The Quirt

by B. M. Bower

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  SWAN CALLS FOR HELP

  Past the field where the horses were grazing and up the canyon on theside toward Skyline Meadow, that lay on a shoulder of Bear Top, the dognosed unfalteringly along the trail. Now and then he was balked when thehoofprints led him to the bank of Granite Creek, but not for long. Jackappeared to understand why his trailing was interrupted and sniffed thebank until he picked up the scent again.

  "Wonder if she changed off and rode that loose horse," Hawkins saidonce, when the tracks were plain in the soft soil of the creek bank."She might, and lead that horse she was on."

  "She wouldn't know enough. She's a city girl," Lone replied, his heartheavy with fear for Lorraine.

  "Well, she ain't far off then," Hawkins comforted himself. "Her horseacted about played out when she hit the ranch. She had him wet from hisears to his tail, and he was breathin' like that Ford at the ranch. Ifthat's a sample of her riding, she ain't far off."

  "Crazy--to ride up here. Keep your eyes open, boys. We must find her,whatever we do." Warfield gazed apprehensively at the rugged steeps oneither hand and at the timber line above them. "From here on shecouldn't turn back without meeting us--if I remember this countrycorrectly. Could she, Hawkins?"

  "Not unless she turned off, up here a mile or two, into that gulch thatheads into Skyline," said Hawkins. "There's a stock trail part way downfrom the top where it swings off from the divide to Wilder Creek."

  Swan, walking just behind Hawkins, moved up a pace.

  "I could go on Skyline with Yack, and I could come down by those trail,"he suggested diffidently, Swedishly, yet with a certain compellingconfidence. "What you think?"

  "I think that's a damned good idea for a square head," Hawkins told him,and repeated it to Warfield, who was riding ahead.

  "Why, yes. We don't need the dog, or the man either. Go up to the headof the gulch and keep your eyes open, Swan. We'll meet you up here. Youknow the girl, don't you?"

  "Yas, Ay know her pretty good," grinned Swan.

  "Well, don't frighten her. Don't let her see that you think anything iswrong--and don't say anything about us. We made the mistake ofdiscussing her condition within her hearing, and it is possible that sheunderstood enough of what we were saying to take alarm. You understand?Don't tell girl she's crazy." He tapped his head to make his meaningplainer. "Don't tell girl we're looking for her. You understand?"

  "Yas, Ay know English pretty good. Ay don't tell too moch." His cheerfulsmile brought a faint response from Senator Warfield. At Lone he did notlook at all. "I go quick. I'm good climber like a sheep," he boasted,and whistling to Jack, he began working his way up a rough,brush-scattered ledge to the slope above.

  Lone watched him miserably, wishing that Swan was not quite so matter offact in his man-chasing. If Al Woodruff, for some reason which Lonecould not fathom, had taken Lorraine and forced her to go with him intothe wilderness, Warfield and Hawkins would be his allies the momentthey came up with him. Lone was no coward, but neither was he a fool.Hawkins had never distinguished himself as a fighter, but Lone hadgleaned here and there a great deal of information about SenatorWarfield in the old days when he had been plain Bill. When Lorraine andAl were overtaken, then Lone would need to show the stuff that was inhim. He only hoped he would have time, and that luck would be with him.

  "If they get me, it'll be all off with her," he worried, as he followedthe two up the canyon. "Swan would have been a help. But he thinks moreof catching Al than he does of helping Raine."

  He looked up and saw that already Swan was halfway up the canyon's steepside, making his way through the brush with more speed than Lone couldhave shown on foot in the open, unless he ran. The sight heartened Lonea little. Swan might have some plan of his own,--an ambush, possibly. Ifhe would only keep along within rifle shot and remain hidden, he wouldshow real brains, Lone thought. But Swan, when Lone looked up again, wasclimbing straight away from the little searching party; and even thoughhe seemed tireless on foot, he could not perform miracles.

  Swan, however, was not troubling himself over what Lone would think, oreven what Warfield was thinking. Contrary to Lone's idea of him, Swanwas tired, and he was thinking a great deal about Lorraine, and verylittle about Al Woodruff, except as Al was concerned with Lorraine'swelfare. Swan had made a mistake, and he was humiliated over hisblunder. Al had kept himself so successfully in the background whileLone's peculiar actions had held his attention, that Swan had neverconsidered Al Woodruff as the killer. Now he blamed himself for Frank'sdeath. He had been watching Lone, had been baffled by Lone's consistentkindness toward the Quirt, by the force of his personality which heldnone of the elements of cold-blooded murder. He had believed that he hadthe Sawtooth killer under observation, and he had been watching andwaiting for evidence that would impress a grand jury. And all the whilehe had let Al Woodruff ride free and unsuspected.

  The one stupid thing, in Swan's opinion, which he had not done was tolet Lone go on holding his tongue. He had forced the issue thatmorning. He had wanted to make Lone talk, had hoped for a weakeningand a confession. Instead he had learned a good deal which he shouldhave known before.

  As he forged up the slope across the ridged lip of the canyon, his oneimmediate object was speed. Up the canyon and over the divide on thewest shoulder of Bear Top was a trail to the open country beyond. It wasperfectly passable, as Swan knew; he had packed in by that trail when helocated his homestead on Bear Top. That is why he had his cabin up andwas living in it before the Sawtooth discovered his presence.

  Al, he believed, was making for Bear Top Pass. Once down the other sidehe would find friends to lend him fresh horses. Swan had learnedsomething of these friends of the Sawtooth, and he could guess prettyaccurately how far some of them would go in their service. Fresh horsesfor Al, food--perhaps even a cabin where he could hide Lorraineaway--were to be expected from any one of them, once Al was over thedivide.

  Swan glanced up at the sun, saw that it was dropping to late afternoonand started in at a long, loose-jointed trot across the mountain meadowcalled Skyline. A few pines, with scattered clumps of juniper and fir,dotted the long, irregular stretch of grassland which formed the meadow.Range cattle were feeding here and there, so wild they lifted heads tostare at the man and dog, then came trotting forward, their curiosityunabated by the fact that they had seen these two before.

  Jack looked up at his master, looked at the cattle and took his place atSwan's heels. Swan shouted and flung his arms, and the cattle ducked,turned and galloped awkwardly away. Swan's trot did not slacken. Hisrifle swung rhythmically in his right hand, the muzzle tilted downward.Beads of perspiration on his forehead had merged into tiny rivulets onhis cheeks and dripped off his clean-lined, square jaw. Still he ran,his breath unlabored yet coming in whispery aspirations from his greatlungs.

  The full length of Skyline Meadow he ran, jumping the small beginning ofWilder Creek with one great leap that scarcely interrupted the beautifulrhythm of his stride. At the far end of the clearing, snuggled betweentwo great pines that reached high into the blue, his squatty cabinshowed red-brown against the precipitous shoulder of Bear Top peak,covered thick with brush and scraggy timber whipped incessantly by thewind that blew over the mountain's crest.

  At the door Swan stopped and examined the crude fastening of the door;made himself certain, by private marks of his own, that none had enteredin his absence, and went in with a great sigh of satisfaction. It wasstill broad daylight, though the sun's rays slanted in through thewindow; but Swan lighted a lantern that hung on a nail behind the door,carried it across the neat little room, and set it down on the floorbeside the usual pioneer cupboard made simply of clean boxes nailedbottom against the wall. Swan had furnished a few extra frills to hiscupboard, for the ends of the boxes were fastened to hewn slabs standingupright and just clearing the floor. Near the upper shelf a row of nailsheld Swan's coffee cups,--four of them, thick and white, such as cheaprestaurants use.

  Swan hooked
a finger over the nail that held a cracked cup and glancedover his shoulder at Jack, sitting in the doorway with his keen nose tothe world.

  "You watch out now, Yack. I shall talk to my mother with my thoughts,"he said, drawing a hand across his forehead and speaking in breathlessgasps. "You watch."

  For answer Jack thumped his tail on the dirt floor and sniffed thebreeze, taking in his overlapping tongue while he did so. He licked hislips, looked over his shoulder at Swan, and draped his pink tongue downover his lower jaw again.

  "All right, now I talk," said Swan and pulled upon the nail in hisfingers.

  The cupboard swung toward him bodily, end slabs and all. He picked upthe lantern, stepped over the log sill and pulled the cupboard door intoplace again.

  Inside the dugout Swan set the lantern on a table, dropped wearily upona rough bench before it and looked at the jars beside him, lifted hishand and opened a compact, but thoroughly efficient field wireless"set." His right fingers dropped to the key, and the whining drone ofthe wireless rose higher and higher as he tuned up. He reached for hisreceivers, ducked his head and adjusted them with one hand, and sent acall spitting tiny blue sparks from the key under his fingers.

  He waited, repeating the call. His blue eyes clouded with anxiety andhe fumbled the adjustments, coaxing the current into perfect actionbefore he called again. Answer came, and Swan bent over the table,listening, his eyes fixed vacantly upon the opposite wall of the dugout.Then, his fingers flexing delicately, swiftly, he sent the message thattold how completely his big heart matched the big body:

  "Send doctor and trained nurse to Quirt ranch at once. Send men to Bear Top Pass, intercept man with young woman, or come to rescue if he don't cross. Have three men here with evidence to convict if we can save the girl who is valuable witness. Girl being abducted in fear of what she can tell. They plan to charge her with insanity. Urgent. Hurry. Come ready to fight.

  "S.V."

  Swan had a code, but codes require a little time in the composition of amessage, and time was the one thing he could not waste. He heard thegist of the message repeated to him, told the man at the other stationthat lives were at stake, and threw off the current.