Keith of the Border: A Tale of the Plains

by Randall Parrish

  Up from the far, dim southwest they rode slowly, silently, wearied stillby the exertions of the past night, and burned by the fierce rays ofthe desert sun. No wind of sufficient force had blown since Keith passedthat way, and they could easily follow the hoof prints of his horseacross the sand waste. Bristoe was ahead, hat brim drawn low, scanningthe horizon line unceasingly. Somewhere out in the midst of that mysterywas hidden tragedy, and he dreaded the knowledge of its truth. Behindhim Fairbain, and Hope rode together, their lips long since grownsilent, the man ever glancing uneasily aside at her, the girl droopingslightly in the saddle, with pale face and heavy eyes. Five prisoners,lashed together, the binding ropes fastened to the pommels of the two"Bar X" men's saddles, were bunched together, and behind all came Neb,his black face glistening in the heat.

  Suddenly Bristoe drew rein, and rose to his full length in thestirrups, shading his eyes from the sun's glare, as he stared ahead. Twomotionless black specks were visible--yet were they motionless? or wasit the heat waves which seemed to yield them movement? He drove in hisspurs, driving his startled horse to the summit of a low sand ridge, andagain halted, gazing intently forward. He was not mistaken--theywere horses. Knowing instantly what it meant--those riderless animalsdrifting derelict in the heart of the desert--his throat dry with fear,the scout wheeled, and spurred back to his party, quickly resolving on acourse of action. Hawley and Keith had met; both had fallen, eitherdead or wounded. A moment's delay now might cost a life; he would needFairbain, but he must keep the girl back, if possible. But could he? Shestraightened up in the saddle as he came spurring toward them; her eyeswide open, one hand clutching at her throat.

  "Doctor," he called as soon as he was near enough, his horse circling,"thar is somethin' showin' out yonder I'd like ter take a look at, an' Ireckon you better go 'long. The nigger kin com' up ahead yere with MissWaite."

  She struck her horse, and he plunged forward, bringing her face to facewith Bristoe.

  "What is it? Tell me, what is it?"

  "Nothin' but a loose hoss, Miss."

  "A horse! here on the desert?" looking about, her eyes dark with horror."But how could that be? Could--could it be Captain Keith's?"

  Bristoe cast an appealing glance at Fairbain, mopping his facevigorously, not knowing what to say, and the other attempted to turn thetide.

  "Not likely--not likely at all--no reason why it should be--probablyjust a stray horse--you stay back here, Miss Hope--Ben and I will findout, and let you know."

  She looked at the two faces, realizing intuitively that they wereconcealing something.

  "No, I'm going," she cried, stifling a sob in her throat. "It would killme to wait here."

  She was off before either might raise hand or voice in protest, and theycould only urge their horses in effort to overtake her, the three racingforward fetlock deep in sand. Mounted upon a swifter animal Fairbainforged ahead; he could see the two horses now plainly, their headsuplifted, their reins dangling. Without perceiving more he knew alreadywhat was waiting them there on the sand, and swore fiercely, spurringhis horse mercilessly, forgetful of all else, even the girl, in hisintense desire to reach and touch the bodies. He had begged to do thishimself, to be privileged to seek this man Hawley, to kill him--butnow he was the physician, with no other thought except a hope to save.Before his horse had even stopped he flung himself from the saddle, ranforward and dropped on his knees beside Keith, bending his ear to thechest, grasping the wrist in his fingers. As the others approached, heglanced up, no conception now of aught save his own professional work.

  "Water, Bristoe," he exclaimed sharply, "Dash some brandy in it. Quicknow. There, that's it; hold his head up--higher. Yes, you do it, MissHope; here, Ben, take this, and pry his teeth open--well, he got aswallow anyhow. Hold him just as he is--can you stand it? I've got tofind where he was hit."

  "Yes--yes," she answered, "don't--don't mind me."

  He tore open the woolen shirt, soaked with blood already hardening,felt within with skilled fingers, his eyes keen, his lips mutteringunconsciously.

  "Quarter of an inch--quarter of an inch too high--scraped thelung--Lord, if I can only get it out--got to do it now--can'twait--here, Bristoe, that leather case on my saddle--run, damnyou--we'll save him yet, girl--there, drop his head in your lap--yes,cry if you want to--only hold still--open the case, will you--down here,where I can reach it--now water--all our canteens--Hope, tear me off astrip of your under-skirt--what am I going to do?--extract the ball--gotto do it--blood poison in this sun."

  She ripped her skirt, handing it to him without a word; then dropped herwhite face in her hands, bending, with closed eyes, over the whiter faceresting on her lap, her lips trembling with the one prayer, "Oh, God!Oh, God!" How long he was at it, or what he did, she scarcely knew--sheheard the splash of water; caught the flash of the sun on the probe;felt the half conscious shudder of the wounded man, whose head was inher lap, the deft, quick movements of Fairbain, and then--

  "That's it--I've got it--missed the lung by a hair--damn me I'm proud ofthat job--you're a good girl."

  She looked at him, scarce able to see, her eyes blinded with tears.

  "Will--will he live? Oh, tell me!"

  "Live! Why shouldn't he?--nothing but a hole to close up--nature'll dothat, with a bit of nursing--here, now, don't you keel over--give me therest of that skirt."

  He bandaged the wound, then glanced about suddenly.

  "How's the other fellow?"

  "Dead," returned Bristoe, "shot through the heart."

  "Thought so--have seen Keith shoot before--I wonder how the cuss evermanaged to get him."

  As he arose to his feet, his red face glistening with perspiration,and began strapping his leather case, the others rode up, and Bristoe,explaining the situation, set the men to making preparations for pushingon to the water-hole. Blankets were swung between ponies, and the bodiesof the dead and wounded deposited therein, firm hands on the bridles.Hope rode close beside Keith, struggling to keep back the tears, as shewatched him lying motionless, unconscious, scarcely breathing. So, underthe early glow of the desert stars, they came to the water-hole, andhalted.

  The wounded man opened his eyes, and looked about him unable tocomprehend. At first all was dark, silent; then he saw the starsoverhead, and a breath of air fanned the near-by fire, the ruddy glowof flame flashing across his face. He heard voices faintly, and thus,little by little, consciousness asserted itself and memory struggledback into his bewildered brain. The desert--the lonely leagues ofsand--his fingers gripped as if they felt the stock of a gun--yet thatwas all over--he was not there--but he was somewhere--and alive, alive.It hurt him to move, to breathe even, and after one effort to turnover, he lay perfectly still, staring up into the black arch of sky,endeavoring to think, to understand--where was he? How had he comethere? Was Hawley alive also? A face bent over him, the features faintlyvisible in the flash of firelight. His dull eyes lit up in suddenrecollection.

  "Doc! is that you?"

  "Sure, old man," the pudgy fingers feeling his pulse, the gray eyestwinkling. "Narrow squeak you had--going to pull through all right,though--no sign of fever."

  "Where am I?"

  "At the water-hole; sling you in a blanket, and get you into Larnedto-morrow."

  There was a moment's silence, Keith finding it hard to speak.

  "Hawley--?" he whispered at last.

  "Oh, don't worry; you got him all right. Say," his voice sobering,"maybe it was just as well you took that job. If it had been me I wouldhave been in bad."

  The wounded man's eyes questioned.

  "It's a bad mix-up, Keith. Waite never told us all of it. I reckon hedidn't want her to know, and she never shall, if I can help it. I Vebeen looking over some papers in his pocket--he'd likely been after themthis trip--and his name ain't Hawley. He's Bartlett Gale, Christie'sfather."

  Keith could not seem to grasp the thought, his eyes half-closed.

  "Her--her father?" ne questioned, weakly. "Do you suppos
e he knew?"

  "No; not at first, anyhow; not at Sheridan. He was too interested in hisscheme to even suspicion he had actually stumbled onto the real girl. Ithink he just found out."

  A coyote howled somewhere in the darkness, a melancholy chorus joiningin with long-drawn cadence. A shadow swept into the radius of dancingfirelight.

  "Is he conscious, Doctor?"

  Fairbain drew back silently, and she dropped on her knees at Keith'sside, bending low to look into his face.

  "Hope--Hope."

  "Yes, dear, and you are going to live now--live for me."

  He found her hand, and held it, clasped within his own, his eyes wideopen.

  "I have never told you," he said, softly, "how much I love you."

  She bent lower until her cheek touched his.

  "No, Jack, but you may now."

  THE END