Chapter V
At the foot of Little Thumb Butte a lengthening semicircle of fireflared through the night. John Wesley Pringle swung far out on theplain to circle round it.
"This takes time," he muttered to himself, "but at least I know wherenot to go. That old rip-snorter sure put a spoke in my wheel! Lookslike Foy might see them lights and drift out away from this. But hewon't, I guess--they said his hidey-hole was right on top, and theshoulder of the hill will hide the fires from him. Probably asleep,anyhow, thinkin' he's safe. I slep' three hours this morning at theMajor's; but Foy he didn't sleep any. Even if he did leave, they'dtrack him up in the morning and get him--and he knows it. Somebody'sgoin' to be awfully annoyed when he misses this horse."
He could see the riders, dim-flitting as they passed between him andthe flames. Once he stopped to listen; he heard the remaining halfof the man-hunt leaving the ranch. They were riding hard. ThereafterPringle had no mercy on his horse. Ride as he might, those whofollowed had the inner circle; when he rounded the fires and struckthe hill his start was perilously slight. While the footing was softhe urged the wearied horse up the slope; at the first rocky space heabandoned the poor beast lest the floundering of shod hoofs shouldbetray him. He took off saddle and bridle; he hung the canteen overhis shoulder and pressed on afoot.
A light breeze had overcast the stars with thin and fleecy clouds.This made for Pringle's safety; it also made the going harder--and itwould have been hard going by daylight.
The slope became steeper; ledges of rock, little at first, becamelarger and more frequent; he came to bluffs that barred his progress,slow and painful at best; he was forced to search to left or rightfor broken places where he could climb. Bits of rock, dislodged by hisfeet, fell clattering despite his utmost care; he heard the like frombelow, to the left, to the right. The short night wore swiftly on.
With equal fortune John Wesley should have maintained his lead. Buthe found more than his share of no-thoroughfares. Before long hisears told him that men were almost abreast of him on each side. Hewas handicapped now, because he must shun any chance meeting. Hisimmediate neighbors, however, had no such fear; they edged closerand closer together as they climbed. At last, stopped against aperpendicular wall ten feet high, he heard them creeping toward himfrom both sides, with a guarded "Coo-ee!" each to the other; JohnWesley slipped down the hill to the nearest bush. His neighbors cametogether and held a whispered discourse. They viewed the barrier withmarked patience, it seemed; they sat down in friendly fashion andsmoked cigarette after cigarette; the hum of their hushed voicesreached Pringle, murmuring and indistinct. It might almost be thoughtthat they were willing for others to precede them in the place ofhonor. A faint glow showed in the east; the moon had thoughts ofrising.
After an interminable half-hour the two worthies passed on to theright. Pringle took to the left, more swiftly. Time for cautionhad passed; moonlight might betray him. When he found a way up thatunlucky wall others of the search party farther to the left were wellbeyond him.
Perhaps a quarter of a mile away, the last sheer cliff, the Thumbwhich gave the hill its name, frowned above him, a hundred feet frombase to crest. Pringle bore obliquely up to the right. Speed was hisbest safety now; he pushed on boldly, cheered by the thought thatif seen by any of the posse he would be taken for one of their ownnumber. But Foy, seeing him, would make the same mistake! It was anuncomfortable reflection.
The pitch was less abrupt now, and there were no more ledges; instead,bowlders were strewn along the rounded slope, with bush and stuntedtree between. Through these Pringle breasted his way, seeking evenmore to protect himself from above than from below, forced at times tocrawl through an open space exposed to possible fire from both sides;so came at last to the masses of splintered and broken rock at thefoot of the cliff, where he sank breathless and panting.
The tethered constellations paled in the sky; the moon rose and litthe cliff with silver fire. The worst was yet to come. Foy would askno questions of any prowler, that was sure; he would reason that afriend would call out boldly. And John Wesley had no idea where Foy orhis cave might be. Yet he must be found.
With a hearty swig at the canteen Pringle crept off to the right. Themoonlight beat full upon the cliff. He had little trouble in that ruinof broken stone to find cover from foes below; but at each turn heconfidently looked forward to a bullet from his friend.
"Foy! Foy!" he called softly as he crawled. "It's Pringle! Don'tshoot!"
After a space he came to an angle where the cliff turned abruptlywest and dwindled sharply in height. He remembered what the Major hadsaid--the upper entrance of the cave came out on the highest crest ofthe hill. He turned back to retrace his painful way. The smell of dawnwas in the air; the east sparkled. No sound came from the ambush allaround. The end was near.
He passed by his starting-point; he crept on by slide and bush andstone. The moon magic faded and paled, mingled with the swift gray ofdawn. He held his perilous way. Cold sweat stood on his brow. If Foyor a foe of Foy were on the cliff now, how easy to topple down a stoneupon him! The absolute stillness was painful. A thought came to him ofStella Vorhis--her laughing eyes, her misty hair, the little hand thathad lingered upon his own. Such a little, little hand!
Before him a narrow slit opened in the wall--such a crevice as theMajor had described.
"Foy! Oh, Foy!" he called. No answer came. He raised his voice alittle louder. "Foy! Speak if you're there! It's Pringle!"
A gentle voice answered from the cleft:
"Let us hope, for your sake, that you are not mistaken about that. Ishould be dreadfully vexed if you were deceiving me. The voice is thevoice of Pringle, but how about the face? I can only see your back."
"I would raise my head, so you could take a nice look by thewell-known cold gray light of the justly celebrated dawn," rejoinedPringle, "if I wasn't reasonably sure that a rifle shot would promptlymar the classic outlines of my face. They're all around you, Foy.Hargis, he gave you away. Don't show a finger nail of yourself. Let mecrawl up behind that big rock ahead and then you can identify me."
"It's you, all right," said Foy when Pringle reached the rock andstraightened himself up.
"I told you so," said Pringle, peering into the shadows of the cleft."I can't see you. And how am I going to get to you? There are twentymen with point-blank range. I'm muddy, scratched, bruised, tired andhungry, sleepy and cross--and there's thirty feet in the open betweenhere and you, and it nearly broad daylight. If I try to cross thatI'll run twenty-five hundred pounds to the ton, pure lead. Well, wecan put up a pretty nifty fight, even so. You go back to the otheroutlet of your cave and I'll stay here. I'm kinder lonesome, too....Toss me some cartridges first. I only got five. I left in a hurry. Yougot forty-fives?"
"Plenty. But you can't stay there. They'll pot you from the top of thebluff, first off. Besides, you got a canteen, I see. You back up tothat mountain mahogany bush, slip under it, and worm down throughthe rocks till you come to a little scrub-oak tree and a big granitebowlder. They'll give you shelter to cross the ridge into a deepravine that leads here where I am. You'll be out of sight all the wayup once you hit the ravine. I'd--I'd worm along pretty spry if I wasyou, going down as far as the scrub oak--say, about as swift asa rattlesnake strikes--and pray any little prayers you happen toremember. And say, Pringle, before you go ... I'm rather obliged toyou for coming up here; risking taking cold and all. If it'll cheeryou up any I'll undertake that anyone getting you on the trip willthink there's one gosh-awful echo here."
"S'long!" said Pringle.
He wriggled backward and disappeared.
Ten minutes later he writhed under the bush at Foy's feet.
"Never saw me!" he said. "But I'll always sleep in coils afterthis--always supposing we got any after this coming to us."
"One more crawl," said Foy, leading the way. "We'll go up on top.Regular fort up there. If we've got to die we'll die in the sun."
He stooped at what seemed the end of the pa
ssage and crawled out ofsight under the low branches of a stunted cedar. Pringle followed andfound himself in the pitch dark.
"Grab hold of my coat tail. I know my way, feeling the wall. Watchyour step or you'll bark your shins."
The cave floor was smooth underfoot, except for scattered rocks; itrose and dipped, but the general trend was sharply upward.
"You're quite an institution, Pringle. You've made good Stella's wordof you--the best ever!" said Foy as they mounted. "But you can't dome any good, really. I'll enjoy your company, but I wish you hadn't come."
"That's all right. I always like to finish what I begin."
"Well," remarked Foy cheerfully, "I reckon we've reached the bigfinish, both of us. I don't see any way out. All they've got to dois to sit tight till we starve out for water. Wish you was out of it.It's going to be tough on Stella, losing her friend and--and me, bothat once. How's she making out? Full of fight and hope to the last,I'll bet."
"They had me under herd; but she was wishing for the Bar Cross buddiesto butt in, I believe. Reckon your sheriff-man guessed it. He had herunder guard, too."
"Nice man, the sheriff! How'd you get away from your herder?"
"He don't just remember," said Pringle.
"Who was it?"
"Applegate. Dreadful absent-minded, Applegate is. Ouch! There went myother shin. Had any sleep?"
"Most all night. Something woke me up about two hours ago, and I kepton the look-out ever since."
"That was me, I guess. I had to step lively. They was crowding me."
"If the Bar Cross happened to get word," observed Foy thoughtfully,"we might stand some hack. But they won't. It's good-by, vain world,for ours! Say, in case a miracle happens for you, just make a memoabout the sheriff being a nuisance, will you?"
"I'll tie a string on my finger. Anything else?"
"You might stick around and cheer Stella up a little. I'll do as muchfor you sometime. I'm thinking she'll feel pretty bad at first. Herewe are!"
A faint glimmer showed ahead. They crawled under low bushes andstumbled out, in what seemed at first a dazzle of light; into asmall saucer-shaped plat of earth a few feet across, enclosed byan irregular oval made by great blocks of stone, man-high. Below, asuccession of little cliffs fell away, stair fashion, to an exceedinghigh and narrow gap which separated Little Thumb Butte from itsgreater neighbor, Big Thumb Butte.
"Castle Craney Crow," smiled Foy with a proprietary wave of his hand."Just right for our business, isn't it? Make yourself at home, whileI take a peep around about." He bent to peer through bush and crack."Nothing stirring," he announced. He leaned his rifle against awalling rock. "Let's have a look at that water."
He raised the canteen to his lips. Pringle struck swift and hard tothe tilted chin. Foy dropped like a poled bullock; his head struckheavily against the sharp corner of a rock. Pringle pounced on thestricken man. He threw Foy's sixshooter aside; he pulled Foy's wristsbehind him and tied them tightly with a handkerchief. Then he rolledhis captive over.
Foy's eyes opened; they rolled back till only the whites were visible;his lips twitched. Pringle hastily bound his handkerchief to the gashthe stone had made; he sprinkled the blood-streaked face with water;he spilled drops of water between the parted lips. Foy did not revive.
Pringle stuck his hat on the rifle muzzle and waved it over theparapet of rock.
"Hello!" he shouted. "Bring on your reward! I've got Foy! It'sme--Pringle! Come get him; and be quick--he's bleeding mighty bad."
"Come out, you! Hands up and no monkey business!" answered a startledvoice not fifty yards away.
"Who's that? That you, Nueces? Give me your word and I'll lug him out.No time to lose--he's hurt, and hurt bad."
"You play fair and we will. I give my word!" shouted Nueces.
"Here goes!" Pringle pitched the rifle over. A moment later hestaggered out between the rocks, bearing Foy's heavy weight in hisarms. The head hung helpless, blood-spattered; the body was limp andslack; the legs dragged sprawling; the dreaded hands were bound.
Pringle laid his burden on the grass.
"Here he is, you hyenas! His hands are tied--are you still afraid ofhim? Damn you! The man's bleeding to death!"
The Desire of the Moth; and the Come On Page 5