CHAPTER XXVI
Just before utter blackness shut down on the land, Sandy McCraedismounted and stripped saddle and pack from his horses. He looked upat the sky, shook his head, and, taking a light axe, cut two picketpins; after which he staked the horses out in the abundant pasture atthe bottom of the draw, driving the pins in solidly beyond thepossibility of pulling. Then he set about making a hasty camp.
Beside him a little spring bubbled out of the bottom of the draw andseeped away under tangled roots and fallen brush. A thirst-parchedstranger might have ridden past twenty times on the bench above withoutsuspecting its presence. The faint cattle trail leading to it enteredthe draw a quarter of a mile away, and led along under low but almostperpendicular banks.
Sandy's camp preparations were simple, but much more elaborate than ifthe night had been clear. Then he would have made his fire, boiledcoffee, spread his bed, and gone to sleep beneath the stars; butbecause of the ominous storm cloud he constructed a lean-to by drivingtwo forked stakes and joining them with a crosspiece. From these heslanted two poles to the ground, and on the poles laid a tarp, lashingit in place. The mouth of the lean-to faced away from the cloud bank.In addition it had the partial shelter of cottonwoods in full leaf. Inthis lean-to he collected his outfit. Next he made a fire and cookedsupper. Afterward he smoked, squatting in the mouth of his shelter,staring silently at the dying embers, listening to the rising windsighing above him sweeping across the bare grasslands, but scarcelyfanning the coals in his protected camp.
He felt no loneliness whatever. Solitary camps and the love of themwere his by right of inheritance. He neither required nor desiredcompanionship. Fire, food, tobacco, and solitude satisfied his inmostsoul. This was the life he loved. The fact that he was a fugitive fromthe law did not trouble him at all; it merely gave an added zest to thesituation. Just once he chuckled grimly as he recalled the faces ofGlass and Pugh when he had whirled on them, gun in hand. Glass hadinterpreted his intentions very correctly; he would have shot either orboth on the slightest provocation. He was of the breed of the wolf,accustomed from childhood to deadly weapons, brought up in tradition oftheir use, and, like many outlaws who have bulked large in the historyof the West, young enough to act on impulse without counting theultimate cost.
As his little fire burned down he stepped out and regarded the darkenedheavens. A heavy drop of rain struck his face and a flash of lightningripped the black curtain, outlining bare banks, trees, and grazinghorses for a brief instant. Sandy shrugged his shouldersphilosophically. His shelter was good enough. He unrolled his bed, and,by the simple process of removing moccasins and gun belt, was ready toretire. He got into his blankets, taking his gun with him, and rolledthem around him, leaving his face exposed until the last.
"Now, darn you rain!" he muttered. With which "now-I-lay-me" he drewthe blanket completely over his head as a protection againstmosquitoes, and, heedless of the smothering effect of it, which wouldhave been unsupportable to a city youth, was asleep in ten seconds.
He slept for, perhaps, an hour. At the end of that time he suddenlybecame wide awake. He could not have told what had aroused him, but hewas sure something had. He threw back the smothering blanket from hishead and lay listening.
Overhead the wind threshed the tops of the trees, and roared hollowlyas it rebounded from the farther side of the gulch. Rain, driven by thewind, slashed through the foliage and pattered against his primitiveshelter. Thunder rolled in an endless fusillade, punctuated by flashesof lightning. But Sandy, without considering the matter, was quite surethat none of these things had awakened him. In a momentary lull of thestorm, as he lay with his ear close to the ground, he thought he couldhear the sound of hoofs coming up the draw, along the hard-beatencattle trail.
It was barely possible that some wandering stock, drifting with thestorm, were seeking the shelter of it; but it was more likely thatrange stock would have found cover to suit them before dark, and wouldstay in it till morning. Now, there is a difference between the treadof ridden and riderless animals, and Sandy thought that he had heardthe former. Also, they were coming as he had come.
His route led from the settlements back to the hills where there wasnobody and nothing. There was no road, no trail. Few people went there,not even Indians, and they not until the fall hunt, after the firstsnow. Therefore, it was suspicious that, on such a night, a rider orriders should be in his vicinity. His mind leaped to the conclusionthat Glass had been released, had secured the services of somebody whoknew the country, and had somehow made a good guess at the location ofhis first night's camp, for which they were now searching in thedarkness, hoping that the remains of his fire would betray him.
As he reached this conclusion, Sandy rolled out of his blankets,buckled his belt around his lean waist, slipped on his moccasins, andstepped out into the darkness.
Not a red spark showed where his fire had been, and Sandy smiledgrimly. He would do all the surprising himself. He did not intend to betaken. Once more he heard the sound of hoofs, nearer. They seemed toapproach a few yards, then to stop. He heard the sound of a breathblown from a horse's nostrils.
The storm, which had lulled momentarily, began again. The wind hitthe draw viciously, with spatters of rain. Other sounds wereindistinguishable. Sandy, crouching low to get any advancing objectagainst what sky line there was, made out the shape of a mounted man.Horse and man stood like an equestrian statue, barely distinguishable,though but a few yards away.
The rider disappeared from the saddle. Sandy heard his feet crashing inthe low bushes, heard him stumble and swear.
"Ought to be about here," words came faintly to Sandy's ears. "If everI try to find ... on a night like this...."
"Looking for me, sure," thought Sandy. "Maybe it's Glass; maybe itisn't. Wonder how many there are. Anyway, I'll fix this one."
Soft-footed as a great cat, he crept toward the voice. The man loomedin front of him; his back was turned. Sandy rose soundlessly behindhim. With a sudden vicious sweep his left arm shot across thestranger's left shoulder and around his throat. His right hand shovedthe muzzle of his gun beneath the man's right ear.
"Don't move or let one yip out of you!" he hissed tensely.
After one convulsive start the stranger stood motionless. "Nary movenor yip," he whispered confidentially into the night. "And if thatgun's a light pull, be mighty careful of the trigger!"
"Talk and talk quiet," said Sandy. "How many are there of you?"
"Be mighty careful of that gun if you're seein' double that way!" thestranger admonished again nervously. "Was you expectin' twins orsomethin'?"
"You alone?"
"Yep."
"What's your name?"
"Smith."
"What you doing here?"
"Lookin' for the spring to camp by."
"Where you heading for?"
"Into the hills, prospectin'."
"Where's Glass?" Sandy asked suddenly.
"Search me. I got nothin' to do with that durn fool."
The tone and the words gave Sandy the surprise of his life. His armdropped away from the stranger's throat, and his gun ceased to threatenthe base of his skull.
"Tom McHale!" he cried.
"You sound some like a _cultus_ young devil named McCrae," said McHale,peering at him in the dark. "Say, what in the flarin' blazes you doin'here?"
"Take some yourself," Sandy responded. "Are they after you, too?"
McHale shook his head sadly. "Sonny," said he, "you're too young to behavin' them cute little visions of things bein' after you. I reckonmaybe we're pullin' two ways on one rope. Also, we ain't gettin' nodrier standin' here chewin' about it. Maybe you got a camp somewheres.S'pose you find the latchstring. Then we'll have a talk."
Thus admonished, Sandy led the way to his lean-to, rekindled the fire,helped picket McHale's horses, and set the coffee-pot to boil. Theydrank coffee and smoked, going into details of their experiences of thepreceding day. McHale was amazed to hear of Sandy's arrest by Glass,who
m he had held in contempt. Sandy was jubilant over the shooting ofCross, regretful that he had not had a hand in it.
"You won't be so durn stuck on a gun fight after you've been in one ortwo," said McHale grimly. "Now let's see how she stacks up. I'm goin'to hide out for a spell, but if I was you I'd go back and stand theracket."
"I guess _not_," said Sandy positively. "I don't want to do time ifthey've got me with the goods. And then some darn lawyer might make megive somebody else away by accident. You can't tell. I'll stay out withyou. Where are you heading for?"
"I was aimin' to hit Bull's Pass, drop over the summit into the valleyof the Klimminchuck, and camp somewheres. There was two trappers inthere winter before last, and they told me they built them a right goodcabin."
"That suits me."
"This will fix us up with water for the next two weeks," said McHale ashe listened to the rain. "I'll bet Casey's got a grin on him a yardwide." He yawned. "Well, kid, we've got all that's comin' to us out ofthis one day. Let's hit them blankets. We better make an early start."
They were up in the early dawn, breakfasted, saddled, and packed, andheaded for the hills. At noon they reached the foot of the pass. Anarrow trail, often choked by fallen timber and small landslides, ledthem upward, winding in and out, sometimes near the bottom of an alwaysascending gorge, sometimes forsaking it for broad, flat benchesparklike with stately trees, sometimes clinging precariously toshoulders of bare rock where a slip would have been fatal.
They camped that night near the summit, and next day dropped down intoa valley, narrow, wooded, picturesque, where the Klimminchuck racedsouthward; and, following its course, camped at the edge of a beavermeadow, feasting on trout fresh caught from a deep pool beneath a shortfall. And in the morning, still following the stream, they came to thetrappers' cabin, set in a grove of young spruce.
It was built of small logs chinked with moss and clay, and most of thechinking had fallen out. Its roof was of poles covered with earth. Atwo-man bunk occupied much of the interior. The remainder was taken upby a rough table, a bench, and a rusty wreck of a little sheet-ironstove. There was room to get in and stay in, and that was all. And yettwo men had lived in that pen all winter, and emerged healthy andfairly good-tempered in the spring.
The companions peered through the door at the uninviting interior. Thefloor was a litter of rubbish, old clothes in a state of decomposition,leaves, bones, and rusty cans and pans. Young McCrae wrinkled anoutraged nose.
"Pfaugh!" he snorted. "The shack's filthy. We can't use it."
"The smell _is_ some obvious," McHale agreed. "Which bein' so, I reckonwe build us a wickiup several nose lengths off."
They found a suitable spot, and there they built an elaborate lean-to.Having established themselves, they rested, smoked, and slept. In theevening they caught trout for supper and breakfast. There wasabsolutely nothing to do unless they created employment for themselves.
At the end of another day Sandy became restless; his capacity forloafing was exhausted.
"Let's go get a bear," he proposed.
"Deer's better meat," said McHale; "also easier to get. I won't climbafter no bear."
Nevertheless, he accompanied Sandy down the valley. They saw no bear;but they shot a young buck, and returned to camp with the carcasslashed behind Sandy's saddle. Although it was closed season, theyneeded the meat, and game wardens were not likely to intrude.
But when they came in sight of their camp they saw old Simon recliningin grandeur on their blankets, smoking.
"The nerve of that buck!" snorted McHale. "Get off of that bed, you oldcopperskin. Think I want to wash them blankets?"
Simon obeyed, but he drew a letter from his pocket.
"Papah," said he. "Casey."
McHale read Casey's warning as to Dade, and whistled softly, passingthe letter to Sandy.
"So this here Dade makes it a feud, does he?" he said meditatively."All right, he can have it that way. Same time, I'm goin' to keep outof trouble long as I can. I'll stay cached mighty close, and I'll runlike blazes before I'll fight. Simon, how'd you find this camp?"
"Find um easy," said Simon scornfully. He pointed to the carcass of thedeer. "S'pose you _mamook_ cook um."
Desert Conquest; or, Precious Waters Page 26
