My father says so.Carmichael says so."
"Who's he?"
"Reckon you remember thet cow-puncher who came up with Roy an'Auchincloss after the girls--last fall?"
"Yes. They called him Las--Las Vegas. I liked his looks."
"Humph! You'll like him a heap when you know him. He's kept the ranchgoin' for Miss Helen all along. But the deal's comin' to a head.Beasley's got thick with thet Riggs. You remember him?"
"Yes."
"Wal, he's been hangin' out at Pine all winter, watchin' for some chanceto get at Miss Helen or Bo. Everybody's seen thet. An' jest lately hechased Bo on hossback--gave the kid a nasty fall. Roy says Riggs wasafter Miss Helen. But I think one or t'other of the girls would do thetvarmint. Wal, thet sorta started goin's-on. Carmichael beat Riggs an'drove him out of town. But he come back. Beasley called on Miss Helenan' offered to marry her so's not to take the ranch from her, he said."
Dale awoke with a thundering curse.
"Shore!" exclaimed John. "I'd say the same--only I'm religious. Don'tthet beady-eyed greaser's gall make you want to spit all over yourself?My Gawd! but Roy was mad! Roy's powerful fond of Miss Helen an' Bo....Wal, then, Roy, first chance he got, braced Beasley an' give him somestraight talk. Beasley was foamin' at the mouth, Roy said. It was thenRiggs shot Roy. Shot him from behind Beasley when Roy wasn't lookin'!An' Riggs brags of bein' a gun-fighter. Mebbe thet wasn't a bad shot forhim!"
"I reckon," replied Dale, as he swallowed hard. "Now, just what wasRoy's message to me?"
"Wal, I can't remember all Roy said," answered John, dubiously. "ButRoy shore was excited an' dead in earnest. He says: 'Tell Milt what
'shappened. Tell him Helen Rayner's in more danger than she was last fall.Tell him I've seen her look away acrost the mountains toward ParadisePark with her heart in her eyes. Tell him she needs him most of all!'"
Dale shook all over as with an attack of ague. He was seized by awhirlwind of passionate, terrible sweetness of sensation, when whathe wildly wanted was to curse Roy and John for their simple-mindedconclusions.
"Roy's--crazy!" panted Dale.
"Wal, now, Milt--thet's downright surprisin' of you. Roy's thelevel-headest of any fellars I know."
"Man! if he MADE me believe him--an' it turned out untrue--I'd--I'd killhim," replied Dale.
"Untrue! Do you think Roy Beeman would lie?"
"But, John--you fellows can't see my case. Nell Rayner wants me--needsme!... It can't be true!"
"Wal, my love-sick pard--it jest IS true!" exclaimed John, feelingly."Thet's the hell of life--never knowin'. But here it's joy for you. Youcan believe Roy Beeman about women as quick as you'd trust him to trackyour lost hoss. Roy's married three girls. I reckon he'll marry somemore. Roy's only twenty-eight an' he has two big farms. He said he'dseen Nell Rayner's heart in her eyes, lookin' for you--an' you can jestbet your life thet's true. An' he said it because he means you to rustledown there an' fight for thet girl."
"I'll--go," said Dale, in a shaky whisper, as he sat down on a pine lognear the fire. He stared unseeingly at the bluebells in the grass by hisfeet while storm after storm possessed his breast. They were fierce andbrief because driven by his will. In those few moments of contendingstrife Dale was immeasurably removed from that dark gulf of self whichhad made his winter a nightmare. And when he stood erect again it seemedthat the old earth had a stirring, electrifying impetus for his feet.Something black, bitter, melancholy, and morbid, always unreal to him,had passed away forever. The great moment had been forced upon him. Hedid not believe Roy Beeman's preposterous hint regarding Helen; but hehad gone back or soared onward, as if by magic, to his old true self.
Mounted on Dale's strongest horses, with only a light pack, an ax, andtheir weapons, the two men had reached the snow-line on the pass by noonthat day. Tom, the tame cougar, trotted along in the rear.
The crust of the snow, now half thawed by the sun, would not holdthe weight of a horse, though it upheld the men on foot. They walked,leading the horses. Travel was not difficult until the snow began todeepen; then progress slackened materially. John had not been able topick out the line of the trail, so Dale did not follow his tracks. Anold blaze on the trees enabled Dale to keep fairly well to the trail;and at length the height of the pass was reached, where the snow wasdeep. Here the horses labored, plowing through foot by foot. When,finally, they sank to their flanks, they had to be dragged and goadedon, and helped by thick flat bunches of spruce boughs placed under theirhoofs. It took three hours of breaking toil to do the few hundred yardsof deep snow on the height of the pass. The cougar did not have greatdifficulty in following, though it was evident he did not like suchtraveling.
That behind them, the horses gathered heart and worked on to the edgeof the steep descent, where they had all they could do to hold back fromsliding and rolling. Fast time was made on this slope, at the bottom ofwhich began a dense forest with snow still deep in places and windfallshard to locate. The men here performed Herculean labors, but they gotthrough to a park where the snow was gone. The ground, however, soft andboggy, in places was more treacherous than the snow; and the travelershad to skirt the edge of the park to a point opposite, and then go onthrough the forest. When they reached bare and solid ground, just beforedark that night, it was high time, for the horses were ready to drop,and the men likewise.
Camp was made in an open wood. Darkness fell and the men were restingon bough beds, feet to the fire, with Tom curled up close by, and thehorses still drooping where they had been unsaddled. Morning, however,discovered them grazing on the long, bleached grass. John shook his headwhen he looked at them.
"You reckoned to make Pine by nightfall. How far is it--the way you'llgo?"
"Fifty mile or thereabouts," replied Dale.
"Wal, we can't ride it on them critters."
"John, we'd do more than that if we had to."
They were saddled and on the move before sunrise, leaving snow and bogbehind. Level parks and level forests led one after another to longslopes and steep descents, all growing sunnier and greener as thealtitude diminished. Squirrels and grouse, turkeys and deer, and lesstame denizens of the forest grew more abundant as the travel advanced.In this game zone, however, Dale had trouble with Tom. The cougar had tobe watched and called often to keep him off of trails.
"Tom doesn't like a long trip," said Dale. "But I'm goin' to take him.Some way or other he may come in handy."
"Sic him onto Beasley's gang," replied John. "Some men are powerfulscared of cougars. But I never was."
"Nor me. Though I've had cougars give me a darn uncanny feelin'."
The men talked but little. Dale led the way, with Tom trottingnoiselessly beside his horse. John followed close behind. They loped thehorses across parks, trotted through the forests, walked slow upwhat few inclines they met, and slid down the soft, wet, pine-matteddescents. So they averaged from six to eight miles an hour. The horsesheld up well under that steady travel, and this without any rest atnoon.
Dale seemed to feel himself in an emotional trance. Yet, despite this,the same old sensorial perceptions crowded thick and fast upon him,strangely sweet and vivid after the past dead months when neither sunnor wind nor cloud nor scent of pine nor anything in nature could stirhim. His mind, his heart, his soul seemed steeped in an intoxicatingwine of expectation, while his eyes and ears and nose had never beenkeener to register the facts of the forest-land. He saw the black thingfar ahead that resembled a burned stump, but he knew was a bear beforeit vanished; he saw gray flash of deer and wolf and coyote, and the redof fox, and the small, wary heads of old gobblers just sticking abovethe grass; and he saw deep tracks of game as well as the slow-risingblades of bluebells where some soft-footed beast had just trod. And heheard the melancholy notes of birds, the twitter of grouse, the sough ofthe wind, the light dropping of pine-cones, the near and distant bark ofsquirrels, the deep gobble of a turkey close at hand and the challengefrom a rival far away, the cracking of twigs in the thickets, the murmurof running water, the scream of an eagle and the shrill cry of a hawk,and always the soft, dull, steady pads of the hoofs of the horses.
The smells, too, were the sweet, stinging ones of spring, warm andpleasant--the odor of the clean, fresh earth cutting its way throughthat thick, strong fragrance of pine, the smell of logs rotting in thesun, and of fresh new grass and flowers along a brook of snow-water.
"I smell smoke," said Dale, suddenly, as he reined in, and turned forcorroboration from his companion.
John sniffed the warm air.
"Wal, you're more of an Injun than me," he replied, shaking his head.
They traveled on, and presently came out upon the rim of the last slope.A long league of green slanted below them, breaking up into stragglinglines of trees and groves that joined the cedars, and these in turnstretched on and down in gray-black patches to the desert, thatglittering and bare, with streaks of somber hue, faded in the obscurityof distance.
The village of Pine appeared to nestle in a curve of the edge of thegreat forest, and the cabins looked like tiny white dots set in green.
"Look there," said Dale, pointing.
Some miles to the right a gray escarpment of rock cropped out of theslope, forming a promontory; and from it a thin, pale column of smokecurled upward to be lost from sight as soon as it had no background ofgreen.
"Thet's your smoke, shore enough," replied John, thoughtfully. "Now, Ijest wonder who's campin' there. No water near or grass for hosses."
"John, that point's been used for smoke signals many a time."
"Was jest thinkin' of thet same. Shall we ride around there an' take apeek?"
"No. But we'll remembe
r that. If Beasley's got his deep scheme goin',he'll have Snake Anson's gang somewhere close."
"Roy said thet same. Wal, it's some three hours till sundown. The hosseskeep up. I reckon I'm fooled, for we'll make Pine all right. But old Tomthere, he's tired or lazy."
The big cougar was lying down, panting, and his half-shut eyes were onDale.
"Tom's only lazy an' fat. He could travel at this gait for a week. Butlet's rest a half-hour an' watch that smoke before movin' on. We canmake Pine before sundown."
When travel had been resumed, half-way down the slope Dale's sharp eyescaught a broad track where shod horses had passed, climbing in a longslant toward the promontory. He dismounted to examine it, and John,coming up, proceeded with alacrity to get off and do likewise. Dale madehis deductions, after which he stood in a brown study beside his horse,waiting for John.
"Wal, what 'd you make of these here tracks?" asked that worthy.
"Some horses an' a pony went along here yesterday, an' to-day a singlehorse made, that fresh track."
"Wal, Milt, for a hunter you ain't so bad at hoss tracks," observedJohn, "But how many hosses went yesterday?"
"I couldn't make out--several--maybe four or five."
"Six hosses an' a colt or little mustang, unshod, to be strict-correct.Wal, supposin' they did. What 's it mean to us?"
"I don't know as I'd thought anythin' unusual, if it hadn't been forthat smoke we saw off the rim, an' then this here fresh track made alongto-day. Looks queer to me."
"Wish Roy was here," replied John, scratching his head. "Milt, I've ahunch, if he was, he'd foller them tracks."
"Maybe. But we haven't time for that. We can backtrail them, though, ifthey keep clear as they are here. An' we'll not lose any time, either."
That broad track led straight toward Pine, down to the edge of thecedars, where, amid some jagged rocks, evidences showed that men hadcamped there for days. Here it ended as a broad trail. But from thenorth came the single fresh track made that very day, and from the east,more in a line with Pine, came two tracks made the day before. And thesewere imprints of big and little hoofs. Manifestly these interested Johnmore than they did Dale, who had to wait for his companion.
"Milt, it ain't a colt's--thet little track," avowed John.
"Why not--an' what if it isn't?" queried Dale.
"Wal, it ain't, because a colt always straggles back, an' from oneside to t'other. This little track keeps close to the big one. An', byGeorge! it was made by a led mustang."
John resembled Roy Beeman then with that leaping, intent fire in hisgray eyes. Dale's reply was to spur his horse into a trot and callsharply to the lagging cougar.
When they turned into the broad, blossom-bordered road that was theonly thoroughfare of Pine the sun was setting red and gold behind themountains. The horses were too tired for any more than a walk. Nativesof the village, catching sight of Dale and Beeman, and the huge gray catfollowing like a dog, called excitedly to one another. A group of menin front of Turner's gazed intently down the road, and soon manifestedsigns of excitement. Dale and his comrade dismounted in front of WidowCass's cottage. And Dale called as he strode up the little path. Mrs.Cass came out. She was white and shaking, but appeared calm. At sight ofher John Beeman drew a sharp breath.
"Wal, now--" he began, hoarsely, and left off.
"How's Roy?" queried Dale.
"Lord knows I'm glad to see you, boys! Milt, you're thin an'strange-lookin'. Roy's had a little setback. He got a shock to-day an'it throwed him off. Fever--an' now he's out of his head. It won't dono good for you to waste time seein' him. Take my word for it he'sall right. But there's others as--For the land's sakes, Milt Dale, youfetched thet cougar back! Don't let him near me!"
"Tom won't hurt you, mother," said Dale, as the cougar came padding upthe path. "You were sayin' somethin'--about others. Is Miss Helen safe?Hurry!"
"Ride up to see her--an' waste no more time here."
Dale was quick in the saddle, followed by John, but the horses had to beseverely punished to force them even to a trot. And that was a laggingtrot, which now did not leave Torn behind.
The ride up to Auchincloss's ranch-house seemed endless to Dale. Nativescame out in the road to watch after he had passed. Stern as Dale was indominating his feelings, he could not wholly subordinate his mountingjoy to a waiting terrible anticipation of catastrophe. But no matterwhat awaited--nor what fateful events might hinge upon this namelesscircumstance about to be disclosed, the wonderful and glorious fact ofthe present was that in a moment he would see Helen Rayner.
There were saddled horses in the courtyard, but no riders. A Mexicanboy sat on the porch bench, in the seat where Dale remembered he hadencountered Al Auchincloss. The door of the big sitting-room was open.The scent of flowers, the murmur of bees, the pounding of hoofs camevaguely to Dale. His eyes dimmed, so that the ground, when he slid outof his saddle, seemed far below him. He stepped upon the porch. Hissight suddenly cleared. A tight fullness at his throat made incoherentthe words he said to the Mexican boy. But they were understood, as theboy ran back around the house. Dale knocked sharply and stepped over thethreshold.
Outside, John, true to his habits, was thinking, even in that moment ofsuspense, about the faithful, exhausted horses. As he unsaddled them hetalked: "Fer soft an' fat hosses, winterin' high up, wal, you've donesomethin'!"
Then Dale heard a voice in another room, a step, a creak of the door. Itopened. A woman in white appeared. He recognized Helen. But instead ofthe rich brown bloom and dark-eyed beauty so hauntingly limned onhis memory, he saw a white, beautiful face, strained and quivering inanguish, and eyes that pierced his heart. He could not speak.
"Oh! my friend--you've come!" she whispered.
Dale put out a shaking hand. But she did not see it. She clutched hisshoulders, as if to feel whether or not he was real, and then her armswent up round his neck.
"Oh, thank God! I knew you would come!" she said, and her head sank tohis shoulder.
Dale divined what he had suspected. Helen's sister had been carried off.Yet, while his quick mind grasped Helen's broken spirit--the unbalancethat was reason for this marvelous and glorious act--he did nottake other meaning of the embrace to himself. He just stood there,transported, charged like a tree struck by lightning, making sure withall his keen senses, so that he could feel forever, how she was clinginground his neck, her face over his bursting heart, her quivering formclose pressed to his.
"It's--Bo," he said, unsteadily.
"She went riding yesterday--and--never--came--back!" replied Helen,brokenly.
"I've seen her trail. She's been taken into the woods. I'll find her.I'll fetch her back," he replied, rapidly.
With a shock she seemed to absorb his meaning. With another shock sheraised her face--leaned back a little to look at him.
"You'll find her--fetch her back?"
"Yes," he answered, instantly.
With that ringing word it seemed to Dale she realized how she wasstanding. He felt her shake as she dropped her arms and stepped back,while the white anguish of her face was flooded out by a wave ofscarlet. But she was brave in her confusion. Her eyes never fell, thoughthey changed swiftly, darkening with shame, amaze, and with feelings hecould not read.
"I'm almost--out of my head," she faltered.
"No wonder. I saw that.... But now you must get clear-headed. I've notime to lose."
He led her to the door.
"John, it's Bo that's gone," he called. "Since yesterday.... Send theboy to get me a bag of meat an' bread. You run to the corral an' getme a fresh horse. My old horse Ranger if you can find him quick. An'rustle."
Without a word John leaped bareback on one of the horses he had justunsaddled and spurred him across the courtyard.
Then the big cougar, seeing Helen, got up from where he lay on the porchand came to her.
"Oh, it's Tom!" cried Helen, and as he rubbed against her knees shepatted his head with trembling hand. "You big, beautiful pet! Oh, how Ire
member! Oh, how Bo would love to--"
"Where's Carmichael?" interrupted Dale. "Out huntin' Bo?"
"Yes. It was he who missed her first. He rode everywhere yesterday. Lastnight when he came back he was wild. I've not seen him to-day. He madeall the other men but Hal and Joe stay home on the ranch."
"Right. An' John must stay, too," declared Dale. "But it's strange.Carmichael ought to have found the girl's tracks. She was ridin' apony?"
"Bo rode Sam. He's a little bronc, very strong and fast."
"I come across his tracks. How'd Carmichael miss them?"
"He didn't. He found them--trailed them all along the north range.That's where he forbade Bo to go. You see, they're in love with eachother. They've been at odds. Neither will give in. Bo disobeyed him.There's hard ground off the north range, so he said. He was able tofollow her tracks only so far."
"Were there any other tracks along with hers?"
"No."
"Miss Helen, I found them 'way southeast of Pine up on the slope of themountain. There were seven other horses makin' that trail--when we runacross it. On the way down we found a camp where men had waited. An'Bo's pony, led by a rider on a big horse, come into that camp from theeast--maybe north a little. An' that tells the story."
"Riggs ran her down--made off with her!" cried Helen, passionately. "Oh,the villain! He had men in waiting. That's Beasley's work. They wereafter me."
"It may not be just what you said, but that's close enough. An' Bo'sin a bad fix. You must face that an' try to bear up under--fears of theworst."
"My friend! You will save her!"
"I'll fetch her back, alive or dead."
"Dead! Oh, my God!" Helen cried, and closed her eyes an instant, to openthem burning black. "But Bo isn't dead. I know that--I feel it. She'llnot die very easy. She's a little savage. She has no fear. She'd fightlike a tigress for her life. She's strong. You remember how strong. Shecan stand anything. Unless they murder her outright she'll live--a longtime--through any ordeal.... So I beg you, my friend, don't lose anhour--don't ever give up!"
Dale trembled under the clasp of her hands. Loosing his own from herclinging hold, he stepped out on the porch. At that moment John appearedon Ranger, coming at a gallop.
"Nell, I'll never come back without her," said Dale. "I reckon you canhope--only be prepared. That's all. It's hard. But these damned dealsare common out here in the West."
"Suppose Beasley comes--here!" exclaimed Helen, and again her hand wentout toward him.
"If he does, you refuse to get off," replied Dale. "But don't let himor his greasers put a dirty hand on you. Should he threaten force--why,pack some clothes--an' your valuables--an' go down to Mrs. Cass's. An'wait till I come back!"
"Wait--till you--come back!" she faltered, slowly turning white again.Her dark eyes dilated. "Milt--you're like Las Vegas. You'll killBeasley!"
Dale heard his own laugh, very cold and strange, foreign to his ears. Agrim, deadly hate of Beasley vied with the tenderness and pity he feltfor this distressed girl. It was a sore trial to see her leaning thereagainst the door--to be compelled to leave her alone. Abruptly bestalked off the porch. Tom followed him. The black horse whinnied hisrecognition of Dale and snorted at sight of the cougar. Just then theMexican boy returned with a bag. Dale tied this, with the small pack,behind the saddle.
"John, you stay here with Miss Helen," said Dale. "An' if Carmichaelcomes back, keep him, too! An' to-night, if any one rides into Pine fromthe way we come, you be sure to spot him."
"I'll do thet, Milt," responded John.
Dale mounted, and, turning for a last word to Helen, he felt thewords of cheer halted on his lips as he saw her standing white andbroken-hearted, with her hands to her bosom. He could not look twice.
"Come on there, you Tom," he called to the cougar. "Reckon on this trackyou'll pay me for all my trainin' of you."
"Oh, my friend!" came Helen's sad voice, almost a whisper to histhrobbing ears. "Heaven help you--to save her! I--"
Then Ranger started and Dale heard no more. He could not look back. Hiseyes were full of tears and his breast ached. By a tremendous effort heshifted that emotion--called on all the spiritual energy of his being tothe duty of this grim task before him.
He did not ride down through the village, but skirted the northernborder, and worked round to the south, where, coming to the trail he hadmade an hour past, he headed on it, straight for the slope now darkeningin the twilight. The big cougar showed more willingness to return onthis trail than he had shown in the coming. Ranger was fresh and wantedto go, but Dale held him in.
A cool wind blew down from the mountain with the coming of night.Against the brightening stars Dale saw the promontory lift its boldoutline. It was miles away. It haunted him, strangely calling. A night,and perhaps a day, separated him from the gang that held Bo Raynerprisoner. Dale had no plan as yet. He had only a motive as great as thelove he bore Helen Rayner.
Beasley's evil genius had planned this abduction. Riggs was a tool, acowardly knave dominated by a stronger will. Snake Anson and his ganghad lain in wait at that cedar camp; had made that broad hoof trackleading up the mountain. Beasley had been there with them that very day.All this was as assured to Dale as if he had seen the men.
But the matter of Dale's recovering the girl and doing it speedilystrung his mental strength to its highest pitch. Many outlines of actionflashed through his mind as he rode on, peering keenly through thenight, listening with practised ears. All were rejected. And at theoutset of every new branching of thought he would gaze down at thegray form of the cougar, long, graceful, heavy, as he padded beside thehorse. From the first thought of returning to help Helen Rayner he hadconceived an undefined idea of possible value in the qualities of hispet. Tom had performed wonderful feats of trailing, but he had neverbeen tried on men. Dale believed he could make him trail anything, yethe had no proof of this. One fact stood out of all Dale's conjectures,and it was that he had known men, and brave men, to fear cougars.
Far up on the slope, in a little hollow where water ran and there wasa little grass for Ranger to pick, Dale haltered him and made ready tospend the night. He was sparing with his food, giving Tom more than hetook himself. Curled close up to Dale, the big cat went to sleep.
But Dale lay awake for long.
The night was still, with only a faint moan of wind on this shelteredslope. Dale saw hope in the stars. He did not seem to have promisedhimself or Helen that he could save her sister, and then her property.He seemed to have stated something unconsciously settled, outside of histhinking. Strange how this certainty was not vague, yet irreconcilablewith any plans he created! Behind it, somehow nameless withinconceivable power, surged all his wonderful knowledge of forest, oftrails, of scents, of night, of the nature of men lying down to sleep inthe dark, lonely woods, of the nature of this great cat that lived itsevery action in accordance with his will.
He grew sleepy, and gradually his mind stilled, with his last consciousthought a portent that he would awaken to accomplish his desperate task.
