CHAPTER X
THE YOUNG EAGLE MOUNTS
After the momentary sorrow of parting from his good friend, Delmar, theyouth's heart began to expand with joy. He lifted his arms and shookthem as the young eagle exults. He was alone on the wide swells of plainenacting a part of the wild life of which he had read, and for which hehad longed. He was riding a swift horse straight toward the mysticmountains of the West, leaving behind him the miserable wars of thesheep herders and the cattlemen. Every leap of his sturdy pony carriedhim deeper into the storied land and farther from the tumult and shameof the night at Running Bear.
He was not one to morbidly analyze, not even to feel remorse. He put thepast behind him easily. Before him small grasshoppers arose in clapping,buzzing clouds. Prairie dogs squeaked and frisked and dived needlesslyinto their dens. Hawks sailed like kites in the glorious, golden, hazyair, and on the firm sod the feet of his pony steadily drummed. Once aband of antelope crossed a swale, running in silence, jerkily, like atrain of some singular automatons, moved by sudden, uneven impulses ofpower. The deep-worn buffalo trails seemed so fresh the boy's heartquickened with the thought that he might by chance come suddenly upon astray bunch of them feeding in some deep swale.
He had passed beyond fences, and his course was still substantiallywestward. His eyes constantly searched the misty purple-blue horizon fora first glimpse of the mountains, though he knew he could not possiblycome in sight of them so soon. He rode steadily till the sun wasoverhead, when he stopped to let the pony rest and feed. He had a scantylunch in his pocket, which he ate without water. Saddling up an hour ortwo later he continued his steady onward "shack" toward the West.
Once or twice he passed in sight of cattle ranches, but he rode onwithout stopping, though he was hungry and weary. Once he met a coupleof cowboys who reined out and rode by, one on either side of him, to seewhat brands were on his horse. He was sufficiently waywise to know whatthis meant. The riders remained studiously polite in their inquiries:
"Where ye from, stranger?"
"Upper Cannon Ball."
"Eh--hah. How's the feed there this year?"
"Pretty good."
"Where ye aimin' at now, if it's a fair question?"
"Bob Reynolds' ranch."
"He's over on the head water of the South Fork, ain't he?"
"Yes."
"Well, it's a good piece yet. So long," they said in change of manner.
"So long."
They rode away, still filled with curiosity concerning the boy whosehorse plainly showed hard riding. "He shore wants to git there," saidone to the other.
Late in the afternoon the youth pulled in his horse and studied with theclosest care a big cloud looming in the sky. All day snowy thunderheadshad been emerging into view near the horizon, blooming like giganticroses out of the deep purple of the sky, but this particular cloud hadnot changed its sharp, clean-cut outline for an hour, and, as he looked,a veil of vapor suddenly drifted away from it, and Mose's heart leapedwith exultation, as though a woman's hand had been laid on his shoulder.That cloud-like form was a mountain! It could be nothing else, for whileall around it other domes shifted line and mass, this one remainedconstant, riding through the mist as the moon endures in the midst ofthe flying vapor of the night.
Thereafter he rode with his eyes on that sunlit mass. The land grewwilder. Sharp hills broke the smooth expanses, and on these hills grovesof dwarf pine appeared in irregular clumps like herds of cattle. Hebegan to look for a camping place, for he was very tired. For an hour heled his spent horse, still moving toward the far-off shining peak, whichglowed long after darkness had fallen on the plains. At last it grew toodim to guide him farther, and slipping the saddle from his horse, heturned him loose to feed upon the bunch grass.
As the light faded from the sky so the exultation and sense of freedomwent out of the boy's heart. His mind went back to the struggle in thestreet. He felt no remorse, no pity for the drunken fools, but he wasangry and discouraged and disgusted with himself. He had ended infailure and in flight where he should have won success and respect. Hedid not directly accuse himself; he had done as well as he could; heblamed "things," and said to himself, "it's my luck," by which he meantto express a profound feeling of dejection and weakness as of one in thegrasp of inimical powers. By the working of unfriendly forces he waslying there under the pines, hungry, tired, chilled, and lone as a wolf.Jack was far away, Mary lost forever to him, and the officers of the lawagain on his trail. It was a time to make a boy a man, a bitter andrevengeful man.
The night grew chill, and he was forced to walk up and down, wrapped inhis saddle blanket to keep warm. Fuel was scarce, and his small firesufficed only to warm him in minute sections, and hunger had thinned hisblood. He was tired and sleepy, too, but dared not lie down for fear ofbeing chilled. It would not do to be ill here alone in this land.
It was the loneliest night he had ever known in his life. On the hillsnear by the coyotes kept up ventriloquistic clamor, and from far off thebawling of great bulls and the bleating of the calves brought news of ahuge herd of cattle, but these sounds only made his solitary vigil themore impressive. The sleepy chirp of the crickets and the sound of hishorse nipping the grass, calmly careless of the wolves, were the onlyaids to sleep; all else had the effect to keep his tense nervesvibrating. As the cold intensified, the crickets ceased to cry, and thepony, having filled his stomach, turned tail to the wind and humped hisback in drowse. At last, no friendly sounds were left in all the world,and shivering, sore, and sullen, the youth faced the east waiting forthe dawn.
As the first faint light came into the east he turned his face to thewest, anxiously waiting till the beautiful mountain should blossom fromthe dark. At last it came stealing forth, timid, delicate, blushing likea bride from nuptial chamber, ethereal as an angel's wing, persistent asa glacial wall. As it broadened and bloomed, the boy threw off hisdepression like a garment. Briskly saddling his shivery but well-fedhorse he set off, keeping more and more to the left, as his instructionsran. But no matter in which direction he rode, his eyes were on themountain. "There is where I end," was his constantly repeated thought.It would have been easy for him to have turned aside.
Shortly after sunrise he came upon a ranch set deep in a gully andsheltered by pinons. Smoke was curling from the stovepipe, but no othersign of life could be detected. He rode directly up to the door, beingnow too hungry and cold to pass by food and shelter, no matter whatshould follow.
A couple of cowboys, armed and armored, came out lazily but with menacein their glances.
"Good morning," said Mose.
"Howdy, stranger, howdy," they repeated with instant heartiness. "Gitoff your hoss and come in."
"Thanks, I believe I will. Can you tell me which-a-way is Bob Reynolds'ranch?" he asked.
Both men broke into grins. "Well, you've putt' nigh hit it right hyer.This is one o' his 'line camps.' The ranch house is about ten milesfurder on--but slide off and eat a few."
One man took his horse while the other showed him into a big room wherea huge stack of coals on a rude hearth gave out a cheerful heat. It wasan ordinary slab shack with three rooms. A slatternly woman was busycooking breakfast in a little lean-to at the back of the larger room, achild was wailing in a crib, and before the fire two big, wolfish dogswere sleeping. They arose slowly to sniff lazily at Mose's garments, andthen returned to their drowse before the fire.
"Stranger, you look putt' nigh beat out," said the man who acted ashost; "you look pale around the gills."
"I am," said Mose; "I got off my course last night, and had to make downunder a pinon. I haven't had anything to eat since yesterday noon."
"Wal, we'll have some taters and sow-belly in a giff or two. Want 'owash?"
Mose gladly took advantage of the opportunity to clean the dust andgrime from his skin, though his head was dizzy with hunger. The food wasbacon, eggs, and potatoes, but it was fairly well cooked, and he atewith great satisfaction.
The
men were very much interested in him, and tried to get at the heartof his relation to Reynolds, but he evaded them. They were lankyMissourians, types already familiar to him, and he did not care to makeconfidants of them. The woman was a graceless figure, a silent householddrudge, sullenly sad, and gaunt, and sickly.
Mose offered to pay for his breakfast, but the boss waved it aside andsaid: "Oh, that's all right; we don't see enough people pass to charge,for a breakfast. Besides, we're part o' the Reynolds' outfit, anyway."
As Mose swung into the saddle his heart was light. Away to the south along low cloud of smoke hung. "What is that?" he asked.
"That's the bull-gine on the Great Western; we got two railroads now."
"Which is two too many," said the other man. "First you know the cattlebusiness will be wiped out o' 'Rickaree County just as it is bein' wipedout in Cheyenne and Runnin' Bear. Nesters and cow milkers are comin'in, and will be buildin' fences yet."
"Not in my day," said the host.
"Well, so long," said Mose, and rode away.
The Reynolds' ranch house was built close beside a small creek which hadcut deep into the bottom of a narrow valley between two pinon-coveredhills. It squat in the valley like a tortoise, but was much morecomfortable than most ranch houses of the county. It was surrounded bylong sheds and circular corrals of pine logs, and looked to be what itwas, a den in which to seek shelter. A blacksmith's forge was sending upa shower of sparks as Mose rode through the gate and up to the mainstable.
A long-bearded old man tinkering at some repairs to a plow nodded at theyouth without speaking.
"Is Mr. Reynolds at home?" asked Mose.
"No, but he'll be here in a second--jest rode over the hill to look at asick colt. Git off an' make yuself comfortable."
Mose slipped off his horse and stood watching the queer old fellow as hesquinted and hammered upon a piece of iron, chewing furiously meanwhileat his tobacco. It was plain his skill was severely taxed by thecomplexity of the task in hand.
As he stood waiting Mose saw a pretty young woman come out of the houseand take a babe from the ground with matronly impatience of the dirtupon its dress.
The old man followed the direction of the young man's eyes and mumbled:"Old man's girl.... Her child."
Mose asked no questions, but it gave a new and powerful interest to thegraceful figure of the girl.
Occasionally the old man lifted his eyes toward the ridge, as if lookingfor some one, and at last said, "Old man--comin'."
A horseman came into view on the ridge, sitting his horse with the graceand ease of one who lives in the saddle. As he zig-zagged down the steepbank, his pony, a vicious and powerful roan "grade," was on its hauncheshalf the time, sliding, leaping, trotting. The rider, a smallish man,with a brown beard, was dressed in plain clothing, much the worse forwind and sun. He seemed not to observe the steepness and roughness ofthe trail.
As he rode up and slipped from his horse Mose felt much drawn to him,for his was a kindly and sad face. His voice, as he spoke, was low andsoft, only his eyes, keen and searching, betrayed the resoluteplainsman.
"Howdy, stranger?" he said in Southern fashion. "Glad to see you, sir."
Mose presented his note from Delmar.
"From old Delmar, eh? How did you leave him? In good health and spirits,I hope."
He spoke in the rhythmical way of Tennesseans, emphasizing the auxiliaryverbs beyond their usual value. After reading the letter he extended hishand. "I am very glad to meet you, sir. I am indeed. Bill, take care ofMr.----" He paused, and looked at the latter.
"Mose--Mose Harding," interpolated Mose.
"Put in Harding's horse. Come right in, Mr. Harding; I reckon dinner isin process of simmering by this time."
"Call me Mose," said the youth. "That's what Delmar called me."
Reynolds smiled. "Very good, sir; Mose it shall be."
They entered the front door into the low-ceiled, small sitting roomwhere a young girl was sitting sewing, with a babe at her feet.
"My daughter, Mrs. Craig," said Reynolds gently. "Daughter, this youngman is Mr. Mose Harding, who comes from my old friend Delmar. He isgoing to stay with us for a time. Sit down, Mose, and make yourself athome."
The girl blushed painfully, and Mose flushed sympathetically. He couldnot understand the mystery, and ignored her confusion as far aspossible. The room was shabby and well worn. A rag carpet covered thefloor. The white plastered walls had pictures cut from newspapers andmagazines pinned upon them to break the monotony. The floor was litteredalso with toys, clothing, and tools, which the baby had pulled about,but the room wrought powerfully upon the boy's heart, giving him thefirst real touch of homesickness he had felt since leaving the Burns'farm that bright March day, now so far away it seemed that it was deepin the past. For a few moments he could not speak, and the girl wasequally silent. She gathered up the baby's clothes and playthings, andpassed into another room, leaving the young man alone.
His heart was very tender with memories. He thought of Mary and of hissister Maud, and his throat ached. The wings of the young eagle wereweary, and here was safety and rest, he felt that intuitively, and whenReynolds returned with his wife, a pleasant-featured woman of largeframe, tears were in the boy's eyes.
Mrs. Reynolds wiped her fingers on her apron and shook hands with himcordially. "I s'pose you're hungry as a wolf. Wal, I'll hurry up dinner.Mebbe you'd like a biscuit?"
Mose professed to be able to wait, and at last convinced the hospitablesoul. "Wal, I'll hurry things up a little," she said as she went out.Reynolds, as he took a seat, said: "Delmar writes that you just gotmixed up in some kind o' fuss down there. I reckon you had better tellme how it was."
Mose was glad to unburden his heart. As the story proceeded, Reynoldssat silently looking at the stove hearth, glancing at the youth only nowand again as he reached some dramatic point. The girl came back into theroom, and as she listened, her timidity grew less painful. The boy'stroubles made a bond of sympathy between them, and at last Mose foundhimself telling his story to her. Her beautiful brown eyes grew verydeep and tender as he described his flight, his hunger, and hisweariness.
When he ended, she drew a sigh of sympathetic relief, and Reynolds said:"Mm! you have no certain knowledge, I reckon, whether you killed yourman or not?"
"I can't remember. It was dark. We fired a dozen shots. I am afraid Ihit; I am too handy with the revolver to miss."
"Mm, so Delmar says. Well, you're out of the State, and I have no beliefthey will take the trouble to look you up. Anyhow, I reckon you betterstay with us till we see how the fuss ends. You certainly are a likelyyoung rider, an' I can use you right hyere till you feel like goin'farther."
A wave of grateful emotion rushed over the boy, blinding his eyes withtears, and before he could speak to thank his benefactor, dinner wascalled. The girl perceived the tears in his eyes, and as they went outto dinner she looked at him with a comradeship born of the knowledgethat he, too, had suffered.
He returned her glance with one equally frank and friendly, and allthrough the meal he addressed himself to her more often than to herparents. She was of the most gentle, and patient, and yielding type. Herbeautiful lips and eyes expressed only sweetness and feminine charm, andher body, though thin and bent, was of girlish slimness.
Reynolds warmed to the boy wondrously. As they arose from the table hesaid:
"We'll ride over to the round-up to-morrow, and I'll introduce you tothe cow boss, and you can go right into the mess. I'll turn my horseover to you; I'm getting mighty near too old to enjoy rustlin' cattletogether, and I'll just naturally let you take my place."
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