by Zane Grey
The other approached sullenly. “Fresno . . . thet Sandy is whole hog or none!” he exclaimed.
“Let ’em fight it out,” replied Fresno. “We’ve got a bigger game . . . Besides, they’ll shoot each other up. Then we’ll hev it all. Come on, give ’em elbow room.”
He led Allie and his horse away a little distance. “Fetch them packs, Frank!” he called.
The mustang followed, and presently Frank came with one of the packs. Fresno slipped the saddle from his horse, and, laying it under a tree, he pulled a gun and rifle from their sheaths. The gun he stuck in his belt, the rifle he leaned against a branch.
“Sandy’ll plug Old Miles in jest another minnit,” remarked Fresno.
“What’s this other game?” queried Frank curiously.
“It’s gold . . . Frank . . . gold,” replied Fresno, and in few words he told his comrade about Horn’s buried gold. But he did not mention the condition under which the girl would reveal its hiding place. Evidently he had no doubt that he could force her to tell.
“Let’s rustle!” cried Frank, his dark face gleaming. “We want to get out of this country quick.”
“You bet. An’ I wonder when we’ll be fetchin’ up with them railroad camps we heered about . . . Camp full of gold an’ whiskey an’ wimmen!”
“We’ve enough on our hands now,” replied Frank. “Let’s rustle fer thet . . .”
A gunshot interrupted him. Then a hoarse curse rang out—and then two more shots from a different gun.
“Them last was Sandy’s,” observed Fresno coolly. “An’ of course they landed . . . Go see if Old Miles hit Sandy.”
Frank strode off under the trees.
Allie had steeled herself to anything, and those shots warned her that perhaps she had two less to contend with and that she must be quick to seize the first opportunity to act. She could leap upon the mustang and, if she was lucky, could get away. She could jump for the Winchester and surely shoot one of these villains, perhaps both of them. But the spirit that gave her the nerve to attempt either plan bade her wait, not too long, but longer, in the hope of a more favorable moment.
Frank returned to Fresno and he carried the sack of gold that had caused dissension. Fresno laughed. “Sandy’s plugged hard . . . low down,” said Frank. “He can’t live. An’ Old Miles is croaked.”
“A-huh! Frank, I’ll go git the other packs. An’ you see what’s in this sack,” said Fresno.
When he got out of sight, Allie slipped the lasso from her waist. “I don’t need that hanging to me,” she said.
“Sure you don’t, sweetheart,” replied the ruffian Frank. “Thet man Fresno is rough with ladies. Now I’m gentle . . . Come an’ let me spill this sack in your lap.”
“I guess not,” replied Allie.
“Wal, you’re sure a cat. Look at her eyes! All right, don’t get mad at me.” He spilled the contents of the sack out on the sand and bent over it.
What had made Allie’s eyes flash was the recognition of her opportunity. She did not hesitate an instant. First she looked to see just where the mustang stood. He was near, with the rope dragging, half coiled. Allie suddenly was struck with the head and ears of the mustang. He heard something. She looked up the valley slope and saw a file of Indians riding down. Some were silhouetted against the sky. They were coming fast. For an instant Allie’s senses reeled. Then she rallied. Her situation was desperate—almost hopeless. But here was the issue of life or death, and she met it.
In one bound she had the rifle. Long before, she had ascertained that it was loaded. The man Frank heard the click of the raising hammer.
“What’re you doin’?” he demanded fiercely.
“Don’t get up!” warned Allie. She stepped backward nearer the mustang. “Look up the slope . . . Indians!”
But he paid no heed. He jumped up and strode toward her.
“Look, man!” cried Allie piercingly.
He came on.
Then Fresno appeared running, white of face.
Allie, without leveling the rifle, fired at the furious fool, even as his clutching hands struck the weapon. He halted, with sudden gasp, sank to his knees, fell against the tree, and then staggered up. Allie had to drop the rifle to hold the frightened mustang. She got on him, urged him away, and hauled in the dragging lasso. Once free of brush and stones he began to run. Allie saw a clear field ahead, but steep rocky slopes boxing the valley. She would be hemmed in there. She got the mustang turned, and ran among the trees, keeping far over to the left. She heard beating hoofs off to her right, crashings in brush, and then yells. An opening showed her the slope alive with Indians riding down hard. Some were heading down the valley to cut off escape, others up, and the majority were coming straight for the clumps of trees.
Fresno burst out of cover mounted on Sandy’s bay horse. He began to shoot. And the Indians fired in reply, all along the slope rose white puffs of smoke, and bullets clipped dust from the ground in front of Allie. Fresno drew ahead. The bay horse was swift. Allie pulled her mustang more to the left, hoping to get over the ridge, which on that side was not high. To her dismay Indians appeared there, too. She wheeled back to the first course and saw that she must try what Fresno was trying.
Then the robber Frank appeared riding out of the cedars. The Indian riders closed rapidly in on him, shooting all the time. His horse was hit and, stumbling, almost threw the rider. Then he ran wildly—could not be controlled. The Indian was speeding from among the others. He had a bow bent double, and suddenly it straightened. Allie saw dust fly from Frank’s back. He threw up his arms and slid off under the horse, the saddle slipping with him. The horse, wounded and terrorized, began to plunge, dragging man and saddle.
In that direction Allie looked no more.
Ahead, far to the right, Fresno was gaining on his pursuers. He was out of range now, but the Indians kept shooting. Then Allie’s situation became so perilous that she saw only the Indians to the left, with mustangs stretched out to intercept her before she got out into the wider valley. Her mustang did not need to be goaded. The yells behind, on all sides, and the whistling bullets, drove him to his utmost. Allie had all she could do to ride him. She was nearly blinded by the stinging wind, yet she saw those lithe half-naked savages dropping back gradually, and knew she was gaining. Her hair became loose and streamed in the wind. She heard the yells then. No more rifles cracked. Her pursuers had discovered that she was a girl, and were bent on capture.
Fleet and strong the mustang ran, sure-footed, leaping the washes, and out-distanced the pursuers on the left. Allie thought she could turn into the big valley and go down the main trail, before the Indians chasing Fresno discovered her. But vain hope! Across the width of the valley, where it opened out, a string of Indians stretched, riding back to meet her.
A long dust line, dotted with bobbing objects, to the right! Behind a close-packed bunch of hard riders! In front an opening trap of yelling savages! She was lost. And suddenly she remembered the fate of her mother. Her spirit sank—her strength fled. All blurred around her. She lost control of the mustang. She felt him turning, slowing. The yells burst hideously in her ears. Like her mother’s—her fate! A roar of speedy hoof beats seemed to envelop her and her nostrils were filled with dust. They were upon her. She prayed for a swift stroke—then for her soul. All darkened—her senses were failing. Neale’s face glimmered there—in space—was lost. She was slipping—slipping . . . A rude and powerful hold fastened upon her. Then all faded.
Chapter Thirteen
When Allie Lee came back from that black gap in her consciousness, she was lying in a circular tent of poles and hides. For a second she was dazed. But the Indian designs and trappings in the tent brought swift realization—she had been brought a captive to the Sioux encampment. She raised her head. She was lying on a buffalo robe; her hands and feet were bound; there was no one else in the tent; the floor was littered with blankets and beaded buckskin garments. Through a narrow opening she saw that the day was
far spent; Indians and horses passed to and fro; there was a bustle outside and jabber of Indian jargon; the wind blew hard and drops of rain pattered on the tent.
Allie could scarcely credit the evidence of her own senses. Here she was alive! She tried to see and feel if she had been hurt. Her arms and body appeared bruised and they ached, but she was not in any great pain. Her hopes arose. If the Sioux meant to kill her, they would have done it at once. They might intend to reserve her for torture, but more likely it was to make her a captive in the tribe. In that case Slingerland would find her and get her freedom.
Rain began to fall more steadily. Allie smelled smoke and saw the reflection of fires on the wall of the tent. Presently a squaw entered. She was a huge woman, evidently old, very dark of face, and wrinkled. She carried a bowl and platter that she set down, and, grunting, she began to untie Allie’s hands. Then she gave the girl a not ungentle shake. Allie sat up.
“Do you . . . do they mean . . . to harm and kill me?” she asked.
The squaw shook her head to indicate she did not understand and she spoke in Indian language. Her gestures toward the things she had brought were easy to interpret. Allie partook of the Indian food, which was coarse and unpalatable, but satisfied hunger. When she had finished, the squaw laboriously tied the thongs around Allie’s wrists and, pushing her back on the robe, covered her up and left her there.
After that it grew dark rapidly and the rain increased to a torrent. Allie, hardly realizing how cold she had been, began to warm up under the woolly robe. The roar of the rain drowned all the sounds outside. She wondered if Slingerland had returned to his cabin, and, if so, what he had done. She felt sorry for him. He would take the loss hard. But he would trail her; he would hear of a white girl captive in the Sioux camp and she would soon be free. How fortunate she was. A star of Providence watched over her. The prayer she had breathed had been answered. She thought of Neale. She would live; she would pray and fight off harm; she would find him if he could not find her; she was his utterly. And lying there bound and helpless in an Indian camp, captive of the relentless Sioux, for all she knew in peril of death, with the roar of wind and rain around her and the darkness like pitch, she yet felt her pulses throb and thrill and her spirit soar at remembrance of the man she loved. In the end she would find Neale, and it was with his name trembling on her lips, his face there in the blackness that she fell asleep.
More than once during the night she awoke in the pitchy darkness to hear the wind blow and the rain roar. The dawn broke cold and gray, and the storm gradually diminished. Allie lay alone for hours, beginning to suffer by reason of her bonds and cramped limbs. The longer she was left alone, the more hopeful her case seemed.
In the afternoon she was visited by the squaw, released, and fed as before. Allie made signs that she wanted to have her feet free, to get up and move. The squaw complied with her wishes. Allie could scarcely stand; she felt dizzy; a burning, aching sensation filled her limbs.
Presently the old woman led her out. Allie saw a great number of tents, many horses and squaws and children, but few braves. The encampment lay in a wide valley, similar to all the valleys of that country, except that it was larger. A stream in flood swept, yellow and noisy, along the edge of the encampment. The children ran at sight of Allie and the women stared. It was easy to see they disapproved of her. The few braves looked at her with dark, steady, unfathomable eyes. The camp appeared rich in color, in horses, trappings; evidently this tribe was not poor. Allie saw utensils, blankets, clothing—many things never made by Indians.
She was led to a big lodge with tent adjoining. Inside an old Indian brave, grizzled and shrunken, smoked before a fire, and, as Allie was pushed on into the tent, a young Indian squaw appeared. She was small, with a handsome, scornful face and dark, proud eyes, gorgeously clad in elaborate braided and fringed and ornate buckskin—evidently an Indian princess or a chief’s wife. She threw Allie a venomous glance as she went out. Allie heard the old squaw’s grunting voice and the young one’s quick and passionate answers.
There was nothing for Allie to do but await developments. She rested, rubbing her sore wrists and ankles, thankful she had been left unbound. She saw that she was watched, particularly by the young woman who often walked to the opening to glance in. The interior of this tent presented a contrast to the other in which she had been confined. It was dry and clean, with floor of rugs and blankets, and all around hung beaded and painted and feathered articles, some for wear, and some for what purpose she could not guess.
The afternoon passed without further incident until the old squaw entered, manifestly to feed Allie, and tie her up as heretofore. The younger squaw came in to watch the tying process.
Allie spoke to her—held out her bound hands appealingly. This elicited no further response than an intent look.
Night came. Allie lay awake a good while, and then she fell asleep. Next morning she was awakened by an uproar. Whistling and trampling of mustangs, whoops of braves, the babble of many voices, barking of dogs, movement, bustle, sound all about attested to the return of the warriors. Allie’s heart sank for a moment; this would be the time of trial for her. But the clamor subsided without any disturbance near her tent. By and by the old squaw returned to attend to her needs. This time, on the way out, she dropped a blanket curtain between the tent and lodge.
Soon Indians entered the lodge, quite a number, with squaws among them, judging by their voices, and a harangue lasting an hour or more interested Allie, especially because at times she heard and recognized the quick passionate utterance of the young squaws.
Soon Allie’s old attendant shuffled in, lifting the curtain and motioning Allie to come out. Allie went into the lodge. An early sun, shining into the wide door, lighted the place brightly. It was full of Indians. In the center stood a striking figure, probably a chief, tall and lean, with scars on his naked breast. His face was bronze, with deep lines, somber and bitter, and cruel thin lips, and eyes that glittered like black fire. His head had the poise of an eagle.
His piercing glance scarcely rested an instant upon Allie. He motioned for her to be taken away. Allie, as she was led back, got a glimpse of the young squaw. Sullen, with bowed head and dark rich blood thick in her face, with heaving breast and clenched hands, she seemed a picture of outraged pride and jealousy. Allie gathered that she was probably to be the captive of the chief and the young bride fiercely resented it.
The camp quieted down after that. Allie peeped through a slit between the hides of which her tent was constructed, and she saw no one but squaws and children. The mustangs appeared worn out. Evidently the braves and warriors were resting after a hard ride or fight or foray.
Nothing happened. The hours dragged. Allie heard the breathing of heavy sleepers. About dark she was fed again and bound.
That night she was awakened by a gentle shake. A hand moved from her shoulder to her lips. A pale moonlight filtered into the tent. Allie saw a figure kneeling beside her and she heard a: “Sh-s-s-sh.” Then her hands and feet were freed. She divined then that the young squaw had come to let her go, in the dead of night. Her heart throbbed high as her liberator held up a side of the tent. Allie crawled out. A bright moon soared in the sky; the camp was silent. The young woman slipped after her, and, with a warning gesture to be silent, she led Allie away toward the slope of the valley. It was a goodly distance.
Not a sound disturbed the peace of the beautiful night. The air was cold and still. Allie shivered and trembled. This was the most exciting adventure of all. She felt a softness and warmth for this Indian girl. Once, the squaw halted, with ear turned, listening. Allie’s heart stopped beating. But no bark of dog, no sound of pursuit justified alarm. At last they reached the base of the slope.
The Indian pointed high toward the ridge top. Then she made undulating motions of her hand as if to picture the topography of the ridges, and valley between, and then, kneeling, she made a motion with her finger on the ground that indicated a winding trai
l. Whereupon she stealthily glided away.
Allie was left alone—free—with directions how to find the trail. What use was it for her to find it in that wilderness? But her star kept drawing her spirit. She began to climb. The slope was grassy, and her light feet left little trace. She climbed and climbed until she thought her heart would burst. Once upon the summit she fell in the grass and rested.
Far below in the moon-blanched valley lay the white tents and the twinkling campfires. The bay of a dog floated up to her. It was a tranquil, beautiful, scene. Rising, she turned her back upon it, with an unuttered prayer for the Indian girl whose jealousy and generosity had freed her, and faced the ridge top and the unknown before her.
A wolf mourned, and the sound, clear and sharp, startled her. But remembering Slingerland’s word that no beast would be likely to harm her in the warm season, she was reassured. Soon she had crossed the narrow back of the ridge, to see below another valley like the one she had left but without the tents and fires. Descent was easy and she covered ground swiftly. She feared to come to a stream in flood. Again she mounted a slope, zigzagging up, going slowly, reserving her strength, pausing often to rest and to listen, and keeping a straight line with the star she had marked. Climbing was hard work, however slowly she went, just as going down was a relief.
In this manner she climbed four ridges and crossed three valleys before a rest became imperative. Besides, dawn was near, as evidenced by the paling stars and the gray in the east. It would be well for her to remain on high ground while day broke. So she rested, but soon, cooling off, she suffered with the cold. Huddling down in the grass against a stone, facing the east, she waited for dawn to break.
The stars shut their eyes; the dark blue of sky turned gray; a pale light seemed to suffuse itself throughout the east. The valley lay asleep in shadow, the ridges awoke in soft gray mist. Far down over the vastness and openness of the plains appeared a ruddy glow. It warmed, it changed, it brightened. A sea of cloudy vapors, serene and motionless, changed to rose and pink, and a red curve slid up over the distant horizon. All that world of plain and cloud and valley and ridge quickened as with the soul of day while it colored with the fire of sun. Red, radiant, glorious the sun rose.