Keith of the Border: A Tale of the Plains

by Randall Parrish

  Keith had very little to guide him, as he could not determine whetherthis mysterious cabin on the Salt Fork lay to east or west of theusual cattle trail leading down to the Canadian. Yet he felt reasonablyassured that the general trend of the country lying between the smallerstream and the valley of the Arkansas would be similar to that withwhich he was already acquainted. It was merely a wild stretch of sandydesolation, across which their horses would leave scarcely any trail,and even that little would be quickly obliterated by the first puff ofwind. As they drew in toward the river valley this plain would changeinto sand dunes, baffling and confusing, but no matter how hard theypressed forward, it must be daylight long before they could hopeto reach these, and this would give him opportunity to spy out somefamiliar landmark which would guide them to the ford. Meanwhile, he musthead as directly north as possible, trusting the horses to find footing.

  It was plains instinct, or rather long training in the open, whichenabled him to retain any true sense of direction, for beyond the narrowfringe of cotton-woods along the stream, nothing was visible, the eyesscarcely able even to distinguish where earth and sky met. They advancedacross a bare level, without elevation or depression, yet the sandappeared sufficiently solid, so that their horses were forced into aswinging lope, and they seemed to fairly press aside the black curtain,which as instantly swung shut once more, and closed them in. Thepounding hoofs made little noise, and they pressed steadily onward,closely bunched together, so as not to lose each other, dim, spectralshadows flitting through the night, a very part of that grim desolationsurrounding them. No one of the three felt like speaking; the gloomy,brooding desert oppressed them, their vagrant thoughts assuming thetinge of their surroundings; their hope centred on escape. Keith rode,grasping the rein of the woman's horse in his left hand, and bendinglow in vain effort at picking a path. He had nothing to aim toward, yetsturdy confidence in his expert plainscraft yielded him sufficient senseof direction. He had noted the bark of the cottonwoods, the direction ofthe wind, and steered a course accordingly straight northward, alert toavert any variation.

  The girl rode easily, although in a man's saddle, the stirrups muchtoo long. Keith glanced aside with swift approval at the erectness withwhich she sat, the loosened rein in her hand, the slight swaying of herform. He could appreciate horsemanship, and the easy manner in whichshe rode relieved him of one anxiety. It even caused him to break thesilence.

  "You are evidently accustomed to riding, Miss Hope."

  She glanced across at him through the darkness, as though suddenlysurprised from thought, her words not coming quickly.

  "I cannot remember when I first mounted a horse; in earliest childhood,surely, although I have not ridden much of late. This one is like arocking chair."

  "He belonged to your friend, Mr. Hawley."

  She drew a quick breath, her face again turned forward.

  "Who--who is that man? Do you know?"

  "I possess a passing acquaintance," he answered, uncertain yet how muchto tell her, but tempted to reveal all in test of her real character."Few do not who live along the Kansas border."

  "Do you mean he is a notoriously bad character?"

  "I have never heard of his being held up as a model to the young, MissHope," he returned more soberly, convinced that she truly possessedno real knowledge regarding the man, and was not merely pretendinginnocence. "I had never heard him called Hawley before, and, therefore,failed to recognize him under that respectable name. But I knew hisvoice the moment he entered the cabin, and realized that some devilmentwas afoot. Every town along this frontier has his record, and I've methim maybe a dozen times in the past three years. He is known as 'BlackBart'; is a gambler by profession, a desperado by reputation, and a curby nature. Just now I suspect him of being even deeper in the mire thanthis."

  He could tell by the quick clasping of her hands on the pommel of thesaddle the effect of his words, but waited until the silence compelledher to speak.

  "Oh, I didn't know! You do not believe that I ever suspected such athing? That I ever met him there understanding who he was?"

  "No, I do not," he answered. "What I overheard between you convinced meyou were the victim of deceit. But your going to that place alone was amost reckless act."

  She lifted her hand to her eyes, her head drooping forward.

  "Wasn't it what he told me--the out-station of a ranch?"

  "No; I have ridden this country for years, and there is no ranchpasturing cattle along the Salt Fork. Miss Hope, I want you tocomprehend what it is you have escaped from; what you are now fleeingfrom. Within the last two years an apparently organized body of outlawshave been operating throughout this entire region. Oftentimes disguisedas Indians, they have terrorized the Santa Fe trail for two hundredmiles, killing travellers in small parties, and driving off stock. Thereare few ranches as far west as this, but these have all suffered fromraids. These fellows have done more to precipitate the present Indianwar than any act of the savages. They have endeavored to make theauthorities believe that Indians were guilty of their deeds of murderand robbery. Both troops and volunteers have tried to hold the gang up,but they scatter and disappear, as though swallowed by the desert. Ihave been out twice, hard on their trail, only to come back baffled.Now, I think accident has given me the clue."

  She straightened up; glancing questioningly at him through the darkness.

  "That is what I mean, Miss Hope. I suspect that cabin to be therendezvous of those fellows, and I half believe Hawley to be theirleader."

  "Then you will report all this to the authorities?"

  He smiled grimly, his lips compressed.

  "I hardly think so; at least, not for the present. I am notblood-thirsty, or enamored of man-hunting, but I happen to have apersonal interest in this particular affair which I should prefer tosettle alone." He paused, swiftly reviewing the circumstances of theirshort acquaintance, and as suddenly determining to trust her discretion.Deep down in his heart he rather wanted her to know. "The fact of thematter is, that Neb and I here were the ones that particular posse weretrailing."

  "You!" her voice faltered. "He said those men were under arrest formurder, and had broken jail."

  "He also said it was easy to convict men in this country if you onlyknew how. It is true we broke jail, but only in order to save our lives;it was the only way. Technically, we are outlaws, and now run the riskof immediate re-arrest by returning north of the Arkansas. We came toyou fugitives; I was charged with murder, the negro with assault. So,you see, Miss Hope, the desperate class of men you are now associatingwith."

  The slight bitterness in his tone stung the girl into resentment. Shewas looking straight at him, but in the gloom he could not discern theexpression of her eyes.

  "I don't believe it," she exclaimed decisively, "you--you do not looklike that!"

  "My appearance may be sufficient to convince you," he returned, ratherdryly, "but would weigh little before a Western court. Unfortunately,the evidence was strong against me; or would have been had the case evercome to a trial. The strange thing about it was that both warrantswere sworn out by the same complainant, and apparently for a similarpurpose--'Black Bart' Hawley."

  "What purpose?"

  "To keep us from telling what we knew regarding a certain crime,in which either he, or some of his intimate friends, were deeplyinterested."

  "But it would all come out at the trial, wouldn't it?"

  "There was to be no trial; Judge Lynch settles the majority of suchcases out here at present. It is extremely simple. Listen, and I willtell you the story."

  He reviewed briefly those occurrences leading directly up to his arrest,saying little regarding the horrors of that scene witnessed nearthe Cimmaron Crossing, but making sufficiently clear his very slightconnection with it, and the reason those who were guilty of the crimewere so anxious to get him out of the way. She listened intently, askingfew questions, until he ended. Then they both looked up, conscious thatdawn was becoming gray in the east. Keith'
s first thought was one ofrelief--the brightening sky showed him they were riding straight north.

  Chapter XIII. The Ford of the Arkansas