by Max Brand
CHAPTER XXI
THE SWIMMING OF THE SAVERACK
Over the face of Nash the darkness passed like a cold hand and a coldersense of failure touched his heart; but men who have ridden the rangehave one great power surpassing all others--the power of patience. Assoundlessly as he had pushed himself up the moment before, he nowslipped down in the blankets and resigned himself to sleep.
He knew that he would wake at the first hint of grey light and trustedthat after the long ride of the day before his companion would still befast asleep. That half light would be enough for his work; but when heroused while the room was still scarcely more visible than if it werefilled with a grey fog, he found Bard already up and pulling on hisboots.
"How'd you sleep?" he growled, following the example of the tenderfoot.
"Not very well," said the other cheerily. "You see, that story of yourswas so vivid in my mind that I stayed awake about all night, I guess,thinking it over."
"I knew it," murmured Nash to himself. "He was awake all the time. Andstill-----"
If that thrown noose of the lariat had settled over the head andshoulders of the sham sleeper it would have made no difference whetherhe waked or slept--in the end he would have sat before William Drew tiedhand and foot. If that noose had not settled? The picture of the littlepiece of paper fluttering to the floor came back with a strangevividness to the mind of Nash, and he had to shrug his shoulders toshake the thought away.
They were in the saddle a very few moments after they awoke and startedout, breakfastless. The rain long ago had ceased, and there was only thesolemn silence of the brown hills around them--silence, and a faint,crinkling sound as if the thirsty soil still drank. It had been a heavyfall of rain, they could see, for whenever they passed a bare spot whereno grass grew, it was crossed by a thick tracery of the rivulets whichhad washed down the slopes during the night.
Soon they reached a little creek whose current, barely knee deep, foamedup around the shoulders of the horses and set them staggering.
"The Saverack will be hell," said Nash, "and we'd better cut straightfor the ford."
"How long will it take?"
"Add about three hours to the trip."
"Can't do it; remember that little date back in Eldara to-night."
"Then look for yourself and make up your mind for yourself," said Nashdrily, for they topped a hill, and below them saw a mighty yellow floodpouring down the valley. It went leaping and shouting as if it rejoicedin some destruction it had worked and was still working, and the muddytorrent was threaded with many a ridge of white and swirling withbubbles.
"The Saverack," said Nash. "Now what d'you think about fording it?"
"If we can't ford it, we can swim it," declared Bard. "Look at thattree-trunk. If that will float I will float, and if I can float I canswim, and if I can swim I'll reach the other bank of that little creek.Won't we, boy?"
And he slapped the proud neck of the mustang.
"Swim it?" said Nash incredulously. "Does that date mean as much as thatto you?"
"It isn't the date; it's the promise I gave," answered the other,watching the current with a cool eye, "besides, when I was a youngsterI used to do things like this for the sport of it."
They rode down to the edge of the stream.
"How about it, Nash, will you take the chance with me?"
And the other, looking down: "Try the current, I'll stay here on theshore and if it gets too strong for you I'll throw out a rope, eh? Butif you can make it, I'll follow suit."
The other cast a somewhat wistful eye of doubt upon the cowpuncher.
"How far is it to the ford?" he asked.
"About eight miles," answered Nash, doubling the distance on the spot.
"Eight miles?" repeated the other ruefully. "Too far. Then here goes,Nash."
Still never turning his back on the cowpuncher, who was now uncoilinghis lariat and preparing it for a cast, Bard edged the piebald into thecurrent. He felt the mustang stagger as the water came knee-deep, and hechecked the horse, casting his eye from shore to shore and summing upthe chances.
If it had been simply water against which he had to contend, he wouldnot have hesitated, but here and there along the course sharp pointedrocks and broad-backed boulders loomed, and now and then, with a mightysplashing and crashing one of these was overbalanced by the force of thecurrent and rolled another step toward the far-off sea.
That rush of water would carry him far downstream and the chances werehardly more than even that he would not strike against one of thesemurderous obstructions about which the current foamed.
An impulse made him turn and wave a hand to Nash.
He shouted: "Give me luck?"
"Luck?" roared the cowboy, and his voice came as if faint with distanceover the thunder of the stream.
He touched the piebald with the spurs, and the gallant little horsefloundered forward, lost footing and struck into water beyond its depth.At the same instant Bard swung clear of the saddle and let his bodytrail out behind, holding with his left hand to the tail of thestruggling horse and kicking to aid the progress.
Immersed to the chin, and sometimes covered by a more violent wave, thesound of the river grew at once strangely dim, but he felt the force ofthe current tugging at him like a thousand invisible hands. He began towish that he had taken off his boots before entering, for they weightedhis feet so that it made him leg-weary to kick. Nevertheless he trustedin the brave heart of the mustang. There was no wavering in the wildhorse. Only his head showed over the water, but the ears were prickingstraight and high, and it never once swerved back toward the nearershore.
Their progress at first was good, but as they neared the central portionof the water they were swept many yards downstream for one that theymade in a transverse direction. Twice they missed projecting rocks bythe narrowest margin, and then something like an exceedingly thin andexceedingly strong arm caught Anthony around the shoulders. It tuggedback, stopped all their forward progress, and let them sweep rapidlydown the stream and back toward the shore.
Turning his head he caught a glimpse of Nash sitting calmly in hissaddle, holding the rope in both hands--and laughing. The next instanthe saw no more, for the current placed a taller rock between him and thebank. On that rock the line of the lariat caught, hooking the swimmerssharply in toward the bank. He would have cut the rope, but it would bealmost impossible to get out a knife and open a blade with his teeth,still clinging to the tail of the swimming horse with one hand. Hereached down through the water, pulled out the colt, and with an effortswung himself about. Close at hand he could not reach the rope, andtherefore he fired not directly at the rope itself, but at the edge ofthe rock around which the lariat bent at a sharp angle. The splash ofthat bullet from the strong face of the rock sliced the rope like aknife. It snapped free, and the brave little mustang straightened outagain for the far shore.
An instant more Bard swam with the revolver poised above the water, buthe caught no glimpse of Nash; so he restored it with some difficulty tothe holster, and gave all his attention and strength to helping thehorse through the water, swimming with one hand and kicking vigorouslywith his feet.
Perhaps they would not have made it, for now through exhaustion the earsof the mustang were drooping back. He shouted, and at the faint sound ofhis cheer the piebald pricked a single weary ear. He shouted again, andthis time not for encouragement, but from exultation; a swerving currenthad caught them and was bearing them swiftly toward the desired bank.
It failed them when they were almost touching bottom and swung sharplyout toward the centre again, but the mustang, as though it realizedthat this was the last chance, fought furiously. Anthony gave the restof his strength, and they edged through, inch by inch, and horse and manstaggered up the bank and stood trembling with fatigue.
Glancing back, he saw Nash in the act of throwing his lariat to theground, wild with anger, and before he could understand the meaning ofthis burst of temper over a mere spoiled lariat,
the gun whipped fromthe side of the cowboy, exploded, and the little piebald, with earspricked sharply forward as though in vague curiosity, crumpled to theground. The suddenness of it took all power of action from Bard for theinstant. He stood staring stupidly down at the dying horse and thenwhirled, gun in hand, frantic with anger and grief.
Nash was galloping furiously up the far bank of the Saverack, alreadysafely out of range, and speeding toward the ford.