Nan of Music Mountain

by Frank H. Spearman

  CHAPTER XXVI

  FLIGHT

  It was a forbidding night. Moisture-laden clouds, drifting over theSuperstition Range, emptied their fulness against the face of themountains in a downpour and buried the Gap in impenetrable darkness.De Spain, catching Nan's arm, spoke hurriedly, and they hastenedoutside toward the kitchen. "We must get away quick," he said as shebuttoned her coat. And, knowing how she suffered in what she wasdoing, he drew her into the shelter of the porch and caught her closeto him. "It had to come, Nan. Don't shed a tear. I'll take youstraight to Mrs. Jeffries. When you are ready, you'll marry me; we'llmake our peace with your Uncle Duke together. Great God! What a night!This way, dearie."

  "No, to the stable, Henry! Where's your horse?"

  "Under the pine, and yours, too. I found the pony, but I couldn't findyour saddle, Nan."

  "I know where it's hidden. Let's get the horses."

  "Just a minute. I stuck my rifle under this porch." He stooped andfelt below the stringer. Rising in a moment with the weapon on hisarm, the two hurried around the end of the house toward the pine-tree.They had almost reached this when a murmur unlike the sounds of thestorm made de Spain halt his companion.

  "What is it?" she whispered. He listened intently. While they stoodstill the front door of the house was opened hurriedly. A man ran outalong the porch toward the stable. Neither Nan nor de Spain could makeout who it was, but de Spain heard again the suspicious sound that hadchecked him. Without speaking, he took Nan and retreated to the cornerof the house. "There is somebody in that pine," he whispered, "waitingfor me to come after the horses. Sassoon may have found them. I'll tryit out, anyway, before I take a chance. Stand back here, Nan."

  He put her behind the corner of the house, threw his rifle to hisshoulder, and fired as nearly as he could in the darkness toward andjust above the pine. Without an instant's hesitation a pistol-shotanswered from the direction in which he had fired, and in anothermoment a small fusillade followed. "By the Almighty," muttered deSpain, "we must have our horses, Nan. Stay right here. I'll trydriving those fellows off their perch."

  She caught his arm. "What are you going to do?"

  "Run in on them from cover, wherever I can find it, Nan, and push themback. We've got to have those horses."

  "Henry, we can get others from the stable."

  "There may be more men waiting there for us."

  "If we could only get away without a fight!"

  "This is Sassoon and his gang, Nan. You heard Pardaloe. These are notyour people. I've got to drive 'em, or we're gone, Nan."

  "Then I go with you."

  "No."

  "Yes!" Her tone was unmistakable.

  "Nan, you can't do it," whispered de Spain energetically. "A chancebullet----"

  She spoke with decision: "I go with you. I can use a rifle. Betterboth of us be killed than one. Help me up on this roof. I've climbedit a hundred times. My rifle is in my room. Quick, Henry."

  Overruling his continued objections, she lifted her foot to his hand,caught hold of the corner-post, and springing upward got her hands onthe low end of the roof boards. With the agility of a cat, she put hersecond foot on de Spain's shoulder, gained the sloping roof, andscrambled on her hands and knees up toward the window of her room.The heavy rain and the slippery boards made progress uncertain, butwith scarcely any delay, she reached her window and pushed open thecasement sash. A far-off peal of thunder echoed down from themountains. Luckily, no flash had preceded it, and Nan, rifle in hand,slid safely down to the end of the lean-to, where de Spain, waiting,caught one foot on his shoulder, and helped her to the ground. Hetried again to make her stay behind the house. Finding his effortsvain, he directed her how to make a zigzag advance, how to utilize forcover every rock and tree she could find in the line toward the pine,and, above all, to throw herself flat and sidewise after everyshot--and not to fire often.

  In this way, amid the falling of rain and the uncharted dangers of thedarkness, they advanced on the pine-tree. Surprisingly little effortseemed necessary to drive off whoever held it. De Spain made his wayslowly but safely to the disputed point and then understood--thehorses were gone.

  He had hardly rejoined Nan, who waited at a safe distance, and toldher the bad news, when a fresh discharge of shots came from twodirections--seemingly from the house and the stable. A moment laterthey heard sharp firing far down the Gap. This was their sole avenueof escape. It was bad enough, under the circumstances, to negotiatethe trail on horseback--but to expose Nan, who had but just putherself under his protection, to death from a chance bullet whilestumbling along on foot, surrounded by enemies--who could follow theflash of their own shots if they were forced to use their rifles, andclose in on them at will--was an undertaking not to be faced.

  They withdrew to the shelter of a large rock familiar to Nan even inthe dark. While de Spain was debating in his mind how to meet theemergency, she stood at his side, his equal, he knew, in courage,daring, and resource, and answered his rapid questions as to possiblegateways of escape. The rain, which had been abating, now ceased, butfrom every fissure in the mountains came the roar of rushing water,and little openings of rock and waterway that might have offered achance when dry were now out of the question. In fact, it was Nan'sbelief that before morning water would be running over the main trailitself.

  "Yet," said de Spain finally, "before morning we must be a long wayfrom this particular spot, Nan. Lefever is down there--I haven't theslightest doubt of that. Sassoon has posted men at the neck of theGap--that's the first thing he would do. And if John heard my riflewhen I first shot, he would be for breaking in here, and his men, ifthey've come up, would bump into Sassoon's. It would be insane for usto try to get out over the trail with Sassoon holding it againstLefever--we might easily be hit by our friends instead of our enemies.I'll tell you what, Nan, suppose I scout down that way alone and seewhat I can find out?"

  He put the proposal very lightly, realizing almost as soon as he madeit what her answer would be. "Better we go together," she answered inthe steady tone he loved to hear. "If you were killed, what wouldbecome of me? I should rather be shot than fall into his hands afterthis--if there was ever a chance for it before, there'd be no mercynow. Let's go together."

  He would not consent, and she knew he was right. But what was rightfor one was right, she told him, for both, and what was wrong for onewas wrong for both. "Then, I'll tell you," he said suddenly, as whenafter long uncertainty and anxious doubt one chooses an alternativeand hastens to follow it. "Retreat is the thing for us, Nan. Let'smake for Music Mountain and crawl into our cave till morning. Lefeverwill get in here some time to-morrow. Then we can connect with him."

  They discussed the move a little further, but there seemed no escapefrom the necessity of it, despite the hardship involved in reachingthe refuge; and, realizing that no time was to be lost, they set outon the long journey. Every foot of the troublesome way offereddifficulties. Water impeded them continually. It lay in shallow poolsunderfoot and slipped in running sheets over the sloping rocks thatlay in their obscure path. Sometimes de Spain led, sometimes Nanpicked their trail. But for her perfect familiarity with every foot ofthe ground they could not have got to the mountain at all.

  Even before they succeeded in reaching the foot of it their earswarned them of a more serious obstacle ahead. When they got to themountain trail itself they heard the roar of the stream that made thewaterfall above the ledge they were trying to reach. Climbing hardly adozen steps, they found their way swept by a mad rush of fallingwater, its deafening roar punctured by fragments of loosened rockwhich, swept downward from ledge to ledge, split and thundered as theydashed themselves against the mountainside. On a protected floor thetwo stood for a moment, listening to the roar of the cataract that hadcut them off their refuge.

  "No use, Nan," said de Spain. "There isn't any other trail, isthere?"

  She told him there was no other. "And this will run all night," sheadded. "Sometimes it runs like this for days. I ought
to have knownthere would be a flood here. But it all depends on which side of themountain the heavy rain falls. Henry," she said, turning to him and asif thinking of a question she wanted to ask, "how did you happen tocome to me just to-night when I wanted you so?"

  "I came because you sent for me," he answered, surprised.

  "But I didn't send for you."

  He stopped, dumfounded. "What do you mean, Nan?" he demanded uneasily."I got your message on the telephone to come at once and take youaway."

  "Henry! I didn't send any message--when did you get one?"

  "Last night, in my office in Sleepy Cat, from a man that refused togive his name."

  "I never sent any message to you," she insisted in growing wonderment."I have been locked in a room for three days, dearie. The Lord knows Iwanted to send you word. Who ever telephoned a message like that? Wasit a trap to get you in here?"

  He told her the story--of the strenuous efforts he had made todiscover the identity of the messenger--and how he had been balked."No matter," said Nan, at last. "It couldn't have been a trap. Itmust have been a friend, surely, not an enemy."

  "Or," said de Spain, bending over her as if he were afraid she mightescape, and putting his face close to hers, "some mildly curiousperson, some idle devil, Nan, that wanted to see what two timid menwould look like, mixed up in a real fight over the one girl in themountains both are trying to marry at once."

  "Henry," every time she repeated his name de Spain cared less for whatshould happen in the rest of the world, "what are we going to do now?We can't stay here all night--and take what they will greet us with inthe morning."

  He answered her question with another: "What about trying to get outby El Capitan?"

  She started in spite of herself. "I mean," he added, "just to have alook over there, Nan."

  "How could you even have a look a night like this?" she asked,overcome at the thought of the dizzy cliff. "It would be certaindeath, Henry."

  "I don't mean at the worst to try to cross it till we get a glimpse ofdaylight. But it's quite a way over there. I remember some goodhiding-places along that trail. We may find one where I can build alittle fire and dry you out. I'm more worried over you being wet allnight than the rest of it. The question is, Can we find a trail up towhere we want to go?"

  "I know two or three," she answered, "if they are only not flooded."

  The storm seemed to have passed, but the darkness was intense, andfrom above the northern Superstitions came low mutterings of thunder.Compelled to strike out over the rocks to get up to any of the trailstoward El Capitan, Nan, helped by de Spain when he could help, led theascent toward the first ledge they could hope to follow on theirdangerous course.

  The point at which the two climbed almost five hundred feet that nightup Music Mountain is still pointed out in the Gap. An upturned rock atthe foot, a stunted cedar jutting from the ledge at the point theyfinally gained, marked the beginning and end of their effort. Noperson, looking at that confused wall, willingly believes it couldever have been scaled in the dead of night. Torn, bruised, andexhausted, Nan, handed up by her lover, threw herself at lastprostrate on the ledge at the real beginning of their trail, and fromthat vantage-point they made their way along the eastern side of MusicMountain for two miles before they stopped again to rest.

  It was already well after midnight. A favoring spot was seized on byde Spain for the resting-place he wanted. A dry recess beneath anoverhanging wall made a shelter for the fire that he insisted onbuilding to warm Nan in her soaked clothing. He found cedar roots inthe dark and soon had a blaze going. It was dangerous, both realized,to start a fire, but they concealed the blaze as best they could andtook the chance--a chance that more nearly than any that had gonebefore, cost them their lives. But what still lay ahead of the twojustified in de Spain's mind what he was doing. He acted deliberatelyin risking the exposure of their position to unfriendly eyes fardistant.