The Night Riders: A Romance of Early Montana

by Ridgwell Cullum

  CHAPTER X

  A WILD RIDE

  The intractability of the Lady Jezebel was beyond all bounds. Hervagaries were legion. After his experiences with her, Tresler mighthave been forgiven the vanity of believing, in spite of her sex, thathe had fathomed her every mood. But she was forever springingunpleasant surprises, and her present one was of a more alarmingnature than anything that had gone before. One of her tricks, bolting,was not so very serious, but now she proved herself a "blind bolter."And among horsemen there is only one thing to do with a blindbolter--shoot it. A horse of this description seems to be imbued withbut one idea--a furious desire to go, to run anywhere, to run intoanything lying in its course, to run on until its strength is spent,or its career is suddenly terminated by a forcible full stop.

  At the bend of the trail the mare took blindly to the bush. Chanceguided her on to a cattle-path which cut through to the pinewoodsbeyond. It was but a matter of moments before her rider saw the darkshadow of the woodlands come at him with a rush, and he plungedheadlong into the gray twilight of their virgin depths. He had justtime to crouch down in the saddle, with his face buried in the tangleof the creature's flying mane, when the drooping boughs, laden withtheir sad foliage, swept his back. He knew there were only twocourses open to him. Either he must sit tight and chance his luck tillthe mad frolic was spent, or throw himself headlong from the saddle atthe first likely spot. A more experienced horseman would, no doubt,have chosen the latter course without a second thought. But hepreferred to stay with the mare. He was loth to admit defeat. She hadnever bested him yet, and a sort of petty vanity refused to allow himto acknowledge her triumph now. They might come to an opening, he toldhimself, a stretch of open country. The mare might tire of the forestgloom and turn prairieward. These things suggested themselves merelyas an excuse for his foolhardiness in remaining in the saddle, notthat he had any hope of their fulfilment.

  And so it was. Nothing moved the animal out of her course, and itseemed almost as though a miracle were in operation. For, in all thatlabyrinth of tree-trunks, a sheer road constantly opened out beforethem. Once, and once only, disaster was within an ace of him. Shebrushed a mighty black-barked giant with her shoulders. Tresler's kneestruck it with such painful force that his foot was wrenched from thestirrup and dragged back so that the rowel of his spur was plunged,with terrific force, into the creature's flank. She responded to theblow with a sideways leap, and it was only by sheer physical strengthher rider retained his seat. Time and again the reaching boughs swepthim and tore at his clothes, frequently lacerating the flesh beneathwith the force of their impact.

  These things, however, were only minor troubles as he raced down thegrim forest aisles. His thoughts centred themselves on the mainchance--the chance that embraced life and death. An ill-fate might, atany moment, plunge horse and rider headlong into one of those silentsentries. It would mean anything. Broken limbs at the best. ButProvidence ever watches over the reckless horseman, and, in spite of acertain native caution in most things, Tresler certainly was that. Heknew no fear of this jade of a mare, and deep down in his heart therewas a wild feeling of joy, a whole-hearted delight in the very madnessof the race.

  And the animal herself, untamed, unchecked, frothing at her bit, hersides a-lather with foam, her barrel tuckered like that of a finelytrained race-horse, rushed blindly on. The forest echoed and reechoedwith the dull thud of her hoofs as they pounded the thick underlay ofrotting cones. And her rider breathed hard as he lay with his headbeside the reeking neck, and watched for the coming of the end.

  Suddenly, in the midst of the gray, he saw a flash of sunlight. It waslike a beacon light to a storm-driven mariner. It was only a gleam ofsunshine and was gone almost at once, but it told him that he was fastcoming on the river. The final shoals, maybe, where wreck aloneawaited him. Just for an instant his purpose wavered. There was stilltime to drop to the ground. He would have to chance the mare's flyingheels. And it might save him.

  But the idea was driven from his head almost before he realized it;the mare swerved like a skidding vehicle. He clung desperately to hermane, one arm was even round her neck in a forcible embrace. Thestruggle lasted only a few seconds. Then, as he recovered hisequilibrium, he saw that she had turned into what was undoubtedly awell-defined, but long-disused, forest trail. The way was clear ofobstruction. The trees had parted, opening up a wide avenue, and abovehim shone the perfect azure of the summer sky.

  He was amazed. Where could such a trail lead? His answer cameimmediately. Away ahead of him, towering above the abundant foliage,he saw the distant shimmer of snowy peaks, and nearer--so near as tomake him marvel aloud--the forest-clad, broken lands of thefoot-hills. Immediate danger was past and he had time to think. At allcost he must endeavor to stop the racing beast under him. So he begana vicious sawing at her mouth. His efforts only drove her faster, andcaused her to throw her head higher and higher, until her crown waswithin six inches of his face.

  The futility of his purpose was almost ludicrous. He desisted. And theLady Jezebel lowered her head with an angry snort and rushed on harderthan ever. And now the race continued without relaxing. Once or twiceTresler thought he detected other hoof-marks on the trail, but hisimpression of them was very uncertain. One thing surely struck him,however: since entering this relic of the old Indian days, a decidedchange had come over the mare. She was no longer running blind; more,it seemed to him that she displayed that inexpressible familiaritywith her surroundings which a true horseman can always detect, yetnever describe. This knowledge led him to the hope of the passing ofher temper.

  But his hope was an optimistic mistake. The sweat pouring from neck,shoulders, and flanks, she still lifted her mud-brown barrel to hermighty stride, with all the vim and lightness of the start. He feltthat, jade that she was, she ran because she loved it; ran with adelight that acted as a safety-valve for her villainous temper. Shewould run herself into amiability and then stop, but not before. Andhe knew her temper so well that he saw many miles lying ahead of him.

  The rift was gradually widening, and the forest on either sidethinned. The trees were wider and more scattered, and the brokenhilltops, which but now had been well ahead, were frowning right overhim, and he knew, by the steady, gradual rise of the country, that hewould soon be well within the maze of forest, crag, and ravine, whichcomposed the mountain foot-hills.

  At last the forest broke and the ragged land leapt into full view withmagical abruptness. It was as though Nature had grown her forestwithin the confines of a field embraced by an imaginary hedge. Therewere no outskirts, no dwindling away. It ended in one clean-cut line.And beyond lay the rampart hills, fringed and patched with disheveledbluff, split by rifts and yawning chasms. And ever they rose higherand higher as the distance gained, and, though summer was not yet atits height, it was gaunt-looking, torn, chaotic, a land of desolation.

  The mare held straight on. The change of scene had no effect on her;the trail still lay before her, and she seemed satisfied with it.Tresler looked for the river. He knew it was somewhere near by. Hegazed away to the right, and his conjecture was proved at once. Thereit lay, the Mosquito River, narrowed and foaming, a torrent with high,clean-cut banks. He followed its course ahead and saw that the bankslost themselves in the shadow between towering, almost barren hills,which promised the narrow mouth of a valley beyond.

  And as he watched these things, a feeling of uneasiness came over him.The split between the hills looked so narrow. He looked for the trail.It seemed to make straight for the opening. As the ground flew underhim, he turned once more to the river and followed its course with hiseyes, and suddenly he was thrilled with his first real feeling ofapprehension. The river on the right, and the hill on the left of himwere converging. Nor could he avoid that meeting-point.

  He was borne on by the bolting mare. There was not the smallest hopeof restraining her. Whatever lay before him, he must face it, and faceit with every faculty alert and ready. His mouth parched, and helicked his lips. He was f
acing a danger now that was uncertain, andthe uncertainty of it strung him with a nervous apprehension.

  Bluff succeeded bluff in rapid succession. The hill on the left hadbecome a sheer cliff, and the general aspect of the country, that of atremendous gorge. The trail rose slightly and wound its tortuous wayin such an aggravating manner that it was impossible for him to seewhat lay before him.

  At one point he came to a fork where another trail, less defined,branched away to the right. For a moment he dreaded lest the mareshould adopt the new way. He knew what lay out there--the river.However, his fears were quickly allayed. The Lady Jezebel had nointention of leaving the road she was on.

  They passed the fork, and he sighed his relief. But his relief wasshort-lived. Without a sign or warning the trail he was on died out,and his course lay over a narrow level flat sparsely dotted withsmall, stubbly bush. Now he knew that the mare had been true toherself. She had passed the real trail by, and was running headlongto----

  He dared think no more. He knew the crisis was at hand. He had reachedthe narrowest point of the opening between the two hills, and therestretched the river right across his path less than fifty yards ahead.It took no central course--as might have been expected--through thegorge. It met the left-hand cliff diagonally, and, further on, adoptedits sheer side for its left bank. He saw the clearly defined cutting,sharp, precise, before it reached the cliff, and he was ridingstraight for it!

  In that first moment of realization he passed through every sensationof fear; but no time was given him for thought. Fifty yards! What wasthat to the raking stride of his untamed mare? It would be gone in afew seconds. Action was the only thing to serve him, and such actionas instinct prompted him to was utterly unavailing. With a mightyheave of his body, and with all the strength of his sinewy arms, hetried to pull the creature on to her haunches. As well try to stemthe tide ahead of him. She threw up her head until it nearly struckhim in the face; she pawed the air with her great front legs; then, ashe released her, she rushed forward again with a vicious snort.

  His case seemed utterly hopeless. He sat down tight in the saddle,leaning slightly forward. He held his reins low, keeping a steadystrain upon them. There was a vague, wild thought in his mind. He knewthe river had narrowed. Was it a possible jump? He feared the veryworst, but clung desperately to the hope. He would lift the creatureto it when it came, anyhow. Would she see it? Would she, freakishbrute that she was, realize her own danger, and, for once in herdesperate life, do one sensible act? He did not expect it. He darednot hope for that. He only wondered.

  He could see the full extent of the chasm now. And he thrilled as herealized that it was broader than he had supposed. Worse, the far bankwas lower, and a fringe of bush hung at its very edge. His jawstightened as he came up. He could hear the roar of the torrent below,and, to his strained fancy, it seemed to come up from the very bowelsof the earth.

  A few more strides. He timed his effort with a judgment inspired bythe knowledge that his life depended on it--it, and the mare.

  The chasm now came at him with a rush. Suddenly he leaned over and letout a wild "halloo!" in the creature's ears. At the same time helifted her and plunged his spurs hard into her flanks. The effect wasinstantaneous, electrical. Just for an instant it seemed to him thatsome unseen power had suddenly shot her from under him. He had asensation of being left behind, while yet he was rushing through theair with the saddle flying from under him. Then all seemed still, andhe was gliding, the lower part of his body struggling to outstrip therest of him. He had an impression of some great depth below him,though he knew he saw nothing, heard nothing. There came a great jolt.He lurched on to the animal's neck, recovered himself, and, the nextinstant, the old desperate gallop was going on as before.

  He looked back and shivered as he saw the gaping rift behind him. Thejump had been terrific, and, as he realized the marvel of the feat, heleaned over and patted the mare's reeking shoulder. She had performedan act after her own wild heart.

  And Tresler laughed aloud at the thought. He could afford to laughnow, for he saw the end of his journey coming. He had landed on thetrail he had lost, in all probability the continuation across theriver of the branch road he had missed on the other side, and this washeading directly for the hill before him. More, he could see itwinding its way up the hill. Even the Lady Jezebel, he thought, wouldfind that ascent more than to her liking.

  And he was right. She faced it and breasted it like the lion-heartedanimal she was, but the loose sandy surface, and the abruptness of theincline, first brought her to a series of plunges, and finally to herknees and a dead halt.

  And Tresler was out of the saddle in an instant, and drew the reinsover her head, while she, now quite subdued, struggled to her feet.She was utterly blown, and her master was little better. They stoodtogether on that hillside and rested.

  Now the man had a full view of the river below, and he realized thejump that the mare had made. And, further down, he beheld anastonishing sight. At a point where the course of the river narrowed,a rough bridge of pine-logs had been thrown across it. He stood forsome minutes contemplating the scene and busy with his thoughts, whichat last culminated in a question uttered aloud--

  "Where on earth does it lead to?"

  And he turned and surveyed the point, where, higher up, the trailvanished round the hillside above him. The question voiced a naturalcuriosity which he promptly proceeded to satisfy. Linking his armthrough the reins, he led the mare up the hill.

  It was a laborious climb. Even free of her burden the horse haddifficulty in keeping her feet. The sandy surface was deep, and pouredaway at every step like the dry sand on the seashore. And as theylabored up, Tresler's wonder increased at every step. Why had such atrail been made, and where--where could it lead to?

  At length the vanishing-point was reached, and horse and rider roundedthe bend. And immediately the reason was made plain. But even thereason sank into insignificance before the splendor of the scene whichpresented itself.

  He was standing on a sort of shelf cut out of the hillside. It wasnot more than fifty yards long, and some twenty wide, but it stoodhigh over a wide, far-reaching valley, scooped out amongst the greatfoot-hills which reared their crests about him on every side. Far asthe eye could see was spread out the bright, early summer green of thegrass-land hollow. For the most part the surrounding hills wereprecipitate, and rose sheer from the bed of the valley, but here andthere a friendly landslide had made the place accessible. Just wherehe stood, and all along the shelf, the face of the hill formed aprecipice, both above and below, and the only approach to it was theway he had come round from the other side of the hill.

  And the object, the reason, of that hidden road. A small hut crushedinto the side of the sheer cliff. A dugout of logs, and thatch, andmud plaster. A hut with one fronting door, and a parchment window; ahut such as might have belonged to some old-time trapper, who hadfound it necessary to set his home somewhere secure from the attacksof marauding Indians.

  And what a strategic position it was! One approach to be barred andbarricaded; one laborious road which the besieged could sweep with hisrifle-fire, and beat back almost any horde of Indians in the country.He led his horse on toward the hut. The door was closed, and theparchment of the window hid the interior.

  The outside appearance showed good repair. He examined it critically.He walked round its three sides, and, as he came to the far side ofit, and thoughtfully took in the method of its construction, hesuddenly became aware of another example of the old trapper's cunning.The cliff that rose sheer up for another two or three hundred feetslightly sloped backward at the extremity of the shelf, and here hadbeen cut a rude sort of staircase in the gray limestone of which itwas composed. There were the steps, dangerous enough, and dizzying tolook at, rising up, up, to the summit above. He ventured to the brinkwhere they began, but instantly drew back. Below was a sheer drop ofperhaps five hundred feet.

  Turning his eyes upward, his fancy conjured up a picture of the
poorwretch, hunted and besieged by the howling Indians, starving perhaps,creeping at dead of night from the little fort he had held so long andso valiantly against such overwhelming odds, and, in desperation,availing himself of his one and only possible escape. Step by step, hefollowed him, in imagination, up the awful cliff, clinging for dearlife with fingers worn and lacerated by the grinding stone. Weary andexhausted, he seemed to see him draw near the top. Then a slip, oneslip of his tired feet, and no hold upon the limestone with his handswould have power to save him. Down, down----

  He turned back to the hut with a sick feeling in his stomach. Securinghis mare to an iron ring, which he found driven firmly into one of thelogs, he proceeded to investigate further. The door was held by acommon latch, and yielded at once when he raised it. It opened inward,and he waited after throwing it open. He had a strange feeling oftrespass in thus intruding upon what might prove to be the home ofsome fur-hunter.

  No sound followed the opening of the door. He waited listening; thenat last he stepped forward and announced himself with a sharp "Hello!"

  His only answer was the echo of his greeting. Without more ado hestepped in. For a moment the sharpness of the contrast of light madeit impossible for him to see anything; but presently he became used tothe twilight of the interior, and looked about him curiously. It washis first acquaintance with a dugout, nor was he impressed with thecomfort it displayed. The place was dirty, unkempt, and his dream ofthe picturesque, old-time trapper died out entirely. He beheld wallsbare of all decoration, simply a rough plastering of mud over thelateral logs; a frowsy cupboard, made out of a huge packing-case,containing odd articles for housekeeping purposes. There were thefragments of two chairs lying in a heap beside a dismembered table,which stood only by the aid of two legs and the centre post whichsupported the pitch of the roof. A rough trestle-bed occupied the farend of the hut, and in shape and make it reminded him of his own bedin the bunkhouse. But there the resemblance ended, for the palliassewas of brown sacking, and a pair of dull-red blankets were tumbled ina heap upon its foot. One more blanket of similar hue was lying uponthe floor; but this was only a torn fragment that had possibly servedas a carpet, or, to judge by other fragments lying about, had beenused to patch shirts, or even the well-worn bedclothes.

  It was a squalid hovel, and reeked of the earth out of which it wasdug. Beyond the bedding, the red blankets, and the few plates and potsin the packing-case cupboard, there was not a sign of the owner, andTresler found himself wondering as to what manner of man it was whocould have endured such meanness. It did not occur to him thatprobably the very trapper he had thought of had left his eyrie inpeace and taken his belongings with him, leaving behind him only thosethings which were worthless.

  A few minutes satisfied his curiosity. Probably his ride, and anatural desire to return to the ranch as quickly as possible, haddulled the keenness of his faculties of observation. Certain it isthat, squalid as the place was, there was an air of recent habitationabout it that he missed. He took it for a deserted shack merely, andgave it no second thought.

  He passed out into the daylight with an air of relief; he had seenquite enough. The Lady Jezebel welcomed him with an agitated snort;she too seemed anxious to get away. He led her down the shelving trailagain. The descent was as laborious as the ascent had been, and muchmore dangerous. But it was accomplished at last, and at the foot ofthe hill he mounted the now docile animal, who cantered off as amiablyas though she had never done anything wrong in her life.

  And as he rode away his thoughts reverted to the incidents of thatmorning; he went again over the scenes in which he had taken part, thescenes he had witnessed. He thought of his brief battle with Jake, ofDiane and Joe, of his interview with Fyles. All these things were ofsuch vital import to him that he had no thought for anything else;even the log bridge spanning the river could not draw from him anykind of interest. Had his mind been less occupied, he might havepaused to ask himself a question about the things he had just seen. Hemight even have wondered how the logs of that dugout had been hauledto the shelf on which it stood. Certain it was that they must havebeen carried there, for there was not a single tree upon the hillside,only a low bush. And the bridge; surely it was the work of many hands.And why was it there on a disused trail?

  But he had no thought for such questions just then. He bustled themare and hurried on.