by Zane Grey
“Wal, Lady, look the ranch over, ’cause—who knows—you might be mistress of it some day,” he drawled, in cool audacity, though he carefully avoided her eyes.
He heard her catch her breath, and then, a little too long afterward to seem convincing, she uttered a silvery peal of laughter. It jarred on Kalispel, until he reflected that he deserved just such a rebuke.
During the camp tasks she was as helpful as on the preceding night, but she made no response to his several remarks and he observed that she held her chin pretty high. He wondered what she would do when, sooner or later, something happened to frighten her. That time would surely come. The girl had scarcely any conception of what lay in store for her.
The sun went down in golden splendor that evening. Kalispel could not have ordered a sunset more calculated to enhance the natural beauty of that impressive bend in the river and the slow-swelling slopes of silver to the gold-fired peaks. A troop of deer stalked out of the woods to stand on a gravel bar, and a flock of ducks winged swift flight along the shimmering water. Kalispel was quick to call Sydney’s attention to the wild element that made the picture perfect. If she deigned to look, she certainly did not make any comment. After supper she stole away to disappear along the river bank. Kalispel had the satisfaction, presently, of feeling that she would indeed have to be blind to miss the extraordinary afterglow of sunset.
The expanding, slow-moving clouds spread a canopy of burning rose over the scene. And the valley filled with clear lilac light that seemed more enchantment than reality. Diamonds of rose shone on the willows, and the winding river slid along, murmuring and singing, mirroring the blaze from the sky and the fading purple of the slopes.
Dusk fell on the valley floor, while high on the black-fringed, white-capped peaks the gold still lingered. The lowing of the cattle, the raucous he-haw of a burro, the baa-baa of sheep broke the solitude and kept the wilderness from laying its mantle over the valley.
Kalispel put up Sydney’s little tent and unrolled her blankets inside, then went over to renew acquaintance with the settler. He was to learn that he might take a shorter route to the Middle Fork, and save miles farther on a trail cut into the hills on the west side of the Salmon, and thirty miles over the hills graded down into a valley called The Cove. From this point the trail followed down Camus Creek to the Middle Fork. The settler assured Kalispel that he would have no difficulty working his way up the Middle Fork as far as he cared to go. The valley boxed here and there into canyons, but these could be traversed by fording the river.
When Kalispel returned to camp, the fire had burned low, and as the Blairs were not in evidence he concluded they had gone to bed. He unrolled his own blankets back near the road so that in case any riders came along they would surely awaken him.
He was up at dawn and had the horses and pack-animals in, and breakfast ready by the time the sun burst red up the cleft in the valley. Blair rolled out, lame and sore, but cheerfully grumbling, and he gasped at the ice-cold water.
“Say, what a morning!” ejaculated Blair as he ferociously used a towel on face and hands. “This isn’t water! It’s ice....Enough to make a man out of me!... Have you called Sydney?”
“Reckon I’d better risk it,” replied Kalispel, anxiously, and making a bold front before the little tent he called out, lustily: “Miss Blair!... Miss Blair!—come an’ get it!” No answer. After a moment he tried again, louder. “Miss Sydney!” Receiving no reply, he shouted, “Hey, you Sydney!” And as that elicited no response, he yelled, bravely, “Hey, Syd!”
A moment’s rather pregnant silence was finally broken by a clear, cold, wide-awake voice. “Mr. Emerson, are you calling me?”
“I reckon—I was,” replied Kalispel, confusedly.
“What do you want?”
“Wal, the fact is it’s long past time to get up. Breakfast is waitin’—nice buckwheat cakes an’ maple syrup. Here’s some hot water I’ll set by your tent. An’ the horses are waitin’!”
“Oh, is that all?” she inquired, slightingly.
“Wal, not exactly all,” he drawled. “I’m shore powerful keen to see you again in that spankin’ cowgirl outfit.”
As he had calculated, this speech surely suppressed her. He dispatched his breakfast before Blair was half finished, and was saddling the horses when Sydney appeared. She deigned him a rather formal good morning, but to her father she was gay and voluble. Kalispel went on serenely with his work, somehow divining this glorious morning that all was well. Sydney did not come near him. She studiously averted her face when occasion made his approach necessary, but when he was quite distant, then her dark glance sought him and hung upon his movements. In less than an hour he was packed and ready to go.
Blair had to mount his horse from a stone. But Sydney swung herself up, lithe and agile. Then Kalispel took advantage of the moment to approach her.
“Did you tighten you cinch?” he asked, casually.
“Oh, I forgot. I’ll get off an’ do it.”
“Didn’t I tell you always to feel your cinch before climbin’ on?”
“Yes, I believe you did, Mr. Emerson,” she replied, curtly, and the dark eyes lowered coolly upon him.
“Wal, why didn’t you, then? Shore I don’t care if your saddle slips an’ you get a spill. But you hate so to be taken for a tenderfoot. An’ some day we’ll be meetin’ people.”
“Pray don’t concern yourself.”
“Will you move your leg, please, an’ let me tighten this cinch? ... Wal, it shore was loose. Do you know a horse is smart? He’ll swell himself up when you saddle him....There, I reckon that will hold.”
Kalispel transferred his hand to the pommel of her saddle and gave it a shake, after the habit of horsemen, then he let it rest there and looked up at her.
“Are you havin’ a nice time?”
“Lovely, thank you,” she replied, with averted face.
“Do you want our ride to last for days?”
“I’m not tired of the ride—as yet,” she returned, distantly.
“Sydney.”
“Were you not in a hurry to start?” she queried, icily.
“I made you angry with that fool speech. Please forgive me.”
“You are quite mistaken, Mr. Emerson.”
“Tell me, Sydney,” he implored. “Don’t you like this place? Couldn’t it be made a wonderful ranch—an’ a beautiful home?”
Then she turned to look down into his eyes.
“It has not struck me particularly,” she replied. “There have been pretty places all along the river.”
“Aw!” he exclaimed, in bitter disappointment, and he wheeled to his horse.
Soon Kalispel faced the winding strip of road, the shining river, the notch of the valley; and the vigilant habit of looking back reasserted itself. Two hours of leisurely travel passed. According to landmarks he had been told to look for, he was approaching the point where he soon must strike off the road on the trail to The Cove. He had spied the green-willowed mouth of a gully in the hills and felt relieved that soon he would be leaving the river, when, upon looking back a last time, he espied three horsemen with pack-animals not far behind.
Kalispel was in the lead. He reined his horse and let the string of burros pass by. Blair caught up with him, and lastly the reluctant Sydney.
“Slow today, eh? Not steppin’ high an’ handsome like yesterday,” gibed Kalispel.
“You took the lead, so I fell behind,” replied the girl.
“Wal, you can go ahead now, ’cause if my eyes don’t fool me I’m in for trouble,” retorted Kalispel.
“Trouble?—What do you mean?” she rejoined, quickly.
“Emerson! There are three horsemen coming. Are they following us?” ejaculated Blair, anxiously.
The three riders came on at a trot. Their seat in the saddle, their garb and general appearance, proclaimed to Kalispel’s experienced eye that they were Westerners. In a few moments more he recognized the leader and had no doubt as to the i
dentity of the other two.
“Just as I figured,” muttered Kalispel, angrily.
“Who are they, Emerson?” asked Blair, hurriedly.
“Pritchard an’ his pards
“Oh!” cried Sydney.
“Blair, go on with your girl till I catch up.”
“I don’t want to do that, Emerson,” rejoined Blair, nervously. “I ought to stick with you....Do you think they mean violence? ... Sydney, you ride on.”
“I shall not,” she declared.
“Blair, drag her horse to one side—pronto!” ordered Kalispel, sharply.
He slid out of his saddle and blocked the road. The approaching trio slowed to a trot, then a walk, and finally halted in front of Kalispel. Pritchard’s lean, gray visage needed no speech to confirm Kalispel’s suspicion.
CHAPTER
* * *
4
HOWDY, Kalispel,” called the gambler, coolly, making a point of deliberately lighting a cigarette. “Have you turned road-agent, along with your other accomplishments?”
“Now I got you placed, Pritchard,” snapped Kalispel. “I set in a game with you once at Butte. An’ my pardner reckoned you slick with the cards?”
“Case of mistaken identity,” returned the other, puffing a cloud of smoke. Evidently he thought he had the situation in hand. His companions sat nervously in their saddles. “I ain’t denyin’ any compliments about my game. Those days if a man wasn’t slick with the cards he’d be a lamb among wolves....Are you holdin’ us up?”
“I reckon you’re trailin’ me.”
“Wrong again. Haskell an’ Selby here are goin’ to Challis with me.”
“You’re a liar, Pritchard.”
“Wal, I’m not arguin’ the case with you, Kalispel. If you’ll let us pass we’ll ride on, mindin’ our own business.”
Kalispel concluded that it would be a wise move on his part to let the trio get ahead. Pritchard manifestly would avoid a clash, but there was little doubt that he wanted to keep track of the Blairs.
“Pritchard, you an’ your pards mozey along. An’ don’t make the mistake to come slippin’ along on my back trail again,” snapped Kalispel, and strode aside to let the restive pack-animals and saddle-horses go by.
“Blair,” called Pritchard as he rode on, “you’ll regret exchangin’ our deal for whatever this cowboy has sprung on you.”
“All right, Pritchard,” replied Blair. “It couldn’t be much worse than yours and it’s my business.”
“Wal, we wasn’t after your girl, anyway. You’ll wake up some mornin’ to find her gone.”
Kalispel was not of a caliber to let that gibe pass. He concluded that the whistle of a bullet by the gambler’s ear would be more effective for the future than any verbal threat. Whereupon he whipped out his gun and took a snap shot at the top of Pritchard’s high-crowned sombrero. He knocked it off, too. The horses plunged. The man on the off side shouted: “Rustle, you damn fool! Thet fellar is rank poison.”
Pritchard did not even look back, let alone halt to get his sombrero. He spurred after his galloping comrades, who already had the pack-horses on the run. Kalispel flipped his gun and, sheathing it, he walked forward to pick up the gambler’s hat. The bullet had cut a furrow across the crown. Returning, he hung the sombrero on the pommel of Blair’s saddle.
“Just to show you I wasn’t intendin’ him any hurt,” he said. “But I ought to have shot his leg off. Reckon I was mad enough to....Blair, they were followin’ us as shore as you’re born. But it hasn’t struck them yet that we’re turnin’ off into the mountains pronto. They’ll find out, though, an’ if they track us again there’ll be real trouble. I’m darn sorry. For two bits I’d call the deal off with you. If I had the money I’d pay you what——”
“See here, Kalispel,” interrupted Blair, earnestly, “this incident didn’t please me, but I’m getting hunches, as you call them. If Sydney and I have to get used to these nice gentle ways you Westerners have—well, I think we’re lucky to be with you. That’s all.”
“It’s pretty straight talk. But look at Sydney’s face.”
That sweet face had indeed not recovered from the fright of the meeting and Kalispel’s sudden termination of it.
“A little pale around the gills,” laughed Blair. “Why, boy, three days ago she would have fainted! Sydney’s doing fine.”
“I shore say so, too. But with me it’s a question of what she thinks.” Kalispel stepped close to Sydney’s horse and looked up at her. “Girl, for a tenderfoot you’ve got nerve. I admire you heaps—But if you’ve got the littlest doubt of me I won’t go on with this deal. I’m askin’ you to be plumb honest.”
“Doubt of—you?” she asked, tremulously.
“Yes. You heard what that hombre said. I reckon my deal with you an’ your father does look kind of fishy. It’s not too late to turn back, if you go on into the wilds with me you couldn’t find your way back.”
“I don’t want to turn back. I told you I trusted you.”
“Wal, I’m not shore ya do. You hardly spoke to me this mornin’.”
His simplicity might have been responsible for the break in her gravity. At any rate, she flushed and smiled.
“After all, I have to obey Dad,” she said. “And he seems to swear by you.”
“All flatterin’ enough. But your dad hasn’t a ghost of a show to see these gold-diggin’s unless you swear by me, too.”
“That’s asking a great deal, Mr. Kalispel.”
“What do you think of me?” demanded Kalispel, stubbornly.
“Well, if you compel me—I think you are a devil and a flirt.”
“Aw—Miss Sydney!” burst out Kalispel, in dismay.
“And very impudent—and inclined to be conceited—and an atrocious cook—and a domineering fellow—and a blood-thirsty Westerner—and——”
“Wal, the deal is off,” interrupted Kalispel, throwing up his hands.
“But I willingly trust my honor and my life in your hands,” she concluded, changing from jest to earnest.
Kalispel felt the hot blood smart in his weatherbeaten neck and face. Unconsciously he had demanded the very answer she had granted, but now that it was delivered he seemed to have overstepped himself again.
“Sydney, I just had to know,” he returned, huskily. “I’m the doubtin’ one. An’ I shore don’t deserve your kindness, though I swear I do your trust.... So now if you say we’ll ride on—wal, we’ll ride.”
She betrayed sympathy for him and evidently appreciated the complex situation. He was proud, sensitive, fiery, and would not tolerate any word against himself, yet had confessed grave faults and facts.
“Let us ride on, and be friends,” she said, simply.
Kalispel found the burros resting under the cottonwoods. Little danger of them straying or traveling along without being driven! Far ahead at the bend of the road slight clouds of dust marked the progress of Pritchard and his men. They were already well out of sight. This fact, however, meant little to Kalispel, for he felt sure that they would not abandon the track of the Blairs. He would encounter them again sooner or later, and not improbably the issue would be serious. But he had no fears that they would ever track him as far as the gold-diggings.
Presently he came to the mouth of a gully out of which flowed a brook. An old trail seldom traveled followed the watercourse. It led up gradually, winding through groves of cottonwoods and copses of willow, to emerge into a wide valley. This was open country, the haunt of elk and deer. The trail led up the rolling slopes to a forest of pines. The Blairs kept Kalispel in sight, but when they caught up with him on top of the divide, where he decided to camp, they were pretty weary and quiet.
It was cold up there. Patches of snow showed under the pines. Kalispel’s first task was to build a fire for his companions, after which he plunged into his duties with a will. Blair, lame as he was, lent a hand, but Sydney sat before the fire, a rather weary and dejected girl. To unsaddle and hobble the horses and
unpack the burros took only a few moments, as likewise the pitching of Sydney’s tent, but when it came to preparation of the supper, Kalispel was slow and deliberate. Sydney’s remark as to his status as a cook rankled in Kalispel. It was impossible for her not to observe his care, especially as she was obviously hungry. Blair frankly came out with the fact that he would “starve pronto.” When presently Kalispel served them he had no misgivings about this supper. At its conclusion Sydney lifted her dark eyes and murmured: “I’m sorry I said you were a poor cook. I suppose—when you get your ranch back there on the river—you will not want any woman to do your cooking.”
Blair laughed heartily at that cryptic bit of flattery, but Kalispel was nonplused and bewildered. He had never been very successful in understanding girls, and this one was wholly beyond him. What had she meant by that? Not want any woman! Was she telling him that he could never get her or that she would like to be the woman? Kalispel pondered it a moment.
“Wal, since you tax me, I’ll say that I’ll never want a Lemhi squaw or a bronco-bustin’ cowgirl to cook for me.”
The night bade fair to be a cold one. Kalispel heated a stone and wrapped it in a canvas for Sydney to put at her feet. He and Blair did not make a very good night of it. Off and on he was up replenishing the fire, and welcomed the gray dawn. Sydney was up before sunrise and declared she had slept snug and warm.
They were all that day riding down through the pines to The Cove. It was a big round basin of several thousand acres, surrounded by bold bluffs and high mountains. They camped on Camus Creek, and next morning followed the rushing stream down into a rugged canyon, which augmented its characteristics until it grew to be a magnificent chasm with great colored cliffs, eddying pools and foaming rapids, intersecting brooks that trembled white over the banks to swell the Camus, long gullies splitting the stupendous walls up to the black patches of lodge-pole pines, huge caverns hollowed out by wind and water, grassy and fern-clad benches where white goats watched the intruders go by down the trail.
