by Zane Grey
11
After Neale and Larry left, Slingerland saw four seasons swing round, inwhich no visitors disturbed the loneliness of his valley.
All this while he did not leave Allie Lee alone, or at least out ofhearing. When he went to tend his traps or to hunt, to chop wood orto watch the trail, Allie always accompanied him. She grew strong andsupple; she could walk far and carry a rifle or a pack; she was keen ofeye and ear, and she loved the wilds; she not only was of help to him,but she made the time pass swiftly.
When a year passed after the departure of Neale and Larry King it seemedto Slingerland that they would never return. There was peril on thetrails these days. He grew more and more convinced of some fatality, buthe did not confide his fears to Allie. She was happy and full of trust;every day, almost every hour, she looked for Neale. The long wait didnot drag her down; she was as fresh and hopeful as ever and the richbloom mantled her cheek. Slingerland had not the heart to cast a doubtinto her happiness. He let her live her dreams.
There came a day that spring when it was imperative for him to visita distant valley, where he had left traps he now needed, and as thedistance was long and time short he decided to go alone. Allie laughedat the idea of being unsafe at the cabin.
"I can take care of myself," she said. "I'm not afraid." Slingerlandscarcely doubted her. She had nerve, courage; she knew how to use a gun;and underneath her softness and tenderness was a spirit that would notflinch at anything. Still he did not feel satisfied with the idea ofleaving her alone, and it was with a wrench that he did it now.
Moreover, he was longer at the journey than he had anticipated. Themoment he turned his face homeward, a desire to hurry, an anxiety,a dread fastened upon him. A presentiment of evil gathered. But,encumbered as he was with heavy traps, he could not travel swiftly. Itwas late afternoon when he topped the last ridge between him and home.
What Slingerland saw caused him to drop his traps and gaze aghast. Aheavy column of smoke rose above the valley. His first thought was ofSioux. But he doubted if the Indians would betray his friendship.The cabin had caught on fire by accident or else a band of wanderingdesperadoes had happened along to ruin him. He ran down the slope,stole down round to the group of pines, and under cover, cautiously,approached the spot where his cabin had stood.
It was a heap of smoking logs and probably had burned for hours. Therewas no sign of Allie or of any one. Then he ran into the glade. Almostat once he saw boot-tracks and hoof-tracks, while pelts and hides andfurs lay scattered around, as if they had been discarded for choicerones.
"Robbers!" muttered Slingerland. "An' they've got the lass!"
He shook under the roughest blow he had ever been dealt; his conscienceflayed him; his distress over Allie's fate was so keen and unfamiliarthat, used as he was to prompt decision and action, he remainedstock-still, staring at the ruins of his home.
Presently he roused himself. He had no hopes. He knew the nature of menwho had done this deed. But it was possible that he might overtake them.In the dust he found four sizes of boot-tracks and he took the traildown the valley.
Then he became aware that a storm was imminent and that the air hadbecome cold and raw. Rain began to fall, and darkness came quickly.Slingerland sought the shelter of a near-by ledge, and there, hungry,cold, wet, and unhappy, he waited for sleep that would not come.
It rained hard all night and by morning the brook had become a yellowflood and the trail was under water. Toward noon the rain turned to adrizzly snow, and finally ceased. Slingerland passed on down the valley,searching for tracks. The ground everywhere had been washed clean andsmooth. When he reached the old St. Vrain and Laramie Trail it looked asthough a horse had not passed there in months. He spent another wretchednight, and next day awoke to the necessities of life. Except for hisrifle, and his horses, and a few traps back up in the hills, he hadnothing to show for years of hard and successful work. But that did notmatter. He had begun with as little and he could begin again. He killedmeat, satisfied his hunger, and cooked more that he might carry withhim. Then he spent two more days in that locality, until he had crossedevery outlet from his valley. Not striking a track, he saw nothing butdefeat.
That moment was bitter. "If Neale'd happen along hyar now he'd killme--an' sarve me right," muttered the trapper.
But he believed that Neale, too, had gone the way of so many who hadbraved these wilds. Slingerland saw in the fate of Neale and Allie theresult of civilization marching westward. If before he had disliked theidea of the railroad entering his wild domain, he hated it now. Beforethat survey the Indians had been peaceful; no dangerous men rode thetrails. What right had the Government to steal land from the Indians,to break treaties, to run a steam track across the plains and mountains?Slingerland foresaw the bloodiest period ever known in the West, beforethat work should be completed. It had struck him deep--this white-manmovement across the Wyoming hills, and it was not the loss of all he hadworked for that he minded. For years his life had been lonely, and thensuddenly it had been full. Never again would it be either.
Slingerland turned his back to the trail made by the advancing march ofthe empire-builders, and sought the seclusion of the more inaccessiblehills.
"Some day I'll work out with a load of pelts," he said, "an' then mebbeI'll hyar what become of Neale--an' her."
He found, as one of his kind knew how to find, the valleys where nowhite man had trod--where the game abounded and was tame--where if thered man came he was friendly--where the silent days and lonely nightsslowly made more bearable his memory of Allie Lee.
