by Grey, Zane
"Can you ride bareback?" he asked Allie.
Allie lied. Her first thought was to lead them astray as to her skill with a horse; and then it occurred to her that if she rode Fresno's saddle there might be an opportunity to use the gun.
Fresno leaped astride the mustang, and was promptly bucked off. The other men guffawed. Fresno swore and, picking himself up, tried again. This time the mustang behaved better, but it was plain he did not like the weight. Then Fresno started off, leading his own horse, and at a trot that showed he wanted to cover ground.
Allie heard the others quarreling over something, probably the gold Slingerland had been so many years in accumulating.
They rode on to where the valley opened into another, along which wound the old
St. Vrain and Laramie Trail. They kept to this, traveling east for a few miles, and then entered an intersecting valley, where some distance up they had a camp.
They had not taken the precaution to hide either packs or mules, and so far as
Allie could tell they had no fear of Indians. Probably they had crossed from
California, and, being dishonest and avoiding caravans and camps, they had not become fully acquainted with the perils of that region.
It was about noon when they arrived at this place. The sun was becoming blurred and a storm appeared brewing. Fresno dismounted, dropping the halter of the mustang. Then he let go his own bridle. The eyes he bent on Allie made her turn hers away as from something that could scorch and stain. He pulled her off the saddle, rudely, with coarse and meaning violence.
Allie pushed him back and faced him. In a way she had been sheltered all her life, yet she had lived among such men as this man, and she knew that resistance or pleadings were useless; they would only inflame him. She was not ready yet to court death.
"Wait," she said.
"A-huh!" he grunted, breathing heavily. He was an animal, slow- witted and brutal.
"Fresno, I am Durade's girl!" she went on.
"I thought I knowed you. But you're grown to be a woman an' a dam' pretty one."
Allie drew him aside, farther from the others, who had renewed a loud altercation. "Fresno, it's gold you want," she affirmed, rather than asked.
"Sure. But no small stake like thet'd be my choice ag'in' you," he leered, jerking a thumb back at his companions.
"You remember Horn?" went on Allie.
"Horn! The miner who made thet big strike out near Sacramento?"
"Yes, that's who I mean," replied Allie, hurriedly. "We; we left California in his caravan. He brought all his gold with him."
Fresno showed a growing interest.
"We were attacked by Sioux.... Horn buried all that gold; on the spot. All; all the others were killed; except me.... And I know where; " Allie shuddered with what the words brought up. But no memory could weaken her.
Fresno opened his large mouth to bawl this unexpected news to his comrades.
"Don't call them; don't tell them," Allie whispered. "There's only one condition.
I'll take you where that gold's hidden."
"Girl, I can make you tell," he replied, menacingly.
"No, you can't."
"You ain't so smart you think I'll let you go; jest for some gold?" he queried.
"Gold'll be cheap along this trail soon. An' girls like you are scarce."
"No, that's not what I meant.... Get rid of the others; and I'll take you where
Horn buried his gold."
Fresno stared at her. He grinned. The idea evidently surprised and flattered him; yet it was perplexing.
"But Frank; he's my pard; thet one with the black hat," he protested. "I couldn't do no dirt to Frank.... What's your game, girl? I'll beat you into tellin' me where thet gold is."
"Beating won't make me tell," replied Allie, with intensity. "Nothing will; if I don't want to. My game is for my life. You know I've no chance among four men like you."
"Aw, I don't know about thet," he blustered. "I can take care of you.... But, say, if you'd stand fer Frank, mebbe I'll take you up.... Girl, are you lyin' about thet gold?"
"No."
"Why didn't the trapper dig it up? You must hev told him."
"Because he was afraid to keep it in or near his cabin. We meant to leave it until we were ready to get out of the country."
That appeared plausible to Fresno and he grew more thoughtful.
Meanwhile the altercation among the other three ruffians assumed proportions that augured a fight.
"I'll divide this sack when I git good an' ready," declared Sandy.
"But, pard, thet's no square deal," protested Old Miles. "I'm a- gittin' mad. I seen you meant to keep it all."
The dark-faced ruffian shoved a menacing fist under Sandy's nose. "When do I git mine?" he demanded.
Fresno wheeled and called, "Frank, you come here!"
The other approached sullenly. "Fresno, thet Sandy is whole hog or none!" he exclaimed.
"Let 'em fight it out," replied Fresno. "We've got a bigger game.... Besides, they'll shoot each other up. Then we'll hev it all. Come, give 'em elbow room."
He led Allie and his horse away a little distance.
"Fetch them packs, Frank," he called. The mustang followed, and presently Frank came with one of the packs. Fresno slipped the saddle from his horse, and, laying it under a tree, he pulled gun and rifle from their sheaths. The gun he stuck in his belt; the rifle he leaned against a branch.
"Sandy'll plug Old Miles in jest another minnit," remarked Fresno.
"What's this other game?" queried Frank, curiously.
"It's gold, Frank; gold," replied Fresno; and in few words he told his comrade about Horn's buried treasure. But he did not mention the condition under which the girl would reveal its hiding-place. Evidently he had no doubt that he could force her to tell.
"Let's rustle," cried Frank, his dark face gleaming. "We want to git out of this country quick."
"You bet! An' I wonder when we'll be fetchin' up with them railroad camps we heerd about ... Camps full of gold an' whisky an' wimmen!"
"We've enough on our hands now," replied Frank. "Let's rustle fer thet; "
A gun-shot interrupted him. Then a hoarse curse rang out; and then two more reports from a different gun.
"Them last was Sandy's," observed Fresno, coolly. "An' of course they landed ...
Go see if Old Miles hit Sandy."
Frank strode off under the trees.
Allie had steeled herself to anything, and those shots warned her that now she had two less enemies to contend with, and that she must be quick to seize the first opportunity to act. She could leap upon the mustang, and if she was lucky she could get away. She could jump for the Winchester and surely shoot one of these villains, perhaps both of them. But the spirit that gave her the nerve to attempt either plan bade her wait, not too long, but longer, in the hope of a more favorable moment.
Frank returned to Fresno, and he carried the sack of gold that had caused dissension. Fresno laughed.
"Sandy's plugged hard; low down," said Frank. "He can't live. An' Old Miles is croaked."
"A-huh! Frank, I'll go git the other packs. An' you see what's in this sack," said Fresno.
When he got out of sight, Allie slipped the lasso from her waist.
"I don't need that hanging to me," she said.
"Sure you don't, sweetheart," replied the ruffian Frank. "Thet man Fresno is rough with ladies. Now I'm gentle. ... Come an' let me spill this sack in your lap."
"I guess not," replied Allie.
"Wal, you're sure a cat ... Look at her eyes! ... All right, don't git mad at me."
He spilled the contents of the sack out on the sand, and bent over it.
What had made Allie's eyes flash was the recognition of her opportunity. She did not hesitate an instant. First she looked to see just where the mustang stood.
He was near, with the rope dragging, half coiled. Allie suddenly noticed the head and ears of the mustang. He heard somethin
g. She looked up the valley slope and saw a file of Indians riding down, silhouetted against the sky. They were coming fast. For an instant Allie's senses reeled. Then she rallied. Her situation was desperate; almost hopeless. But here was the issue of life or death, and she met it.
In one bound she had the rifle. Long before, she had ascertained that it was loaded. The man Frank heard the click of the raising hammer.
"What're you doin'?" he demanded, fiercely.
"Don't get up!" warned Allie. She stepped backward nearer the mustang. "Look up the slope! ... Indians!"
But he paid no heed. He jumped up and strode toward her.
"Look, man!" cried Allie, piercingly. He came on. Then Fresno appeared, running, white of face,
Allie, without leveling the rifle, fired at Frank, even as his clutching hands struck the weapon.
He halted, with sudden gasp, sank to his knees, fell against the tree, and then staggered up again.
Allie had to drop the rifle to hold the frightened mustang. She mounted him, urged him away, and hauled in the dragging lasso. Once clear of brush and stones, he began to run. Allie saw a clear field ahead, but there were steep rocky slopes boxing the valley. She would be hemmed in. She got the mustang turned, and ran among the trees, keeping far over to the left. She heard beating hoofs off to the right, crashings in brush, and then yells. An opening showed the slope alive with Indians riding hard. Some were heading down, and others up the valley to cut off her escape; the majority were coming straight for the clumps of trees.
Fresno burst out of cover mounted on Sandy's bay horse. He began to shoot. And the Indians fired in reply. All along the slopes rose white puffs of smoke, and bullets clipped dust from the ground in front of Allie. Fresno drew ahead. The bay horse was swift. Allie pulled her mustang more to the left, hoping to get over the ridge, which on that side was not high. To her dismay, Indians appeared there, too. She wheeled back to the first course and saw that she must attempt what Fresno was trying.
Then the robber Frank appeared, riding out of the cedars. The Indian riders closed rapidly in on him, shooting all the time. His horse was hit, and stumbling, it almost threw the rider. Then the horse ran wildly; could not be controlled. One Indian was speeding from among the others. He had a bow bent double, and suddenly it straightened. Allie saw dust fly from Frank's back. He threw up his arms and slid off under the horse, the saddle slipping with him.
The horse, wounded and terrorized, began to plunge, dragging man and saddle.
Ahead, far to the right, Fresno was gaining on his pursuers. He was out of range now, but the Indians kept shooting. Then Allie's situation became so perilous that she saw only the Indians to the left, with their mustangs stretched out so as to intercept her before she got out into the wider valley.
Her mustang did not need to be goaded. The yells behind and on all sides, and the whistling bullets, drove him to his utmost. Allie had all she could do to ride him. She was nearly blinded by the stinging wind, yet she saw those lithe, half-naked savages dropping gradually back and she knew that she was gaining.
Her hair became loose and streamed in the wind. She heard the yells then. No more rifles cracked. Her pursuers had discovered that she was a girl and were bent on her capture.
Fleet and strong the mustang ran, sure-footed, leaping the washes, and outdistancing the pursuers on the left. Allie thought she could turn into the big valley and go down the main trail before the Indians chasing Fresno discovered her. But vain hope! Across the width of the valley where it opened out, a string of Indians appeared, riding back to meet her.
A long dust line, dotted with bobbing objects, to the right. Behind a close-packed bunch of hard riders. In front an opening trap of yelling savages.
She was lost. And suddenly she remembered the fate of her mother. Her spirit sank, her strength fled. Everything blurred around her. She lost control of the mustang. She felt him turning, slowing, the yells burst hideously in her ears.
Like her mother's; her fate. A roar of speedy hoof-beats seemed to envelop her, and her nostrils were filled with dust. They were upon her. She prayed for a swift stroke; then for her soul. All darkened; her senses were failing. Neale's face glimmered there; in space; and again was lost. She was slipping; slipping; A rude and powerful hold fastened upon her. Then all faded.
Chapter 13
When Allie Lee came back from that black gap in her consciousness she was lying in a circular tent of poles and hides.
For a second she was dazed. But the Indian designs and trappings in the tent brought swift realization; she had been brought captive to the Sioux encampment.
She raised her head. She was lying on a buffalo robe; her hands and feet were bound; the floor was littered with blankets and beaded buckskin garments.
Through a narrow opening she saw that the day was far spent; Indians and horses passed to and fro; there was a bustle outside and jabber of Indian jargon; the wind blew hard and drops of rain pattered on the tent.
Allie could scarcely credit the evidence of her own senses. Here she was alive!
She tried to see and feel if she had been hurt. Her arms and body appeared bruised, and they ached, but she was not in any great pain. Her hopes arose. If the Sioux meant to kill her they would have done it at once. They might intend to reserve her for torture, but more likely their object was to make her a captive in the tribe. In that case Slingerland would surely find her and get her freedom.
Rain began to fall more steadily. Allie smelled smoke and saw the reflection of fires on the wall of the tent. Presently a squaw entered. She was a huge woman, evidently old, very dark of face, and wrinkled. She carried a bowl and platter which she set down, and, grunting, she began to untie Allie's hands. Then she gave the girl a not ungentle shake. Allie sat up.
"Do you; do they mean; to harm and kill me?" asked Allie.
The squaw shook her head to indicate she did not understand, but her gestures toward the things she had brought were easy to interpret. Allie partook of the
Indian food, which was coarse and unpalatable, but it satisfied her hunger. When she had finished the squaw laboriously tied the thongs round Allie's wrists, and, pushing her back on the robe, covered her up and left her.
After that it grew dark rapidly, and the rain increased to a torrent. Allie, hardly realizing how cold she had been, began to warm up under the woolly robe.
The roar of the rain drowned all other sounds outside. She wondered if
Slingerland had returned to his cabin, and, if so, what he had done. She felt sorry for him. He would take the loss hard. But he would trail her; he would hear of a white girl captive in the Sioux camp and she would soon be free. How fortunate she was! A star of Providence had watched over her. The prayer she had breathed had been answered. She thought of Neale. She would live for him; she would pray and fight off harm; she would find him if he could not find her. And lying there bound and helpless in an Indian camp, captive of the relentless
Sioux, for all she knew in peril of death, with the roar of wind and rain around her, and the darkness like pitch, she yet felt her pulses throb and thrill and her spirit soar at remembrance of the man she loved. In the end she would find
Neale; and it was with his name trembling on her lips that she fell asleep.
More than once during the night she awoke in the pitchy darkness to hear the wind blow and the rain roar. The dawn broke cold and gray, and the storm gradually diminished. Allie lay alone for hours, beginning to suffer by reason of her bonds and cramped limbs. The longer she was left alone the more hopeful her case seemed.
In the afternoon she was visited by the squaw, released and fed as before. Allie made signs that she wanted to have her feet free, so that she could get up and move about. The squaw complied with her wishes. Allie could scarcely stand; she felt dizzy; a burning, aching sensation filled her limbs.
Presently the old woman led her out. Allie saw a great number of tents, many horses and squaws and children, but few braves. The encampme
nt lay in a wide valley, similar to all the valleys of that country, except that it was larger. A stream in flood swept yellow and noisy along the edge of the encampment. The children ran at sight of Allie, and the women stared. It was easy to see that they disapproved of her. The few braves looked at her with dark, steady, unfathomable eyes. The camp appeared rich in color; in horses and trappings; evidently this tribe was not poor. Allie saw utensils, blankets, clothing; many things never made by Indians.
She was led to a big lodge with a tent adjoining. Inside an old Indian brave, grizzled and shrunken, smoked before a fire; and as Allie was pushed into the tent a young Indian squaw appeared. She was small, with handsome, scornful face and dark, proud eyes, gorgeously clad in elaborate beaded and fringed buckskin; evidently an Indian princess or a chief's wife. She threw Allie a venomous glance as she went out. Allie heard the old squaw's grunting voice, and the young one's quick and passionate answers.
There was nothing for Allie to do but await developments. She rested, rubbing her sore wrists and ankles, thankful she had been left unbound. She saw that she was watched, particularly by the young woman, who often walked to the opening to glance in. The interior of this tent presented a contrast to the other in which she had been confined. It was dry and clean, with floor of rugs and blankets; and all around hung beaded and painted and feathered articles, some for wear, and others for what purpose she could not guess.
The afternoon passed without further incident until the old squaw entered, manifestly to feed Allie, and tie her up as heretofore. The younger squaw came in to watch the latter process.
Allie spoke to her and held out her bound hands appealingly. This elicited no further response than an intent look.
Night came. Allie lay awake a good while, and then she fell asleep. Next morning she was awakened by an uproar. Whistling and trampling mustangs, whoops of braves, the babel of many voices, barking of dogs, movement, bustle, sound; all attested to the return of the warriors. Allie's heart sank for a moment; this would be the time of trial for her. But the clamor subsided without any disturbance near her tent. By and by the old squaw returned to attend to her needs. This time on the way out she dropped a blanket curtain between the tent and the lodge.
