Zane Grey (26 page)

"We're up," panted Hare. "What a climb! Five hours! One more day—then
home!"

Silvermane's ears shot up and Wolf barked. Two gray deer loped out of a
thicket and turned inquisitively. Reaching for his rifle Hare threw back
the lever, but the action clogged, it rasped with the sound of crunching
sand, and the cartridge could not be pressed into the chamber or ejected.
He fumbled about the breach of the gun and his brow clouded.

"Sand! Out of commission!" he exclaimed. "Mescal, I don't like that."

"Use your Colt," suggested Mescal.

The distance was too great. Hare missed, and the deer bounded away into
the forest.

Hare built a fire under a sheltering pine where no snow covered the soft
mat of needles, and while Mescal dried the blankets and roasted the last
portion of meat he made a wind-break of spruce boughs. When they had
eaten, not forgetting to give Wolf a portion, Hare fed Silvermane the
last few handfuls of grain, and tied him with a long halter on the grassy
bank. The daylight failed and darkness came on apace. The old familiar
roar of the wind in the pines was disturbing; it might mean only the lull
and crash of the breaking night-gusts, and it might mean the north wind,
storm, and snow. It whooped down the hollow, scattering the few
scrub-oak leaves; it whirled the red embers of the fire away into the
dark to sputter in the snow, and blew the burning logs into a white glow.
Mescal slept in the shelter of the spruce boughs with Wolf snug and warm
beside her. Hare stretched his tired limbs in the heat of the blaze.

When he awakened the fire was low and he was numb with cold. He took
care to put on logs enough to last until morning; then he lay down once
more, but did not sleep. The dawn came with a gray shade in the forest;
it was a cloud, and it rolled over him soft, tangible, moist, and cool,
and passed away under the pines. With its vanishing the dawn lightened.
"Mescal, if we're on the spur of Coconina, it's only ten miles or so to
Silver Cup," said Hare, as he saddled Silvermane. "Mount now and we'll
go up out of the hollow and get our bearings."

While ascending the last step to the rim Hare revolved in his mind the
probabilities of marking a straight course to Silver Cup.

"Oh! Jack!" exclaimed Mescal, suddenly. "Vermillion Cliffs and home!"

"I've travelled in a circle!" replied Hare.

Mescal was enraptured at the scene. Vermillion Cliffs shone red as a
rose. The split in the wall marking the oasis defined its outlines
sharply against the sky. Miles of the Colorado River lay in sight. Hare
knew he stood on the highest point of Coconina overhanging the Grand
Canyon and the Painted Desert, thousands of feet below. He noted the
wondrous abyss sleeping in blue mist at his feet, while he gazed across
to the desert awakening in the first red rays of the rising sun.

"Mescal, your Thunder River Canyon is only one little crack in the rocks.
It is lost in this chasm," said Hare.

"It's lost, surely. I can t even see the tip of the peak that stood so
high over the valley."

Once more turning to the left Hare ran his eye over the Vermillion
Cliffs, and the strip of red sand shining under them, and so calculating
his bearings he headed due north for Silver Cup. What with the snow and
the soggy ground the first mile was hard going for Hare, and Silvermane
often sank deep. Once off the level spur of the mountain they made
better time, for the snow thinned out on the slope and gradually gave way
to the brown dry aisles of the forest. Hare mounted in front of Mescal,
and put the stallion to an easy trot; after two hours of riding they
struck a bridle-trail which Hare recognized as one leading down to the
spring. In another hour they reached the steep slope of Coconina, and
saw the familiar red wall across the valley, and caught glimpses of gray
sage patches down through the pines.

"I smell smoke," said Hare.

"The boys must be at the spring," rejoined Mescal.

"Maybe. I want to be sure who's there. We'll leave the trail and slip
down through the woods to the left. I wish we could get down on the home
side of the spring. But we can't; we've got to pass it."

With many a pause to peer through openings in the pines Hare traversed a
diagonal course down the slope, crossed the line of cedars, and reached
the edge of the valley a mile or more above Silver Cup. Then he turned
toward it, still cautiously leading Silvermane under cover of the fringe
of cedars.

"Mescal, there are too many cattle in the valley," he said, looking at
her significantly.

"They can't all be ours, that's sure," she replied. "What do you think?"

"Holderness!" With the word Hare's face grew set and stern. He kept on,
cautiously leading the horse under the cedars, careful to avoid breaking
brush or rattling stones, occasionally whispering to Wolf; and so worked
his way along the curve of the woody slope till further progress was
checked by the bulging wall of rock.

"Only cattle in the valley, no horses," he said. "I've a good chance to
cut across this cube and reach the trail. If I take time to climb up and
see who's at the spring maybe the chance will be gone. I don't believe
Dave and the boys are there."

He pondered a moment, then climbed up in front of Mescal, and directed
the gray out upon the valley. Soon he was among the grazing cattle. He
felt no surprise to see the H brand on their flanks.

"Jack, look at that brand," said Mescal, pointing to a white-flanked
steer. "There's an old brand like a cross, Father Naab's cross, and a
new brand, a single bar. Together they make an H!"

"Mescal! You've hit it. I remember that steer. He was a very devil to
brand. He's the property of August Naab, and Holderness has added the
bar, making a clumsy H. What a rustler's trick! It wouldn't deceive a
child."

They had reached the cedars and the trail when Wolf began to sniff
suspiciously at the wind.

"Look!" whispered Mescal, calling Hare's attention from the dog. "Look!
A new corral!"

Bending back to get in line with her pointing finger Hare looked through
a network of cedar boughs to see a fence of stripped pines. Farther up
were piles of unstripped logs, and close by the spring there was a new
cabin with smoke curling from a stone chimney. Hare guided Silvermane
off the trail to softer ground and went on. He climbed the slope, passed
the old pool, now a mud-puddle, and crossed the dry wash to be brought
suddenly to a halt. Wolf had made an uneasy stand with his nose pointing
to the left, and Silvermane pricked up his ears. Presently Hare heard
the stamping of hoofs off in the cedars, and before he had fully
determined the direction from which the sound came three horses and a man
stepped from the shade into a sunlit space.

As luck would have it Hare happened to be well screened by a thick cedar;
and since there was a possibility that he might remain unseen he chose to
take it. Silvermane and Wolf stood still in their tracks. Hare felt
Mescal's hands tighten on his coat and he pressed them to reassure her.
Peeping out from his covert he saw a man in his shirt-sleeves leading the
horses—a slender, clean-faced, dark-haired man—Dene! The blood beat
hotly in Hare's temples and he gripped the handle of his Colt. It seemed
a fatal chance that sent the outlaw to that trail. He was whistling; he
had two halters in one hand and with the other he led his bay horse by
the mane. Then Hare saw that he wore no belt; he was unarmed; on the
horses were only the halters and clinking hobbles. Hare dropped his Colt
back into its holster.

Dene sauntered on, whistling "Dixie." When he reached the trail, instead
of crossing it, as Hare had hoped, he turned into it and came down.

Hare swung the switch he had broken from an aspen and struck Silvermane a
stinging blow on the flanks. The gray leaped forward. The crash of
brush and rattle of hoofs stampeded Dene's horses in a twinkling. But
the outlaw paled to a ghastly white and seemed rooted to the trail. It
was not fear of a man or a horse that held Dene fixed; in his starting
eyes was the terror of the supernatural.

The shoulder of the charging stallion struck Dene and sent him spinning
out of the trail. In a backward glance Hare saw the outlaw fall, then
rise unhurt to shake his fists wildly and to run yelling toward the
cabin.

"JACK! the saddle's slipping!" cried Mescal, clinging closer to him.
"What luck!" Hare muttered through clinched teeth, and pulled hard on the
bridle. But the mouth of the stallion was iron; regardless of the sawing
bit, he galloped on. Hare called steadily: "Whoa there, Silver! Whoa—
slow now—whoa—easy!" and finally halted him. Hare swung down, and as
he lifted Mescal off, the saddle slipped to the ground.

"Lucky not to get a spill! The girth snapped. It was wet, and dried
out." Hare hurriedly began to repair the break with buckskin thongs that
he found in a saddle-bag.

"Listen! Hear the yells! Oh! hurry!" cried Mescal.

"I've never ridden bareback. Suppose you go ahead with Silver, and I'll
hide in the cedars till dark, then walk home!"

"No—No. There's time, but hurry."

"It's got to be strong," muttered Hare, holding the strap over his knee
and pulling the laced knot with all his strength, "for we'll have to ride
some. If it comes loose—Good-bye!"

Silvermane's broad chest muscles rippled and he stamped restlessly. The
dog whined and looked back. Mescal had the blanket smooth on the gray
when Hare threw the saddle over him. The yells had ceased, but
clattering hoofs on the stony trail were a greater menace. While Hare's
brown hands worked swiftly over buckle and strap Mescal climbed to a seat
behind the saddle.

"Get into the saddle," said Hare, leaping astride and pressing forward
over the pommel. "Slip down—there! and hold to me. Go! Silver!"

The rapid pounding of the stallion's hoofs drowned the clatter coming up
the trail. A backward glance relieved Hare, for dust-clouds some few
hundred yards in the rear showed the position of the pursuing horsemen.
He held in Silvermane to a steady gallop. The trail was up-hill, and
steep enough to wind even a desert racer, if put to his limit.

"Look back!" cried Mescal. "Can you see them? Is Snap with them?"

"I can't see for trees," replied Hare, over his shoulder. "There's dust—
we're far in the lead—never fear, Mescal. The lead's all we want."

Cedars grew thickly all the way up the steeper part of the divide, and
ended abruptly at a pathway of stone, where the ascent became gradual.
When Silvermane struck out of the grove upon this slope Hare kept turning
keen glances rearward. The dust cloud rolled to the edge of the cedars,
and out of it trooped half-a-dozen horsemen who began to shoot as soon as
they had reached the open. Bullets zipped along the red stone, cutting
little puffs of red dust, and sung through the air.

"Good God!" cried Hare. "They're firing on us! They'd shoot a woman!"

"Has it taken you so long to learn that?"

Hare slashed his steed with the switch. But Silvermane needed no goad or
spur; he had been shot at before, and the whistle of one bullet was
sufficient to stretch his gallop into a run. Then distance between him
and his pursuers grew wider and wider and soon he was out of range. The
yells of the rustlers seemed at first to come from baffled rage, but
Mescal's startled cry shoveled their meaning. Other horsemen appeared
ahead and to the right of him, tearing down the ridge to the divide.
Evidently they had been returning from the western curve of Coconina.

The direction in which Silvermane was stretching was the only possible
one for Hare. If he swerved off the trail to the left it would be upon
rough rising ground. Not only must he outride this second band to the
point where the trail went down on the other side of the divide, but also
he must get beyond it before they came within rifle range.

"Now! Silver! Go! Go!" Fast as the noble stallion was speeding he
answered to the call. He was in the open now, free of stones and brush,
with the spang of rifles in the air. The wind rushed into Hare's ears,
filling them with a hollow roar; the ground blurred by in reddish sheets.
The horsemen cut down the half mile to a quarter, lessened that, swept
closer and closer, till Hare recognized Chance and Culver, and Snap Naab
on his cream-colored pinto. Seeing that they could not head the
invincible stallion they sheered more to the right. But Silvermane
thundered on, crossing the line ahead of them a full three hundred
yards, and went over the divide, drawing them in behind him.

Then, at the sharp crack of the rifles, leaden messengers whizzed high in
the air over horse and riders, and skipped along the red shale in front
of the running dog.

"Oh—Silvermane!" cried Hare. It was just a call, as if the horse were
human, and knew what that pace meant to his master. The stern business
of the race had ceased to rest on Hare. Silvermane was out to the front!
He was like a level-rushing thunderbolt. Hare felt the instantaneous
pause between his long low leaps, the gather of mighty muscles, the
strain, the tension, then the quivering expulsion of force. It was a
perilous ride down that red slope, not so much from the hissing bullets
as from the washes and gullies which Silvermane sailed over in
magnificent leaps. Hare thrilled with savage delight in the wonderful
prowess of his desert king, in the primal instinct of joy at escaping
with the woman he loved.

"Outrun!" he cried, with blazing eyes. Mescal's white face was pressed
close to his shoulder. "Silver has beaten them. They'll hang on till we
reach the sand-strip, hoping the slow-down will let them come up in time.
But they'll be far too late."

The rustlers continued on the trail, firing desultorily, till Silvermane
so far distanced them that even the necessary lapse into a walk in the
red sand placed him beyond range when they arrived at the strip.