by Zane Grey
“Sure spooky I say,” observed Shady, sentiently.
The little uplift of mood, coincident with the rifling of Riggs’s person, had not worn over to this evening camp. What talk the outlaws indulged in was necessary and conducted in low tones. The place enjoined silence.
Wilson performed for the girl very much the same service as he had the night before. Only he advised her not to starve herself; she must eat to keep up her strength. She complied at the expense of considerable effort.
As it had been a back-breaking day, in which all of them, except the girl, had climbed miles on foot, they did not linger awake long enough after supper to learn what a wild, weird, and pitch-black spot the outlaw leader had chosen. The little spaces of open ground between the huge-trunked pine-trees had no counterpart up in the lofty spreading foliage. Not a star could blink a wan ray of light into that Stygian pit. The wind, cutting down over abrupt heights farther up, sang in the pine-needles as if they were strings vibrant with chords. Dismal creaks were audible. They were the forest sounds of branch or tree rubbing one another, but which needed the corrective medium of daylight to convince any human that they were other than ghostly. Then, despite the wind and despite the changing murmur of the brook, there seemed to be a silence insulating them, as deep and impenetrable as the darkness.
But the outlaws, who were fugitives now, slept the sleep of the weary, and heard nothing. They awoke with the sun, when the forest seemed smoky in a golden gloom, when light and bird and squirrel proclaimed the day.
The horses had not strayed out of this basin during the night, a circumstance that Anson was not slow to appreciate.
“It ain’t no cheerful camp, but I never seen a safer place to hole up in,” he remarked to Wilson.
“Wal, yes — if any place is safe,” replied that ally, dubiously.
“We can watch our back tracks. There ain’t any other way to git in hyar thet I see.”
“Snake, we was tolerable fair sheep-rustlers, but we’re no good woodsmen.”
Anson grumbled his disdain of this comrade who had once been his mainstay. Then he sent Burt out to hunt fresh meat and engaged his other men at cards. As they now had the means to gamble, they at once became absorbed. Wilson smoked and divided his thoughtful gaze between the gamblers and the drooping figure of the girl. The morning air was keen, and she, evidently not caring to be near her captors beside the camp-fire, had sought the only sunny spot in this gloomy dell. A couple of hours passed; the sun climbed high; the air grew warmer. Once the outlaw leader raised his head to scan the heavy-timbered slopes that inclosed the camp.
“Jim, them hosses are strayin’ off,” he observed.
Wilson leisurely rose and stalked off across the small, open patches, in the direction of the horses. They had grazed around from the right toward the outlet of the brook. Here headed a ravine, dense and green. Two of the horses had gone down. Wilson evidently heard them, though they were not in sight, and he circled somewhat so as to get ahead of them and drive them back. The invisible brook ran down over the rocks with murmur and babble. He halted with instinctive action. He listened. Forest sounds, soft, lulling, came on the warm, pine-scented breeze. It would have taken no keen ear to hear soft and rapid padded footfalls. He moved on cautiously and turned into a little open, mossy spot, brown-matted and odorous, full of ferns and bluebells. In the middle of this, deep in the moss, he espied a huge round track of a cougar. He bent over it. Suddenly he stiffened, then straightened guardedly. At that instant he received a hard prod in the back. Throwing up his hands, he stood still, then slowly turned. A tall hunter in gray buckskin, gray-eyed and square-jawed, had him covered with a cocked rifle. And beside this hunter stood a monster cougar, snarling and blinking.
CHAPTER XXII
“Howdy, Dale,” drawled Wilson. “Reckon you’re a little previous on me.”
“SSSSSH! NOT SO loud,” said the hunter, in low voice. “You’re Jim Wilson?”
“Shore am. Say, Dale, you showed up soon. Or did you jest happen to run acrost us?”
“I’ve trailed you. Wilson, I’m after the girl.”
“I knowed thet when I seen you!”
The cougar seemed actuated by the threatening position of his master, and he opened his mouth, showing great yellow fangs, and spat at Wilson. The outlaw apparently had no fear of Dale or the cocked rifle, but that huge, snarling cat occasioned him uneasiness.
“Wilson, I’ve heard you spoken of as a white outlaw,” said Dale.
“Mebbe I am. But shore I’ll be a scared one in a minit. Dale, he’s goin’ to jump me!”
“The cougar won’t jump you unless I make him. Wilson, if I let you go will you get the girl for me?”
“Wal, lemme see. Supposin’ I refuse?” queried Wilson, shrewdly.
“Then, one way or another, it’s all up with you.”
“Reckon I ‘ain’t got much choice. Yes, I’ll do it. But, Dale, are you goin’ to take my word for thet an’ let me go back to Anson?”
“Yes, I am. You’re no fool. An’ I believe you’re square. I’ve got Anson and his gang corralled. You can’t slip me — not in these woods. I could run off your horses — pick you off one by one — or turn the cougar loose on you at night.”
“Shore. It’s your game. Anson dealt himself this hand.... Between you an’ me, Dale, I never liked the deal.”
“Who shot Riggs?... I found his body.”
“Wal, yours truly was around when thet come off,” replied Wilson, with an involuntary little shudder. Some thought made him sick.
“The girl? Is she safe — unharmed?” queried Dale, hurriedly.
“She’s shore jest as safe an’ sound as when she was home. Dale, she’s the gamest kid thet ever breathed! Why, no one could hev ever made me believe a girl, a kid like her, could hev the nerve she’s got. Nothin’s happened to her ‘cept Riggs hit her in the mouth.... I killed him for thet.... An’, so help me, God, I believe it’s been workin’ in me to save her somehow! Now it’ll not be so hard.”
“But how?” demanded Dale.
“Lemme see.... Wal, I’ve got to sneak her out of camp an’ meet you. Thet’s all.”
“It must be done quick.”
“But, Dale, listen,” remonstrated Wilson, earnestly. “Too quick ‘ll be as bad as too slow. Snake is sore these days, gittin’ sorer all the time. He might savvy somethin’, if I ain’t careful, an’ kill the girl or do her harm. I know these fellars. They’re all ready to go to pieces. An’ shore I must play safe. Shore it’d be safer to have a plan.”
Wilson’s shrewd, light eyes gleamed with an idea. He was about to lower one of his upraised hands, evidently to point to the cougar, when he thought better of that.
“Anson’s scared of cougars. Mebbe we can scare him an’ the gang so it ‘d be easy to sneak the girl off. Can you make thet big brute do tricks? Rush the camp at night an’ squall an’ chase off the horses?”
“I’ll guarantee to scare Anson out of ten years’ growth,” replied Dale.
“Shore it’s a go, then,” resumed Wilson, as if glad. “I’ll post the girl — give her a hunch to do her part. You sneak up to-night jest before dark. I’ll hev the gang worked up. An’ then you put the cougar to his tricks, whatever you want. When the gang gits wild I’ll grab the girl an’ pack her off down heah or somewheres aboot an’ whistle fer you.... But mebbe thet ain’t so good. If thet cougar comes pilin’ into camp he might jump me instead of one of the gang. An’ another hunch. He might slope up on me in the dark when I was tryin’ to find you. Shore thet ain’t appealin’ to me.”
“Wilson, this cougar is a pet,” replied Dale. “You think he’s dangerous, but he’s not. No more than a kitten. He only looks fierce. He has never been hurt by a person an’ he’s never fought anythin’ himself but deer an’ bear. I can make him trail any scent. But the truth is I couldn’t make him hurt you or anybody. All the same, he can be made to scare the hair off any one who doesn’t know him.”
“Shore
thet settles me. I’ll be havin’ a grand joke while them fellars is scared to death.... Dale, you can depend on me. An’ I’m beholdin’ to you fer what ‘ll square me some with myself.... To-night, an’ if it won’t work then, to-morrer night shore!”
Dale lowered the rifle. The big cougar spat again. Wilson dropped his hands and, stepping forward, split the green wall of intersecting spruce branches. Then he turned up the ravine toward the glen. Once there, in sight of his comrades, his action and expression changed.
“Hosses all thar, Jim?” asked Anson, as he picked up, his cards.
“Shore. They act awful queer, them hosses,” replied. Wilson. “They’re afraid of somethin’.”
“A-huh! Silvertip mebbe,” muttered Anson. “Jim, You jest keep watch of them hosses. We’d be done if some tarnal varmint stampeded them.”
“Reckon I’m elected to do all the work now,” complained Wilson, “while you card-sharps cheat each other. Rustle the hosses — an’ water an’ fire-wood. Cook an’ wash. Hey?”
“No one I ever seen can do them camp tricks any better ‘n Jim Wilson,” replied Anson.
“Jim, you’re a lady’s man an’ thar’s our pretty hoodoo over thar to feed an’ amoose,” remarked Shady Jones, with a smile that disarmed his speech.
The outlaws guffawed.
“Git out, Jim, you’re breakin’ up the game,” said Moze, who appeared loser.
“Wal, thet gurl would starve if it wasn’t fer me,” replied Wilson, genially, and he walked over toward her, beginning to address her, quite loudly, as he approached. “Wal, miss, I’m elected cook an’ I’d shore like to heah what you fancy fer dinner.”
The outlaws heard, for they guffawed again. “Haw! Haw! if Jim ain’t funny!” exclaimed Anson.
The girl looked up amazed. Wilson was winking at her, and when he got near he began to speak rapidly and low.
“I jest met Dale down in the woods with his pet cougar. He’s after you. I’m goin’ to help him git you safe away. Now you do your part. I want you to pretend you’ve gone crazy. Savvy? Act out of your head! Shore I don’t care what you do or say, only act crazy. An’ don’t be scared. We’re goin’ to scare the gang so I’ll hev a chance to sneak you away. To-night or to-morrow — shore.”
Before he began to speak she was pale, sad, dull of eye. Swiftly, with his words, she was transformed, and when he had ended she did not appear the same girl. She gave him one blazing flash of comprehension and nodded her head rapidly.
“Yes, I understand. I’ll do it!” she whispered.
The outlaw turned slowly away with the most abstract air, confounded amid his shrewd acting, and he did not collect himself until half-way back to his comrades. Then, beginning to hum an old darky tune, he stirred up and replenished the fire, and set about preparation for the midday meal. But he did not miss anything going on around him. He saw the girl go into her shelter and come out with her hair all down over her face. Wilson, back to his comrades, grinned his glee, and he wagged his head as if he thought the situation was developing.
The gambling outlaws, however, did not at once see the girl preening herself and smoothing her long hair in a way calculated to startle.
“Busted!” ejaculated Anson, with a curse, as he slammed down his cards. “If I ain’t hoodooed I’m a two-bit of a gambler!”
“Sartin you’re hoodooed,” said Shady Jones, in scorn. “Is thet jest dawnin’ on you?”
“Boss, you play like a cow stuck in the mud,” remarked Moze, laconically.
“Fellars, it ain’t funny,” declared Anson, with pathetic gravity. “I’m jest gittin’ on to myself. Somethin’s wrong. Since ‘way last fall no luck — nothin’ but the wust end of everythin’. I ain’t blamin’ anybody. I’m the boss. It’s me thet’s off.”
“Snake, shore it was the gurl deal you made,” rejoined Wilson, who had listened. “I told you. Our troubles hev only begun. An’ I can see the wind-up. Look!”
Wilson pointed to where the girl stood, her hair flying wildly all over her face and shoulders. She was making most elaborate bows to an old stump, sweeping the ground with her tresses in her obeisance.
Anson started. He grew utterly astounded. His amaze was ludicrous. And the other two men looked to stare, to equal their leader’s bewilderment.
“What ‘n hell’s come over her?” asked Anson, dubiously. “Must hev perked up.... But she ain’t feelin’ thet gay!”
Wilson tapped his forehead with a significant finger.
“Shore I was scared of her this mawnin’,” he whispered.
“Naw!” exclaimed Anson, incredulously.
“If she hain’t queer I never seen no queer wimmin,” vouchsafed Shady Jones, and it would have been judged, by the way he wagged his head, that he had been all his days familiar with women.
Moze looked beyond words, and quite alarmed.
“I seen it comin’,” declared Wilson, very much excited. “But I was scared to say so. You-all made fun of me aboot her. Now I shore wish I had spoken up.”
Anson nodded solemnly. He did not believe the evidence of his sight, but the facts seemed stunning. As if the girl were a dangerous and incomprehensible thing, he approached her step by step. Wilson followed, and the others appeared drawn irresistibly.
“Hey thar — kid!” called Anson, hoarsely.
The girl drew her slight form up haughtily. Through her spreading tresses her eyes gleamed unnaturally upon the outlaw leader. But she deigned not to reply.
“Hey thar — you Rayner girl!” added Anson, lamely. “What’s ailin’ you?”
“My lord! did you address me?” she asked, loftily.
Shady Jones got over his consternation and evidently extracted some humor from the situation, as his dark face began to break its strain.
“Aww!” breathed Anson, heavily.
“Ophelia awaits your command, my lord. I’ve been gathering flowers,” she said, sweetly, holding up her empty hands as if they contained a bouquet.
Shady Jones exploded in convulsed laughter. But his merriment was not shared. And suddenly it brought disaster upon him. The girl flew at him.
“Why do you croak, you toad? I will have you whipped and put in irons, you scullion!” she cried, passionately.
Shady underwent a remarkable change, and stumbled in his backward retreat. Then she snapped her fingers in Moze’s face.
“You black devil! Get hence! Avaunt!”
Anson plucked up courage enough to touch her.
“Aww! Now, Ophelyar—”
Probably he meant to try to humor her, but she screamed, and he jumped back as if she might burn him. She screamed shrilly, in wild, staccato notes.
“You! You!” she pointed her finger at the outlaw leader. “You brute to women! You ran off from your wife!”
Anson turned plum-color and then slowly white. The girl must have sent a random shot home.
“And now the devil’s turned you into a snake. A long, scaly snake with green eyes! Uugh! You’ll crawl on your belly soon — when my cowboy finds you. And he’ll tramp you in the dust.”
She floated away from them and began to whirl gracefully, arms spread and hair flying; and then, apparently oblivious of the staring men, she broke into a low, sweet song. Next she danced around a pine, then danced into her little green inclosure. From which presently she sent out the most doleful moans.
“Aww! What a shame!” burst out Anson. “Thet fine, healthy, nervy kid! Clean gone! Daffy! Crazy ‘n a bedbug!”
“Shore it’s a shame,” protested Wilson. “But it’s wuss for us. Lord! if we was hoodooed before, what will we be now? Didn’t I tell you, Snake Anson? You was warned. Ask Shady an’ Moze — they see what’s up.”
“No luck ‘ll ever come our way ag’in,” predicted Shady, mournfully.
“It beats me, boss, it beats me,” muttered Moze.
“A crazy woman on my hands! If thet ain’t the last straw!” broke out Anson, tragically, as he turned away. Ignorant, superstitious, worked
upon by things as they seemed, the outlaw imagined himself at last beset by malign forces. When he flung himself down upon one of the packs his big red-haired hands shook. Shady and Moze resembled two other men at the end of their ropes.
Wilson’s tense face twitched, and he averted it, as apparently he fought off a paroxysm of some nature. Just then Anson swore a thundering oath.
“Crazy or not, I’ll git gold out of thet kid!” he roared.
“But, man, talk sense. Are you gittin’ daffy, too? I declare this outfit’s been eatin’ loco. You can’t git gold fer her!” said Wilson, deliberately.
“Why can’t I?”
“‘Cause we’re tracked. We can’t make no dickers. Why, in another day or so we’ll be dodgin’ lead.”
“Tracked! Whar ‘d you git thet idee? As soon as this?” queried Anson, lifting his head like a striking snake. His men, likewise, betrayed sudden interest.
“Shore it’s no idee. I ‘ain’t seen any one. But I feel it in my senses. I hear somebody comin’ — a step on our trail — all the time — night in particular. Reckon there’s a big posse after us.”
“Wal, if I see or hear anythin’ I’ll knock the girl on the head an’ we’ll dig out of hyar,” replied Anson, sullenly.
Wilson executed a swift forward motion, violent and passionate, so utterly unlike what might have been looked for from him, that the three outlaws gaped.
“Then you’ll shore hev to knock Jim Wilson on the haid first,” he said, in voice as strange as his action.
“Jim! You wouldn’t go back on me!” implored Anson, with uplifted hands, in a dignity of pathos.
“I’m losin’ my haid, too, an’ you shore might as well knock it in, an’ you’ll hev to before I’ll stand you murderin’ thet pore little gurl you’ve drove crazy.”