by Bret Harte
DICK BOYLE'S BUSINESS CARD
The Sage Wood and Dead Flat stage coach was waiting before the station.The Pine Barrens mail wagon that connected with it was long overdue,with its transfer passengers, and the station had relapsed into listlessexpectation. Even the humors of Dick Boyle, the Chicago "drummer,"--and,so far, the solitary passenger--which had diverted the waiting loungers,began to fail in effect, though the cheerfulness of the humorist wasunabated. The ostlers had slunk back into the stables, the stationkeeper and stage driver had reduced their conversation to impatientmonosyllables, as if each thought the other responsible for the delay.A solitary Indian, wrapped in a commissary blanket and covered by acast-off tall hat, crouched against the wall of the station lookingstolidly at nothing. The station itself, a long, rambling buildingcontaining its entire accommodation for man and beast under onemonotonous, shed-like roof, offered nothing to attract the eye. Stillless the prospect, on the one side two miles of arid waste to thestunted, far-spaced pines in the distance, known as the "Barrens;" onthe other an apparently limitless level with darker patches of sagebrush, like the scars of burnt-out fires.
Dick Boyle approached the motionless Indian as a possible relief. "YOUdon't seem to care much if school keeps or not, do you, Lo?"
The Indian, who had been half crouching on his upturned soles, herestraightened himself with a lithe, animal-like movement, and stood up.Boyle took hold of a corner of his blanket and examined it critically.
"Gov'ment ain't pampering you with A1 goods, Lo! I reckon the agentcharged 'em four dollars for that. Our firm could have delivered them toyou for 2 dols. 37 cents, and thrown in a box of beads in the bargain.Suthin like this!" He took from his pocket a small box containing agaudy bead necklace and held it up before the Indian.
The savage, who had regarded him--or rather looked beyond him--withthe tolerating indifference of one interrupted by a frisking inferioranimal, here suddenly changed his expression. A look of childisheagerness came into his gloomy face; he reached out his hand for thetrinket.
"Hol' on!" said Boyle, hesitating for a moment; then he suddenlyejaculated, "Well! take it, and one o' these," and drew a business cardfrom his pocket, which he stuck in the band of the battered tall hatof the aborigine. "There! show that to your friends, and when you'rewantin' anything in our line"--
The interrupting roar of laughter, coming from the box seat of thecoach, was probably what Boyle was expecting, for he turned awaydemurely and walked towards the coach. "All right, boys! I've squaredthe noble red man, and the star of empire is taking its westward way.And I reckon our firm will do the 'Great Father' business for him atabout half the price that it is done in Washington."
But at this point the ostlers came hurrying out of the stables. "She'scomin'," said one. "That's her dust just behind the Lone Pine--and bythe way she's racin' I reckon she's comin' in mighty light."
"That's so," said the mail agent, standing up on the box seat for abetter view, "but darned ef I kin see any outside passengers. I reckonwe haven't waited for much."
Indeed, as the galloping horses of the incoming vehicle pulled out ofthe hanging dust in the distance, the solitary driver could be seenurging on his team. In a few moments more they had halted at the lowerend of the station.
"Wonder what's up!" said the mail agent.
"Nothin'! Only a big Injin scare at Pine Barrens," said one of theostlers. "Injins doin' ghost dancin'--or suthin like that--and thepassengers just skunked out and went on by the other line. Thar's onlyone ez dar come--and she's a lady."
"A lady?" echoed Boyle.
"Yes," answered the driver, taking a deliberate survey of a tall,graceful girl who, waiving the gallant assistance of the station keeper,had leaped unaided from the vehicle. "A lady--and the fort commandant'sdarter at that! She's clar grit, you bet--a chip o' the old block. Andall this means, sonny, that you're to give up that box seat to HER. MissJulia Cantire don't take anythin' less when I'm around."
The young lady was already walking, directly and composedly, towardsthe waiting coach--erect, self-contained, well gloved and booted, andclothed, even in her dust cloak and cape of plain ashen merino, withthe unmistakable panoply of taste and superiority. A good-sized aquilinenose, which made her handsome mouth look smaller; gray eyes, withan occasional humid yellow sparkle in their depths; brown penciledeyebrows, and brown tendrils of hair, all seemed to Boyle to becharmingly framed in by the silver gray veil twisted around her neckand under her oval chin. In her sober tints she appeared to him to haveevoked a harmony even out of the dreadful dust around them. What HEappeared to her was not so plain; she looked him over--he was rathershort; through him--he was easily penetrable; and then her eyes restedwith a frank recognition on the driver.
"Good-morning, Mr. Foster," she said, with a smile.
"Mornin', miss. I hear they're havin' an Injin scare over at theBarrens. I reckon them men must feel mighty mean at bein' stumped by alady!"
"I don't think they believed I would go, and some of them had theirwives with them," returned the young lady indifferently; "besides,they are Eastern people, who don't know Indians as well as WE do, Mr.Foster."
The driver blushed with pleasure at the association. "Yes, ma'am," helaughed, "I reckon the sight of even old 'Fleas in the Blanket' overthere," pointing to the Indian, who was walking stolidly away from thestation, "would frighten 'em out o' their boots. And yet he's got insidehis hat the business card o' this gentleman--Mr. Dick Boyle, travelingfor the big firm o' Fletcher & Co. of Chicago"--he interpolated, risingsuddenly to the formal heights of polite introduction; "so it sorterlooks ez ef any SKELPIN' was to be done it might be the other way round,ha! ha!"
Miss Cantire accepted the introduction and the joke with polite but coolabstraction, and climbed lightly into the box seat as the mail bagsand a quantity of luggage--evidently belonging to the evadingpassengers--were quickly transferred to the coach. But for his faircompanion, the driver would probably have given profane voice to hisconviction that his vehicle was used as a "d----d baggage truck," buthe only smiled grimly, gathered up his reins, and flicked his whip. Thecoach plunged forward into the dust, which instantly rose around it, andmade it thereafter a mere cloud in the distance. Some of that dust fora moment overtook and hid the Indian, walking stolidly in its track,but he emerged from it at an angle, with a quickened pace and a peculiarhalting trot. Yet that trot was so well sustained that in an hour he hadreached a fringe of rocks and low bushes hitherto invisible through theirregularities of the apparently level plain, into which he plunged anddisappeared. The dust cloud which indicated the coach--probably owingto these same irregularities--had long since been lost on the visiblehorizon.
The fringe which received him was really the rim of a depression quiteconcealed from the surface of the plain,--which it followed forsome miles through a tangled trough-like bottom of low trees andunderbrush,--and was a natural cover for wolves, coyotes, andoccasionally bears, whose half-human footprint might have deceived astranger. This did not, however, divert the Indian, who, trottingstill doggedly on, paused only to examine another footprint--much morefrequent--the smooth, inward-toed track of moccasins. The thicket grewmore dense and difficult as he went on, yet he seemed to glide throughits density and darkness--an obscurity that now seemed to be stirredby other moving objects, dimly seen, and as uncertain and intangible assunlit leaves thrilled by the wind, yet bearing a strange resemblance tohuman figures! Pressing a few yards further, he himself presently becamea part of this shadowy procession, which on closer scrutiny revealeditself as a single file of Indians, following each other in the sametireless trot. The woods and underbrush were full of them; all movingon, as he had moved, in a line parallel with the vanishing coach.Sometimes through the openings a bared painted limb, a crest offeathers, or a strip of gaudy blanket was visible, but nothing more.And yet only a few hundred yards away stretched the dusky, silentplain--vacant of sound or motion!
Meanwhile the Sage Wood and Pine Barren stage coach, profoundlyo
blivious--after the manner of all human invention--of everything butits regular function, toiled dustily out of the higher plain andbegan the grateful descent of a wooded canyon, which was, in fact, theculminating point of the depression, just described, along which theshadowy procession was slowly advancing, hardly a mile in the rear andflank of the vehicle. Miss Julia Cantire, who had faced the dust volleysof the plain unflinchingly, as became a soldier's daughter, here stoodupright and shook herself--her pretty head and figure emerging like agoddess from the enveloping silver cloud. At least Mr. Boyle, relegatedto the back seat, thought so--although her conversation and attentionshad been chiefly directed to the driver and mail agent. Once, when hehad light-heartedly addressed a remark to her, it had been receivedwith a distinct but unpromising politeness that had made him desistfrom further attempts, yet without abatement of his cheerfulness, orresentment of the evident amusement his two male companions got outof his "snub." Indeed, it is to be feared that Miss Julia had certainprejudices of position, and may have thought that a "drummer"--orcommercial traveler--was no more fitting company for the daughter ofa major than an ordinary peddler. But it was more probable that Mr.Boyle's reputation as a humorist--a teller of funny stories and a booncompanion of men--was inconsistent with the feminine ideal of high andexalted manhood. The man who "sets the table in a roar" is apt tobe secretly detested by the sex, to say nothing of the other obviousreasons why Juliets do not like Mercutios!
For some such cause as this Dick Boyle was obliged to amuse himselfsilently, alone on the back seat, with those liberal powers ofobservation which nature had given him. On entering the canyon he hadnoticed the devious route the coach had taken to reach it, and hadalready invented an improved route which should enter the depression atthe point where the Indians had already (unknown to him) plunged intoit, and had conceived a road through the tangled brush that wouldshorten the distance by some miles. He had figured it out, and believedthat it "would pay." But by this time they were beginning the somewhatsteep and difficult ascent of the canyon on the other side. The vehiclehad not crawled many yards before it stopped. Dick Boyle glanced around.Miss Cantire was getting down. She had expressed a wish to walk the restof the ascent, and the coach was to wait for her at the top. Foster hadeffusively begged her to take her own time--"there was no hurry!" Boyleglanced a little longingly after her graceful figure, released from hercramped position on the box, as it flitted youthfully in and out of thewayside trees; he would like to have joined her in the woodland ramble,but even his good nature was not proof against her indifference. At aturn in the road they lost sight of her, and, as the driver and mailagent were deep in a discussion about the indistinct track, Boyle lapsedinto his silent study of the country. Suddenly he uttered a slightexclamation, and quietly slipped from the back of the toiling coach tothe ground. The action was, however, quickly noted by the driver, whopromptly put his foot on the brake and pulled up. "Wot's up now?" hegrowled.
Boyle did not reply, but ran back a few steps and began searchingeagerly on the ground.
"Lost suthin?" asked Foster.
"Found something," said Boyle, picking up a small object. "Look at that!D----d if it isn't the card I gave that Indian four hours ago at thestation!" He held up the card.
"Look yer, sonny," retorted Foster gravely, "ef yer wantin' to get outand hang round Miss Cantire, why don't yer say so at oncet? That storywon't wash!"
"Fact!" continued Boyle eagerly. "It's the same card I stuck in hishat--there's the greasy mark in the corner. How the devil did it--howdid HE get here?"
"Better ax him," said Foster grimly, "ef he's anywhere round."
"But I say, Foster, I don't like the look of this at all! Miss Cantireis alone, and"--
But a burst of laughter from Foster and the mail agent interrupted him."That's so," said Foster. "That's your best holt! Keep it up! Youjest tell her that! Say thar's another Injin skeer on; that that tharbloodthirsty ole 'Fleas in His Blanket' is on the warpath, and you'regoin' to shed the last drop o' your blood defendin' her! That'll fetchher, and she ain't bin treatin' you well! G'lang!"
The horses started forward under Foster's whip, leaving Boyle standingthere, half inclined to join in the laugh against himself, and yetimpelled by some strange instinct to take a more serious view of hisdiscovery. There was no doubt it was the same card he had given to theIndian. True, that Indian might have given it to another--yet by whatagency had it been brought there faster than the coach traveled on thesame road, and yet invisibly to them? For an instant the humorousidea of literally accepting Foster's challenge, and communicating hisdiscovery to Miss Cantire, occurred to him; he could have made a funnystory out of it, and could have amused any other girl with it, but hewould not force himself upon her, and again doubted if the discoverywere a matter of amusement. If it were really serious, why should healarm her? He resolved, however, to remain on the road, and withinconvenient distance of her, until she returned to the coach; shecould not be far away. With this purpose he walked slowly on, haltingoccasionally to look behind.
Meantime the coach continued its difficult ascent, a difficulty madegreater by the singular nervousness of the horses, that only with greattrouble and some objurgation from the driver could be prevented fromshying from the regular track.
"Now, wot's gone o' them critters?" said the irate Foster, straining atthe reins until he seemed to lift the leader back into the track again.
"Looks as ef they smelt suthin--b'ar or Injin ponies," suggested themail agent.
"Injin ponies?" repeated Foster scornfully.
"Fac'! Injin ponies set a hoss crazy--jest as wild hosses would!"
"Whar's yer Injin ponies?" demanded Foster incredulously.
"Dunno," said the mail agent simply.
But here the horses again swerved so madly from some point of thethicket beside them that the coach completely left the track on theright. Luckily it was a disused trail and the ground fairly good, andFoster gave them their heads, satisfied of his ability to regain theregular road when necessary. It took some moments for him to recovercomplete control of the frightened animals, and then their nervousnesshaving abated with their distance from the thicket, and the trail beingless steep though more winding than the regular road, he concluded tokeep it until he got to the summit, when he would regain the highwayonce more and await his passengers. Having done this, the two men stoodup on the box, and with an anxiety they tried to conceal from each otherlooked down the canyon for the lagging pedestrians.
"I hope Miss Cantire hasn't been stampeded from the track by any skeerlike that," said the mail agent dubiously.
"Not she! She's got too much grit and sabe for that, unless that drummerhez caught up with her and unloaded his yarn about that kyard."
They were the last words the men spoke. For two rifle shots cracked fromthe thicket beside the road; two shots aimed with such deliberatenessand precision that the two men, mortally stricken, collapsed where theystood, hanging for a brief moment over the dashboard before they rolledover on the horses' backs. Nor did they remain there long, for the nextmoment they were seized by half a dozen shadowy figures and with thehorses and their cut traces dragged into the thicket. A half dozen andthen a dozen other shadows flitted and swarmed over, in, and through thecoach, reinforced by still more, until the whole vehicle seemed to bepossessed, covered, and hidden by them, swaying and moving with theirweight, like helpless carrion beneath a pack of ravenous wolves. Yeteven while this seething congregation was at its greatest, at someunknown signal it as suddenly dispersed, vanished, and disappeared,leaving the coach empty--vacant and void of all that had given it life,weight, animation, and purpose--a mere skeleton on the roadside. Theafternoon wind blew through its open doors and ravaged rack and box asif it had been the wreck of weeks instead of minutes, and the level raysof the setting sun flashed and blazed into its windows as though firehad been added to the ruin. But even this presently faded, leaving theabandoned coach a rigid, lifeless spectre on the twilight plain.
An hour later there was the sound of hurrying hoofs and jinglingaccoutrements, and out of the plain swept a squad of cavalrymen bearingdown upon the deserted vehicle. For a few moments they, too, seemed tosurround and possess it, even as the other shadows had done, penetratingthe woods and thicket beside it. And then as suddenly at some signalthey swept forward furiously in the track of the destroying shadows.
Miss Cantire took full advantage of the suggestion "not to hurry" in herwalk, with certain feminine ideas of its latitude. She gathered a fewwild flowers and some berries in the underwood, inspected some birds'nests with a healthy youthful curiosity, and even took the opportunityof arranging some moist tendrils of her silky hair with something shetook from the small reticule that hung coquettishly from her girdle. Itwas, indeed, some twenty minutes before she emerged into the road again;the vehicle had evidently disappeared in a turn of the long, windingascent, but just ahead of her was that dreadful man, the "Chicagodrummer." She was not vain, but she made no doubt that he was waitingthere for her. There was no avoiding him, but his companionship could bemade a brief one. She began to walk with ostentatious swiftness.
Boyle, whose concern for her safety was secretly relieved at this, beganto walk forward briskly too without looking around. Miss Cantire was notprepared for this; it looked so ridiculously as if she were chasing him!She hesitated slightly, but now as she was nearly abreast of him she wasobliged to keep on.
"I think you do well to hurry, Miss Cantire," he said as she passed."I've lost sight of the coach for some time, and I dare say they'realready waiting for us at the summit."
Miss Cantire did not like this any better. To go on beside this dreadfulman, scrambling breathlessly after the stage--for all the world like anabsorbed and sentimentally belated pair of picnickers--was really TOOmuch. "Perhaps if YOU ran on and told them I was coming as fast as Icould," she suggested tentatively.
"It would be as much as my life is worth to appear before Foster withoutyou," he said laughingly. "You've only got to hurry on a little faster."
But the young lady resented this being driven by a "drummer." She beganto lag, depressing her pretty brows ominously.
"Let me carry your flowers," said Boyle. He had noticed that she wasfinding some difficulty in holding up her skirt and the nosegay at thesame time.
"No! No!" she said in hurried horror at this new suggestion of theircompanionship. "Thank you very much--but they're really not worthkeeping--I am going to throw them away. There!" she added, tossing themimpatiently in the dust.
But she had not reckoned on Boyle's perfect good-humor. That gentleidiot stooped down, actually gathered them up again, and was following!She hurried on; if she could only get to the coach first, ignoring him!But a vulgar man like that would be sure to hand them to her with somejoke! Then she lagged again--she was getting tired, and she could seeno sign of the coach. The drummer, too, was also lagging behind--ata respectful distance, like a groom or one of her father's troopers.Nevertheless this did not put her in a much better humor, and haltinguntil he came abreast of her, she said impatiently: "I don't see why Mr.Foster should think it necessary to send any one to look after me."
"He didn't," returned Boyle simply. "I got down to pick up something."
"To pick up something?" she returned incredulously.
"Yes. THAT." He held out the card. "It's the card of our firm."
Miss Cantire smiled ironically. "You are certainly devoted to yourbusiness."
"Well, yes," returned Boyle good-humoredly. "You see I reckon it don'tpay to do anything halfway. And whatever I do, I mean to keep my eyesabout me." In spite of her prejudice, Miss Cantire could see that thesenecessary organs, if rather flippant, were honest. "Yes, I suppose thereisn't much on that I don't take in. Why now, Miss Cantire, there's thatfancy dust cloak you're wearing--it isn't in our line of goods--nor inanybody's line west of Chicago; it came from Boston or New York, and wasmade for home consumption! But your hat--and mighty pretty it is too, asYOU'VE fixed it up--is only regular Dunstable stock, which we couldput down at Pine Barrens for four and a half cents a piece, net. Yet Isuppose you paid nearly twenty-five cents for it at the Agency!"
Oddly enough this cool appraisement of her costume did not incense theyoung lady as it ought to have done. On the contrary, for some occultfeminine reason, it amused and interested her. It would be such a goodstory to tell her friends of a "drummer's" idea of gallantry; and totease the flirtatious young West Pointer who had just joined. And theappraisement was truthful--Major Cantire had only his pay--and MissCantire had been obliged to select that hat from the government stores.
"Are you in the habit of giving this information to ladies you meet intraveling?" she asked.
"Well, no!" answered Boyle--"for that's just where you have to keep youreyes open. Most of 'em wouldn't like it, and it's no use aggravating apossible customer. But you are not that kind."
Miss Cantire was silent. She knew she was not of that kind, but shedid not require his vulgar indorsement. She pushed on for some momentsalone, when suddenly he hailed her. She turned impatiently. He wascarefully examining the road on both sides.
"We have either lost our way," he said, rejoining her, "or the coach hasturned off somewhere. These tracks are not fresh, and as they are allgoing the same way, they were made by the up coach last night. They'renot OUR tracks; I thought it strange we hadn't sighted the coach by thistime."
"And then"--said Miss Cantire impatiently.
"We must turn back until we find them again."
The young lady frowned. "Why not keep on until we get to the top?" shesaid pettishly. "I'm sure I shall." She stopped suddenly as she caughtsight of his grave face and keen, observant eyes. "Why can't we go on aswe are?"
"Because we are expected to come back to the COACH--and not to thesummit merely. These are the 'orders,' and you know you are a soldier'sdaughter!" He laughed as he spoke, but there was a certain quietdeliberation in his manner that impressed her. When he added, aftera pause, "We must go back and find where the tracks turned off," sheobeyed without a word.
They walked for some time, eagerly searching for signs of the missingvehicle. A curious interest and a new reliance in Boyle's judgmentobliterated her previous annoyance, and made her more natural. She ranahead of him with youthful eagerness, examining the ground, followinga false clue with great animation, and confessing her defeat with acharming laugh. And it was she who, after retracing their steps for tenminutes, found the diverging track with a girlish cry of triumph. Boyle,who had followed her movements quite as interestedly as her discovery,looked a little grave as he noticed the deep indentations made by thestruggling horses. Miss Cantire detected the change in his face; tenminutes before she would never have observed it. "I suppose we hadbetter follow the new track," she said inquiringly, as he seemed tohesitate.
"Certainly," he said quickly, as if coming to a prompt decision. "Thatis safest."
"What do you think has happened? The ground looks very much cut up," shesaid in a confidential tone, as new to her as her previous observationof him.
"A horse has probably stumbled and they've taken the old trail as lessdifficult," said Boyle promptly. In his heart he did not believe it,yet he knew that if anything serious had threatened them the coach wouldhave waited in the road. "It's an easier trail for us, though I supposeit's a little longer," he added presently.
"You take everything so good-humoredly, Mr. Boyle," she said after apause.
"It's the way to do business, Miss Cantire," he said. "A man in my linehas to cultivate it."
She wished he hadn't said that, but, nevertheless, she returned a littlearchly: "But you haven't any business with the stage company nor withME, although I admit I intend to get my Dunstable hereafter from yourfirm at the wholesale prices."
Before he could reply, the detonation of two gunshots, softened bydistance, floated down from the ridge above them. "There!" said MissCantire eagerly. "Do you hear that?"
His face was turned towards the di
stant ridge, but really that she mightnot question his eyes. She continued with animation: "That's from thecoach--to guide us--don't you see?"
"Yes," he returned, with a quick laugh, "and it says hurry up--mightyquick--we're tired waiting--so we'd better push on."
"Why don't you answer back with your revolver?" she asked.
"Haven't got one," he said.
"Haven't got one?" she repeated in genuine surprise. "I thoughtyou gentlemen who are traveling always carried one. Perhaps it'sinconsistent with your gospel of good-humor."
"That's just it, Miss Cantire," he said with a laugh. "You've hit it."
"Why," she said hesitatingly, "even I have a derringer--a very littleone, you know, which I carry in my reticule. Captain Richards gave it tome." She opened her reticule and showed a pretty ivory-handled pistol.The look of joyful surprise which came into his face changed quickly asshe cocked it and lifted it into the air. He seized her arm quickly.
"No, please don't, you might want it--I mean the report won't carry farenough. It's a very useful little thing, for all that, but it's onlyeffective at close quarters." He kept the pistol in his hand as theywalked on. But Miss Cantire noticed this, also his evident satisfactionwhen she had at first produced it, and his concern when she was about todischarge it uselessly. She was a clever girl, and a frank one to thoseshe was inclined to trust. And she began to trust this stranger. A smilestole along her oval cheek.
"I really believe you're afraid of something, Mr. Boyle," she said,without looking up. "What is it? You haven't got that Indian scare too?"
Boyle had no false shame. "I think I have," he returned, with equalfrankness. "You see, I don't understand Indians as well as you--andFoster."
"Well, you take my word and Foster's that there is not the least dangerfrom them. About here they are merely grown-up children, cruel anddestructive as most children are; but they know their masters by thistime, and the old days of promiscuous scalping are over. The only otherchildish propensity they keep is thieving. Even then they only stealwhat they actually want,--horses, guns, and powder. A coach can go wherean ammunition or an emigrant wagon can't. So your trunk of samples isquite safe with Foster."
Boyle did not think it necessary to protest. Perhaps he was thinking ofsomething else.
"I've a mind," she went on slyly, "to tell you something more.Confidence for confidence: as you've told me YOUR trade secrets, I'lltell you one of OURS. Before we left Pine Barrens, my father ordered asmall escort of cavalrymen to be in readiness to join that coach ifthe scouts, who were watching, thought it necessary. So, you see, I'msomething of a fraud as regards my reputation for courage."
"That doesn't follow," said Boyle admiringly, "for your father musthave thought there was some danger, or he wouldn't have taken thatprecaution."
"Oh, it wasn't for me," said the young girl quickly.
"Not for you?" repeated Boyle.
Miss Cantire stopped short, with a pretty flush of color and an adorablelaugh. "There! I've done it, so I might as well tell the whole story.But I can trust you, Mr. Boyle." (She faced him with clear, penetratingeyes.) "Well," she laughed again, "you might have noticed that we had aquantity of baggage of passengers who didn't go? Well, those passengersnever intended to go, and hadn't any baggage! Do you understand? Thoseinnocent-looking heavy trunks contained carbines and cartridges fromour post for Fort Taylor"--she made him a mischievous curtsy--"underMY charge! And," she added, enjoying his astonishment, "as you saw, Ibrought them through safe to the station, and had them transferred tothis coach with less fuss and trouble than a commissary transport andescort would have made."
"And they were in THIS coach?" repeated Boyle abstractedly.
"Were? They ARE!" said Miss Cantire.
"Then the sooner I get you back to your treasure again the better," saidBoyle with a laugh. "Does Foster know it?"
"Of course not! Do you suppose I'd tell it to anybody but a strangerto the place? Perhaps, like you, I know when and to whom to impartinformation," she said mischievously.
Whatever was in Boyle's mind he had space for profound and admiringastonishment of the young lady before him. The girlish simplicity andtrustfulness of her revelation seemed as inconsistent with his previousimpression of her reserve and independence as her girlish reasoning andmanner was now delightfully at variance with her tallness, her aquilinenose, and her erect figure. Mr. Boyle, like most short men, was apt tooverestimate the qualities of size.
They walked on for some moments in silence. The ascent was comparativelyeasy but devious, and Boyle could see that this new detour would takethem still some time to reach the summit. Miss Cantire at last voicedthe thought in his own mind. "I wonder what induced them to turn offhere? and if you hadn't been so clever as to discover their tracks, howcould we have found them? But," she added, with feminine logic, "that,of course, is why they fired those shots."
Boyle remembered, however, that the shots came from another direction,but did not correct her conclusion. Nevertheless he said lightly:"Perhaps even Foster might have had an Indian scare."
"He ought to know 'friendlies' or 'government reservation men' better bythis time," said Miss Cantire; "however, there is something in that. Doyou know," she added with a laugh, "though I haven't your keen eyesI'm gifted with a keen scent, and once or twice I've thought I SMELTIndians--that peculiar odor of their camps, which is unlike anythingelse, and which one detects even in their ponies. I used to notice itwhen I rode one; no amount of grooming could take it away."
"I don't suppose that the intensity or degree of this odor would giveyou any idea of the hostile or friendly feelings of the Indians towardsyou?" asked Boyle grimly.
Although the remark was consistent with Boyle's objectionable reputationas a humorist, Miss Cantire deigned to receive it with a smile, at whichBoyle, who was a little relieved by their security so far, and theirnearness to their journey's end, developed further ingenious triflinguntil, at the end of an hour, they stood upon the plain again.
There was no sign of the coach, but its fresh track was visible leadingalong the bank of the ravine towards the intersection of the road theyshould have come by, and to which the coach had indubitably returned.Mr. Boyle drew a long breath. They were comparatively safe from anyinvisible attack now. At the end of ten minutes Miss Cantire, from hersuperior height, detected the top of the missing vehicle appearing abovethe stunted bushes at the junction of the highway.
"Would you mind throwing those old flowers away now?" she said, glancingat the spoils which Boyle still carried.
"Why?" he asked.
"Oh, they're too ridiculous. Please do."
"May I keep one?" he asked, with the first intonation of masculineweakness in his voice.
"If you like," she said, a little coldly.
Boyle selected a small spray of myrtle and cast the other flowersobediently aside.
"Dear me, how ridiculous!" she said.
"What is ridiculous?" he asked, lifting his eyes to hers with a slightcolor. But he saw that she was straining her eyes in the distance.
"Why, there don't seem to be any horses to the coach!"
He looked. Through a gap in the furze he could see the vehicle now quitedistinctly, standing empty, horseless and alone. He glanced hurriedlyaround them; on the one side a few rocks protected them from the tangledrim of the ridge; on the other stretched the plain. "Sit down, don'tmove until I return," he said quickly. "Take that." He handed back herpistol, and ran quickly to the coach. It was no illusion; there it stoodvacant, abandoned, its dropped pole and cut traces showing too plainlythe fearful haste of its desertion! A light step behind him made himturn. It was Miss Cantire, pink and breathless, carrying the cockedderringer in her hand. "How foolish of you--without a weapon," shegasped in explanation.
Then they both stared at the coach, the empty plain, and at eachother! After their tedious ascent, their long detour, their protractedexpectancy and their eager curiosity, there was such a suggestion ofhideous mockery in this vacant,
useless vehicle--apparently left to themin what seemed their utter abandonment--that it instinctively affectedthem alike. And as I am writing of human nature I am compelled to saythat they both burst into a fit of laughter that for the moment stoppedall other expression!
"It was so kind of them to leave the coach," said Miss Cantire faintly,as she took her handkerchief from her wet and mirthful eyes. "But whatmade them run away?"
Boyle did not reply; he was eagerly examining the coach. In that briefhour and a half the dust of the plain had blown thick upon it, andcovered any foul stain or blot that might have suggested the awfultruth. Even the soft imprint of the Indians' moccasined feet had beentrampled out by the later horse hoofs of the cavalrymen. It was thesethat first attracted Boyle's attention, but he thought them the marksmade by the plunging of the released coach horses.
Not so his companion! She was examining them more closely, and suddenlylifted her bright, animated face. "Look!" she said; "our men have beenhere, and have had a hand in this--whatever it is."
"Our men?" repeated Boyle blankly.
"Yes!--troopers from the post--the escort I told you of. These are theprints of the regulation cavalry horseshoe--not of Foster's team, nor ofIndian ponies, who never have any! Don't you see?" she went on eagerly;"our men have got wind of something and have galloped down here--alongthe ridge--see!" she went on, pointing to the hoof prints comingfrom the plain. "They've anticipated some Indian attack and securedeverything."
"But if they were the same escort you spoke of, they must have known youwere here, and have"--he was about to say "abandoned you," but checkedhimself, remembering they were her father's soldiers.
"They knew I could take care of myself, and wouldn't stand in the wayof their duty," said the young girl, anticipating him with quickprofessional pride that seemed to fit her aquiline nose and tall figure."And if they knew that," she added, softening with a mischievous smile,"they also knew, of course, that I was protected by a gallant strangervouched for by Mr. Foster! No!" she added, with a certain blind, devotedconfidence, which Boyle noticed with a slight wince that she had nevershown before, "it's all right! and 'by orders,' Mr. Boyle, and whenthey've done their work they'll be back."
But Boyle's masculine common sense was, perhaps, safer than MissCantire's feminine faith and inherited discipline, for in an instanthe suddenly comprehended the actual truth! The Indians had been thereFIRST; THEY had despoiled the coach and got off safely with their bootyand prisoners on the approach of the escort, who were now naturallypursuing them with a fury aroused by the belief that their commander'sdaughter was one of their prisoners. This conviction was a dreadful one,yet a relief as far as the young girl was concerned. But should he tellher? No! Better that she should keep her calm faith in the triumphantpromptness of the soldiers--and their speedy return.
"I dare say you are right," he said cheerfully, "and let us be thankfulthat in the empty coach you'll have at least a half-civilized shelteruntil they return. Meantime I'll go and reconnoitre a little."
"I will go with you," she said.
But Boyle pointed out to her so strongly the necessity of her remainingto wait for the return of the soldiers that, being also fagged outby her long climb, she obediently consented, while he, even withhis inspiration of the truth, did not believe in the return of thedespoilers, and knew she would be safe.
He made his way to the nearest thicket, where he rightly believed theambush had been prepared, and to which undoubtedly they first retreatedwith their booty. He expected to find some signs or traces of theirspoil which in their haste they had to abandon. He was more successfulthan he anticipated. A few steps into the thicket brought him fullupon a realization of more than his worst convictions--the dead body ofFoster! Near it lay the body of the mail agent. Both had been evidentlydragged into the thicket from where they fell, scalped and halfstripped. There was no evidence of any later struggle; they must havebeen dead when they were brought there.
Boyle was neither a hard-hearted nor an unduly sensitive man. Hisvocation had brought him peril enough by land and water; he had oftenrendered valuable assistance to others, his sympathy never confusing hisdirectness and common sense. He was sorry for these two men, and wouldhave fought to save them. But he had no imaginative ideas of death. Andhis keen perception of the truth was consequently sensitively alive onlyto that grotesqueness of aspect which too often the hapless victims ofviolence are apt to assume. He saw no agony in the vacant eyes of thetwo men lying on their backs in apparently the complacent abandonment ofdrunkenness, which was further simulated by their tumbled and disorderedhair matted by coagulated blood, which, however, had lost its sanguinecolor. He thought only of the unsuspecting girl sitting in the lonelycoach, and hurriedly dragged them further into the bushes. In doing thishe discovered a loaded revolver and a flask of spirits which had beenlying under them, and promptly secured them. A few paces away lay thecoveted trunks of arms and ammunition, their lids wrenched off andtheir contents gone. He noticed with a grim smile that his own trunks ofsamples had shared a like fate, but was delighted to find that while thebrighter trifles had attracted the Indians' childish cupidity theyhad overlooked a heavy black merino shawl of a cheap but serviceablequality. It would help to protect Miss Cantire from the evening wind,which was already rising over the chill and stark plain. It alsooccurred to him that she would need water after her parched journey, andhe resolved to look for a spring, being rewarded at last by a tricklingrill near the ambush camp. But he had no utensil except the spiritflask, which he finally emptied of its contents and replaced with thepure water--a heroic sacrifice to a traveler who knew the comfort of astimulant. He retraced his steps, and was just emerging from the thicketwhen his quick eye caught sight of a moving shadow before him close tothe ground, which set the hot blood coursing through his veins.
It was the figure of an Indian crawling on his hands and knees towardsthe coach, scarcely forty yards away. For the first time that afternoonBoyle's calm good-humor was overswept by a blind and furious rage. Yeteven then he was sane enough to remember that a pistol shot would alarmthe girl, and to keep that weapon as a last resource. For an instant hecrept forward as silently and stealthily as the savage, and then, witha sudden bound, leaped upon him, driving his head and shoulders downagainst the rocks before he could utter a cry, and sending the scalpingknife he was carrying between his teeth flying with the shock from hisbattered jaw. Boyle seized it--his knee still in the man's back--butthe prostrate body never moved beyond a slight contraction of the lowerlimbs. The shock had broken the Indian's neck. He turned the inertman on his back--the head hung loosely on the side. But in that briefinstant Boyle had recognized the "friendly" Indian of the station towhom he had given the card.
He rose dizzily to his feet. The whole action had passed in a fewseconds of time, and had not even been noticed by the sole occupant ofthe coach. He mechanically cocked his revolver, but the man beneath himnever moved again. Neither was there any sign of flight or reinforcementfrom the thicket around him. Again the whole truth flashed upon him.This spy and traitor had been left behind by the marauders to return tothe station and avert suspicion; he had been lurking around, but beingwithout firearms, had not dared to attack the pair together.
It was a moment or two before Boyle regained his usual elasticgood-humor. Then he coolly returned to the spring, "washed himself ofthe Indian," as he grimly expressed it to himself, brushed his clothes,picked up the shawl and flask, and returned to the coach. It was gettingdark now, but the glow of the western sky shone unimpeded throughthe windows, and the silence gave him a great fear. He was relieved,however, on opening the door, to find Miss Cantire sitting stiffly ina corner. "I am sorry I was so long," he said, apologetically to herattitude, "but"--
"I suppose you took your own time," she interrupted in a voice ofinjured tolerance. "I don't blame you; anything's better than beingcooped up in this tiresome stage for goodness knows how long!"
"I was hunting for water," he said humbly, "and have b
rought you some."He handed her the flask.
"And I see you have had a wash," she said a little enviously. "How spickand span you look! But what's the matter with your necktie?"
He put his hand to his neck hurriedly. His necktie was loose, and hadtwisted to one side in the struggle. He colored quite as much from thesensitiveness of a studiously neat man as from the fear of discovery."And what's that?" she added, pointing to the shawl.
"One of my samples that I suppose was turned out of the coach andforgotten in the transfer," he said glibly. "I thought it might keep youwarm."
She looked at it dubiously and laid it gingerly aside. "You don't meanto say you go about with such things OPENLY?" she said querulously.
"Yes; one mustn't lose a chance of trade, you know," he resumed with asmile.
"And you haven't found this journey very profitable," she saiddryly. "You certainly are devoted to your business!" After a pause,discontentedly: "It's quite night already--we can't sit here in thedark."
"We can take one of the coach lamps inside; they're still there. I'vebeen thinking the matter over, and I reckon if we leave one lightedoutside the coach it may guide your friends back." He HAD considered it,and believed that the audacity of the act, coupled with the knowledgethe Indians must have of the presence of the soldiers in the vicinity,would deter rather than invite their approach.
She brightened considerably with the coach lamp which he lit and broughtinside. By its light she watched him curiously. His face was slightlyflushed and his eyes very bright and keen looking. Man killing, exceptwith old professional hands, has the disadvantage of affecting thecirculation.
But Miss Cantire had noticed that the flask smelt of whiskey. The poorman had probably fortified himself from the fatigues of the day.
"I suppose you are getting bored by this delay," she said tentatively.
"Not at all," he replied. "Would you like to play cards? I've got apack in my pocket. We can use the middle seat as a table, and hang thelantern by the window strap."
She assented languidly from the back seat; he was on the front seat,with the middle seat for a table between them. First Mr. Boyle showedher some tricks with the cards and kindled her momentary and flashinginterest in a mysteriously evoked but evanescent knave. Then they playedeuchre, at which Miss Cantire cheated adorably, and Mr. Boyle lost gameafter game shamelessly. Then once or twice Miss Cantire was fain toput her cards to her mouth to conceal an apologetic yawn, and herblue-veined eyelids grew heavy. Whereupon Mr. Boyle suggested that sheshould make herself comfortable in the corner of the coach with as manycushions as she liked and the despised shawl, while he took the nightair in a prowl around the coach and a lookout for the returning party.Doing so, he was delighted, after a turn or two, to find her asleep, andso returned contentedly to his sentry round.
He was some distance from the coach when a low moaning sound in thethicket presently increased until it rose and fell in a prolonged howlthat was repeated from the darkened plains beyond. He recognized thevoice of wolves; he instinctively felt the sickening cause of it. Theyhad scented the dead bodies, and he now regretted that he had left hisown victim so near the coach. He was hastening thither when a cry, thistime human and more terrifying, came from the coach. He turned towardsit as its door flew open and Miss Cantire came rushing toward him. Herface was colorless, her eyes wild with fear, and her tall, slim figuretrembled convulsively as she frantically caught at the lapels of hiscoat, as if to hide herself within its folds, and gasped breathlessly,--
"What is it? Oh! Mr. Boyle, save me!"
"They are wolves," he said hurriedly. "But there is no danger; theywould never attack you; you were safe where you were; let me lead youback."
But she remained rooted to the spot, still clinging desperately to hiscoat. "No, no!" she said, "I dare not! I heard that awful cry in mysleep. I looked out and saw it--a dreadful creature with yellow eyesand tongue, and a sickening breath as it passed between the wheelsjust below me. Ah! What's that?" and she again lapsed in nervous terroragainst him.
Boyle passed his arm around her promptly, firmly, masterfully. Sheseemed to feel the implied protection, and yielded to it gratefully,with the further breakdown of a sob. "There is no danger," he repeatedcheerfully. "Wolves are not good to look at, I know, but they wouldn'thave attacked you. The beast only scents some carrion on the plain,and you probably frightened him more than he did you. Lean on me," hecontinued as her step tottered; "you will be better in the coach."
"And you won't leave me alone again?" she said in hesitating terror.
"No!"
He supported her to the coach gravely, gently--her master and still morehis own for all that her beautiful loosened hair was against his cheekand shoulder, its perfume in his nostrils, and the contour of her litheand perfect figure against his own. He helped her back into the coach,with the aid of the cushions and shawl arranged a reclining couch forher on the back seat, and then resumed his old place patiently. Bydegrees the color came back to her face--as much of it as was not hiddenby her handkerchief.
Then a tremulous voice behind it began a half-smothered apology. "Iam SO ashamed, Mr. Boyle--I really could not help it! But it was sosudden--and so horrible--I shouldn't have been afraid of it had it beenreally an Indian with a scalping knife--instead of that beast! I don'tknow why I did it--but I was alone--and seemed to be dead--and you weredead too and they were coming to eat me! They do, you know--you said sojust now! Perhaps I was dreaming. I don't know what you must think ofme--I had no idea I was such a coward!"
But Boyle protested indignantly. He was sure if HE had been asleepand had not known what wolves were before, he would have been equallyfrightened. She must try to go to sleep again--he was sure shecould--and he would not stir from the coach until she waked, or herfriends came.
She grew quieter presently, and took away the handkerchief from a mouththat smiled though it still quivered; then reaction began, and her tirednerves brought her languor and finally repose. Boyle watched the shadowsthicken around her long lashes until they lay softly on the faint flushthat sleep was bringing to her cheek; her delicate lips parted, and herquick breath at last came with the regularity of slumber.
So she slept, and he, sitting silently opposite her, dreamed--the olddream that comes to most good men and true once in their lives. Hescarcely moved until the dawn lightened with opal the dreary plain,bringing back the horizon and day, when he woke from his dream with asigh, and then a laugh. Then he listened for the sound of distant hoofs,and hearing them, crept noiselessly from the coach. A compact body ofhorsemen were bearing down upon it. He rose quickly to meet them, andthrowing up his hand, brought them to a halt at some distance from thecoach. They spread out, resolving themselves into a dozen troopers and asmart young cadet-like officer.
"If you are seeking Miss Cantire," he said in a quiet, businessliketone, "she is quite safe in the coach and asleep. She knows nothing yetof what has happened, and believes it is you who have taken everythingaway for security against an Indian attack. She has had a pretty roughnight--what with her fatigue and her alarm at the wolves--and I thoughtit best to keep the truth from her as long as possible, and I wouldadvise you to break it to her gently." He then briefly told the storyof their experiences, omitting only his own personal encounter withthe Indian. A new pride, which was perhaps the result of his vigil,prevented him.
The young officer glanced at him with as much courtesy as might beafforded to a civilian intruding upon active military operations. "I amsure Major Cantire will be greatly obliged to you when he knows it," hesaid politely, "and as we intend to harness up and take the coachback to Sage Wood Station immediately, you will have an opportunity oftelling him."
"I am not going back by the coach to Sage Wood," said Boyle quietly. "Ihave already lost twelve hours of my time--as well as my trunk--on thispicnic, and I reckon the least Major Cantire can do is to let me takeone of your horses to the next station in time to catch the down coach.I can do it, if I set out at once."
Boyle heard his name, with the familiar prefix of "Dicky," given to theofficer by a commissary sergeant, whom he recognized as having met atthe Agency, and the words "Chicago drummer" added, while a perceptiblesmile went throughout the group. "Very well, sir," said the officer,with a familiarity a shade less respectful than his previous formalmanner. "You can take the horse, as I believe the Indians have alreadymade free with your samples. Give him a mount, sergeant."
The two men walked towards the coach. Boyle lingered a moment atthe window to show him the figure of Miss Cantire still peacefullyslumbering among her pile of cushions, and then turned quietly away. Amoment later he was galloping on one of the troopers' horses across theempty plain.
Miss Cantire awoke presently to the sound of a familiar voice and thesight of figures that she knew. But the young officer's first words ofexplanation--a guarded account of the pursuit of the Indians and therecapture of the arms, suppressing the killing of Foster and the mailagent--brought a change to her brightened face and a wrinkle to herpretty brow.
"But Mr. Boyle said nothing of this to me," she said, sitting up. "Whereis he?"
"Already on his way to the next station on one of our horses! Wantedto catch the down stage and get a new box of samples, I fancy, as thebraves had rigged themselves out with his laces and ribbons. Said he'dlost time enough on this picnic," returned the young officer, with alaugh. "Smart business chap; but I hope he didn't bore you?"
Miss Cantire felt her cheek flush, and bit her lip. "I found him mostkind and considerate, Mr. Ashford," she said coldly. "He may havethought the escort could have joined the coach a little earlier, andsaved all this; but he was too much of a gentleman to say anything aboutit to ME," she added dryly, with a slight elevation of her aquilinenose.
Nevertheless Boyle's last words stung her deeply. To hurry off, too,without saying "good-by," or even asking how she slept! No doubt heHAD lost time, and was tired of her company, and thought more of hisprecious samples than of her! After all, it was like him to rush off foran order!
She was half inclined to call the young officer back and tell him howBoyle had criticised her costume on the road. But Mr. Ashford was atthat time entirely preoccupied with his men around a ledge of rock andbushes some yards from the coach, yet not so far away but that she couldhear what they said. "I'll swear there was no dead Injin here when wecame yesterday! We searched the whole place--by daylight, too--for anysign. The Injin was killed in his tracks by some one last night. It'slike Dick Boyle, lieutenant, to have done it, and like him to have saidnothin' to frighten the young lady. He knows when to keep his mouthshut--and when to open it."
Miss Cantire sank back in her corner as the officer turned andapproached the coach. The incident of the past night flashed back uponher--Mr. Boyle's long absence, his flushed face, twisted necktie,and enforced cheerfulness. She was shocked, amazed, discomfited--andadmiring! And this hero had been sitting opposite to her, silent all therest of the night!
"Did Mr. Boyle say anything of an Indian attack last night?" askedAshford. "Did you hear anything?"
"Only the wolves howling," said Miss Cantire. "Mr. Boyle was awaytwice." She was strangely reticent--in complimentary imitation of hermissing hero.
"There's a dead Indian here who has been killed," began Ashford.
"Oh, please don't say anything more, Mr. Ashford," interrupted the younglady, "but let us get away from this horrid place at once. Do get thehorses in. I can't stand it."
But the horses were already harnessed and mounted, postilion-wise, bythe troopers. The vehicle was ready to start when Miss Cantire called"Stop!"
When Ashford presented himself at the door, the young lady was upon herhands and knees, searching the bottom of the coach. "Oh, dear! I've lostsomething. I must have dropped it on the road," she said breathlessly,with pink cheeks. "You must positively wait and let me go back and findit. I won't be long. You know there's 'no hurry.'"
Mr. Ashford stared as Miss Cantire skipped like a schoolgirl from thecoach and ran down the trail by which she and Boyle had approached thecoach the night before. She had not gone far before she came upon thewithered flowers he had thrown away at her command. "It must be abouthere," she murmured. Suddenly she uttered a cry of delight, and pickedup the business card that Boyle had shown her. Then she looked furtivelyaround her, and, selecting a sprig of myrtle among the cast-off flowers,concealed it in her mantle and ran back, glowing, to the coach. "Thankyou! All right, I've found it," she called to Ashford, with a dazzlingsmile, and leaped inside.
The coach drove on, and Miss Cantire, alone in its recesses, drew themyrtle from her mantle and folding it carefully in her handkerchief,placed it in her reticule. Then she drew out the card, read its drylypractical information over and over again, examined the soiled edges,brushed them daintily, and held it for a moment, with eyes that saw not,motionless in her hand. Then she raised it slowly to her lips, rolled itinto a spiral, and, loosening a hook and eye, thrust it gently into herbosom.
And Dick Boyle, galloping away to the distant station, did not knowthat the first step towards a realization of his foolish dream had beentaken!
