by Zane Grey
Next day ushered in for Neale a well-earned rest, and he proceeded toenjoy it to the full.
The fall had always been Neale's favorite season. Here, as elsewhere,the aspect of it was flaming and golden, but different from what hehad known hitherto. Dreaming silence of autumn held the wildness andloneliness of the Wyoming hills. The sage shone gray and purple, theridges yellow and gold; the valleys were green and amber and red. Nodust, no heat, no wind--a clear, blue, cloudless sky, sweet odors in thestill air--it was a beautiful time.
Days passed and nights passed, as if on wings. Every waking hour drewhim closer to this incomparable girl who had arisen upon his horizonlike a star. He knew the hour was imminent when he must read his heart.He fought it off; he played with his bliss. Allie was now his shadowinstead of the faithful Larry, although the cowboy was often with them,adapting himself to the changed conditions, too big and splendid tobe envious or jealous. They fished down the brook, and always at thenever-to-be-forgotten ford he would cross first and turn to see herfollow. She could never understand why Neale would delight in carryingher across at other points, yet made her ford this one by herself.
"It's such a bother to take off moccasins and leggings," she would say.
They rode horseback up and down the trails that Slingerland assured themwere safe. And it was the cowboy Larry who lent his horse and taught hera flying mount; he said she would make a rider.
In the afternoons they would climb the high ridge, and on the summitsit in the long whitening grass and gaze out over the dim and purplevastness of the plains. In the twilight they walked under the pines.When night set in and the air grew cold they would watch the ruddy fireon the hearth and see pictures of the future there, and feel a warmth onhand and cheek that was not all from the cheerful blaze.
Neale found it strange to realize how his attachment for Larry hadchanged to love. All Neale's spiritual being was undergoing a great andvital change, but this was not the reason he loved Larry. It was becauseof Allie. The cowboy was a Texan and he had inherited the Southerner'sfine and chivalric regard for women. Neale never knew whether Larry hadever had a sister or a sweetheart or a girl friend. But at sight Larryhad become Allie's own; not a brother or a friend or a lover, butsomething bigger and higher. The man expanded under her smiles, herteasing, her playfulness, her affection. Neale had no pang in diviningthe love Larry bore Allie. Drifter, cowboy, gun-thrower, man-killer,whatever he had been, the light of this girl's beautiful eyes, hervoice, her touch, had worked the last marvel in man--forgetfulness ofself. And so Neale loved him.
It made Neale quake inwardly to think of the change being wrought inhimself. It made him thoughtful of many things. There was much in lifeutterly new to him. He had listened to a moan in his keen ear; he hadfelt a call of something helpless; he had found a gleam of chestnuthair; he had stirred two other men to help him befriend a poor,broken-hearted, half-crazed orphan girl. And, lo! the world had changed,his friends had grown happier in their unloved lives, a strange strengthhad come to him, and, sweetest, most wonderful of all, in the place ofthe helpless and miserable waif appeared a woman, lovely of face andform, with only a ghost of sadness haunting her eyes, a woman adorableand bright, with the magic of love on her lips.
October came. In the early morning and late afternoon a keen cold breathhung in the air. Slingerland talked of a good prospect for fur. Hechopped great stores of wood. Larry climbed the hills with his rifle.Neale walked the trails hand in hand with Allie.
He had never sought to induce her to speak of her past, though at timesthe evidence of refinement and education and mystery around her madestrong appeal to him. She could, tell her story whenever she liked ornever--it did not greatly matter.
Then,--one day, quite naturally, but with a shame she did not try toconceal, she confided to him part of the story her mother had told herthat dark night when the Sioux were creeping upon the caravan.
Neale was astounded, agitated, intensely concerned.
"Allie!... Your father lives!" he exclaimed.
"Yes."
"Then I must find him--take you to him."
"Do what you think best," she replied, sadly. "But I never saw him. I'veno love for him. And he never knew I was born."
"Is it possible? How strange!... If any man could see you now! Allie, doyou resemble your mother?"
"Yes, we were alike."
"Where is your father?" Neale went on, curiously.
"How should I know? It was in New Orleans that mother ran off from him.I--I never blamed her--since she said what she said.... Do you? Willthis--make any difference to you?"
"My God, no! But I'm so--so thunderstruck.... This man--thisDurade--tell me more of him."
"He was a Spaniard of high degree, an adventurer, a gambler. He wasmad to gamble. He forced my mother to use her beauty to lure men to hisgambling-hell.... Oh, it's terrible to remember. She said he meant touse me for that purpose. That's why she left him. But in a way he wasgood to me. I can see so many things now to prove he was wicked.... Andmother said he would follow her--track her to the end of the world."
"Allie! If he should find you some day!" exclaimed Neale, hoarsely.
She put her arms up round his neck. And that, following a terrible pangof dread in Neale's breast, was too much for him. The tide burst. Lovehad long claimed him, but its utterance had been withheld. He had beenhappy in her happiness. He had trained himself to spare her.
"But some day--I'll be--your wife," she whispered.
"Soon? Soon?" he returned, trembling.
The scarlet fired her temples, her brow, darkening the skin under herbright hair.
"That's for you to say."
She held up her lips, tremulous and sweet.
Neale realized the moment had come. There had never been but the onekiss between them--that of the meeting upon his return in September.
"Allie, I love you!" He spoke thickly.
"And I love you," she replied, with sweet courage.
"This news you've told--this man Durade," he went on, hoarsely, "I'msuddenly alive--stinging--wild!... If I lost you!"
"Dear, you will never lose me--never in this world or any other," shereplied, tenderly.
"My work, my hope, my life, they all get spirit now from you... Allie!You're sweet--oh, so sweet! You're glorious!" he rang out, passionately.
Surprise momentarily checked the rising response of her feeling.
"Neale! You've never before said--such-things!... And the way you look!"
"How do I look?" he queried, seeing the joyousness of her surprise.
Then she laughed and that was new to him--a sound low, unutterably richand full, sweet-toned like a bell, and all resonant of youth.
"Oh, you look like Durade when he was gambling away his soul... Youshould see him!"
"Well, how's that?"
"So white--so terrible--so piercing!"
Neale drew her closer, slipped her arms farther up round his neck. "I'mgambling my soul away now," he said. "If I kiss you I lose it--and Imust!"
"Must what?" she whispered, with all a woman's charm.
"I must kiss you!"
"Then hurry!"
So their lips met.
In the sweetness of that embrace, in the simplicity and answeringpassion of her kiss, in the overwhelming sense of her gift of herself,heart and soul, he found a strength, a restraint, a nobler fire thatgave him peace.
Allie was to amaze Neale again before the sun set on that memorable day.
"I forgot to tell you about the gold!" she exclaimed, her face paling.
"Gold!" ejaculated Neale.
"Yes. He buried it--there--under the biggest of the three treestogether. Near a rock! Oh, I can see him now!"
"Him! Who? Allie, what's this wild talk?"
She pressed his hand to enjoin silence.
"Listen! Horn had gold. How much I don't know. But it must have beena great deal. He owned the caravan with which we left California. Horngrew to like me. But he hated all the rest....
That night we endedthe awful ride! The wagons stalled!... The grayness of dawn--thestillness--oh, I feel them now!... That terrible Indian yell rangout. All my life I'll hear it!... Then Horn dug a hole. He buried hisgold.... And he said whoever escaped could have it. He had no hope."
"Allie, you're a mine of surprises. Buried gold! What next?"
"Neale, I wonder--did the Sioux find that gold?" she asked.
"It's not likely. There certainly wasn't any hole left open around thatplace. I saw every inch of ground under those trees.... Allie, I'll gothere to-morrow and hunt for it."
"Let me go," she implored. "Ah! I forgot! No--no!... There must be mymother's grave."
"Yes, it's there. I saw. I will mark it.... Allie, how glad I am thatyou can speak of her--of her past--her grave there without weakening.You are brave! But forget... Allie, if I find that gold it'll be yours."
"No. Yours."
"But I wasn't one of the caravan. He did not give it to any outsider.You escaped. Therefore it will belong to you."
"Dearest, I am yours."
Next day, without acquainting Slingerland or Larry with his purpose,Neale rode down the valley trail.
He expected the road to cross the old St. Vrain and Laramie Trail,but if it did cross he could not find the place. It was easy to losebearings in these hills. Neale had to abandon the hunt for that day,and turning back, with some annoyance at his failure, he decided that itwould be best to take Larry and Slingerland into his confidence.
Allie was waiting for him at the brook ford.
"Oh, it was gone!" she cried.
"Allie, I couldn't find the place. Come, ride back and let me walkbeside you.... We'll have fun telling Larry and Slingerland."
"Neale, let me tell them," she begged.
"Go ahead. Make a strong story. Larry always had leanings towardgold-strikes."
And that night, after supper, when the log fire had begun to blaze,and all were comfortable before it, Allie glanced demurely at Larry andsaid:
"Reddy, if you had known that I was heiress to great wealth, would youhave proposed to me?"
Slingerland roared. Larry seemed utterly stricken.
"Wealth!" he echoed, feebly.
"Yes. Gold! Lots of gold!"
Slingerland's merry face suddenly grew curious and earnest.
Larry struggled with his discomfiture.
"I reckon I'd done thet anyhow--without knowin' you was rich--if ithadn't been fer this heah U. P. surveyor fellar."
And then the joke was on Allie, as her blushes proved. Neale came to herrescue and told the story of Horn's buried gold, and of his own searchthat day for the place.
"Shore I'll find it," declared Larry. "We'll go to-morrow...."
Slingerland stroked his beard thoughtfully.
"If thar's gold been buried thar it's sure an' certain thar yet," hesaid. "But I'm afraid we won't git thar tomorrow."
"Why not? Surely you or Larry can find the place?"
"Listen."
Neale listened while he was watching Allie's parted lips and speakingeyes. A low, whining wind swept through the trees and over the roof ofthe cabin.
"Thet wind says snow," declared the trapper.
Neale went outside. The wind struck him cold and keen, with a sharp edgeto it. The stars showed pale and dim through hazy atmosphere. Assuredlythere was a storm brewing. Neale returned to the fire, shivering andholding his palms to the heat.
"Cold, you bet, with the wind rising," he said. "But, Slingerland,suppose it does snow. Can't we go, anyhow?"
"It ain't likely. You see, it snows up hyar. Mebbe we'll be snowed infer a spell. An' thet valley is open down thar. In deep snow what couldwe find? We'll wait an' see."
On the morrow a storm raged and all was dim through a ghostly, whirlingpall. The season of drifting snow had come, and Neale's winter work hadbegun.
Five miles by short cut over the ridges curved the long survey overwhich Neale must keep watch; and the going and coming were Neale'shardest toil. It was laborsome to trudge up and down in soft snow.
That first snow of winter, however, did not last long, except in thesheltered places. Fortunately for Neale, almost all of his section ofthe survey ran over open ground. But this fact augured seriously for histask when the dry and powdery snow of midwinter began to fall and sweepbefore the wind and drift over the lee side of the ridge.
During the first week of tramping he thoroughly learned the lay of theland, the topography of his particular stretch of Sherman Pass. And oneday, taking an early start from camp, he set forth to make his firstcall upon his nearest associate in this work, the engineer Service.Once high up on the pass he found the snow had not all melted, and stillhigher it lay white and unbroken as far as he could see. The air waskeener up there. Neale gathered that Service would have a colder jobthan his own, if it was not so long and hard.
He found Service at home in his dugout, warm and comfortable and inexcellent spirits. They compared notes, and even in this early work theydecided it would be a wise plan for the engineering staff to study theproblem of drifting snow.
Neale enjoyed a meal with Service, and then, early in the afternoon, hestarted back on his long tramp homeward. He gathered from his visit thatService did not mind the lonesomeness, but that he did suffer from thecold more than he had expected. Service was not an active, full-bloodedman, and Neale had some misgivings. Judging from the trapper's remarks,winter high up in the Wyoming hills was something to dread.
November brought the real storms--the gray banks of rolling cloud, therain and sleet and snow and ice, and the wind. Neale concluded he hadnever before faced a real wind, and when, one day on a ridge-top, he wasblown off his feet he was sure of it. Some days he could not go out atall. Other days it was not imperative, for it was only during and aftersnow-storms that he could make observations. He learned to travel onsnow-shoes, and ten miles of such traveling up and down the steep slopeswas the most killing hard toil he had ever attempted. After such tripshe would reach the cabin utterly fagged out, too tired to eat, tooweary, to talk, almost too dead to hear the solicitations of his friendsor to appreciate Allie's tender, anxious care. If he had not been strongand robust and in good training to begin with, he would have failedunder the burden. Gradually he grew used to the strenuous toil, andbecame hardened, tough, and enduring.
Though Neale hated the cold and the wind, there were moments when anexceedingly keen exhilaration uplifted him. These experiences visitedhim while on the heights, looking far over the snowy ridges to, thewhite, monotonous plain or up toward the shining peaks. All seemedbarren and cold. He never saw a living creature or a track upon thoseslopes. When the sun shone all was so dazzlingly, glaringly white thathis eyes were struck by temporary blindness.
Upon one of the milder days, which were getting rarer in mid-December,Neale again visited his comrade on the summit. He found Service in badshape. In falling down a slippery ledge he had injured or broken hislame leg. Neale, with great concern, tried to ascertain the natureand extent of the harm done, but he was unable to do so. Service waspractically helpless, although not suffering any great pain. The two ofthem decided, at length, that he had not broken any bones, but that itwas necessary to move him to where he could be waited upon andtreated, or else some one must be brought in to take care of him. Nealedeliberated a moment.
"I'll tell you what," he said, finally. "You can be moved down toSlingerland's cabin without pain to you. I'll get Slingerland and hissled. You'll be more comfortable there. It'll be better all around."
So that was decided upon. And Neale, after doing all he could forService, and assuring him that he would return in less than twenty-fourhours, turned his steps for the valley.
The sunset that night struck him as singularly dull, pale, menacing.He understood its meaning later, when Slingerland said they were in foranother storm. Before dark the wind began to moan through the trees likelost spirits. The trapper shook his shaggy head ominously.
"Reckon thet sounds bad to me,"
he said. And from moan it rose to wail,and from wail to roar.
That alarmed Neale. He went outside and Slingerland followed. Snowwas sweeping down-light, dry, powdery. The wind was piercingly cold.Slingerland yelled something, but Neale could not distinguish what. Whenthey got back inside the trapper said:
"Blizzard!"
Neale grew distressed.
"Wal, no use to worry about Service," argued the trapper. "If it is ablizzard we can't git up thar, thet's all. Mebbe this'll not be so bad.But I ain't bettin' on thet."
Even Allie couldn't cheer Neale that night. Long after she and theothers had retired he kept up the fire and listened to the roar of thewind. When the fire died down a little the cabin grew uncomfortablycold, and this fact attested to a continually dropping temperature. Buthe hoped against hope and finally sought his blankets.
Morning came, but the cabin was almost as dark as by night. A blinding,swirling snow-storm obscured the sun.
A blizzard raged for forty-eight hours. When the snow finally ceasedfalling the cold increased until Neale guessed the temperature might beforty degrees below zero. The trapper claimed sixty. It was necessary tostay indoors till the weather moderated.
On the fifth morning Slingerland was persuaded to attempt the trip toaid Service. Larry wanted to accompany them, but Slingerland said hehad better stay with Allie. So, muffled up, the two men set out onsnow-shoes, dragging a sled. A crust had frozen on the snow, otherwisetraveling would have been impossible. Once up on the slope the northwind hit them square in the face. Heavily clad as he was, Neale thoughtthe very marrow in his bones would freeze. That wind blew straightthrough him. There were places where it took both men to hold the sledto keep it from getting away. They were blown back one step for everytwo steps they made. On the exposed heights they could not walk upright.At last, after hours of desperate effort, they got over the ridge to asheltered side along which they labored up to Service's dugout.
Up there the snow had blown away in places, leaving bare spots, bleak,icy, barren, stark. No smoke appeared to rise above the dugout. The rudehabitation looked as though no man had been there that winter. Nealeglanced in swift dismay at Slingerland.
"Son, look fer the wust," he said. "An' we hain't got time to waste."
They pushed open the canvas framework of a door and, stooping low,passed inside. Neale's glance saw first the fireplace, where no firehad burned for days. Snow had sifted into the dugout and lay in littledrifts everywhere. The blankets on the bunk covered Service, hiding hisface. Both men knew before they uncovered him what his fate had been.
"Frozen to death!" gasped Neale.
Service lay white, rigid, like stone, with no sign of suffering upon hisface.
"He jest went to sleep--an' never woke up," declared Slingerland.
"Thank God for that!" exclaimed Neale. "Oh, why did I not stay withhim?"
"Too late, son. An' many a good man will go to his death before thetdamn railroad is done."
Neale searched for Service's notes and letters and valuables which couldbe turned over to the engineering staff.
Slingerland found a pick and shovel, which Neale remembered to have usedin building the dugout; and with these the two men toiled at the frozensand and gravel to open up a grave; It was like digging in stone.At length they succeeded. Then, rolling Service in the blankets andtarpaulin, they lowered him into the cold ground and hurriedly filled uphis grave.
It was a grim, gruesome task. Another nameless grave! Neale had alreadyseen nine graves. This one was up the slope not a hundred feet from theline of survey.
"Slingerland," exclaimed Neale, "the railroad will run along there!Trains will pass this spot. In years to come travelers will look out ofthe train windows along here. Boys riding away to seek their fortunes!Bride and groom on their honeymoon! Thousands of people--going, coming,busy, happy at their own affairs, full of their own lives--will pass bypoor Service's grave and never know it's there!"
"Wal, son, if people must hev railroads, they must kill men to buildthem," replied the trapper.
Neale conceived the idea that Slingerland did, not welcome the comingof the steel rails. The thought shocked him. But then, he reflected, atrapper would not profit by the advance of civilization.
With the wind in their backs Neale and Slingerland were practicallyblown home. They made it up between them to keep knowledge of thetragedy from Allie. So ended the coldest and hardest and grimmest dayNeale had ever known.
The winter passed, the snows melted, the winds quieted, and spring came.
Long since Neale had decided to leave Allie with Slingerland thatsummer. She would be happy there, and she wished to stay until Nealecould take her with him. That seemed out of the question for thepresent. A construction camp full of troopers and laborers was no placefor Allie. Neale dreaded the idea of taking her to Omaha. Always inhis mind were haunting fears of this Spaniard, Durade, who had ruinedAllie's mother, and of the father whom Allie had never seen. Nealeinstinctively felt that these men were to crop up somewhere in his life,and before they did appear he wanted to marry Allie. She was now littlemore than sixteen years old.
Neale's plans for the summer could not be wholly known until he hadreported to the general staff, which might be at Fort Fetterman or NorthPlatte or all the way back in Omaha. But it was probable that he wouldbe set to work with the advancing troops and trains and laborers.Engineers had to accompany both the grading gangs and the rail gangs.
Neale, in his talks with Larry and Slingerland, had dwelt long andconjecturingly upon what life was going to be in the construction camps.
To Larry what might happen was of little moment. He lived in thepresent. But Neale was different. He had to be anticipating events; helived in the future, his mind was centered on future work, achievement,and what he might go through in attaining his end. Slingerland was hisappreciative listener.
"Wal," he would say, shaking his grizzled head, "I reckon I don'tbelieve all your General Lodge says is goin' to happen."
"But, man, can't you imagine what it will be?" protested Neale. "Takethousands of soldiers--the riffraff of the war--and thousands oflaborers of all classes, niggers, greasers, pigtail chinks, and Irish.Take thousands of men who want to earn an honest dollar, but nothonestly. All the gamblers, outlaws, robbers, murderers, criminals,adventurers in the States, and perhaps many from abroad, will be on thetrail. Think, man, of the money--the gold! Millions spilled out in thesewilds!... And last and worst--the bad women!"
Slingerland showed his amazement at the pictures drawn by Neale,especially at the final one.
"Wal, I reckon thet's all guff too," he said. "A lot of bad women out inthese wilds ain't to be feared. Supposin' thar was a lot of them whichain't likely--how'd they ever git out to the camps?"
"Slingerland, the trains--the trains will follow the laying of therails!"
"Oho! An' you mean thar'll be towns grow up overnightall full of badpeople who ain't workin' on the railroad, but jest followin' the gold?"
"Exactly. Now listen. Remember all these mixed gangs--the gold--and thebad women--out here in the wild country--no law--no restraint--no fear,except of death--drinking-hells--gambling-hells--dancing-hells! What'sgoing to happen?"
The trapper meditated a while, stroking his beard, and then he said:"Wal, thar ain't enough gold to build thet railroad--an' if thar was itcouldn't never be done!"
"Ah!" cried Neale, raising his head sharply. "It's a matter of goldfirst. Streams of gold! And then--can it be done?"
One day, as the time for Neale's departure grew closer, Slingerland'squiet and peaceful valley was violated by a visit from fourrough-looking men.
They rode in without packs. It was significant to Neale that Larry sworeat sight of them, and then in his cool, easy way sauntered between themand the cabin door, where Allie stood with astonishment fixed on herbeautiful face. The Texan always packed his heavy gun, and certainly noWestern men would mistake his quality. These visitors were civil enough,asked for a little tobacco,
and showed no sign of evil intent.
"Way off the beaten track up hyar," said one.
"Yes. I'm a trapper," replied Slingerland. "Whar do you hail from?"
"Ogden. We're packin' east."
"Much travel on the trail?"
"Right smart fer wild country. An' all goin' east. We hain't met anoutfit headin' west. Hev you heerd any talk of a railroad buildin' outof Omaha?"
Here Larry put a word in.
"Shore. We've had soldiers campin' around aboot all heah."
"Soldiers!" ejaculated one of the gang.
"Shore, the road's bein' built by soldiers."
The men made no further comment and turned away without any good-bys.Slingerland called out to them to have an eye open for Indians on thewar-path.
"Wal, I don't like the looks of them fellars," he declared.
Neale likewise took an unfavorable view of the visit, but Larry scoutedthe idea of there being any danger in a gang like that.
"Shore they'd be afraid of a man," he declared.
"Red, can you look at men and tell whether or not there's danger inthem?" inquired Neale.
"I shore can. One man could bluff thet outfit.... But I reckon I'd hateto have them find Allie aboot heah alone."
"I can take care of myself," spoke up Allie, spiritedly.
Neale and Slingerland, for all their respect for the cowboy's judgment,regarded the advent of these visitors as a forerunner of an evil timefor lonely trappers.
"I'll hev to move back deeper in the mountains, away from the railroad,"said Slingerland.
This incident also put a different light upon the intention Neale had ofhunting for the buried gold. Just now he certainly did not want to riskbeing seen digging gold or packing it away; and Slingerland was just asloath to have it concealed in or near his cabin.
"Wal, seein' we're not sure it's really there, let's wait till you comeback in summer or fall," he suggested. "If it's thar it'll stay thar."
All too soon the dawn came for Neale's departure with Larry. Allie wasbraver than he. At the last he was white and shaken. She kissed Larry.
"Reddy, you'll take care of yourself--and him," she said.
"Allie, I shore will. Good-by." Larry rode down the trail in the dimgray dawn.
"Watch sharp for Indians," she breathed, and her face whitenedmomentarily. Then the color returned. Her eyes welled full of sweet,soft light.
"Allie, I can't go," said Neale, hoarsely. The clasp of her armsunnerved him.
"You must. It's your work. Remember the big job!... Dearest! Dearest!Hurry--and--go!"
Neale could no longer see her face clearly. He did not know what he wassaying.
"You'll always--love me?" he implored.
"Do you need to ask? All my life!... I promise."
"Kiss me, then," he whispered, hoarsely, blindly leaning down. "It'shell--to leave you!... Wonderful girl--treasure--precious--Allie!...Kiss me--enough!... I--"
She held him with strong and passionate clasp and kissed him again andagain.
"Good-by!" Her last word was low, choked, poignant, and had in it amournful reminder of her old tragic woe.
Then he was alone. Mounting clumsily, with blurred eyes, he rode intothe winding trail.
