Collected Works of Zane Grey

by Zane Grey

“I tell you, Ken Ward gave me the slip,” replied Dick. “I’ll admit I meant to see him safe in Holston. But he wouldn’t go. He ran off from me right here in this forest.”

  What could have been Dick’s object in telling such a lie? It made me wonder. Perhaps these lumbermen were more dangerous than I had supposed, and Dick did not wish them to believe I had left Penetier. Maybe he was playing for time, and did not want them to get alarmed and escape before the officers came.

  “Why did he run off?” asked Stockton.

  “Because I meant to send him home, and he didn’t want to go. He’s crazy to camp out, to hunt and ride.”

  “If that’s true, Leslie, there’s been no word sent to Washington.”

  “How could there be?”

  “Well, I’ve got to hold you anyway till we see Buell. His orders were to keep you and Ward prisoners till this lumber deal is pulled off. We’re not going to be stopped now.”

  Leslie turned crimson, and strained on the lasso that bound him to the sapling. “Somebody is going to pay for this business!” he declared, savagely. “You forget I’m an officer in this forest.”

  “I’ll hold you, Leslie, whatever comes of it,” answered the lumberman. “I’d advise you to cool down.”

  “You and Buell have barked up the wrong tree, mind that, Stockton. Jim Williams, my pardner, is wise. He expects me back tomorrow.”

  “See hyar, Stockton,” put in Bill, “you’re new in Arizona, an’ I want to give you a hunch. If Jim Williams hits this trail, you ain’t goin’ to be well enough to care about any old lumber steal.”

  “Jim hit the trail all right,” went on Dick. “He’s after Greaser. It’d go hard with you if Jim happened to walk in now.”

  “I don’t want to buck against Williams, that’s certain,” replied Stockton. “I know his record. But I’ll take a chance — anyway, till Buell knows. It’s his game.”

  Dick made no answer, and sat there eyeing his captors. There was little talk after this. Bud threw a log on the fire. Stockton told the Mexican to take a look at the horses. Greaser walked within twenty feet of where I lay, and I held my breath while be passed. The others rolled in their blankets. It was now so dark that I could not distinguish anything outside of the campfire circle. But I heard Greaser’s soft, shuffling footsteps as he returned. Then his dark, slim figure made a shadow between me and the light. He sat down before the fire and began to roll a cigarette. He did not seem sleepy.

  A daring scheme flashed into my mind. I would crawl into camp and free Dick. Not only would I outwit the lumber thieves, but also make Dick think well of me. What would Jim Williams say of a trick like that? The thought of the Texan banished what little hesitation I felt. Glancing round the bright circle, I made my plan; it was to crawl far back into the darkness, go around to the other side of the camp, and then slip up behind Dick. Already his head was nodding on his breast. It made me furious to see him sitting so uncomfortably, sagging in the lasso.

  I tried to beat down my excitement, but there was a tingling all over me that would not subside. But I soon saw that I might have a long wait. The Mexican did not go to sleep, so I had time to cool off.

  The campfire gradually burned out, and the white glow changed to red. One of the men snored in a way that sounded like a wheezy whistle. Coyotes howled in the woods, and the longer I listened to the long, strange howls the better I liked them. The roar in the wind had died down to a moaning. I thought of myself lying there, with my skin prickling and my eyes sharp on the darkening forms. I thought of the nights I had spent with Hal in the old woods at home. How full the present seemed! My breast swelled, my hand gripped my revolver, my eyes pierced the darkness, and I would not have been anywhere else for the world.

  Greaser smoked out his cigarette, and began to nod. That was the signal for me. I crawled noiselessly from the tree. When I found myself going down into the hollow, I stopped and rose to my feet. The forest was so pitchy black that I could not tell the trees from the darkness. I groped to the left, trying to circle. Once I snapped a twig; it cracked like a pistol-shot, and my heart stopped beating, then began to thump. But Greaser never stirred as he sat in the waning light. At last I had half circled the camp.

  After a short rest I started forward, slow and stealthy as a creeping cat. When within fifty feet of the fire I went down on all-fours and began to crawl. Twice I got out of line. But at last Dick’s burly shoulders loomed up between me and the light.

  Then I halted. My breast seemed bursting, and I panted so hard that I was in a terror lest I should awaken some one. Again I thought of what I was doing, and fought desperately to gain my coolness,

  Now the only cover I had was Dick’s broad back, for the sapling to which he was tied was small. I drew my hunting-knife. One more wriggle brought me close to Dick, with my face near his hands, which were bound behind him. I slipped the blade under the lasso, and cut it through.

  Dick started as if he had received an electric shock. He threw back his head and uttered a sudden exclamation.

  Although I was almost paralyzed with fright I put my hand on his shoulder and whispered: “S-s-s-h! It’s Ken!”

  Greaser uttered a shrill cry. Dick leaped to his feet. Then I grew dizzy, and my sight blurred. I heard hoarse shouts and saw dark forms rising as if out of the earth. All was confusion. I wanted to run, but could not get up. There was a wrestling, whirling mass in front of me.

  But this dimness of sight and weakness of body did not last. I saw two men on the ground, with Dick standing over them. Stockton was closing in. Greaser ran around them with something in his hand that glittered in the firelight. Stockton dived for Dick’s legs and upset him. They went down together, and the Mexican leaped on them, waving the bright thing high over his head.

  I bounded forward, and, grasping his wrist with both hands, I wrenched his arm with all my might. Some one struck me over the head. I saw a million darting points of light — then all went black.

  When I opened my eyes the sun was shining. I had a queer, numb feeling all over, and my head hurt terribly. Everything about me was hazy. I did not know where I was. After a little I struggled to sit up, and with great difficulty managed it. My hands were tied. Then it all came back to me. Stockton stood before me holding a tin cup of water toward my lips. My throat was parched, and I drank. Stockton had a great bruise on his forehead; his nostrils were crusted with blood, and his shirt was half torn off.

  “You’re all right?” he said.

  “Sure,” I replied, which was not true.

  I imagined that a look of relief came over his face. Next I saw Bill nursing his eye, and bathing it with a wet handkerchief. It was swollen shut, puffed out to the size of a goose-egg, and blue as indigo. Dick had certainly landed hard on Bill. Then I turned round to see Dick sitting against the little sapling, bound fast with a lasso. His clean face did not look as if he had been in a fight; he was smiling, yet there was anxiety in his eyes.

  “Ken, now you’ve played hob,” he said. It was a reproach, but his look made me proud.

  “Oh, Dick, if you hadn’t called out!” I exclaimed.

  “Darned if you’re not right! But it was a slick job, and you’ll tickle Jim to death. I was an old woman. But that cold knife-blade made me jump.”

  I glanced round the camp for the Mexican and Bud and the fifth man, but they were gone. Bill varied his occupation of the moment by kneading biscuit dough in a basin. Then there came such a severe pain in my head that I went blind for a little while. “What’s the matter with my head? Who hit me?” I cried.

  “Bud slugged you with the butt of his pistol,” said Dick. “And, Ken, I think you saved me from being knifed by the Greaser. You twisted his arm half off. He cursed all night. . . . Ha! there he comes now with your outfit.”

  Sure enough, the Mexican appeared on the trail, leading my horses. I was so glad to see Hal that I forgot I was a prisoner. But Greaser’s sullen face and glittering eyes reminded me of it quickly enough. I read treachery in h
is glance.

  Bud rode into camp from the other direction, and he brought a bunch of horses, two of which I recognized as Dick’s. The lumbermen set about getting breakfast, and Stockton helped me to what little I could eat and drink. Now that I was caught he did not appear at all mean or harsh. I did not shrink from him, and had the feeling that he meant well by me.

  The horses were saddled and bridled, and Dick and I, still tied, were bundled astride our mounts. The pack-ponies led the way, with Bill following; I came next, Greaser rode behind me, and Dick was between Bud and Stockton. So we traveled, and no time was wasted. I noticed that the men kept a sharp lookout both to the fore and the rear. We branched off the main trail and took a steeper one leading up the slope. We rode for hours. There were moments when I reeled in my saddle, but for the greater while I stood my pain and weariness well enough. Some time in the afternoon a shrill whistle ahead attracted my attention. I made out two horsemen waiting on the trail.

  “Huh! about time!” growled Bill. “Hyar’s Buell an’ Herky-Jerky.”

  As we approached I saw Buell, and the fellow with the queer name turned out to be no other than the absent man I had been wondering about. He had been dispatched to fetch the lumberman.

  Buell was superbly mounted on a sleek bay, and he looked very much the same jovial fellow I had met on the train. He grinned at the disfigured men.

  “Take it from me, you fellers wouldn’t look any worse bunged up if you’d been jolted by the sawlogs in my mill.”

  “We can’t stand here to crack jokes,” said Stockton, sharply. “Some ranger might see us. Now what?”

  “You ketched the kid in time. That’s all I wanted. Take him an’ Leslie up in one of the canyons an’ keep them there till further orders. You needn’t stay, Stockton, after you get them in a safe place. An’ you can send up grub.”

  Then he turned to me.

  “You’ll not be hurt if—”

  “Don’t you speak to me!” I burst out. It was on my lips to tell him of the letter to Washington, but somehow I kept silent.

  “Leslie,” went on Buell, “I’ll overlook your hittin’ me an’ let you go if you’ll give me your word to keep mum about this.”

  Dick did not speak, but looked at the lumberman with a dark gleam in his eyes.

  “There’s one thing, Buell,” said Stockton. “Jim Williams is wise. You’ve got to look out for him.”

  Buell’s ruddy face blanched. Then, without another word, he waved his hand toward the slope, and, wheeling his horse, galloped down the trail.

  IX. TAKEN INTO THE MOUNTAINS

  WE CLIMBED TO another level bench where we branched off the trail. The forest still kept its open, park-like character. Under the great pines the ground was bare and brown with a thick covering of pine-needles, but in the glades were green grass and blue flowers.

  Once across this level we encountered a steeper ascent than any I had yet climbed. Here the character of the forest began to change. There were other trees than pines, and particularly one kind, cone-shaped, symmetrical, and bright, which Dick called a silver spruce. I was glad it belonged to the conifers, or pine-tree family, because it was the most beautiful tree I had ever seen. We climbed ridges and threaded through aspen thickets in hollows till near sunset. Then Stockton ordered a halt for camp.

  It came none too soon for me, and I was so exhausted that I had to be helped off my mustang. Stockton arranged my blankets, fed me, and bathed the bruise on my head, but I was too weary and sick to be grateful or to care about anything except sleep. Even the fact that my hands were uncomfortably bound did not keep me awake.

  When some one called me next morning my eyes did not want to stay open. I had a lazy feeling and a dull ache in my bones, but the pain had gone from my head. That made everything else seem all right.

  Soon we were climbing again, and my interest in my surroundings grew as we went up. For a while we brushed through thickets of scrub oak. The whole slope of the mountain was ridged and hollowed, so that we were always going down and climbing up. The pines and spruces grew smaller, and were more rugged and gnarled.

  “Hyar’s the canyon!” sang out Bill, presently.

  We came out on the edge of a deep hollow. It was half a mile wide. I looked down a long incline of sharp tree-tips. The roar of water rose from below, and in places a white rushing torrent showed. Above loomed the snow-clad peak, glistening in the morning sun. How wonderfully far off and high it still was!

  To my regret it was shut off from my sight as we descended into the canyon. However, I soon forgot that. I saw a troop of coyotes, and many black and white squirrels. From time to time huge birds, almost as big as turkeys, crashed out of the thickets and whirred away. They flew swift as pheasants, and I asked Dick what they were.

  “Blue grouse,” he replied. “Look sharp now, Ken, there are deer ahead of us. See the tracks?”

  Looking down I saw little, sharp-pointed, oval tracks. Presently two foxes crossed an open patch not fifty yards from us, but I did not get a glimpse of the deer. Soon we reached the bottom of the canyon, and struck into another trail. The air was full of the low roar of tumbling water. This mountain-torrent was about twenty feet wide, but its swiftness and foam made it impossible to tell its depth. The trail led up-stream, and turned so constantly that half the time Bill, the leader, was not in sight. Once the sharp crack of his rifle halted the train. I heard crashings in the thicket. Dick yelled for me to look up the slope, and there I saw three gray deer with white tails raised. I heard a strange, whistling sound.

  On going forward we found that Bill had killed a deer and was roping it on his pack-horse. As we proceeded up the canyon it grew narrower, and soon we entered a veritable gorge. It was short, but the floor was exceedingly rough, and made hard going for the horses. Suddenly I was amazed to see the gorge open out into a kind of amphitheatre several hundred feet across. The walls were steep, and one side shelved out, making a long, shallow cave, In the center of this amphitheatre was a deep hole from which the mountain stream boiled and bubbled.

  “Hyar we are,” said Bill, and swung out of his saddle. The other men followed suit, and helped Dick and me down. Stockton untied our hands, saying he reckoned we would be more comfortable that way. Indeed we were. My wrists were swollen and blistered. Stockton detailed the Mexican to keep guard over us.

  “Ken, I’ve heard of this place,” said Dick. “How’s that for a spring? Twenty yards wide, and no telling how deep! This is snow-water straight from the peaks. We’re not a thousand feet below the snow-line.”

  “I can tell that. Look at those Jwari pines,” I replied, pointing up over the wall. A rugged slope rose above our camp-site, and it was covered with a tangled mass of stunted pines. Many of them were twisted and misshapen; some were half dead and bleached white at the tops. “It’s my first sight of such trees,” I went on, “but I’ve studied about them. Up here it’s not lack of moisture that stunts and retards their growth. It’s fighting the elements — cold, storm-winds, snowslides. I suppose not one in a thousand seedlings takes root and survives. But the forest fights hard to live.”

  “Well, Ken, we may as well sit back now and talk forestry till Buell skins all he wants of Penetier,” said Dick. “It’s really a fine camping-spot. Plenty of deer up here and bear, too.”

  “Dick, couldn’t we escape?” I whispered.

  “We’re not likely to have a chance. But I say, Ken, how did you happen to turn up? I thought you were going to hop on the first train for home.”

  “Dick, you had another think coming. I couldn’t go home. I’ll have a great time yet — I’m having it now.”

  “Yes, that lump on your head looks like it,” replied Dick, with a laugh. “If Bud hadn’t put you out we’d have come closer to licking this bunch. Ken, keep your eye on Greaser. He’s treacherous. His arm’s lame yet.”

  “We’ve had two run-ins already,” I said. “The third time is the worst, they say. I hope it won’t come. . . . But, Dick, I’m a
s big — I’m bigger than he is.”

  “Hear the kid talk! I certainly ought to have put you on that train—”

  “What train?” asked Stockton, sharply, from our rear. He took us in with suspicious eyes.

  “I was telling Ken I ought to have put him on a train for home,” answered Dick.

  Stockton let the remark pass without further comment; still, he appeared to be doing some hard thinking. He put Dick at one end of the long cave, me at the other. Our bedding was unpacked and placed at our disposal. We made our beds. After that I kept my eyes open and did not miss anything.

  “Leslie, I’m going to treat you and Ward white,” said Stockton. “You’ll have good grub. Herky-Jerky’s the best cook this side of Holston, and you’ll be left untied in the daytime. But if either of you attempts to get away it means a leg shot off. Do you get that?”

  “All right, Stockton; that’s pretty square of you, considering,” replied Dick. “You’re a decent sort of chap to be mixed up with a thief like Buell. I’m sorry.”

  Stockton turned away at this rather abruptly. Then Bill appeared on the wall above, and began to throw down firewood. Bud returned from the canyon, where he had driven the horses. Greaser sat on a stone puffing a cigarette. It was the first time I had taken a good look at him. He was smaller than I had fancied; his feet and hands and features resembled those of a woman, but his eyes were live coals of black fire. In the daylight I was not in the least afraid of him.

  Herky-Jerky was the most interesting one of our captors. He had a short, stocky figure, and was the most bow-legged man I ever saw. Never on earth could he have stopped a pig in a lane. A stubby beard covered the lower half of his brick-red face. The most striking thing about Herky-Jerky, however, was his perpetual grin. He looked very jolly, yet every time he opened his mouth it was to utter bad language. He cursed the fire, the pans, the coffee, the biscuits, all of which he handled most skillfully. It was disgusting, and yet aside from this I rather liked him.

  It grew dark very quickly while we were eating, and the wind that dipped down into the gorge was cold. I kept edging closer and closer to the blazing campfire. I had never tasted venison before, and rather disliked it at first. But I soon cultivated a liking for it.