Collected Works of Zane Grey

by Zane Grey

  Thus, storm after storm rolled over Helen’s head. Her feet grew numb and ceased to hurt. But her fingers, because of her ceaseless efforts to keep up the circulation, retained the stinging pain. And now the wind pierced right through her. She marveled at her endurance, and there were many times that she believed she could not ride farther. Yet she kept on. All the winters she had ever lived had not brought such a day as this. Hard and cold, wet and windy, at an increasing elevation — that was the explanation. The air did not have sufficient oxygen for her blood.

  Still, during all those interminable hours, Helen watched where she was traveling, and if she ever returned over that trail she would recognize it. The afternoon appeared far advanced when Dale and Roy led down into an immense basin where a reedy lake spread over the flats. They rode along its margin, splashing up to the knees of the horses. Cranes and herons flew on with lumbering motion; flocks of ducks winged swift flight from one side to the other. Beyond this depression the land sloped rather abruptly; outcroppings of rock circled along the edge of the highest ground, and again a dark fringe of trees appeared.

  How many miles! wondered Helen. They seemed as many and as long as the hours. But at last, just as another hard rain came, the pines were reached. They proved to be widely scattered and afforded little protection from the storm.

  Helen sat her saddle, a dead weight. Whenever Ranger quickened his gait or crossed a ditch she held on to the pommel to keep from falling off. Her mind harbored only sensations of misery, and a persistent thought — why did she ever leave home for the West? Her solicitude for Bo had been forgotten. Nevertheless, any marked change in the topography of the country was registered, perhaps photographed on her memory by the torturing vividness of her experience.

  The forest grew more level and denser. Shadows of twilight or gloom lay under the trees. Presently Dale and Roy, disappeared, going downhill, and likewise Bo. Then Helen’s ears suddenly filled with a roar of rapid water. Ranger trotted faster. Soon Helen came to the edge of a great valley, black and gray, so full of obscurity that she could not see across or down into it. But she knew there was a rushing river at the bottom. The sound was deep, continuous, a heavy, murmuring roar, singularly musical. The trail was steep. Helen had not lost all feeling, as she had believed and hoped. Her poor, mistreated body still responded excruciatingly to concussions, jars, wrenches, and all the other horrible movements making up a horse-trot.

  For long Helen did not look up. When she did so there lay a green, willow-bordered, treeless space at the bottom of the valley, through which a brown-white stream rushed with steady, ear-filling roar.

  Dale and Roy drove the pack-animals across the stream, and followed, going deep to the flanks of their horses. Bo rode into the foaming water as if she had been used to it all her days. A slip, a fall, would have meant that Bo must drown in that mountain torrent.

  Ranger trotted straight to the edge, and there, obedient to Helen’s clutch on the bridle, he halted. The stream was fifty feet wide, shallow on the near side, deep on the opposite, with fast current and big waves. Helen was simply too frightened to follow.

  “Let him come!” yelled Dale. “Stick on now!... Ranger!”

  The big black plunged in, making the water fly. That stream was nothing for him, though it seemed impassable to Helen. She had not the strength left to lift her stirrups and the water surged over them. Ranger, in two more plunges, surmounted the bank, and then, trotting across the green to where the other horses stood steaming under some pines, he gave a great heave and halted.

  Roy reached up to help her off.

  “Thirty miles, Miss Helen,” he said, and the way he spoke was a compliment.

  He had to lift her off and help her to the tree where Bo leaned. Dale had ripped off a saddle and was spreading saddle-blankets on the ground under the pine.

  “Nell — you swore — you loved me!” was Bo’s mournful greeting. The girl was pale, drawn, blue-lipped, and she could not stand up.

  “Bo, I never did — or I’d never have brought you to this — wretch that I am!” cried Helen. “Oh, what a horrible ride!”

  Rain was falling, the trees were dripping, the sky was lowering. All the ground was soaking wet, with pools and puddles everywhere. Helen could imagine nothing but a heartless, dreary, cold prospect. Just then home was vivid and poignant in her thoughts. Indeed, so utterly miserable was she that the exquisite relief of sitting down, of a cessation of movement, of a release from that infernal perpetual-trotting horse, seemed only a mockery. It could not be true that the time had come for rest.

  Evidently this place had been a camp site for hunters or sheep-herders, for there were remains of a fire. Dale lifted the burnt end of a log and brought it down hard upon the ground, splitting off pieces. Several times he did this. It was amazing to see his strength, his facility, as he split off handfuls of splinters. He collected a bundle of them, and, laying them down, he bent over them. Roy wielded the ax on another log, and each stroke split off a long strip. Then a tiny column of smoke drifted up over Dale’s shoulder as he leaned, bareheaded, sheltering the splinters with his hat. A blaze leaped up. Roy came with an armful of strips all white and dry, out of the inside of a log. Crosswise these were laid over the blaze, and it began to roar. Then piece by piece the men built up a frame upon which they added heavier woods, branches and stumps and logs, erecting a pyramid through which flames and smoke roared upward. It had not taken two minutes. Already Helen felt the warmth on her icy face. She held up her bare, numb hands.

  Both Dale and Roy were wet through to the skin, yet they did not tarry beside the fire. They relieved the horses. A lasso went up between two pines, and a tarpaulin over it, V-shaped and pegged down at the four ends. The packs containing the baggage of the girls and the supplies and bedding were placed under this shelter.

  Helen thought this might have taken five minutes more. In this short space of time the fire had leaped and flamed until it was huge and hot. Rain was falling steadily all around, but over and near that roaring blaze, ten feet high, no water fell. It evaporated. The ground began to steam and to dry. Helen suffered at first while the heat was driving out the cold. But presently the pain ceased.

  “Nell, I never knew before how good a fire could feel,” declared Bo.

  And therein lay more food for Helen’s reflection.

  In ten minutes Helen was dry and hot. Darkness came down upon the dreary, sodden forest, but that great camp-fire made it a different world from the one Helen had anticipated. It blazed and roared, cracked like a pistol, hissed and sputtered, shot sparks everywhere, and sent aloft a dense, yellow, whirling column of smoke. It began to have a heart of gold.

  Dale took a long pole and raked out a pile of red embers upon which the coffee-pot and oven soon began to steam.

  “Roy, I promised the girls turkey to-night,” said the hunter.

  “Mebbe to-morrow, if the wind shifts. This ‘s turkey country.”

  “Roy, a potato will do me!” exclaimed Bo. “Never again will I ask for cake and pie! I never appreciated good things to eat. And I’ve been a little pig, always. I never — never knew what it was to be hungry — until now.”

  Dale glanced up quickly.

  “Lass, it’s worth learnin’,” he said.

  Helen’s thought was too deep for words. In such brief space had she been transformed from misery to comfort!

  The rain kept on falling, though it appeared to grow softer as night settled down black. The wind died away and the forest was still, except for the steady roar of the stream. A folded tarpaulin was laid between the pine and the fire, well in the light and warmth, and upon it the men set steaming pots and plates and cups, the fragrance from which was strong and inviting.

  “Fetch the saddle-blanket an’ set with your backs to the fire,” said Roy.

  Later, when the girls were tucked away snugly in their blankets and sheltered from the rain, Helen remained awake after Bo had fallen asleep. The big blaze made the improvised tent
as bright as day. She could see the smoke, the trunk of the big pine towering aloft, and a blank space of sky. The stream hummed a song, seemingly musical at times, and then discordant and dull, now low, now roaring, and always rushing, gurgling, babbling, flowing, chafing in its hurry.

  Presently the hunter and his friend returned from hobbling the horses, and beside the fire they conversed in low tones.

  “Wal, thet trail we made to-day will be hid, I reckon,” said Roy, with satisfaction.

  “What wasn’t sheeped over would be washed out. We’ve had luck. An’ now I ain’t worryin’,” returned Dale.

  “Worryin’? Then it’s the first I ever knowed you to do.”

  “Man, I never had a job like this,” protested the hunter.

  “Wal, thet’s so.”

  “Now, Roy, when old Al Auchincloss finds out about this deal, as he’s bound to when you or the boys get back to Pine, he’s goin’ to roar.”

  “Do you reckon folks will side with him against Beasley?”

  “Some of them. But Al, like as not, will tell folks to go where it’s hot. He’ll bunch his men an’ strike for the mountains to find his nieces.”

  “Wal, all you’ve got to do is to keep the girls hid till I can guide him up to your camp. Or, failin’ thet, till you can slip the girls down to Pine.”

  “No one but you an’ your brothers ever seen my senaca. But it could be found easy enough.”

  “Anson might blunder on it. But thet ain’t likely.”

  “Why ain’t it?”

  “Because I’ll stick to thet sheep-thief’s tracks like a wolf after a bleedin’ deer. An’ if he ever gets near your camp I’ll ride in ahead of him.”

  “Good!” declared Dale. “I was calculatin’ you’d go down to Pine, sooner or later.”

  “Not unless Anson goes. I told John thet in case there was no fight on the stage to make a bee-line back to Pine. He was to tell Al an’ offer his services along with Joe an’ Hal.”

  “One way or another, then, there’s bound to be blood spilled over this.”

  “Shore! An’ high time. I jest hope I get a look down my old ‘forty-four’ at thet Beasley.”

  “In that case I hope you hold straighter than times I’ve seen you.”

  “Milt Dale, I’m a good shot,” declared Roy, stoutly.

  “You’re no good on movin’ targets.”

  “Wal, mebbe so. But I’m not lookin’ for a movin’ target when I meet up with Beasley. I’m a hossman, not a hunter. You’re used to shootin’ flies off deer’s horns, jest for practice.”

  “Roy, can we make my camp by to-morrow night?” queried Dale, more seriously.

  “We will, if each of us has to carry one of the girls. But they’ll do it or die. Dale, did you ever see a gamer girl than thet kid Bo?”

  “Me! Where’d I ever see any girls?” ejaculated Dale. “I remember some when I was a boy, but I was only fourteen then. Never had much use for girls.”

  “I’d like to have a wife like that Bo,” declared Roy, fervidly.

  There ensued a moment’s silence.

  “Roy, you’re a Mormon an’ you already got a wife,” was Dale’s reply.

  “Now, Milt, have you lived so long in the woods thet you never heard of a Mormon with two wives?” returned Roy, and then he laughed heartily.

  “I never could stomach what I did hear pertainin’ to more than one wife for a man.”

  “Wal, my friend, you go an’ get yourself ONE. An’ see then if you wouldn’t like to have TWO.”

  “I reckon one ‘d be more than enough for Milt Dale.”

  “Milt, old man, let me tell you thet I always envied you your freedom,” said Roy, earnestly. “But it ain’t life.”

  “You mean life is love of a woman?”

  “No. Thet’s only part. I mean a son — a boy thet’s like you — thet you feel will go on with your life after you’re gone.”

  “I’ve thought of that — thought it all out, watchin’ the birds an’ animals mate in the woods.... If I have no son I’ll never live hereafter.”

  “Wal,” replied Roy, hesitatingly, “I don’t go in so deep as thet. I mean a son goes on with your blood an’ your work.”

  “Exactly... An’, Roy, I envy you what you ve got, because it’s out of all bounds for Milt Dale.”

  Those words, sad and deep, ended the conversation. Again the rumbling, rushing stream dominated the forest. An owl hooted dismally. A horse trod thuddingly near by and from that direction came a cutting tear of teeth on grass.

  A voice pierced Helen’s deep dreams and, awaking, she found Bo shaking and calling her.

  “Are you dead?” came the gay voice.

  “Almost. Oh, my back’s broken,” replied Helen. The desire to move seemed clamped in a vise, and even if that came she believed the effort would be impossible.

  “Roy called us,” said Bo. “He said hurry. I thought I’d die just sitting up, and I’d give you a million dollars to lace my boots. Wait, sister, till you try to pull on one of those stiff boots!”

  With heroic and violent spirit Helen sat up to find that in the act her aches and pains appeared beyond number. Reaching for her boots, she found them cold and stiff. Helen unlaced one and, opening it wide, essayed to get her sore foot down into it. But her foot appeared swollen and the boot appeared shrunken. She could not get it half on, though she expended what little strength seemed left in her aching arms. She groaned.

  Bo laughed wickedly. Her hair was tousled, her eyes dancing, her cheeks red.

  “Be game!” she said. “Stand up like a real Western girl and PULL your boot on.”

  Whether Bo’s scorn or advice made the task easier did not occur to Helen, but the fact was that she got into her boots. Walking and moving a little appeared to loosen the stiff joints and ease that tired feeling. The water of the stream where the girls washed was colder than any ice Helen had ever felt. It almost paralyzed her hands. Bo mumbled, and blew like a porpoise. They had to run to the fire before being able to comb their hair. The air was wonderfully keen. The dawn was clear, bright, with a red glow in the east where the sun was about to rise.

  “All ready, girls,” called Roy. “Reckon you can help yourselves. Milt ain’t comin’ in very fast with the hosses. I’ll rustle off to help him. We’ve got a hard day before us. Yesterday wasn’t nowhere to what to-day ‘ll be.”

  “But the sun’s going to shine?” implored Bo.

  “Wal, you bet,” rejoined Roy, as he strode off.

  Helen and Bo ate breakfast and had the camp to themselves for perhaps half an hour; then the horses came thudding down, with Dale and Roy riding bareback.

  By the time all was in readiness to start the sun was up, melting the frost and ice, so that a dazzling, bright mist, full of rainbows, shone under the trees.

  Dale looked Ranger over, and tried the cinches of Bo’s horse.

  “What’s your choice — a long ride behind the packs with me — or a short cut over the hills with Roy?” he asked.

  “I choose the lesser of two rides,” replied Helen, smiling.

  “Reckon that ‘ll be easier, but you’ll know you’ve had a ride,” said Dale, significantly.

  “What was that we had yesterday?” asked Bo, archly.

  “Only thirty miles, but cold an’ wet. To-day will be fine for ridin’.”

  “Milt, I’ll take a blanket an’ some grub in case you don’t meet us to-night,” said Roy. “An’ I reckon we’ll split up here where I’ll have to strike out on thet short cut.”

  Bo mounted without a helping hand, but Helen’s limbs were so stiff that she could not get astride the high Ranger without assistance. The hunter headed up the slope of the canyon, which on that side was not steep. It was brown pine forest, with here and there a clump of dark, silver-pointed evergreens that Roy called spruce. By the time this slope was surmounted Helen’s aches were not so bad. The saddle appeared to fit her better, and the gait of the horse was not so unfamiliar. She reflected, however, th
at she always had done pretty well uphill. Here it was beautiful forest-land, uneven and wilder. They rode for a time along the rim, with the white rushing stream in plain sight far below, with its melodious roar ever thrumming in the ear.

  Dale reined in and peered down at the pine-mat.

  “Fresh deer sign all along here,” he said, pointing.

  “Wal, I seen thet long ago,” rejoined Roy.

  Helen’s scrutiny was rewarded by descrying several tiny depressions in the pine-needles, dark in color and sharply defined.

  “We may never get a better chance,” said Dale. “Those deer are workin’ up our way. Get your rifle out.”

  Travel was resumed then, with Roy a little in advance of the pack-train. Presently he dismounted, threw his bridle, and cautiously peered ahead. Then, turning, he waved his sombrero. The pack-animals halted in a bunch. Dale beckoned for the girls to follow and rode up to Roy’s horse. This point, Helen saw, was at the top of an intersecting canuon. Dale dismounted, without drawing his rifle from its saddle-sheath, and approached Roy.

  “Buck an’ two does,” he said, low-voiced. “An’ they’ve winded us, but don’t see us yet.... Girls, ride up closer.”

  Following the directions indicated by Dale’s long arm, Helen looked down the slope. It was open, with tall pines here and there, and clumps of silver spruce, and aspens shining like gold in the morning sunlight. Presently Bo exclaimed: “Oh, look! I see! I see!” Then Helen’s roving glance passed something different from green and gold and brown. Shifting back to it she saw a magnificent stag, with noble spreading antlers, standing like a statue, his head up in alert and wild posture. His color was gray. Beside him grazed two deer of slighter and more graceful build, without horns.