The Story of the Foss River Ranch: A Tale of the Northwest

by Ridgwell Cullum

  CHAPTER VII

  ACROSS THE GREAT MUSKEG

  It was on the stroke of four o'clock when Bunning-Ford left the saloon.He had said that he would be at the ranch at four, and usually he likedto be punctual. He was late now, however, and made no effort to make uptime. Instead, he allowed his horse to walk leisurely in the directionof the Allandales' house. He wanted time to think before he again metJacky.

  He was confronted by a problem which taxed all his wit. It was perhaps afortunate thing that his was not a hasty temperament. He well knew theusual method of dealing with men who cheated at cards in those Westernwilds. Each man carried his own law in his holster. He had realizedinstantly that Lablache was not a case for the usual treatment. Pistollaw would have defeated its own ends. Such means would not recover theterrible losses of "Poker" John, neither would he recover thereby hisown lost property. No, he congratulated himself upon the restraint hehad exercised when he had checked his natural impulse to expose themoney-lender. Now, however, the case looked more complicated, and, forthe moment, he could see no possible means of solving the difficulty.Lablache must be made to disgorge--but how? John Allandale must bestopped playing and further contributing to Lablache's ill-gotten gains.Again--but how?

  Bill was roused out of his usual apathetic indifference. The moment hadarrived when he must set aside the old indolent carelessness. He wasstirred to the core. A duty had been suddenly forced upon him. A duty tohimself and also a duty to those he loved. Lablache had consistentlyrobbed him, and also the uncle of the girl he loved. Now, how torestore that property and prevent the villain's further depredations?

  Again and again he asked himself the question as he allowed his horse tomouche, with slovenly step, over the sodden prairie; but no answerpresented itself. His thin, eagle face was puckered with perplexity. Thesleepy eyes gleamed vengefully from between his half-closed eyelids ashe gazed across the sunlit prairie. His aquiline nose, always bearing aresemblance to an eagle's beak, was rendered even more like thataristocratic proboscis by reason of the down-drawn tip, consequent uponthe odd pursing of his tightly-compressed lips. For the moment "Lord"Bill was at a loss. And, oddly enough, he began to wonder if, after all,silence had been his best course.

  He was still struggling in the direst perplexity when he drew up at theveranda of the ranch. Dismounting, he hitched his picket rope to thetying-post and entered the sitting-room by the open French window. Teawas set upon the table and Jacky was seated before the stove.

  "Late, Bill, late! Guess that 'plug' of yours is a rapid beast, judgingby the pace you came up the hill."

  For the moment Bunning-Ford's face had resumed its wonted air of lazygood-nature.

  "Glad you took the trouble to watch for me, Jacky," he retorted quickly,with an attempt at his usual lightness of manner. "I appreciate thehonor."

  "Nothing of the sort. I was looking for uncle. The mail brought a letterfrom Calford. Dawson, the cattle buyer of the Western Railway Company,wants to see him. The Home Government are buying largely. He iscommissioned to purchase 30,000 head of prime beeves. Come along, tea'sready."

  Bill seated himself at the table and Jacky poured out the tea. She wasdressed for the saddle.

  "Where is Dawson now?" asked Bill.

  "Calford. Guess he'll wait right there for uncle."

  Suddenly a look of relief passed across the man's face.

  "This is Wednesday. At six o'clock the mail-cart goes back to town. Sendsome one down to the _saloon_ at once, and John will be able to go into-night."

  As Bill spoke his eyes encountered a direct and steady glance from thegirl. There was much meaning in that mute exchange. For answer Jackyrose and rang a bell sharply.

  "Send a hand down to the settlement to find my uncle. Ask him to come upat once. There is an important letter awaiting him," she said, to theold servant who answered the summons.

  "Bill, what's up?" she went on, when the retainer had departed.

  "Lots. Look here, Jacky, we mustn't be long over tea. We must both beout of the house when your uncle returns. He may not want to go intotown to-night. Anyway, I don't want to give him the chance of asking anyquestions until we have had a long talk. He's losing to Lablache again."

  "Ah! I don't want anything to eat. Whenever you are ready, Bill, I am."

  Bunning-Ford drank his tea and rose from the table. The girl followedhis example.

  There was something very strong and resolute in the brisk,ready-for-emergency ways of this girl. There was nothing of theultra-feminine dependence and weakness of her sex about her. And yet herhardiness detracted in no way from her womanly charm; rather was thatcomplex abstract enhanced by her wonderful self-reliance. There arethose who decry independence in women, but surely only such must comefrom those whose nature is largely composed of hectoring selfishness.There was a resolute set of the mouth as Jacky sent word to the stablesto have her horse brought round. She asked no questions of hercompanion, as, waiting for compliance with her orders, she drew on herstout buckskin gauntlets. She understood this man well enough to beaware that his suggestion was based upon necessity. "Lord" Bill rarelyinterfered with anything or anybody, but when such an occasion arose hiswords carried a deal of weight with those who knew him.

  A few minutes later and they were both riding slowly down the avenue ofpines leading from the house. The direction in which they were movingwas away from the settlement, down towards where the great level flat ofthe muskeg began. At the end of the avenue they turned directly to thesoutheast, leaving the township behind them. The prairie was soft andspringy. There was still a keen touch of winter in the fresh spring air.The afternoon sun was shining coldly athwart the direction of theirroute.

  Jacky led the way, and, as they drew clear of the bush, and the houseand settlement were hidden from view behind them, she urged her horseinto a good swinging lope. Thus they progressed in silence. Thefar-reaching deadly mire on their right, looking innocent enough in theshadow of the snow-clad peaks beyond, the ranch well behind them in thehollow of the Foss River Valley, whilst, on their left, the mightyprairie rolled away upwards to the higher level of the surroundingcountry.

  In this way they covered nearly a mile, then the girl drew up beside asmall clump of weedy bush.

  "Are you ready for the plunge, Bill?" she asked, as her companion drewup beside her. "The path's not more than four feet wide. Does your'plug' shy any?"

  "He's all right. You lead right on. Where you can travel I've a notionI'm not likely to funk. But I don't see the path."

  "I guess you don't. Never did nature keep her secret better than in thesetting out of this one road across her woeful man-trap. You can't seethe path, but I guess it's an open book to me, and its pages ain'tHebrew either. Say, Bill, there's been many a good prairie man lookingfor this path, but"--with a slight accent of exultation--"they've neverfound it. Come on. Old Nigger knows it; many a time has he trodden itssoft and shaking surface. Good old horse!" and she patted the black neckof her charger as she turned his head towards the distant hills andurged him forward with a "chirrup."

  Far across the muskeg the distant peaks of the mountain range glistenedin the afternoon sun like diamond-studded sugar loaves. So high were theclouds that every portion of the mighty summits was clearly outlined.The great ramparts of the prairie are a magnificent sight on a clearday. Flat and smooth as any billiard-table stretched this silent,mysterious muskeg, already green and fair to the eye, an alluringpasture to the unwary. An experienced eye might have judged it toogreen--too alluring. Could a more perfect trap be devised by evil humaningenuity than this? Think for one instant of a bottomless pit of liquidsoil, absorbing in its peculiar density. Think of all the horrors of aquicksand, which, embracing, sucks down into its cruel bosom thedespairing victim of its insatiable greed. Think of a thin, solid crust,spread like icing upon a cake and concealing the soft, spongy matterbeneath, covering every portion of the cruel plain; a crust which yieldsa crop of luxurious, enticing grass of the most perfect emerald hue; acru
st firm in itself and dry looking, and yet not strong enough to bearthe weight of a good-sized terrier. And what imagination can possiblyconceive a more cruel--more perfect trap for man or beast? Woe to thecreature which trusts its weight upon that treacherous crust. For onefleeting instant it will sway beneath the tread, then, in the flash of athought, it will break, and once the surface gives no human power cansave the victim. Down, down into the depths must the poor wretch beplunged, with scarce time to offer a prayer to God for the poor soulwhich so swiftly passes to its doom. Such is the muskeg; and surely moreterrible is it than is that horror of the navigator--the quicksands.

  The girl led the way without as much as a passing thought for thedangers which surrounded her. Truly had her companion said "I don't seethe path," for no path was to be seen. But Jacky had learned her lessonwell--and learned it from one who read the prairie as the Bedouin readsthe desert. The path was there and with a wondrous assurance shefollowed its course.

  The travelers moved silently along. No word was spoken; each was wrappedin thought. Now and again a stray prairie chicken would fly up fromtheir path with a whirr, and speed across the mire, calling to its mateas it went. The drowsy chirrup of frogs went on unceasingly around, andalready the ubiquitous mosquito was on the prowl for human gore.

  The upstanding horses now walked with down-drooped heads, with sniffingnoses low towards the ground, ears cocked, and with alert, carefultread, as if fully alive to the danger of their perilous road. Thesilence of that ride teemed with a thrill of danger. Half an hour passedand then the girl gathered up her reins and urged her willing horse intoa canter.

  "Come on, Bill, the path is more solid now, and wider. The worst part ison the far side," she called back over her shoulder.

  Her companion followed her unquestioningly.

  The sun was already dipping towards the distant peaks and already ashadowy haze was rising upon the eastern prairie. The chill of wintergrew keener as the sun slowly sank.

  Two-thirds of the journey were covered and Jacky, holding up a warninghand, drew up her horse. Her companion came to a stand beside her.

  "The path divides in three here," said the girl, glancing keenly down atthe fresh green grass. "Two of the branches are blind and end abruptlyfurther on. Guess we must avoid 'em," she went on shortly, "unless weare anxious to punctuate our earthly career. This is the one we musttake," turning her horse to the left path. "Keep your eye peeled andstick to Nigger's footprints."

  The man did as he was bid, marvelling the while at the strange knowledgeof his companion. He had no fear; he only wondered. The trim, gracefulfigure on the horse ahead of him occupied all his thoughts. He watchedher as, with quiet assurance she guided her horse. He had known Jackyfor years. He had watched her grow to womanhood, but although herup-bringing must of necessity have taught her an independence andcourage given to few women, he had never dreamt of the strength of thesturdy nature she was now displaying. Again his thoughts went to thetales of the gossips of the settlement, and the strange figure of thedaring cattle-thief loomed up over his mental horizon. He rode, and ashe rode he wondered. The end Of this journey would be a fitting placefor the explanations which must take place between them.

  At length the shaking path came to an end and the mire was crossed. Asignal from the girl brought her companion to her side.

  "We have crossed it," she said, glancing up at the sun, and indicatingthe muskeg with a backward jerk of her head. "Now for the horse."

  "What about your promise to tell me about Peter Retief?"

  "Guess being the narrator you must let me take my time."

  She smiled up into her companion's eagle face.

  "The horse is a mile or so further up towards the foothills. Comealong."

  They galloped side by side over the moist, springy grass--moist with therecently-melted snow. "Lord" Bill was content to wait her pleasure.Suddenly the man brought his horse up with a severe "yank."

  "What's up?" The girl's beautiful eyes were fixed upon the ground with apeculiar instinct. Bill pointed to the ground on the side furthest fromhis companion.

  "Look!"

  Jacky gazed at the spot indicated.

  "The tracks of the horse," she said sharply.

  She was on the ground in an instant and inspecting the hoof-printseagerly, with that careful study acquired by experience.

  "Well?" said the other, as she turned back to her horse.

  "Recent." Then in an impressive tone which her companion failed tounderstand, "That horse has been shod. The shoes are off--all except atiny bit on his off fore. We must track it."

  They now separated and rode keeping the hoof-prints between them. Themarks were quite fresh and so plain in the soft ground that they wereable to ride at a good pace. The clear-cut indentations led away fromthe mire up the gently-sloping ground. Suddenly they struck upon a paththat was little more than a cattle-track, and instantly became mingledwith other hoof-marks, older and going both ways. Hitherto the girl hadridden with her eyes closely watching the tracks, but now she suddenlyraised her sweet, weather-tanned face to her companion, and, with alight of the wildest excitement in her eyes, she pointed along the pathand set her horse at a gallop.

  "Come on! I know," she cried, "right on into the hills."

  Bill followed willingly enough, but he failed to understand hiscompanion's excitement. After all they were merely bent upon "roping" astray horse. The girl galloped on at breakneck speed; the heavy blackringlets of hair were swept like an outspread fan from under the broadbrim of her Stetson hat, her buckskin bodice ballooning in the wind asrider and horse charged along, utterly indifferent to the nature of thecountry they were traveling--indifferent to everything except the madpursuit of an unseen quarry. Now they were on the summit of someeminence whence they could see for miles the confusion of hills, likeinnumerable bee-hives set close together upon an endless plain; nowdown, tearing through a deep hollow, and racing towards another abruptascent. With every hill passed the country became less green and moreand more rugged. "Lord" Bill struggled hard to keep the girl in view asshe raced on--on through the labyrinth of seemingly endless hillocks.But at last he drew up on the summit of a high cone-like rise andrealized that he had lost her.

  For a moment he gazed around with that peculiar, all-observing keennesswhich is given to those whose lives are spent in countries where humanhabitation is sparse--where the work of man is lost in the immensity ofNature's effort. He could see no sign of the girl. And yet he knew shecould not be far away. His instincts told him to search for her horsetracks. He was sure she had passed that way. While yet he was thinking,she suddenly reappeared over the brow of a further hill. She halted atthe summit, and, seeing him, waved a summons. Her gesticulations wereexcited and he hastened to obey. Down into the intervening valley hishorse plunged with headlong recklessness. At the bottom there was ahard, beaten track. Almost unconsciously he allowed his beast to adoptit. It wound round and upwards, at the base of the hill on which Jackywas waiting for him. He passed the bend, then, with a desperate,backward heave of the body, he "yanked" his horse short up, throwing theeager animal on to its haunches.

  He had pulled up on what, at first appeared to be the brink of aprecipice, and what in reality was a declivity, down which only the slowand sure foot of a steer or broncho might safely tread. He sat aghast athis narrow escape. Then, turning at the sound of a voice behind him, hefound that Jacky had come down from the hill above.

  "See, Bill," she cried, as she drew abreast of his hard-breathing horse,"there he is! Down there, peacefully, grazing."

  Her excitement was intense, and the hand with which she pointed shooklike an aspen. Her agitation was incomprehensible to the man. He lookeddown. Hitherto he had seen little beyond the brink at which he had cometo such a sudden stand. But now, as he gazed down, he beheld a deepdark-shadowed valley, far-reaching and sombre. From their presentposition its full extent was beyond the range of vision, but sufficientwas to be seen to realize that here was one of those vast
hiding-placesonly to be found in lands where Nature's fanciful mood has induced themighty upheaval of the world's greatest mountain ranges. On the far sideof the deep, sombre vale a towering craig rose wall-like, sheer up,overshadowing the soft, green pasture deep down at the bottom of theyawning gulch. Dense patches of dark, relentless pinewoods lined itsbase, and, over all, in spite of the broad daylight, a peculiar shadow,as of evening, added mystery to the haunting view.

  It was some seconds before the man was able to distinguish the tinyobject which had roused the girl to such unaccountable excitement. Whenhe did, however, he beheld a golden chestnut horse quietly grazing as itmade its way leisurely towards the ribbon-like stream which flowed inthe bosom of the mysterious valley. "Lord" Bill's voice was quiteemotionless when he spoke.

  "Ah, a chestnut!" he said quietly. "Well, our quest is vain. He isbeyond our reach."

  For a moment the girl looked at him in indignant surprise. Then her moodchanged and she nearly laughed outright. She had forgotten that this manas yet knew nothing of what had all along been in her thoughts. As yethe knew nothing of the secret of this hollow. To her it meant a world ofrecollection--a world of stirring adventure and awful hazard. When firstshe had seen that horse, grazing within sight of her uncle's house, herinterest had been aroused--suspicions had been sent teeming through herbrain. Her thoughts had flown to the man whom she had once known, andwho was now dead. She had believed his horse had died with him. And nowthe strange apparition had yielded up its secret. The beast had beentraced to the old, familiar haunt, and what had been only suspicion hadsuddenly become a startling reality.

  "Ah, I forgot," she replied, "you don't understand. That is GoldenEagle. Can't you see, he has the fragments of his saddle still tiedround his body. To think of it--and after two years."

  Her companion still seemed dense.

  "Golden Eagle?" he repeated questioningly. "Golden Eagle?" The nameseemed familiar but he failed to comprehend.

  "Yes, yes," the girl broke out impatiently. "Golden Eagle--PeterRetief's horse. The grandest beast that ever stepped the prairie. See,he is keeping watch over his master's oldhiding-place--faithful--faithful to the memory of the dead."

  "And this is--is the haunt of Peter Retief," Bill exclaimed, hisinterest centering chiefly upon the yawning valley before him.

  "Yes--follow me closely, and we'll get right along down. Say, Bill, wemust round up that animal."

  For a fleeting space the man looked dubious, then, with lips pursed, anda quiet look of resolution in his sleepy eyes, he followed in hiscompanion's wake. The grandeur--the solitude--the mystery andassociations, conveyed by the girl's words, of the place were upon him.These things had set him thinking.

  The tortuous course of that perilous descent occupied their fullattention, but, at length, they reached the valley in safety. Now,indeed, was a wonderful scene disclosed. Far as the eye could reach thegreat hollow extended. Deep and narrow; deep in the heart of the hillswhich towered upon either side to heights, for the most part,inaccessible, precipitous. It was a wondrous gulch, hidden andunsuspected in the foothills, and protected by those amazing wilds, inwhich the ignorant or unwary must infallibly be lost. It was a perfectpasture, a perfect hiding-place, watered by a broad running stream;sheltered from all cold and storm. No wonder then that the celebratedoutlaw, Peter Retief, had chosen it for his haunt and the harborage ofhis ill-gotten stock.

  With characteristic method the two set about "roping" the magnificentcrested horse they had come to capture. They soon found that he waswild--timid as a hare. Their task looked as though it would be one ofsome difficulty.

  At first Golden Eagle raced recklessly from point to point. And so longas this lasted his would-be captors could do little but endeavor to"head" him from one to the other, in the hope of getting him withinrange of the rope. Then he seemed suddenly to change his mind, and, witha quick double, gallop towards the side of the great chasm. A cry ofdelight escaped the girl as she saw this. The horse was making for themouth of a small cavern which had been boarded over, and, judging by thedoor and window in the woodwork, had evidently been used as a dwellingor a stable. It was the same instinct which led him to this place thathad caused the horse to remain for two years the solitary tenant of thevalley. The girl understood, and drew her companion's attention. Thecapture at once became easy. Keeping clear of the cave they cautiouslyherded their quarry towards it. Golden Eagle was docile enough until hereached the, to him, familiar door. Then, when he found that hispursuers still continued to press in upon him, he took alarm, and,throwing up his head, with a wild, defiant snort he made a bolt for theopen.

  Instantly two lariats whirled through the air towards the crested neck.One missed its mark, but the other fell, true as a gun-shot over thesmall, thoroughbred head. It was Jacky's rope which had found its mark.A hitch round the horn of her saddle, and her horse threw himself backwith her forefeet braced, and faced the captive. Then the rope tightenedwith a jerk which taxed its rawhide strands to their utmost. InstantlyGolden Eagle, after two years' freedom, stood still; he knew that oncemore he must return to captivity.