CHAPTER XIX
THE FINDING OF SUCATASH
De Launay came into the cabin the next morning with an armload of woodto find Solange sitting up in bed with the blankets clutched abouther, staring at the unfamiliar surroundings. He smiled at her, and wasdelighted to be met with an answering, though somewhat puzzled smile.
"You are better?" he asked.
"Yes," she said. "And you--brought me here?"
He nodded and knelt to rebuild the fire. When it was crackling againhe straightened up.
"I was afraid you were going to be ill. You had a bad shock."
Solange shuddered. "It is true. That evil old man! He hurt my head.But I am all right again."
"You had better lie quiet for a day or two, just the same. You havehad a bad blow. If you feel well enough, though, there is something Imust do. Will you be all right if I leave you for a few hours?"
Her face darkened a little but she nodded. "If you must. You have beenvery kind, monsieur. You brought me here?"
Her eyes fell on her leather coat flung over the end of the bunk andshe flushed, looking sideways at the man. He seemed impassive,unconscious, and her puzzled gaze wandered over his face and form. Shenoted striking differences in the tanned, lean face and the lithebody. The skin was clear and the eyes no longer red and swollen. Hestood upright and moved with a swift, deft certainty far from hisformer slouch.
"You are changed," she commented.
"Some," he answered. "Fresh air and exercise have benefited me."
"That is true. Yet there seems to be another difference. You lookpurposeful, if I may say it."
"I?" he seemed to protest. "What purpose is there for me?"
"You must tell me that."
He went out into the other room and returned with broth for her. Butshe was hungry and the broth did not satisfy her. He brought in meatand bread, and she made a fairly hearty breakfast. It pleased DeLaunay to see her enjoying the food frankly, bringing her nearer tothe earth which he, himself, inhabited.
"The only purpose I have," he said, while she ate, "is that of findingwhat has become of your escort. There's another matter, too, on whichI am curious. Do you think you can get along all right if I leave foodfor you here and go down to the camp? I will be back before evening."
"You will be careful of that crazy old man?"
He laughed. "If I am not mistaken he thinks I am a ghost and isfrightened out of seven years' growth," he said, easily. His voicechanged subtly, became swiftly grim. "He may well be," he added, halfto himself.
Breakfast over and the camp cleared up, De Launay took from his packsa second automatic, hanging the holster, a left-hand one, to the bunk.He showed Solange how to operate the mechanism and found that shereadily grasped the principle of it, though the squat, flat weapon wasincongruous in her small hand. The rifle also he left within herreach.
Shortly he was mounted on his way out of the crater. He made good timethrough the down timber and, in about an hour and a half, was headedinto the canyon. He searched carefully for traces of Dave but foundnone. The snow was over a foot deep and had drifted much deeper inmany spots. Especially on the talus slopes at the bottom of the canyonhad it gathered to a depth of several feet.
Finally he came to the site of the camp where he had rescued Solangefrom the mad prospector. Here he was surprised to find no trace of theman although the burros were scraping forlornly in the snow on theslopes trying to uncover forage. Camp equipment was scattered around,and a piece of tarpaulin covered a bundle of stuff. This was tuckedaway by a rock, but De Launay ran on it after some search.
He devoted his efforts to finding the shell from Banker's rifle whichhe had seen on the snow when he left the place. It was finallyuncovered and he put it in his pocket. Then he left the place andheaded down the canyon, searching for signs of the cow-puncher.
He found none, since Dave had not been in this direction. But DeLaunay pushed on until almost noon. He rode high on the slopes wherethe snow was shallower and where he could get an unrestricted view ofthe canyon.
He was about to give it up, however, and turn back when his horsestopped and pricked his ears forward, raising its head. De Launayfollowed this indication and saw what he took to be a clump ofsagebrush on the snow about half a mile away. He watched it andthought it moved.
Intent observation confirmed this impression and it was made acertainty when he saw the black patch waver upward, stagger forwardand then fall again.
With an exclamation, De Launay spurred his horse recklessly down theslope toward the figure on the snow. He galloped up to it and flunghimself to the ground beside it. The figure raised itself on arms fromwhich the sleeves hung in tatters and turned a pale and ghastly facetoward him.
It was Sucatash.
Battered and bruised, with an arm almost helpless and a leg as bad,the cow-puncher was dragging himself indomitably along while hisfailing strength held out. But he was almost at the end of hisresources. Hunger and weakness, wounds and bruises, had done theirwork and he could have gone little farther.
De Launay raised his head and chafed his blue and frozen hands. Thecow-puncher tried to grin.
"Glad to see you, old-timer," he croaked. "You're just about intime."
"What happened to you, man?"
"Don't know. Heard a horse nicker and then mine stumbled and pinnedme. Got a bad fall and when I come to I was lying down the hillagainst some greasewood. Leg a'most busted and an arm as bad. Horsenowhere around. Got anything to drink? Snow ain't much for thirst."
De Launay had food and water and gave it to him. After eatingravenously for a moment he was stronger.
"Funny thing, that horse nickerin'. It was snowin' and I didn't seehim. But, after I come to I tried to climb up where I was throwed. Itwas some job but I made it. There was my horse, half covered withsnow. Some one had shot him."
"Shot him? And then left you to lie there?"
"Just about that. There wasn't no tracks. Snow had filled 'em. But Ireckon that horse wasn't just shot by accident."
"It was not. And Dave's gone."
"Dave? What's that?"
"He's gone. Left the camp day before yesterday and never came back. Iwasn't there."
"And madame? She all right?"
"She is--now. I found her yesterday morning with Banker, theprospector. He was trying to torture her into telling him where thatmine is located. Hurt her pretty bad."
Sucatash lay silent for a moment. Then:
"Jumpin' snakes!" he said. "That fellow has got a lot comin' to him,ain't he?"
"He has," said De Launay, shortly. "More than you know."
Again the cow-puncher was silent for a space.
"Reckon he beefed Dave?" he said at last.
"Shouldn't be surprised," said De Launay. "I searched for him butcouldn't find him. He wouldn't get lost or hurt. But Jim Banker's doneenough, in any case."
"He sure has," said Sucatash.
De Launay helped the cow-puncher up in front of him and turned back tothe crater. He rode past Banker's camp without stopping, but keepingalong the slope to avoid the deeper snow he came upon a stake set in apile of small rocks. This was evidently newly placed. He showed it toSucatash.
"The fellow's staked ground here. What could he have found?"
"Maybe the old lunatic thinks he's run onto French Pete's strike,"grinned Sucatash. "This don't look very likely to me."
"Gone to Maryville to register it, I suppose. That accounts for hisleaving the burros and part of his stuff. He'd travel light."
"He better come back heavy though. If he aims to winter in here he'llneed bookoo rations. It'd take some mine to make me do it."
Sucatash was in bad shape, and De Launay was not particularlyinterested in old Jim's vagaries at the present time, so he made allspeed back to the crater. Sucatash, who knew of the windfall, wouldnot believe that the soldier had found an entrance into the placeuntil he had actually treaded the game trail.
He looked backward from the heights above th
e tangle after they hadcome through it.
"Some stronghold," he commented. "It'd take an army to dig you outahere."
They found Solange as De Launay had left her. She was overjoyed to seeSucatash and at the same time distressed to observe his condition. Sheheard with indignation his account of his mishap and, like De Launay,suspected Banker of being responsible for it. Indeed, unless theyassumed that some mysterious presence was abroad at this unseasonabletime in the mountains, there was no one else to suspect.
She would have risen and assumed the duties of nursing thecow-puncher, but De Launay forbade it. She was still very weak and herhead was painful. The soldier therefore took upon himself the task ofcaring for both of them.
He made a bed for Sucatash in the kitchen of the cabin and went aboutthe work of getting them both on their feet with quiet efficiency.This bade fair to be a task of some days' duration though both werestrong and healthy and yielded readily to rest and treatment.
It was night again before he had them comfortably settled andsleeping. Once more, with camp lantern lit, he sat before the slabtable and examined his bullets and the shell he had picked up atBanker's camp.
He found that both bullets fitted it tightly. Then he turned the rimto the light and looked at it.
Stamped in the brass were the cabalistic figures:
U. M. C. SAV. .303.
For some time he sat there, his mouth set in straight, hard lines, hismemory playing backward over nineteen years. He recalled the men hehad known on the range, a scattered company, every one of whom couldbe numbered, every one of whom had possessions, weapons, accouterment,known to nearly all the others. In that primitive community of fewindividuals the tools of their trades were as a part of them. Men weremarked by their saddles, their chaparajos, their weapons. A pair ofsilver-mounted spurs owned by one was remarked by all the others.
Louisiana had known the weapons of the range riders even as they knewhis. The six-shooter with which he had often performed his feats wouldhave been as readily recognized as he, himself. When a new rifleappeared in the West its advent was a matter of note.
In Maryville, then a small cow town and outfitting place for the menof the range, there had been one store in which weapons could bebought. In that store, the proprietor had stocked just one rifle ofthe new make. The Savage, shooting an odd caliber cartridge, had beendistrusted because of that fact, the men of the country fearing thatthey would have difficulty in procuring shells of such an unusualcaliber. Unable to sell it, he had finally parted with it for a merefraction of its value to one who would chance its inconvenience. Theman who possessed it had been known far and wide and, at that time, hewas the sole owner of such a rifle in all that region.
Yet, with this infallible clew to the identity of French Pete'smurderer at hand, it had been assumed that the bullet was 30-30.
De Launay envisioned that worn and battered rifle butt projecting fromthe scabbard slung to the burro in Sulphur Falls. Nineteen years, andthe man still carried and used the weapon which was to prove hisguilt.
Once more he got up and went in to look at the sleeping girl. Shouldhe tell her that the murderer of her father was discovered? What goodwould it do? He doubted that, if confronted with the knowledge, shecould find the fortitude to exact the vengeance which she had vowed.And if, faced with the facts, she drew back, what reproach would shealways visit upon herself for her weakness? Torn between a barbariccode and her own gentle instincts, she would be unhappy whatevereventuated.
But he was free from gentleness--at least toward every one but her. Hehad killed. He was callous. Five years in the _L?gion des Etrangers_and fourteen more of war and preparation for war had rendered himproof against squeamishness. The man was a loathly thing who had slainin cold blood, cowardly, evil, and unclean. Possibly he had murderedwithin the past few days, and, at any rate he had attempted murder andtorture.
Why tell her about it? He had no ties; no aims; nothing to regretleaving. He had nothing but wealth which was useless to him, but whichwould lift her above all unhappiness after he was gone. And he couldkill the desert rat as he would snuff out a candle.
Yet--the thought of it gave him a qualm. The man was so contemptible;so unutterably low and vile and cowardly. To kill him would be likecrushing vermin. He would not fight; he would cower and cringe andshriek. There might be a battle when they took De Launay for the"murder," of course, but even his passing, desperate as he might makeit, would not entirely wipe out the disgrace of such a butchery. Hewas a soldier; a commander with a glorious record, and it went againstthe grain to go out of life in an obscure brawl brought on by theslaughter of this rat.
Still, he had dedicated himself to the service of this girl, half injest, perhaps, but it was the only service left to him to perform. Hehad lived his life; had his little day of glory. It was time to go.She was his wife and to her he would make his last gesture and depart,serving her.
Then, as he looked at her, her eyes opened and flashed upon him. Intheir depths something gleamed, a new light more baffling than any hehad seen there before. There was fire and softness, warmth andsweetness in it. He dropped on his knees beside the bunk.
"What is it, _mon ami_?" Solange was smiling at him, a smile that drewhim like a magnet.
"Nothing," he said, and rose to his feet. Her hand had strayed lightlyover his hair in that instant of forgetfulness. "I looked to see thatyou were comfortable."
"You are changed," she said, uncertainly. "It is better so."
He smiled at her. "Yes. I am changed again. I am the l?gionnaire.Nameless, hopeless, careless! You must sleep, _mon enfant_! Goodnight!"
He brushed the hand she held out to him with his lips and turned tothe door. As he went out she heard him singing softly:
"_Soldats de la L?gion, De la L?gion Etrang?re, N'ayant pas de Nation, La France est votre M?re._"
He did not see that the light in her marvelous eyes had grown verytender. Nor did she dream that he had made a mat of his glory for herto walk upon.
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