The Man of the Forest

by Zane Grey

  CHAPTER XXII

  "Howdy, Dale," drawled Wilson. "Reckon you're a little previous on me."

  "Sssssh! Not so loud," said the hunter, in low voice. "You're JimWilson?"

  "Shore am. Say, Dale, you showed up soon. Or did you jest happen to runacrost us?"

  "I've trailed you. Wilson, I'm after the girl."

  "I knowed thet when I seen you!"

  The cougar seemed actuated by the threatening position of his master,and he opened his mouth, showing great yellow fangs, and spat at Wilson.The outlaw apparently had no fear of Dale or the cocked rifle, but thathuge, snarling cat occasioned him uneasiness.

  "Wilson, I've heard you spoken of as a white outlaw," said Dale.

  "Mebbe I am. But shore I'll be a scared one in a minit. Dale, he's goin'to jump me!"

  "The cougar won't jump you unless I make him. Wilson, if I let you gowill you get the girl for me?"

  "Wal, lemme see. Supposin' I refuse?" queried Wilson, shrewdly.

  "Then, one way or another, it's all up with you."

  "Reckon I 'ain't got much choice. Yes, I'll do it. But, Dale, are yougoin' to take my word for thet an' let me go back to Anson?"

  "Yes, I am. You're no fool. An' I believe you're square. I've got Ansonand his gang corralled. You can't slip me--not in these woods. I couldrun off your horses--pick you off one by one--or turn the cougar looseon you at night."

  "Shore. It's your game. Anson dealt himself this hand.... Between youan' me, Dale, I never liked the deal."

  "Who shot Riggs?... I found his body."

  "Wal, yours truly was around when thet come off," replied Wilson, withan involuntary little shudder. Some thought made him sick.

  "The girl? Is she safe--unharmed?" queried Dale, hurriedly.

  "She's shore jest as safe an' sound as when she was home. Dale, she'sthe gamest kid thet ever breathed! Why, no one could hev ever made mebelieve a girl, a kid like her, could hev the nerve she's got. Nothin'shappened to her 'cept Riggs hit her in the mouth.... I killed him forthet.... An', so help me, God, I believe it's been workin' in me to saveher somehow! Now it'll not be so hard."

  "But how?" demanded Dale.

  "Lemme see.... Wal, I've got to sneak her out of camp an' meet you.Thet's all."

  "It must be done quick."

  "But, Dale, listen," remonstrated Wilson, earnestly. "Too quick 'llbe as bad as too slow. Snake is sore these days, gittin' sorer all thetime. He might savvy somethin', if I ain't careful, an' kill the girlor do her harm. I know these fellars. They're all ready to go to pieces.An' shore I must play safe. Shore it'd be safer to have a plan."

  Wilson's shrewd, light eyes gleamed with an idea. He was about to lowerone of his upraised hands, evidently to point to the cougar, when hethought better of that.

  "Anson's scared of cougars. Mebbe we can scare him an' the gang so it'd be easy to sneak the girl off. Can you make thet big brute do tricks?Rush the camp at night an' squall an' chase off the horses?"

  "I'll guarantee to scare Anson out of ten years' growth," replied Dale.

  "Shore it's a go, then," resumed Wilson, as if glad. "I'll post thegirl--give her a hunch to do her part. You sneak up to-night jest beforedark. I'll hev the gang worked up. An' then you put the cougar to histricks, whatever you want. When the gang gits wild I'll grab the girlan' pack her off down heah or somewheres aboot an' whistle fer you....But mebbe thet ain't so good. If thet cougar comes pilin' into camp hemight jump me instead of one of the gang. An' another hunch. He mightslope up on me in the dark when I was tryin' to find you. Shore thetain't appealin' to me."

  "Wilson, this cougar is a pet," replied Dale. "You think he's dangerous,but he's not. No more than a kitten. He only looks fierce. He has neverbeen hurt by a person an' he's never fought anythin' himself but deeran' bear. I can make him trail any scent. But the truth is I couldn'tmake him hurt you or anybody. All the same, he can be made to scare thehair off any one who doesn't know him."

  "Shore thet settles me. I'll be havin' a grand joke while them fellarsis scared to death.... Dale, you can depend on me. An' I'm beholdin'to you fer what 'll square me some with myself.... To-night, an' if itwon't work then, to-morrer night shore!"

  Dale lowered the rifle. The big cougar spat again. Wilson dropped hishands and, stepping forward, split the green wall of intersecting sprucebranches. Then he turned up the ravine toward the glen. Once there, insight of his comrades, his action and expression changed.

  "Hosses all thar, Jim?" asked Anson, as he picked up, his cards.

  "Shore. They act awful queer, them hosses," replied. Wilson. "They'reafraid of somethin'."

  "A-huh! Silvertip mebbe," muttered Anson. "Jim, You jest keep watch ofthem hosses. We'd be done if some tarnal varmint stampeded them."

  "Reckon I'm elected to do all the work now," complained Wilson, "whileyou card-sharps cheat each other. Rustle the hosses--an' water an'fire-wood. Cook an' wash. Hey?"

  "No one I ever seen can do them camp tricks any better 'n Jim Wilson,"replied Anson.

  "Jim, you're a lady's man an' thar's our pretty hoodoo over thar tofeed an' amoose," remarked Shady Jones, with a smile that disarmed hisspeech.

  The outlaws guffawed.

  "Git out, Jim, you're breakin' up the game," said Moze, who appearedloser.

  "Wal, thet gurl would starve if it wasn't fer me," replied Wilson,genially, and he walked over toward her, beginning to address her, quiteloudly, as he approached. "Wal, miss, I'm elected cook an' I'd shorelike to heah what you fancy fer dinner."

  The outlaws heard, for they guffawed again. "Haw! Haw! if Jim ain'tfunny!" exclaimed Anson.

  The girl looked up amazed. Wilson was winking at her, and when he gotnear he began to speak rapidly and low.

  "I jest met Dale down in the woods with his pet cougar. He's after you.I'm goin' to help him git you safe away. Now you do your part. I wantyou to pretend you've gone crazy. Savvy? Act out of your head! ShoreI don't care what you do or say, only act crazy. An' don't be scared.We're goin' to scare the gang so I'll hev a chance to sneak you away.To-night or to-morrow--shore."

  Before he began to speak she was pale, sad, dull of eye. Swiftly, withhis words, she was transformed, and when he had ended she did not appearthe same girl. She gave him one blazing flash of comprehension andnodded her head rapidly.

  "Yes, I understand. I'll do it!" she whispered.

  The outlaw turned slowly away with the most abstract air, confoundedamid his shrewd acting, and he did not collect himself until half-wayback to his comrades. Then, beginning to hum an old darky tune, hestirred up and replenished the fire, and set about preparation for themidday meal. But he did not miss anything going on around him. He sawthe girl go into her shelter and come out with her hair all down overher face. Wilson, back to his comrades, grinned his glee, and he waggedhis head as if he thought the situation was developing.

  The gambling outlaws, however, did not at once see the girl preeningherself and smoothing her long hair in a way calculated to startle.

  "Busted!" ejaculated Anson, with a curse, as he slammed down his cards."If I ain't hoodooed I'm a two-bit of a gambler!"

  "Sartin you're hoodooed," said Shady Jones, in scorn. "Is thet jestdawnin' on you?"

  "Boss, you play like a cow stuck in the mud," remarked Moze,laconically.

  "Fellars, it ain't funny," declared Anson, with pathetic gravity. "I'mjest gittin' on to myself. Somethin's wrong. Since 'way last fall noluck--nothin' but the wust end of everythin'. I ain't blamin' anybody.I'm the boss. It's me thet's off."

  "Snake, shore it was the gurl deal you made," rejoined Wilson, who hadlistened. "I told you. Our troubles hev only begun. An' I can see thewind-up. Look!"

  Wilson pointed to where the girl stood, her hair flying wildly all overher face and shoulders. She was making most elaborate bows to an oldstump, sweeping the ground with her tresses in her obeisance.

  Anson started. He grew utterly astounded. His amaze was ludicrous. Andthe other two men looked to stare, to equal their
leader's bewilderment.

  "What 'n hell's come over her?" asked Anson, dubiously. "Must hev perkedup.... But she ain't feelin' thet gay!"

  Wilson tapped his forehead with a significant finger.

  "Shore I was scared of her this mawnin'," he whispered.

  "Naw!" exclaimed Anson, incredulously.

  "If she hain't queer I never seen no queer wimmin," vouchsafed ShadyJones, and it would have been judged, by the way he wagged his head,that he had been all his days familiar with women.

  Moze looked beyond words, and quite alarmed.

  "I seen it comin'," declared Wilson, very much excited. "But I wasscared to say so. You-all made fun of me aboot her. Now I shore wish Ihad spoken up."

  Anson nodded solemnly. He did not believe the evidence of his sight,but the facts seemed stunning. As if the girl were a dangerous andincomprehensible thing, he approached her step by step. Wilson followed,and the others appeared drawn irresistibly.

  "Hey thar--kid!" called Anson, hoarsely.

  The girl drew her slight form up haughtily. Through her spreadingtresses her eyes gleamed unnaturally upon the outlaw leader. But shedeigned not to reply.

  "Hey thar--you Rayner girl!" added Anson, lamely. "What's ailin' you?"

  "My lord! did you address me?" she asked, loftily.

  Shady Jones got over his consternation and evidently extracted somehumor from the situation, as his dark face began to break its strain.

  "Aww!" breathed Anson, heavily.

  "Ophelia awaits your command, my lord. I've been gathering flowers,"she said, sweetly, holding up her empty hands as if they contained abouquet.

  Shady Jones exploded in convulsed laughter. But his merriment was notshared. And suddenly it brought disaster upon him. The girl flew at him.

  "Why do you croak, you toad? I will have you whipped and put in irons,you scullion!" she cried, passionately.

  Shady underwent a remarkable change, and stumbled in his backwardretreat. Then she snapped her fingers in Moze's face.

  "You black devil! Get hence! Avaunt!"

  Anson plucked up courage enough to touch her.

  "Aww! Now, Ophelyar--"

  Probably he meant to try to humor her, but she screamed, and he jumpedback as if she might burn him. She screamed shrilly, in wild, staccatonotes.

  "You! You!" she pointed her finger at the outlaw leader. "You brute towomen! You ran off from your wife!"

  Anson turned plum-color and then slowly white. The girl must have sent arandom shot home.

  "And now the devil's turned you into a snake. A long, scaly snake withgreen eyes! Uugh! You'll crawl on your belly soon--when my cowboy findsyou. And he'll tramp you in the dust."

  She floated away from them and began to whirl gracefully, arms spreadand hair flying; and then, apparently oblivious of the staring men, shebroke into a low, sweet song. Next she danced around a pine, then dancedinto her little green inclosure. From which presently she sent out themost doleful moans.

  "Aww! What a shame!" burst out Anson. "Thet fine, healthy, nervy kid!Clean gone! Daffy! Crazy 'n a bedbug!"

  "Shore it's a shame," protested Wilson. "But it's wuss for us. Lord! ifwe was hoodooed before, what will we be now? Didn't I tell you, SnakeAnson? You was warned. Ask Shady an' Moze--they see what's up."

  "No luck 'll ever come our way ag'in," predicted Shady, mournfully.

  "It beats me, boss, it beats me," muttered Moze.

  "A crazy woman on my hands! If thet ain't the last straw!" broke outAnson, tragically, as he turned away. Ignorant, superstitious, workedupon by things as they seemed, the outlaw imagined himself at last besetby malign forces. When he flung himself down upon one of the packs hisbig red-haired hands shook. Shady and Moze resembled two other men atthe end of their ropes.

  Wilson's tense face twitched, and he averted it, as apparently he foughtoff a paroxysm of some nature. Just then Anson swore a thundering oath.

  "Crazy or not, I'll git gold out of thet kid!" he roared.

  "But, man, talk sense. Are you gittin' daffy, too? I declare thisoutfit's been eatin' loco. You can't git gold fer her!" said Wilson,deliberately.

  "Why can't I?"

  "'Cause we're tracked. We can't make no dickers. Why, in another day orso we'll be dodgin' lead."

  "Tracked! Whar 'd you git thet idee? As soon as this?" queried Anson,lifting his head like a striking snake. His men, likewise, betrayedsudden interest.

  "Shore it's no idee. I 'ain't seen any one. But I feel it in my senses.I hear somebody comin'--a step on our trail--all the time--night inparticular. Reckon there's a big posse after us."

  "Wal, if I see or hear anythin' I'll knock the girl on the head an'we'll dig out of hyar," replied Anson, sullenly.

  Wilson executed a swift forward motion, violent and passionate, soutterly unlike what might have been looked for from him, that the threeoutlaws gaped.

  "Then you'll shore hev to knock Jim Wilson on the haid first," he said,in voice as strange as his action.

  "Jim! You wouldn't go back on me!" implored Anson, with uplifted hands,in a dignity of pathos.

  "I'm losin' my haid, too, an' you shore might as well knock it in, an'you'll hev to before I'll stand you murderin' thet pore little gurlyou've drove crazy."

  "Jim, I was only mad," replied Anson. "Fer thet matter, I'm growin'daffy myself. Aw! we all need a good stiff drink of whisky."

  So he tried to throw off gloom and apprehension, but he failed. Hiscomrades did not rally to his help. Wilson walked away, nodding hishead.

  "Boss, let Jim alone," whispered Shady. "It's orful the way you buckag'in' him--when you seen he's stirred up. Jim's true blue. But yougotta be careful."

  Moze corroborated this statement by gloomy nods.

  When the card-playing was resumed, Anson did not join the game, andboth Moze and Shady evinced little of that whole-hearted obsession whichusually attended their gambling. Anson lay at length, his head in asaddle, scowling at the little shelter where the captive girl keptherself out of sight. At times a faint song or laugh, very unnatural,was wafted across the space. Wilson plodded at the cooking andapparently heard no sounds. Presently he called the men to eat, whichoffice they surlily and silently performed, as if it was a favorbestowed upon the cook.

  "Snake, hadn't I ought to take a bite of grub over to the gurl?" askedWilson.

  "Do you hev to ask me thet?" snapped Anson. "She's gotta be fed, if wehev to stuff it down her throat."

  "Wal, I ain't stuck on the job," replied Wilson. "But I'll tackle it,seein' you-all got cold feet."

  With plate and cup be reluctantly approached the little lean-to, and,kneeling, he put his head inside. The girl, quick-eyed and alert, hadevidently seen him coming. At any rate, she greeted him with a cautioussmile.

  "Jim, was I pretty good?" she whispered.

  "Miss, you was shore the finest aktress I ever seen," he responded, in alow voice. "But you dam near overdid it. I'm goin' to tell Anson you'resick now--poisoned or somethin' awful. Then we'll wait till night. Daleshore will help us out."

  "Oh, I'm on fire to get away," she exclaimed. "Jim Wilson, I'll neverforget you as long as I live!"

  He seemed greatly embarrassed.

  "Wal--miss--I--I'll do my best licks. But I ain't gamblin' none onresults. Be patient. Keep your nerve. Don't get scared. I reckon betweenme an' Dale you'll git away from heah."

  Withdrawing his head, he got up and returned to the camp-fire, whereAnson was waiting curiously.

  "I left the grub. But she didn't touch it. Seems sort of sick to me,like she was poisoned."

  "Jim, didn't I hear you talkin'?" asked Anson.

  "Shore. I was coaxin' her. Reckon she ain't so ranty as she was. But sheshore is doubled-up, an' sickish."

  "Wuss an' wuss all the time," said Anson, between his teeth. "An'where's Burt? Hyar it's noon an' he left early. He never was nowoodsman. He's got lost."

  "Either thet or he's run into somethin'," replied Wilson, thoughtfully.

  Anson double
d a huge fist and cursed deep under his breath--the reactionof a man whose accomplices and partners and tools, whose luck, whosefaith in himself had failed him. He flung himself down under a tree, andafter a while, when his rigidity relaxed, he probably fell asleep. Mozeand Shady kept at their game. Wilson paced to and fro, sat down, andthen got up to bunch the horses again, walked around the dell and backto camp. The afternoon hours were long. And they were waiting hours. Theact of waiting appeared on the surface of all these outlaws did.

  At sunset the golden gloom of the glen changed to a vague, thicktwilight. Anson rolled over, yawned, and sat up. As he glanced around,evidently seeking Burt, his face clouded.

  "No sign of Burt?" he asked.

  Wilson expressed a mild surprise. "Wal, Snake, you ain't expectin' Burtnow?"

  "I am, course I am. Why not?" demanded Anson. "Any other time we'd lookfer him, wouldn't we?"

  "Any other time ain't now.... Burt won't ever come back!" Wilson spokeit with a positive finality.

  "A-huh! Some more of them queer feelin's of yourn--operatin' again, hey?Them onnatural kind thet you can't explain, hey?"

  Anson's queries were bitter and rancorous.

  "Yes. An', Snake, I tax you with this heah. Ain't any of them queerfeelin's operatin' in you?"

  "No!" rolled out the leader, savagely. But his passionate denial was aproof that he lied. From the moment of this outburst, which was a fierceclinging to the old, brave instincts of his character, unless a suddenchange marked the nature of his fortunes, he would rapidly deteriorateto the breaking-point. And in such brutal, unrestrained natures as histhis breaking-point meant a desperate stand, a desperate forcing ofevents, a desperate accumulation of passions that stalked out to dealand to meet disaster and blood and death.

  Wilson put a little wood on the fire and he munched a biscuit. No oneasked him to cook. No one made any effort to do so. One by one each manwent to the pack to get some bread and meat.

  Then they waited as men who knew not what they waited for, yet hated anddreaded it.

  Twilight in that glen was naturally a strange, veiled condition of theatmosphere. It was a merging of shade and light, which two seemed tomake gray, creeping shadows.

  Suddenly a snorting and stamping of the horses startled the men.

  "Somethin' scared the hosses," said Anson, rising. "Come on."

  Moze accompanied him, and they disappeared in the gloom. More tramplingof hoofs was heard, then a cracking of brush, and the deep voices ofmen. At length the two outlaws returned, leading three of the horses,which they haltered in the open glen.

  The camp-fire light showed Anson's face dark and serious.

  "Jim, them hosses are wilder 'n deer," he said. "I ketched mine, an'Moze got two. But the rest worked away whenever we come close. Somevarmint has scared them bad. We all gotta rustle out thar quick."

  Wilson rose, shaking his head doubtfully. And at that moment the quietair split to a piercing, horrid neigh of a terrified horse. Prolonged toa screech, it broke and ended. Then followed snorts of fright, pound andcrack and thud of hoofs, and crash of brush; then a gathering thumping,crashing roar, split by piercing sounds.

  "Stampede!" yelled Anson, and he ran to hold his own horse, which he hadhaltered right in camp. It was big and wild-looking, and now reared andplunged to break away. Anson just got there in time, and then it tookall his weight to pull the horse down. Not until the crashing, snorting,pounding melee had subsided and died away over the rim of the glen didAnson dare leave his frightened favorite.

  "Gone! Our horses are gone! Did you hear 'em?" he exclaimed, blankly.

  "Shore. They're a cut-up an' crippled bunch by now," replied Wilson.

  "Boss, we'll never git 'ern back, not 'n a hundred years," declaredMoze.

  "Thet settles us, Snake Anson," stridently added Shady Jones. "Themhosses are gone! You can kiss your hand to them.... They wasn't hobbled.They hed an orful scare. They split on thet stampede an' they'll nevergit together. ... See what you've fetched us to!"

  Under the force of this triple arraignment the outlaw leader dropped tohis seat, staggered and silenced. In fact, silence fell upon all the menand likewise enfolded the glen.

  Night set in jet-black, dismal, lonely, without a star. Faintly the windmoaned. Weirdly the brook babbled through its strange chords to end inthe sound that was hollow. It was never the same--a rumble, as if faint,distant thunder--a deep gurgle, as of water drawn into a vortex--arolling, as of a stone in swift current. The black cliff was invisible,yet seemed to have many weird faces; the giant pines loomed spectral;the shadows were thick, moving, changing. Flickering lights from thecamp-fire circled the huge trunks and played fantastically over thebrooding men. This camp-fire did not burn or blaze cheerily; it had noglow, no sputter, no white heart, no red, living embers. One by one theoutlaws, as if with common consent, tried their hands at making the fireburn aright. What little wood had been collected was old; it would burnup with false flare, only to die quickly.

  After a while not one of the outlaws spoke or stirred. Not one smoked.Their gloomy eyes were fixed on the fire. Each one was concerned withhis own thoughts, his own lonely soul unconsciously full of a doubt ofthe future. That brooding hour severed him from comrade.

  At night nothing seemed the same as it was by day. With success andplenty, with full-blooded action past and more in store, these outlawswere as different from their present state as this black night wasdifferent from the bright day they waited for. Wilson, though he playeda deep game of deceit for the sake of the helpless girl--and thus didnot have haunting and superstitious fears on her account--was probablymore conscious of impending catastrophe than any of them.

  The evil they had done spoke in the voice of nature, out of thedarkness, and was interpreted by each according to his hopes and fears.Fear was their predominating sense. For years they had lived with somespecies of fear--of honest men or vengeance, of pursuit, of starvation,of lack of drink or gold, of blood and death, of stronger men, of luck,of chance, of fate, of mysterious nameless force. Wilson was the type offearless spirit, but he endured the most gnawing and implacable fear ofall--that of himself--that he must inevitably fall to deeds beneath hismanhood.

  So they hunched around the camp-fire, brooding because hope was atlowest ebb; listening because the weird, black silence, with its moanof wind and hollow laugh of brook, compelled them to hear; waiting forsleep, for the hours to pass, for whatever was to come.

  And it was Anson who caught the first intimation of an impending doom.