The Bitterroot Trail

by James W. Johnson

  "Hey, Dixie, gal!" he called sharply. "What about something tuh eat? With yuh-all out there moonin' about Pokerface Bob, yuh foahgets me."

  "I'll be coming, John," she answered patiently.

  John had Pokerface Bob on his mind as usual when Dixie came up.

  "Ah shore don't know what yuh was thinkin' about actin' like that with Pokerface. We might just as well made five thousand dollars on his head as not. Besides, maybe Plummer'd let us go scotfree, and we would have gone to Elk City or Florence and went into business."

  Inwardly she burned with indignation, but she knew if she crossed him it meant another caustic argument, so she ignored his remark.

  "What do you want for supper, John?"

  "Ah tell yuh, yuh can't trust him, gal. Don't never think he won't come back tuh get even foh bein, shot up. It's a nice mess yuh've got us in."

  Dixie whirled about, facing him. Her face was flushed, and danger shot from those blue eyes.

  "For goodness' sake, John Lee, what's the matter with you? What's done is done! For once you listened to a good impulse when you let him go. Weeks have passed and nothing has happened to any of us. If you'll take my word, you have nothing to fear. Besides, I wouldn't buy our freedom with the life of any man!"

  With a replying grunt the old man threw down his pipe, started to speak, then picked it up again and began smoking furiously.

  She hated to be continually quarreling with her father, for, in spite of his ugliness at times, she loved him. It frightened her when she realized she had begun to mistrust him. At first she had been convinced that he had been duped into the gang, but now, with his hatred for Bob, she began to wonder.

  Supper was just ready when five rough riders stopped at the house. Four of the men she had never seen. The other she recognized, in spite of the beard, as Three Finger Smith. She had seen him only a few times before and she instinctively hated him. Tonight the ugly scar on his chin was more noticeable than usual, for no hair grew on it. He surveyed her with a smirky look in his eyes that told her what was in his ugly heart.

  John invited them to supper, and while they ate, Three Finger began telling him the news. The Grimes caravan was going into the Boise Basin, where they had struck a bonanza. Three Finger and his men were heading for Elk City to meet Plummer, in the hope that they could trail the caravan into the Basin.

  John forgot to eat in his excitement. Even Dixie thrilled with the thought of getting away from here and into the new gold diggings if they could escape the gang.

  "Yuh know, John," Three Finger was saying, "the game's up hyar, with them damned Vigilantes on our tails. They's real dust out thar that we can git our hands on. This country's gittin' so's a man can't make a honest dollar no more."

  "Shore sounds good to me, suh," John answered excitedly. "Ah reckon the boss won't have any objections." The gold lust was pounding in his veins.

  Dixie could see it and knew that he would follow the others. Oh, if she could only get him out of their clutches! If Bob would come and help her! She realized that the crisis was close at hand where she would have to give up either her father or Bob. It seemed to her that John was getting more and more involved of his own choice, for he talked of wiping people out with as little concern as he would of currying his horse.

  Her mind was in such a turmoil that she could scarcely finish the dishes. The thrill of a few moments ago had been short-lived when she read her father's reaction. She simply had to get away alone where she could figure it all out. The cabin in the brush had become her sanctuary, especially since it was there she had met and fallen in love with Bob. It was as though his spirit were there to commune with her.

  The men were playing cards when she slipped away. A strange foreboding of catastrophe still persisted. She was sure John would want to trail with the bandits into the new gold field, but not with the purpose of staking a claim; that would mean work. These bandits wanted the dust, but they wanted someone else to sweat for it. These men knew that their days of activity were numbered, and they would go to any end to accumulate a hoard of stolen riches before the law could be established. Many lives would be lost before these highwaymen could be subdued.

  She realized that she couldn't depend on John with any degree of certainty. Gradually she had seen him sink into the mire of iniquity until she knew he was helpless. "Only a few more jobs," he would say, "and we'll get out of the country tuh live like honest people." She knew the perverse workings of his mind, but she was helpless. The future loomed up like a black chasm before her, unless Bob came. It was one or the other.

  She found herself strolling out by the horse corral, where her own paint horse was standing with his head over the bars. She patted him gently on the nose. Next to Bob she had come to love her horse best. As she murmured endearing words to her pony she felt the urge to ride up to the cabin in the brush before going to bed. She saddled quickly and quietly threw down the bars. She was just stooping to lift one of the bars after her when something crashed in the brush near by. Instantly she was motionless. Her horse pricked up his ears. She caught him by the nose to keep him from whinnying. There came no other sound. "I must be all nerves tonight," she told herself as she mounted, forgetting to put up the bars.

  Turning her horse up the canyon trail she began humming softly to herself. Suddenly a shot punctured the silent night and the leaden bullet fanned dangerously near her face. Her paint horse leaped forward and she gave him his head. With the speed of lightning she entered the protecting timber.

  Almost at the same moment a volley of shots rang out near the shebang and answering shots followed. In her terror, her only thought was to put as much distance between herself and danger as possible. Then the pounding of hoofs behind her told her that the horses had stampeded and were coming up the canyon. Instantly the memory of the forgotten bars flashed across her mind. She knew what the loss of the horses meant to the men in the shebang. Even though she hated them she remembered her father. She didn't want them shot down without a chance of escape.

  She acted on the spur of the moment, realizing that she must keep ahead of the band and stop them in the canyon. It wasn't likely that the attackers would know anything about the hidden cove, and she trusted that they would be so occupied that they would not follow the horses immediately, even if they missed them.

  Her horse was running smoothly up the trail. She wondered how he could see the fallen logs across the trail in time to clear them. On into the clearing in front of the cabin she flew. At the upper end where the timber began she stopped to head off the frightened horses.

  The shooting stopped. Her heart seemed to stop beating. Whatever had happened was over. In a panic of fear she wondered if she was alone in the world. In that flashing moment she remembered old John's prediction. If her father was dead she would never forgive herself. The uncertainty of the outcome impelled her to action.

  Regardless of danger she sped back toward the shebang. As she rode a new terror gripped her. The sky became suddenly red and she knew the building was in flames.

  "Bob and the Vigilantes!" she cried out piteously, as the tears streamed down her cheeks.

  Recklessly she rode almost to the corral. It too was aflame, but she strained her senses for some evidence of life. Her heart sank as only the shouldering flames of the charred debris of the shebang pierced the darkness.

  It was all so terrible! So unexpected from him! She covered her face with her hands and the sobs shook her slight drooping shoulders. The sense of loneliness was oppressive as she turned back toward what was once her sanctuary, but now only a mockery of her fondest dreams.

  Slowly she rode back the corral trail, unmindful of any lurking danger. Nothing mattered now. Her poor father was right after all, and she had given Bob Bainbridge her love and trusted him above anyone else in the world. She had known that the time was close at hand when she would have to choose between her father and the man she loved. Now she could choose neither. She would never forgive the man who had brought t
his catastrophe upon her.

  At the dark lonely cabin in the brush she dismounted and leaned against her horse with her head on her elbow. The hushed loneliness was almost more than she could bear. Finally she straightened up, setting her lips tightly with determination. She had not made up her mind what she would do, only that she must stay here until daybreak before starting for Oro Fino. She dared not try the treacherous trail tonight.

  She began mechanically to untie the saddle girth when from behind her came the curt command, "Hoist 'em up!"

  At the sound of the unexpected voice she screamed; her knees gave way and she fell in a dead faint.

  11

  BOB BAINBRIDGE HAD STOPPED IN FRONT OF Mrs. Ford's cabin just long enough to pick up a hurriedly prepared grubstake and tie it on his saddle. The only thing he was conscious of was the fact that Dixie was in trouble and he must get there before the impending catastrophe took place. In spite of his insane anxiety, he was wise enough not to run his good horse down the first few miles. It was with difficulty that he restrained himself from making use of the cruel spurs until Star Face had warmed up. As it was, he made the old Spalding Mission on the Clearwater, a distance of ten miles, in an hour. Here he took time to give his horse a drink and stretch his own legs. From then on he gave Star Face all he could stand.

  All that was left to him was a blind hope that something might happen to detain the Vigilantes and give him time. It was a slim chance indeed, since they had at least two hours start of him. Already night shades had gathered across his trail, but he gave his mount his head and trusted to him to keep the trail. Mile after mile passed under him, yet innumerable miles stretched ahead of him.

  For the first time in his life he felt like praying. If she were murdered he would never forgive himself for not telling how she had saved his life, and so have saved hers. He'd always been a damned fool when it came to women. He had never understood them and never felt comfortable around any of them except Dixie. He knew now what she really meant to him. To the squeak of the saddle leather he cursed and prayed intermittently.

  He shot down the steep incline of Thunder Mountain into the narrow trail, and turned almost south, beginning the gentle climb. The shebang was growing nearer. Half an hour later, rounding a curve, he came to a sudden stop. In consternation he stared ahead.

  "God Almighty!" he groaned, "I'm too late! They've set fire to the place!"

  The whole sky had suddenly become crimson over the spot where he knew the shebang lay. He was too far away to see the flames but he felt their piercing tongues at his heart.

  Mercilessly he gave spurs to his tired mount. The horse shot forward obediently with what little speed was left in him. A few moments later he heard the patter of hoofs and he jerked his horse into the brush and waited. It was the victors returning.

  "Halt!" he shouted' jumping into the road. "It's Bainbridge!" The men drew up. "What's happened at the shebang?" he demanded angrily. "I'm the captain of the Vigilantes! Who gave the order to wipe that shebang out?"

  One of the men spoke up. "Why--I guess it was Beechy. We was only squarin' accounts fer you, Bainbridge."

  "When I want anyone to square accounts for me I'll tell you about it! Did you see a girl there?"

  "Didn't notice any. Good Lord! Was they a gal with them geezers?" queried the spokesman. "Any you fellers see a gal up there?"

  "Nary a gal," someone answered. "Want us tuh trail back with yuh?"

  "No! Hit the trail down the canyon. You've raised enough hell for one night!" Bob gave his horse the spurs and galloped madly away.

  * * * *

  As Dixie regained consciousness it was with a weird feeling that something dreadful had happened. John Lee was sitting by the bedside. Three Finger Smith was pacing the floor, while two of the gang were squatting on the floor. In a flash it all came back to her.

  "Oh, John!" she cried, reaching for him, "thank heaven you're still alive!"

  She wanted him to take her in his arms, but he only stared.

  "Yes, gal," he answered coolly, "but it ain't Pokerface Bob's fault--nor yoahs!"

  "What's that?" Three Finger Smith rasped savagely.

  "I said it wasn't Pokerface Bob's fault that we're alive!"

  Three Finger took two steps toward the bed. "No? Who said it was? I'll wipe that sidewinder out if it's the last thing I ever do!"

  Dixie was trembling from head to foot. Their savage voices frightened her.

  Three Finger turned to the two men on the floor. "Git the horses! The gal's all right now. We've got tuh git out o' hyar before they discover our trail! Hell! They ain't a damned saddle left but the one the gal's ridin'! A nice how-de-do, us havin' tuh ride tuh Oro Fino bareback!"

  "Yes, but we're lucky, Smith, we got our hosses," John cut in. "If it hadn't been for Dixie leavin' the bars down we wouldn't had them."

  The hurried departure was accomplished amid much cursing and swearing, especially over having to ride bareback. Old John refused Dixie's offer of her saddle. She ought to have to ride bareback after persuading him to let Pokerface Bob go when he had him in his clutches.

  Dixie bore his taunting without remonstrance, for she somehow could not blame him for feeling as he did about the affair. Anyway, she didn't much care at the present time what happened. With her lost love had gone her heart and her hope.

  Knowing the canyon trail, Three Finger Smith took the lead, with the two strange members of the gang at his heels. Then followed Dixie and old John Lee bringing up the rear. Their flight was fraught with danger at every step of the treacherous trail, but Dixie gave her paint horse his head, never giving any thought to it. Hours, it seemed, they kept climbing upward toward the hogback.

  Cool dawn was close at hand when they finally reached the summit. A cool breeze with the scent of rain in it swept through the branches of the tall pines and blew the flaxen tresses recklessly across Dixie's forehead.

  She was tired, but the men pushed relentlessly along the mountain side toward the main canyon trail. If the way had been treacherous on the other side it was worse here, for it seemed in the coming dawn there was no trail at all.

  * * * *

  When Bob Bainbridge arrived on the scene where the shebang had been he found only smoldering coals of ruin. Even the corral was burned. Wearily he dismounted and sat down on a log. His head was pounding and his legs ached. Softly, fervently, he cursed himself for a fool. If he hadn't been so self-conscious, such a blamed fool, he could have saved this. Now, even now, his Dixie might be a part of those charred ashes there.

  After a moment the thought of the cabin in the brush came to him. Perhaps she had escaped to the cabin. Simultaneously with the thought he swung into the saddle and headed up the hidden canyon. He found the cabin in darkness. He drew up in front of the door, dismounted, and entered. He struck a match and looked for a candle, but it had been moved from the shelf. The room gave evidence of confusion. The blankets had been removed from the cot.

  He began to take hope. Someone had been here recently. It never occurred to him that whoever had been there might be lurking in the brush watching him. For that matter, he didn't particularly care now. For the sake of his horse he decided that it would be foolish to leave tonight. Anyhow, he wanted to investigate what had happened when it was lighter.

  He built a fire in the fireplace, then unsaddled his horse, bringing his saddle and blankets inside. He picketed Star Face and settled down for a few hours rest--not to sleep, but to think, upbraid himself for what had happened.

  Already day was breaking in the east. He gazed about the place regretfully. Everything in the room reminded him of Dixie. Even the shadows pointed at him accusingly with every flicker of the flame.

  * * * *

  Within half a mile of the trail the fugitives stopped for conference. It would be decidedly unsafe for them to ride right into the beaten path without first investigating the danger. No one knew which direction the Vigilantes had taken when they heft the burning shebang. Accordingly,
John Lee was chosen to ride ahead to reconnoiter for fresh tracks in the trail. He started immediately.

  Dixie spoke up quickly. "I'll ride with John, and the rest of you can wait here until one of us returns."

  "Oh, no yuh won't!" Three Finger Smith dashed up and seized her horse by the bits. "Yuh'll stay right here, gal, so's we knows the ol' man'll come back!"

  "So, you don't trust us?" she shot back icily. "Let go the bits!"

  "Not so's yuh'd notice it! Me an' the boys'll feel much more tuh home if yuh stays with us!"

  Dixie was struggling under the smarting anger and humiliation. How she detested this murderer! She bit her trembling lips to keep from crying.

  "Yuh don't need tuh look at me like that, gal. I aims only tuh be careful. Fact is, I loves yuh a heap an' I'd hate tuh lose yuh. How'd yuh like to be my woman?"

  For a moment her eyes burned with hatred. "I loathe you, you slimy snake! Let go my horse!"

  Her display of temper brought a chuckle from his ugly lips. "Spitfire, heh? That's the way I likes 'em. But maybe yuh got ambitions fer Plummer or Cleveland. Wal, a hell o' a lot o' good it'll do yuh!"

  Her fury broke its bonds. With all the vehemence of blind anger she struck him a stinging blow across his wrist with her loaded quirt. He dropped the reins with a howl of pain. Instantly giving spurs to her horse she streaked down the mountain trail like a comet.

  It had all happened so suddenly that it was a moment before the raging Three Finger could control himself to give chase. By that time she was so far ahead that pursuit would be futile.

  Dixie rode straight for the beaten trail, swerved and followed it, heedless of any lurking danger that might beset her. She was surprised that Three Finger had not pursued her. But she was not deceived. She knew she had made a bitter enemy who would never let things ride as they were.

  As her anger subsided she brought her horse to a canter. Seeing a spring beside the trail she stopped for her horse to drink.