Keith of the Border: A Tale of the Plains

by Randall Parrish

  Keith said nothing for some moments, staring up at the light stealing inthrough the window grating, his mind once again active. The eyes of theblack man had the patient look of a dog as they watched; evidently hehad cast aside all responsibility, now that this other had come. FinallyKeith spoke slowly:

  "We are in much the same position, Neb, and the fate of one is liable tobe the fate of both. This is my story"--and briefly as possible, heran over the circumstances which had brought him there, putting thesituation clear enough for the negro's understanding, without wastingany time upon detail. Neb followed his recital with bulging eyes, and anoccasional exclamation. At the end he burst forth:

  "Yo' say dar was two ob dem white men murdered--one an ol' man wid agray beard, an' de odder 'bout thirty? Am dat it, Massa Jack, an' deyhad fo' span ob mules, an' a runnin' hoss?"

  "Yes."

  "An' how far out was it?"

  "About sixty miles."

  "Oh, de good Lawd!" and the negro threw up his hands dramatically. "Datsutt'nly am my outfit! Dat am Massa Waite an' John Sibley."

  "You mean the same men with whom you came here from Independence?"

  Neb nodded, overcome by the discovery.

  "But what caused them to run such a risk?" Keith insisted. "Didn't theyknow the Indians were on the war path?"

  "Sho'; I heard 'em talkin' 'bout dat, but Massa Waite was jest boun' fohto git movin'. He didn't 'pear to be 'fraid ob no Injuns; reck'ned dey'dnebber stop him, dat he knowed ebbery chief on de plains. I reck'n dathe did, too."

  "But what was he so anxious to get away for?"

  "I dunno, Massa, I done heerd 'em talk some 'bout dey plans, an' 'boutsome gal dey wanted ter fin', but I didn't git no right sense to it. DeGin'ral, he was a mighty still man."

  "The General? Whom do you mean? Not Waite?"

  "John Sibley done called him dat."

  Then Keith remembered--just a dim, misty thread at first, changingslowly into a clear recollection. He was riding with despatches fromLongstreet to Stonewall Jackson, and had been shot through the side. Thefirst of Jackson's troops he reached was a brigade of North Carolinians,commanded by General Waite--General Willis Waite. He had fallen from hishorse at the outposts, was brought helpless to the General's tent, andanother sent on with the papers. And Mrs. Waite had dressed and bandagedhis wound. That was where he had seen that woman's face before, withits haunting familiarity. He drew the locket from beneath his shirt, andgazed at the countenance revealed, with new intelligence. There couldbe no doubt--it was the face of her who had cared for him so tenderlyin that tent at Manassas before the fever came and he had lostconsciousness. And that, then, was Willis Waite lying in that shallowgrave near the Cimmaron Crossing, and for whose death he had beenarrested. 'T was a strange world, and a small one. What a miserableending to a life like his--a division commander of the Army of NorthernVirginia, a Lieutenant-Governor of his State. What strange combinationof circumstances could ever have brought such a man to this place,and sent him forth across those Indian-scouted plains? Surely nothingordinary. And why should those border desperadoes have followed, throughsixty miles of desolation, to trike him down? It was not robbery,at least in the ordinary sense. What then? And how was "Black Bart"involved? Why should he be sufficiently interested to swear out awarrant, and then assist in his arrest? There must be something to allthis not apparent upon the surface--some object, some purpose shroudedin mystery. No mere quarrel, no ordinary feud, no accident of meeting,no theory of commonplace robbery, would account for the deed, or for thedesperate efforts now being made to conceal it.

  Some way, these questions, thus surging upon him, became a call to live,to fight, to unravel their mystery. The memory of that sweet-faced womanwho had bent above him when the fever began its mastery, appealed tohim now with the opportunity of service. He might be able to clear this,bring to her the truth, save her from despair, and hand over to justicethe murderers of her husband. It was up to him alone to accomplishthis--no one else knew what he knew, suspected what he suspected. Andthere was but one way--through escape. To remain there in weak surrenderto fate could have but one ending, and that swift and sudden. He had nodoubt as to "Black Bart's" purpose, or of his ability to use the "RedLight" outfit as desired. The whole plan was clearly evident, and therewould be no delay in execution--all they were waiting for was night, anda lax guard. He glanced about at the walls of the room, his eyes grownhard, his teeth clenched.

  "Neb," he said shortly, "I guess that was your outfit all right, butthey were not killed by Indians. They were run down by a gang from thistown--the same fellows who have put you and me in here. I don't knowwhat they were after--that's to be found out later,--but the fight youput up at the camp spoiled their game for once, and led to your arrest.They failed to get what was wanted in Carson, and so they trailed theparty to the Cimmaron Crossing. Then I got on their track, and fearingthe result, they've landed me also. Now they 'll get rid of us both asbest they can. These fellows won't want any trial--that would be liableto give the whole trick away--but they have got to put us where we won'ttalk. There is an easy way to do this, and that is by a lynching bee. Doyou get my drift, Neb?"

  The whites of the negro's eyes were very much in evidence, his handsgripping at the bench on which he sat.

  "Fo' de Lawd, yes, Massa Jack, I sho' does. I corroborates de wholething."

  "Then you are willing to take a chance with me?"

  "Willin'! Why, Massa Jack, I'se overjoyed; I ain't gwine leave yer nomo'. I'se sho' gwine ter be yo' nigger. What yo' gwine ter do?"

  Keith ran his eyes over the walls, carefully noting every peculiarity.

  "We'll remain here quietly just as long as it is daylight, Neb," hereplied finally, "but we'll try every board and every log to discoversome way out. Just the moment it grows dark enough to slip away withoutbeing seen we've got to hit the prairie. Once south of the Arkansaswe're safe, but not until then. Have you made any effort to get out?"

  The negro came over to him, and bent down.

  "I was layin' on a board what I'd worked loose at one end," he whisperedhoarsely, "back ob de bench, but I couldn't jerk it out wid'outsomethin' ter pry it up wid."

  "Where is it?"

  "Right yere, Massa Jack."

  It was a heavy twelve-inch plank, part of the flooring, and the secondfrom the side-wall. Keith managed to get a grip next to the blackfingers, and the two pressed it up far enough for the white man to runone arm through the opening up to his shoulder and grope about below.

  "There's a two-foot space there," he reported, as they let the boardsettle silently down into position. "The back part of this building mustbe set up on piles. I reckon we could pry that plank up with the bench,Neb, but it's liable to make considerable racket. Let's hunt about firstfor some other weak spot."

  They crept across the floor, testing each separate board, but withoutdiscovering a place where they could exert a leverage. The thickplanks were tightly spiked down. Nor did the walls offer any betterencouragement. Keith lifted himself to the grated window, getting aglimpse of the world without, but finding the iron immovable, the screwssolidly imbedded in the outside wood. He dropped to the floor, feelingbaffled and discouraged.

  "It will have to be the plank back of the bench, Neb," he announcedbriefly, wiping the perspiration from his face. "Get down there, andwork it as loose as you can without making any noise, while I keep myear to the door and listen for any interruption."

  They took turns at this labor, discovering a loose nail which gave anopening purchase at the crack, thus enabling the insertion of a smallwooden block, and insuring space for a good finger grip when the righttime came. A sleepy Mexican brought in their dinner, and set it downon the bench without a word, but on his return with supper, the marshalaccompanied him, and remained while they ate, talking to Keith, andstaring about the room. Fortunately, the single window was to the west,and the last rays of the sun struck the opposite wall, leaving the spacebehind the bench in deep shadow. Whatever might be th
e plans of "BlackBart" and his cronies, Keith was soon convinced they were unknown toHicks, who had evidently been deceived into thinking that this lastarrest had created no excitement.

  "That's why we picked yer up so early," he explained, genially. "Bartsaid if we got to yer afore the boys woke up they'd never hear nuthin''bout it, an' so thar wouldn't be no row. He didn't even think thar'dbe enny need o' keepin' a special guard ter-night, but I reckon I won'ttake no such chance as that, an' I'll have a couple o' deputies prowlin''round fer luck. When Carson does wake up, she's hell."

  He left them tobacco and pipes, and went away evidently convinced thathe had performed his full duty. The two prisoners, puffing smoke-ringsinto the air, heard the heavy clang of the iron bar falling into placeacross the door, and sat looking into one another's faces through thedeepening twilight. In the mind of both blaik and white reposed the samethought. The negro was first to break the silence.

  "'Pears ter me, Massa Jack, like dis yere Bart pusson am mighty anxiouster hab no suspicions raised."

  "Anybody but Hicks would see that," acknowledged the other, the ringsof smoke circling his head, "but he hasn't any brains. It was pure nervethat got him the job. Well, this is one time that 'Bart pusson' is goingto find an empty coop. We'll get out, Neb, just as soon as it gets darkenough. Hicks isn't likely to put on his extra guard for an houryet, and the 'Red Light' bunch won't be fit for business much beforemidnight. By that time we'll be in the sand hills, heading south, ableto give them a run for their money--we'll have horses, too, if we canfind them."

  The negro's eyes shone white.

  "Fo' de Lawd's sake, Massa," he protested, "dat'd sho' be a hangin' jobif ebber dey cotched us."

  Keith laughed, knocking out the ashes from his pipe.

  "With an hour's start that will be the least of my troubles," he said,quietly.

  Chapter VI. The Escape