by Zane Grey
III. THE TRAIL
A short dash brought me to the end of the block; the side street was notso dark, and after I had crossed this open space I glanced backward.
Soon I sped into a wan circle of light, and, reaching a door upon whichwas a hotel sign, I burst in. Chairs were scattered about a bare office;a man stirred on a couch, and then sat up, blinking.
"I'm afraid--I believe some one's chasing me," I said.
He sat there eying me, and then drawled, sleepily:
"Thet ain't no call to wake a feller, is it?"
The man settled himself comfortably again, and closed his eyes.
"Say, isn't this a hotel? I want a room!" I cried.
"Up-stairs; first door." And with that the porter went to sleep in goodearnest.
I made for the stairs, and, after a backward look into the street, I ranup. A smelly lamp shed a yellowish glare along a hall. I pushed openthe first door, and, entering the room, bolted myself in. Then all thestrength went out of my legs. When I sat down on the bed I was in a coldsweat and shaking like a leaf. Soon the weakness passed, and I movedabout the room, trying to find a lamp or candle. Evidently the hotel,and, for that matter, the town of Holston, did not concern itselfwith such trifles as lights. On the instant I got a bad impression ofHolston. I had to undress in the dark. When I pulled the window open alittle at the top the upper sash slid all the way down. I managed toget it back, and tried raising the lower sash. It was very loose, but itstayed up. Then I crawled into bed.
Though I was tired and sleepy, my mind whirled so that I could not getto sleep. If I had been honest with myself I should have wished myselfback home. Pennsylvania seemed a long way off, and the adventures that Ihad dreamed of did not seem so alluring, now that I was in a lonely roomin a lonely, dark town. Buell had seemed friendly and kind--at least,in the beginning. Why had he not answered my call? The incident didnot look well to me. Then I fell to wondering if the Mexican had reallyfollowed me. The first thing for me in the morning would be to buy arevolver. Then if any Mexicans--
A step on the tin roof outside frightened me stiff. I had noticed aporch, or shed, under my window. Some one must have climbed upon it. Istopped breathing to listen. For what seemed moments there was no sound.I wanted to think that the noise might have been made by a cat, but Icouldn't. I was scared--frightened half to death.
If there had been a bolt on the window the matter would not have been sodisturbing. I lay there a-quiver, eyes upon the gray window space of myroom. Dead silence once more intervened. All I heard was the pound of myheart against my ribs.
Suddenly I froze at the sight of a black figure against the light ofmy window. I recognized the strange bat, the grotesque outlines. I wasabout to shout for help when the fellow reached down and softly began toraise the sash.
That made me angry. Jerking up in bed, I caught the heavy pitcher fromthe wash-stand and flung it with all my might.
Crash!
Had I smashed out the whole side of the room it could scarcely have mademore noise. Accompanied by the clinking of glass and the creaking oftin, my visitor rolled off the roof. I waited, expecting an uproar fromthe other inmates of the hotel. No footstep, no call sounded withinhearing. Once again the stillness settled down.
Then, to my relief, the gray gloom lightened, and dawn broke. Neverhad I been so glad to see the morning. While dressing I cast gratifiedglances at the ragged hole in the window. With the daylight my couragehad returned, and I began to have a sort of pride in my achievement.
"If that fellow had known how I can throw a baseball he'd have beencareful," I thought, a little cockily.
I went down-stairs into the office. The sleepy porter was mopping thefloor. Behind the desk stood a man so large that he made Buell seemsmall. He was all shoulders and beard.
"Can I get breakfast?"
"Nobody's got a half-hitch on you, has they?" he replied, jerking amonstrous thumb over his shoulder toward a door.
I knew the words half-hitch had something to do with a lasso, and I wasrather taken back by the hotel proprietor's remark. The dining-room wasmore attractive than anything I had yet seen about the place: the linenwas clean, and the ham and eggs and coffee that were being served toseveral rugged men gave forth a savory odor. But either the waiter wasblind or he could not bear, for he paid not the slightest attention tome. I waited, while trying to figure out the situation. Something waswrong, and, whatever it was, I guessed that it must be with me. Afterabout an hour I got my breakfast. Then I went into the office, intendingto be brisk, businesslike, and careful about asking questions.
"I'd like to pay my bill, and also for a little damage," I said, tellingwhat had happened.
"Somebody'll kill thet Greaser yet," was all the comment the man made.
I went outside, not knowing whether to be angry or amused with thesequeer people. In the broad light of day Holston looked as bad as ithad made me feel by night. All I could see were the station andfreight-sheds, several stores with high, wide signs, glaringly painted,and a long block of saloons. When I had turned a street corner,however, a number of stores came into view with some three-storied brickbuildings, and, farther out, many frame houses.
Moreover, this street led my eye to great snowcapped mountains, and Istopped short in my tracks, for I realized they were the Arizona peaks.Up the swelling slopes swept a black fringe that I knew to be timber.The mountains appeared to be close, but I knew that even the foot-billswere miles away. Penetier, I remembered from one of Dick's letters, wason the extreme northern slope, and it must be anywhere from forty tosixty miles off. The sharp, white peaks glistened in the morning sun;the air had a cool touch of snow and a tang of pine. I drew in a fullbreath, with a sense on being among the pines.
Now I must buy my outfit and take the trail for Penetier. This Iresolved to do with as few questions as possible. I never before wastroubled by sensitiveness, but the fact had dawned upon me that I didnot like being taken for a tenderfoot. So, with this in mind, I entereda general merchandise store.
It was very large, and full of hardware, harness, saddles,blankets--everything that cowboys and ranchmen use. Several men, twoin shirt-sleeves, were chatting near the door. They saw me come in, andthen, for all that it meant to them, I might as well not have been inexistence at all. So I sat down to wait, determined to take Western waysand things as I found them. I sat there fifteen minutes by my watch.This was not so bad; but when a lanky, red-faced, leather-leggedindividual came in too he at once supplied with his wants, I began to getangry. I waited another five minutes, and still the friendly chattingwent on. Finally I could stand it no longer.
"Will somebody wait on me?" I demanded.
One of the shirt-sleeved men leisurely got up and surveyed me.
"Do you want to buy something?" he drawled.
"Yes, I do."
"Why didn't you say so?"
The reply trembling on my lips was cut short by the entrance of Buell.
"Hello!" he said in a loud voice, shaking hands with me. "You've trailedinto the right place. Smith, treat this lad right. It's guns an' knivesan' lassoes he wants, I'll bet a hoss."
"Yes, I want an outfit," I said, much embarrassed. "I'm going to meet afriend out in Penetier, a ranger--Dick Leslie."
Buell started violently, and his eyes flashed. "Dick--Dick Leslie!" hesaid, and coughed loudly. "I know Dick.... So you're a friend of his'n?... Now, let me help you with the outfit."
Anything strange in Buell's manner was forgotten, in the absorbinginterest of my outfit. Father had given me plenty of money, so that Ihad but to choose. I had had sense enough to bring my old corduroys andboots, and I had donned them that morning. One after another I made mypurchases--Winchester, revolver, bolsters, ammunition, saddle, bridle,lasso, blanket. When I got so far, Buell said: "You'll need a mustangan' a pack-pony. I know a feller who's got jest what you want." And withthat he led me out of the store.
"Now you take it from me," he went on, in a fatherly voice, "Holstonpeople have
n't got any use for Easterners. An' if you mention yourbusiness--forestry an' that--why, you wouldn't be safe. There's many inthe lumberin' business here as don't take kindly to the Government. See!That's why I'm givin' you advice. Keep it to yourself an' hit the trailtoday, soon as you can. I'll steer you right."
I was too much excited to answer clearly; indeed, I hardly thanked him.However, he scarcely gave me the chance. He kept up his talk about thetownspeople and their attitude toward Easterners until we arrived at akind of stock-yard full of shaggy little ponies. The sight of them droveevery other thought out of my head.
"Mustangs!" I exclaimed.
"Sure. Can you ride?"
"Oh yes. I have a horse at home.... What wiry little fellows! They're sowild-looking."
"You pick out the one as suits you, an' I'll step into Cless's here.He's the man who owns this bunch."
It did not take me long to decide. A black mustang at once took my eye.When he had been curried and brushed he would be a little beauty. I wastrying to coax him to me when Buell returned with a man.
"Thet your pick?" he asked, as I pointed. "Well, now, you're not so muchof a tenderfoot. Thet's the best mustang in the lot. Cless, how much forhim, an' a pack-pony an' pack-saddle?"
"I reckon twenty dollars'll make it square," replied the owner.
This nearly made me drop with amazement. I had only about seventy-fivedollars left, and I had been very much afraid that I could not buy themustang, let alone the pack-pony and saddle.
"Cless, send round to Smith for the lad's outfit, an' saddle up for himat once." Then he turned to me. "Now some grub, an' a pan or two."
Having camped before, I knew how to buy supplies. Buell, however, cutout much that I wanted, saying the thing to think of was a light packfor the pony.
"I'll hurry to the hotel and get my things," I said, "and meet you here.I'll not be a moment."
But Buell said it would be better for him to go with me, though he didnot explain. He kept with me, still he remained in the office while Iwent up-stairs. Somehow this suited me, for I did not want him to seethe broken window. I took a few things from my grip and rolled them in abundle. Then I took a little leather case of odds and ends I had alwayscarried when camping and slipped it into my pocket. Hurrying down-stairsI left my grip with the porter, wrote and mailed a postal card to myfather, and followed the impatient Buell.
"You see, it's a smart lick of a ride to Penetier, and I want to getthere before dark," he explained, kindly.
I could have shouted for very glee when I saw the black mustang saddledand bridled.
"He's well broke," said Cless. "Keep his bridle down when you ain'tin the saddle. An' find a patch of grass fer him at night. The pony'llstick to him."
Cless fell to packing a lean pack-pony.
"Watch me do this," said he; "you'll hev trouble if you don't git thehang of the diamondhitch."
I watched him set the little wooden criss-cross on the pony's back,throw the balance of my outfit (which he had tied up in a canvas) overthe saddle, and then pass a long rope in remarkable turns and wonderfulloops round pony and pack.
"What's the mustang's name?" I inquired.
"Never had any," replied the former owner.
"Then it's Hal." I thought how that name would please my brother athome.
"Climb up. Let's see if you fit the stirrups," said Cless. "Couldn't bebetter."
"Now, young feller, you can hit the trail," put in Buell, with his bigvoice. "An' remember what I told you. This country ain't got much usefor a feller as can't look out for himself."
He opened the gate, and led my mustang into the road and quite somedistance. The pony jogged along after us. Then Buell stopped with afinger outstretched.
"There, at the end of this street, you'll find a trail. Hit it an' stickto it. All the little trail's leadin' into it needn't bother you."
He swept his hand round to the west of the mountain. The direction didnot tally with the idea I had gotten from Dick's letter.
"I thought Penetier was on the north side of the mountains."
"Who said so?" he asked, staring. "Don't I know this country? Take itfrom me."
I thanked him, and, turning, with a light heart I faced the blackmountain and my journey.
It was about ten o'clock when Hal jogged into a broad trail on theoutskirts of Holston. A gray flat lay before me, on the other side ofwhich began the slow rise of the slope. I could hardly contain myself.I wanted to run the mustang, but did not for the sake of the burdenedpony. That sage-flat was miles wide, though it seemed so narrow. Theback of the lower slope began to change to a dark green, which told me Iwas surely getting closer to the mountains, even if it did not seem so.The trail began to rise, and at last I reached the first pine-trees.They were a disappointment to me, being no larger than many of the whiteoaks at home, and stunted, with ragged dead tops. They proved to me thattrees isolated from their fellows fare as poorly as trees overcrowded.Where pines grow closely, but not too closely, they rise straight andtrue, cleaning themselves of the low branches, and making good lumber,free of knots. Where they grow far apart, at the mercy of wind and heatand free to spread many branches, they make only gnarled and knottylumber.
As I rode on the pines became slowly more numerous and loftier. Then,when I had surmounted what I took to be the first foot-hill, I came upona magnificent forest. A little farther on the trail walled me in withgreat seamed trunks, six feet in diameter, rising a hundred feet beforespreading a single branch.
Meanwhile my mustang kept steadily up the slow-rising trail, and thetime passed. Either the grand old forest had completely bewitched me orthe sweet smell of pine had intoxicated me, for as I rode along utterlycontent I entirely forgot about Dick and the trail and where I washeading. Nor did I come to my senses until Hal snorted and stoppedbefore a tangled windfall.
Then I glanced down to see only the clean, brown pine-needles. There wasno trail. Perplexed and somewhat anxious, I rode back a piece, expectingsurely to cross the trail. But I did not. I went to the left and tothe right, then circled in a wide curve. No trail! The forest about meseemed at once familiar and strange.
It was only when the long shadows began to creep under the trees that Iawoke fully to the truth.
I had missed the trail! I was lost in the forest!