The Zane Grey Megapack

by Zane Grey

  Some time passed with no shots and with no movement inside the cabin. Slowly the blue smoke wafted out of the door. The sunlight danced in gleams through the holes in the ragged roof. There was a pleasant swish of pine branches against the cabin.

  “Listen,” whispered Bud, hoarsely. “I heerd a pony snort.”

  Then the rapid beat of hard hoofs on the trail was followed by several shots from the hillside. Soon the clatter of hoofs died away in the distance.

  “Who was thet?” asked three of Buell’s men in unison.

  “Take it from me, Greaser’s sneaked,” replied Buell.

  “How’d he git out?”

  With that Bud and Bill began kicking in the piles of brush.

  “Aha! Hyar’s the place,” sang out Bud.

  In one corner of the back wall a rotten log had crumbled, and here it was plain to all eyes that Greaser had slipped out. I remembered that on this side of the cabin there was quite a thick growth of young pine. Greaser had been able to conceal himself as he crawled toward the horses, and had probably been seen at the last moment. Herky-Jerky was the only one to make comment.

  “I ain’t wishin’ Greaser any hard luck, but hope he carried away a couple Of 45-90 slugs somewheres in his yaller carcass.”

  “It’d be worth a lot to the feller who can show me a way out of this mess,” said Buell, mopping the beads of sweat from his face.

  I got up—it seemed to me my mind was made up for me—and walked into the light of the room.

  “Buell, I can show you the way,” I said, quietly.

  “What!” His mouth opened in astonishment. “Speak up, then.”

  The other men stepped forward, and I felt their eyes upon me.

  “Let me go free. Let me out of here to find Dick Leslie! Then when you go to jail in Holston for stealing lumber I’ll say a good word for you and your men. There won’t be any charge of kidnapping or violence.”

  After a long pause, during which Buell bored me with gimlet eyes, he said, in a queer voice: “Say thet again.”

  I repeated it, and added that he could not gain anything now by holding me a prisoner. I think he saw what I meant, but hated to believe it.

  “It’s too late,” I said, as he hesitated.

  “You mean Leslie lied an’ you fooled me—you did get to Holston?” he shouted. He was quivering with rage, and the red flamed in his neck and face.

  “Buell, I did get to Holston and I did send word to Washington,” I went on, hurriedly for I had begun to lose my calmness. “I wrote to my father. He knows a friend of the Chief Forester who is close to the Department at Washington. By this time Holston is full of officers of the forest service. Perhaps they’re already at your mill. Anyway, the game’s up, and you’d better let me go.”

  Buell’s face lost all its ruddy color, slowly blanched, and changed terribly. The boldness fled, leaving it craven, almost ghastly. Realizing he had more to fear from the law than conviction of his latest lumber steal, he made at me in blind anger.

  “Hold on!” Herky-Jerky yelled, as he jumped between Buell and me.

  Buell’s breath was a hiss, and the words he bit between his clinched teeth were unintelligible. In that moment he would have killed me.

  Herky-Jerky met his onslaught, and flung him back. Then, with his hand on the butt of his revolver, he spoke:

  “Buell, hyar’s where you an’ me split. You’ve bungled your big deal. The kid stacked the deck on you. But I ain’t a-goin’ to see you do him harm fer it.”

  “Herky’s right, boss,” put in Bill, “thar’s no sense in addin’ murder to this mess. Strikes me you’re in bad enough.”

  “So thet’s your game? You’re double-crossin’ me now—all on a chance at kidnappin’ for ransom money. Well, I’m through with the kid an’ all of you. Take thet from me!”

  “You skunk!” exclaimed Herky-Jerky, with the utmost cheerfulness.

  “Wal, Buell,” said Bill, in cool disdain, “comsiderin’ my fondness fer fresh air an’ open country, I can’t say I’m sorry to dissolve future relashuns. I was only in jail onct, an’ I couldn’t breathe free.”

  It was then Buell went beside himself with rage. He raised his huge fists, and shook himself, and plunged about the room, cursing. Suddenly he picked up an axe, and began chopping at the rotten log above the hole where Greaser had slipped out. Bud yelled at him, so did Bill; Herky-Jerky said unpleasant things. But Buell did not hear them. He hacked and dug away like one possessed. The dull, sodden blows fell fast, scattering pieces of wood about the floor. The madness that was in Buell was the madness to get out, to escape the consequences of his acts. His grunts and pants as he worked showed his desperate energy. Then he slammed the axe against the wall, and, going down flat, began to crawl through the opening. Buell was a thick man, and the hole appeared too small. He stuck in it, but he squeezed and flattened himself, finally worked through, and disappeared.

  A sudden quiet fell upon his departure.

  “Hands up!”

  Jim Williams’s voice! It was strange to see Herky and Bud flash up their arms without turning. But I wheeled quickly. Bill, too, had his hands high in the air.

  In the sunlight of the doorway stood Jim Williams. Low down, carelessly, it seemed, he held two long revolvers. He looked the same easy, slow Texan I remembered. But the smile was not now in his eyes, and his lips were set in a thin, hard line.

  CHAPTER XVI

  THE FOREST’S GREATEST FOE

  Jim Williams sent out a sharp call. From the canyon-slope came answering shouts. There were sounds of heavy bodies breaking through brush, followed by the thudding of feet. Then men could be plainly heard running up the trail. Jim leaned against the door-post, and the three fellows before him stood rigid as stone.

  Suddenly a form leaped past Jim. It was Dick Leslie, bareheaded, his hair standing like a lion’s mane, and he had a cocked rifle in his hands. Close behind him came old Hiram Bent, slower, more cautious, but no less formidable. As these men glanced around with fiery eyes the quick look of relief that shot across their faces told of ungrounded fears.

  “Where’s Buell?” sharply queried Dick.

  Jim Williams did not reply, and a momentary silence ensued.

  “Buell lit out after the Greaser,” said Bill, finally.

  “Cut and run, did he? That’s his speed,” grimly said Dick. “Here, Bent, find some rope. We’ve got to tie up these jacks.”

  “Hands back, an’ be graceful like. Quick!” sang out Jim Williams.

  It seemed to me human beings could not have more eagerly and swiftly obeyed an order. Herky and Bill and Bud jerked their arms down and extended their hands out behind. After that quick action they again turned into statues. There was a breathless suspense in every act. And there was something about Jim Williams then that I did not like. I was in a cold perspiration for fear one of the men would make some kind of a move. As the very mention of the Texan had always caused a little silence, so his presence changed the atmosphere of that cabin room. Before his coming there had been the element of chance—a feeling of danger, to be sure, but a healthy spirit of give and take. That had all changed with Jim Williams’s words “Hands up!” There was now something terrible hanging in the balance. I had but to look at Jim’s eyes, narrow slits of blue fire, at the hard jaw and tight lips, to see a glimpse of the man who thought nothing of life. It turned me sick, and I was all in a tremor till Dick and Hiram had the men bound fast.

  Then Jim dropped the long, blue guns into the holsters on his belt.

  “Ken, I shore am glad to see you,” said he.

  The soft, drawling voice, the sleepy smile, the careless good-will all came back, utterly transforming the man. This was the Jim Williams I had come to love. With a wrench I recovered myself.

  “Are you all right, Ken?” asked Dick. And old Hiram questioned me with a worried look. This anxiety marked the difference between these men and Williams. I hastened to assure my friends that I was none the worse for my captivity
.

  “Ken, your little gun doesn’t shoot where it points,” said Jim. “I shore had a bead on the Greaser an’ missed him. First Greaser I ever missed.”

  “You shot his ear off,” I replied. “He came running back covered with blood. I never saw a man so scared.”

  “Wal, I shore am glad,” drawled Jim.

  “He made off with your mustang,” said Dick.

  This information lessened my gladness at Greaser’s escape. Still, I would rather have had him get away on my horse than stay to be shot by Jim.

  Dick called me to go outside with him. My pack was lying under one of the pines near the cabin, and examination proved that nothing had been disturbed. We found the horses grazing up the canyon. Buell had taken the horse of one of his men, and had left his own superb bay. Most likely he had jumped astride the first animal he saw. Dick said I could have Buell’s splendid horse. I had some trouble in catching him, as he was restive and spirited, but I succeeded eventually, and we drove the other horses and ponies into the glade. My comrades then fell to arguing about what to do with the prisoners. Dick was for packing them off to Holston. Bent talked against this, saying it was no easy matter to drive bound men over rough trails, and Jim sided with him.

  Once, while they were talking, I happened to catch Herky-Jerky’s eye. He was lying on his back in the light from the door. Herky winked at me, screwed up his face in the most astonishing manner, all of which I presently made out to mean that he wanted to speak to me. So I went over to him.

  “Kid, you ain’t a-goin’ to fergit I stalled off Buell?” whispered Herky. “He’d hev done fer you, an’ thet’s no lie. You won’t fergit when we’re rustled down to Holston?”

  “I’ll remember, Herky,” I promised, and I meant to put in a good word for him. Because, whether or not his reasons had to do with kidnapping and ransom, he had saved me from terrible violence, perhaps death.

  It was decided that we would leave the prisoners in the cabin and ride down to the sawmill. Hiram was to return at once with officers. If none could be found at the mill he was to guard the prisoners and take care of them till Dick could send officers to relieve him. Thereupon we cooked a meal, and I was put to feeding Herky and his companions. Dick ordered me especially to make them drink water, as it might be a day or longer before Hiram could get back. I made Bill drink, and easily filled up Herky; but Bud, who never drank anything save whiskey, gave me a job. He refused with a growl, and I insisted with what I felt sure was Christian patience. Still he would not drink, so I put the cup to his lips and tipped it. Bud promptly spat the water all over me. And I as promptly got another cupful and dashed it all over him.

  “Bud, you’ll drink or I’ll drown you,” I declared.

  So while Bill cracked hoarse jokes and Herky swore his pleasure, I made Bud drink all he could hold. Jim got a good deal of fun out of it, but Dick and Hiram never cracked a smile. Possibly the latter two saw something far from funny in the outlook; at any rate, they were silent, almost moody, and in a hurry to be off.

  Dick was so anxious to be on the trail that he helped me pack my pony, and saddled Buell’s horse. It was one thing to admire the big bay from the ground, and it was another to be astride him. Target—that was his name—had a spirited temper, an iron mouth, and he had been used to a sterner hand than mine. He danced all over the glade before he decided to behave himself. Riding him, however, was such a great pleasure that a more timid boy than I would have taken the risk. He would not let any horse stay near him; he pulled on the bridle, and leaped whenever a branch brushed him. I had been on some good horses, but never on one with a swing like his, and I grew more and more possessed with the desire to let him run.

  “Like as not he’ll bolt with you. Hold him in, Ken!” called Dick, as he mounted. Then he shouted a final word to the prisoners, saying they would be looked after, and drove the pack-ponies into the trail. As we rode out we passed several of the horses that we had decided to leave behind, and as they wanted to follow us it was necessary to drive them back.

  I had my hands full with the big, steel-jawed steed I was trying to hold in. It was the hardest work of the kind that I had ever undertaken. I had never worn spurs, but now I began to wish for them. We traveled at a good clip, as fast as the pack-ponies could go, and covered a long distance by camping-time. I was surprised that we did not get out of the canyon. The place where we camped was a bare, rocky opening, with a big pool in the center. While we were making camp it suddenly came over me that I was completely bewildered as to our whereabouts. I could not see the mountain peaks and did not know one direction from another. Even when Jim struck out of our trail and went off alone toward Holston I could not form an idea of where I was. All this, however, added to my feeling of the bigness of Penetier.

  Dick was taciturn, and old Hiram, when I tried to engage him in conversation, cut me off with the remark that I would need my breath on the morrow. This somewhat offended me. So I made my bed and rolled into it. Not till I had lain quiet for a little did I realize that every bone and muscle felt utterly worn out. I seemed to deaden and stiffen more each moment. Presently Dick breathed heavily and Hiram snored. The red glow of fire paled and died. I heard the clinking of the hobbles on Target, and a step, now and then, of the other horses. The sky grew ever bluer and colder, the stars brighter and larger, and the night wind moaned in the pines. I heard a coyote bark, a trout splash in the pool, and the hoot of an owl. Then the sounds and the clear, cold night seemed to fade away.

  When Dick roused me the forest was shrouded in gray, cold fog. No time was lost in getting breakfast, driving in the horses, and packing. Hardly any words were exchanged. My comrades appeared even soberer than on the day before. The fog lifted quickly that morning, and soon the sun was shining.

  We got under way at once, and took to the trail at a jog-trot. I knew my horse better and he was more used to me, which made it at least bearable to both of us. Before long the canyon widened out into the level forest land thickly studded with magnificent pines. I had again the feeling of awe and littleness. Everything was solemn and still. The morning air was cool, and dry as toast; the smell of pitch-pine choked my nostrils. We rode briskly down the broad brown aisles, across the sunny glades, under the murmuring pines.

  The old hunter was leading our train, and evidently knew perfectly what he was about. Unexpectedly he halted, bringing us up short. The pack-ponies lined up behind us. Hiram looked at Dick.

  “I smell smoke,” he said, sniffing at the fragrant air.

  Dick stared at the old hunter and likewise sniffed. I followed their lead, but all I could smell was the thick, piney odor of the forest.

  “I don’t catch it,” replied Dick.

  We continued on our journey perhaps for a quarter of a mile, and then Hiram Bent stopped again. This time he looked significantly at Dick without speaking a word.

  “Ah!” exclaimed Dick. I thought his tone sounded queer, but it did not at the moment strike me forcibly. We rode on. The forest became lighter, glimpses of sky showed low down through the trees, we were nearing a slope.

  For the third time the old hunter brought us to a stop, this time on the edge of a slope that led down to the rolling foot-hills. I could only stand and gaze. Those open stretches, sloping down, all green and brown and beautiful, robbed me of thought.

  “Look thar!” cried Hiram Bent.

  His tone startled me. I faced about, to see his powerful arm outstretched and his finger pointing. His stern face added to my sudden concern. Something was wrong with my friends. I glanced in the direction he indicated. There were two rolling slopes or steps below us, and they were like gigantic swells of a green ocean. Beyond the second one rose a long, billowy, bluish cloud. It was smoke. All at once I smelled smoke, too. It came on the fresh, strong wind.

  “Forest fire!” exclaimed Dick.

  “Wal, I reckon,” replied Hiram, tersely. “An’ look thar, an’ thar!”

  Far to the right and far to the left, over the
green, swelling foot-hills, rose that rounded, changing line of blue cloud.

  “The slash! the slash! Buell’s fired the slash!” cried Dick, as one suddenly awakened. “Penetier will go!”

  “Wal, I reckon. But thet’s not the worst.”

  “You mean—”

  “Mebbe we can’t get out. The forest’s dry as powder, an’ thet’s the worst wind we could have. These canyon-draws suck in the wind, an’ fire will race up them fast as a hoss can run.”

  “Good God, man! What’ll we do?”

  “Wait. Mebbe it ain’t so bad—yet. Now let’s all listen.”

  The faces of my friends, more than words, terrified me. I listened with all my ears while watching with all my eyes. The line of rolling cloud expanded, seemed to burst and roll upward, to bulge and mushroom. In a few short moments it covered the second slope as far to the right and left as we could see. The under surface was a bluish white. It shot up swiftly, to spread out into immense, slow-moving clouds of creamy yellow.

  “Hear thet?” Hiram Bent shook his gray head as one who listened to dire tidings.

  The wind, sweeping up the slope of Penetier, carried a strong, pungent odor of burning pitch. It brought also a low roar, not like the wind in the trees or rapid-rushing water. It might have been my imagination, but I fancied it was like the sound of flames blowing through the wood of a campfire.

  “Fire! Fire!” exclaimed Hiram, with another ominous shake of his head. “We must be up an’ doin’.”

  “The forest’s greatest foe! Old Penetier is doomed!” cried Dick Leslie. “That line of fire is miles long, and is spreading fast. It’ll shoot up the canyons and crisscross the forest in no time. Bent, what’ll we do?”