by Zane Grey
“Hush, silly! Bo, tell me, aren’t you scared?”
“Scared! I’m scared stiff. But if Western girls stand such things, we can. No Western girl is going to beat me!”
That brought Helen to a realization of the brave place she had given herself in dreams, and she was at once ashamed of herself and wildly proud of this little sister.
“Bo, thank Heaven I brought you with me!” exclaimed Helen, fervently. “I’ll eat if it chokes me.”
Whereupon she found herself actually hungry, and while she ate she glanced out of the stage, first from one side and then from the other. These windows had no glass and they let the cool night air blow in. The sun had long since sunk. Out to the west, where a bold, black horizon-line swept away endlessly, the sky was clear gold, shading to yellow and blue above. Stars were out, pale and wan, but growing brighter. The earth appeared bare and heaving, like a calm sea. The wind bore a fragrance new to Helen, acridly sweet and clean, and it was so cold it made her fingers numb.
“I heard some animal yelp,” said Bo, suddenly, and she listened with head poised.
But Helen heard nothing save the steady clip-clop of hoofs, the clink of chains, the creak and rattle of the old stage, and occasionally the low voices of the men above.
When the girls had satisfied hunger and thirst, night had settled down black. They pulled the cloaks up over them, and close together leaned back in a corner of the seat and talked in whispers. Helen did not have much to say, but Bo was talkative.
“This beats me!” she said once, after an interval. “Where are we, Nell? Those men up there are Mormons. Maybe they are abducting us!”
“Mr. Dale isn’t a Mormon,” replied Helen.
“How do you know?”
“I could tell by the way he spoke of his friends.”
“Well, I wish it wasn’t so dark. I’m not afraid of men in daylight.… Nell, did you ever see such a wonderful looking fellow? What’d they call him? Milt—Milt Dale. He said he lived in the woods. If I hadn’t fallen in love with that cowboy who called me—well, I’d be a goner now.”
After an interval of silence Bo whispered, startlingly, “Wonder if Harve Riggs is following us now?”
“Of course he is,” replied Helen, hopelessly.
“He’d better look out. Why, Nell, he never saw—he never—what did Uncle Al used to call it?—sav—savvied—that’s it. Riggs never savvied that hunter. But I did, you bet.”
“Savvied! What do you mean, Bo?”
“I mean that long-haired galoot never saw his real danger. But I felt it. Something went light inside me. Dale never took him seriously at all.”
“Riggs will turn up at Uncle Al’s, sure as I’m born,” said Helen.
“Let him turn,” replied Bo, contemptuously. “Nell, don’t you ever bother your head again about him. I’ll bet they’re all men out here. And I wouldn’t be in Harve Riggs’s boots for a lot.”
After that Bo talked of her uncle and his fatal illness, and from that she drifted back to the loved ones at home, now seemingly at the other side of the world, and then she broke down and cried, after which she fell asleep on Helen’s shoulder.
But Helen could not have fallen asleep if she had wanted to.
She had always, since she could remember, longed for a moving, active life; and for want of a better idea she had chosen to dream of gipsies. And now it struck her grimly that, if these first few hours of her advent in the West were forecasts of the future, she was destined to have her longings more than fulfilled.
Presently the stage rolled slower and slower, until it came to a halt. Then the horses heaved, the harnesses clinked, the men whispered. Otherwise there was an intense quiet. She looked out, expecting to find it pitch-dark. It was black, yet a transparent blackness. To her surprise she could see a long way. A shooting-star electrified her. The men were listening. She listened, too, but beyond the slight sounds about the stage she heard nothing. Presently the driver clucked to his horses, and travel was resumed.
For a while the stage rolled on rapidly, evidently downhill, swaying from side to side, and rattling as if about to fall to pieces. Then it slowed on a level, and again it halted for a few moments, and once more in motion it began a laborsome climb. Helen imagined miles had been covered. The desert appeared to heave into billows, growing rougher, and dark, round bushes dimly stood out. The road grew uneven and rocky, and when the stage began another descent its violent rocking jolted Bo out of her sleep and in fact almost out of Helen’s arms.
“Where am I?” asked Bo, dazedly.
“Bo, you’re having your heart’s desire, but I can’t tell you where you are,” replied Helen.
Bo awakened thoroughly, which fact was now no wonder, considering the jostling of the old stage.
“Hold on to me, Nell!… Is it a runaway?”
“We’ve come about a thousand miles like this, I think,” replied Helen. “I’ve not a whole bone in my body.”
Bo peered out of the window.
“Oh, how dark and lonesome! But it’d be nice if it wasn’t so cold. I’m freezing.”
“I thought you loved cold air,” taunted Helen.
“Say, Nell, you begin to talk like yourself,” responded Bo.
It was difficult to hold on to the stage and each other and the cloak all at once, but they succeeded, except in the roughest places, when from time to time they were bounced around. Bo sustained a sharp rap on the head.
“Oooooo!” she moaned. “Nell Rayner, I’ll never forgive you for fetching me on this awful trip.”
“Just think of your handsome Las Vegas cowboy,” replied Helen.
Either this remark subdued Bo or the suggestion sufficed to reconcile her to the hardships of the ride.
Meanwhile, as they talked and maintained silence and tried to sleep, the driver of the stage kept at his task after the manner of Western men who knew how to get the best out of horses and bad roads and distance.
By and by the stage halted again and remained at a standstill for so long, with the men whispering on top, that Helen and Bo were roused to apprehension.
Suddenly a sharp whistle came from the darkness ahead.
“Thet’s Roy,” said Joe Beeman, in a low voice.
“I reckon. An’ meetin’ us so quick looks bad,” replied Dale. “Drive on, Bill.”
“Mebbe it seems quick to you,” muttered the driver, “but if we hain’t come thirty mile, an’ if thet ridge thar hain’t your turnin’-off place, why, I don’t know nothin’.”
The stage rolled on a little farther, while Helen and Bo sat clasping each other tight, wondering with bated breath what was to be the next thing to happen.
Then once more they were at a standstill. Helen heard the thud of boots striking the ground, and the snorts of horses.
“Nell, I see horses,” whispered Bo, excitedly. “There, to the side of the road…and here comes a man.… Oh, if he shouldn’t be the one they’re expecting!”
Helen peered out to see a tall, dark form, moving silently, and beyond it a vague outline of horses, and then pale gleams of what must have been pack-loads.
Dale loomed up, and met the stranger in the road.
“Howdy, Milt? You got the girl sure, or you wouldn’t be here,” said a low voice.
“Roy, I’ve got two girls—sisters,” replied Dale.
The man Roy whistled softly under his breath. Then another lean, rangy form strode out of the darkness, and was met by Dale.
“Now, boys—how about Anson’s gang?” queried Dale.
“At Snowdrop, drinkin’ an’ quarrelin’. Reckon they’ll leave there about daybreak,” replied Roy.
“How long have you been here?”
“Mebbe a couple of hours.”
“Any horse go by?”
“No.”
“Roy, a strange rider passed us before dark. He was hittin’ the road. An’ he’s got by here before you came.”
“I don’t like thet news,” replied Roy, tersely. “Let’
s rustle. With girls on hossback you’ll need all the start you can get. Hey, John?”
“Snake Anson shore can foller hoss tracks,” replied the third man.
“Milt, say the word,” went on Roy, as he looked up at the stars. “Daylight not far away. Here’s the forks of the road, an’ your hosses, an’ our outfit. You can be in the pines by sunup.”
In the silence that ensued Helen heard the throb of her heart and the panting little breaths of her sister. They both peered out, hands clenched together, watching and listening in strained attention.
“It’s possible that rider last night wasn’t a messenger to Anson,” said Dale. “In that case Anson won’t make anythin’ of our wheel tracks or horse tracks. He’ll go right on to meet the regular stage. Bill, can you go back an’ meet the stage comin’ before Anson does?”
“Wal, I reckon so—an’ take it easy at thet,” replied Bill.
“All right,” continued Dale, instantly. “John, you an’ Joe an’ Hal ride back to meet the regular stage. An’ when you meet it get on an’ be on it when Anson holds it up.”
“Thet’s shore agreeable to me,” drawled John.
“I’d like to be on it, too,” said Roy, grimly.
“No. I’ll need you till I’m safe in the woods. Bill, hand down the bags. An’ you, Roy, help me pack them. Did you get all the supplies I wanted?”
“Shore did. If the young ladies ain’t powerful particular you can feed them well for a couple of months.”
Dale wheeled and, striding to the stage, he opened the door.
“Girls, you’re not asleep? Come,” he called.
Bo stepped down first.
“I was asleep till this—this vehicle fell off the road back a ways,” she replied.
Roy Beeman’s low laugh was significant. He took off his sombrero and stood silent. The old driver smothered a loud guffaw.
“Veehicle! Wal, I’ll be doggoned! Joe, did you hear thet? All the spunky gurls ain’t born out West.”
As Helen followed with cloak and bag Roy assisted her, and she encountered keen eyes upon her face. He seemed both gentle and respectful, and she felt his solicitude. His heavy gun, swinging low, struck her as she stepped down.
Dale reached into the stage and hauled out baskets and bags. These he set down on the ground.
“Turn around, Bill, an’ go along with you. John an’ Hal will follow presently,” ordered Dale.
“Wal, gurls,” said Bill, looking down upon them, “I was shore powerful glad to meet you-all. An’ I’m ashamed of my country—offerin’ two sich purty gurls insults an’ low-down tricks. But shore you’ll go through safe now. You couldn’t be in better company fer ridin’ or huntin’ or marryin’ or gittin’ religion—”
“Shut up, you old grizzly!” broke in Dale, sharply.
“Haw! Haw! Good-by, gurls, an’ good luck!” ended Bill, as he began to whip the reins.
Bo said good-by quite distinctly, but Helen could only murmur hers. The old driver seemed a friend.
Then the horses wheeled and stamped, the stage careened and creaked, presently to roll out of sight in the gloom.
“You’re shiverin’,” said Dale, suddenly, looking down upon Helen. She felt his big, hard hand clasp hers. “Cold as ice!”
“I am c-cold,” replied Helen. “I guess we’re not warmly dressed.”
“Nell, we roasted all day, and now we’re freezing,” declared Bo. “I didn’t know it was winter at night out here.”
“Miss, haven’t you some warm gloves an’ a coat?” asked Roy, anxiously. “It ain’t begun to get cold yet.”
“Nell, we’ve heavy gloves, riding-suits and boots—all fine and new—in this black bag,” said Bo, enthusiastically kicking a bag at her feet.
“Yes, so we have. But a lot of good they’ll do us, tonight,” returned Helen.
“Miss, you’d do well to change right here,” said Roy, earnestly. “It’ll save time in the long run an’ a lot of sufferin’ before sunup.”
Helen stared at the young man, absolutely amazed with his simplicity. She was advised to change her traveling-dress for a riding-suit—out somewhere in a cold, windy desert—in the middle of the night—among strange young men!
“Bo, which bag is it?” asked Dale, as if she were his sister. And when she indicated the one, he picked it up. “Come off the road.”
Bo followed him, and Helen found herself mechanically at their heels. Dale led them a few paces off the road behind some low bushes.
“Hurry an’ change here,” he said. “We’ll make a pack of your outfit an’ leave room for this bag.”
Then he stalked away and in a few strides disappeared.
Bo sat down to begin unlacing her shoes. Helen could just see her pale, pretty face and big, gleaming eyes by the light of the stars. It struck her then that Bo was going to make eminently more of a success of Western life than she was.
“Nell, those fellows are n-nice,” said Bo, reflectively. “Aren’t you c-cold? Say, he said hurry!”
It was beyond Helen’s comprehension how she ever began to disrobe out there in that open, windy desert, but after she had gotten launched on the task she found that it required more fortitude than courage. The cold wind pierced right through her. Almost she could have laughed at the way Bo made things fly.
“G-g-g-gee!” chattered Bo. “I n-never w-was so c-c-cold in all my life. Nell Rayner, m-may the g-good Lord forgive y-you!”
Helen was too intent on her own troubles to take breath to talk. She was a strong, healthy girl, swift and efficient with her hands, yet this, the hardest physical ordeal she had ever experienced, almost overcame her. Bo outdistanced her by moments, helped her with buttons, and laced one whole boot for her. Then, with hands that stung, Helen packed the traveling-suits in the bag.
“There! But what an awful mess!” exclaimed Helen. “Oh, Bo, our pretty traveling-dresses!”
“We’ll press them t-tomorrow—on a l-log,” replied Bo, and she giggled.
They started for the road. Bo, strange to note, did not carry her share of the burden, and she seemed unsteady on her feet.
The men were waiting beside a group of horses, one of which carried a pack.
“Nothin’ slow about you,” said Dale, relieving Helen of the grip. “Roy, put them up while I sling on this bag.”
Roy led out two of the horses.
“Get up,” he said, indicating Bo. “The stirrups are short on this saddle.”
Bo was an adept at mounting, but she made such awkward and slow work of it in this instance that Helen could not believe her eyes.
“Haw’re the stirrups?” asked Roy. “Stand in them. Guess they’re about right.… Careful now! Thet hoss is skittish. Hold him in.”
Bo was not living up to the reputation with which Helen had credited her.
“Now, miss, you get up,” said Roy to Helen. And in another instant she found herself astride a black, spirited horse. Numb with cold as she was, she yet felt the coursing thrills along her veins.
Roy was at the stirrups with swift hands.
“You’re taller ’n I guessed,” he said. “Stay up, but lift your foot.… Shore now, I’m glad you have them thick, soft boots. Mebbe we’ll ride all over the White Mountains.”
“Bo, do you hear that?” called Helen.
But Bo did not answer. She was leaning rather unnaturally in her saddle. Helen became anxious. Just then Dale strode back to them.
“All cinched up, Roy?”
“Jest ready,” replied Roy.
Then Dale stood beside Helen. How tall he was! His wide shoulders seemed on a level with the pommel of her saddle. He put an affectionate hand on the horse.
“His name’s Ranger an’ he’s the fastest an’ finest horse in this country.”
“I reckon he shore is—along with my bay,” corroborated Roy.
“Roy, if you rode Ranger he’d beat your pet,” said Dale. “We can start now. Roy, you drive the pack-horses.”
He took anot
her look at Helen’s saddle and then moved to do likewise with Bo’s.
“Are you—all right?” he asked, quickly.
Bo reeled in her seat.
“I’m n-near froze,” she replied, in a faint voice. Her face shone white in the starlight. Helen recognized that Bo was more than cold.
“Oh, Bo!” she called, in distress.
“Nell, don’t you worry, now.”
“Let me carry you,” suggested Dale.
“No. I’ll s-s-stick on this horse or d-die,” fiercely retorted Bo.
The two men looked up at her white face and then at each other. Then Roy walked away toward the dark bunch of horses off the road and Dale swung astride the one horse left.
“Keep close to me,” he said.
Bo fell in line and Helen brought up the rear.
Helen imagined she was near the end of a dream. Presently she would awaken with a start and see the pale walls of her little room at home, and hear the cherry branches brushing her window, and the old clarion-voiced cock proclaim the hour of dawn.
CHAPTER VI
The horses trotted. And the exercise soon warmed Helen, until she was fairly comfortable except in her fingers. In mind, however, she grew more miserable as she more fully realized her situation. The night now became so dark that, although the head of her horse was alongside the flank of Bo’s, she could scarcely see Bo. From time to time Helen’s anxious query brought from her sister the answer that she was all right.
Helen had not ridden a horse for more than a year, and for several years she had not ridden with any regularity. Despite her thrills upon mounting, she had entertained misgivings. But she was agreeably surprised, for the horse, Ranger, had an easy gait, and she found she had not forgotten how to ride. Bo, having been used to riding on a farm near home, might be expected to acquit herself admirably. It occurred to Helen what a plight they would have been in but for the thick, comfortable riding outfits.
Dark as the night was, Helen could dimly make out the road underneath. It was rocky, and apparently little used. When Dale turned off the road into the low brush or sage of what seemed a level plain, the traveling was harder, rougher, and yet no slower. The horses kept to the gait of the leaders. Helen, discovering it unnecessary, ceased attempting to guide Ranger. There were dim shapes in the gloom ahead, and always they gave Helen uneasiness, until closer approach proved them to be rocks or low, scrubby trees. These increased in both size and number as the horses progressed. Often Helen looked back into the gloom behind. This act was involuntary and occasioned her sensations of dread. Dale expected to be pursued. And Helen experienced, along with the dread, flashes of unfamiliar resentment. Not only was there an attempt afoot to rob her of her heritage, but even her personal liberty. Then she shuddered at the significance of Dale’s words regarding her possible abduction by this hired gang. It seemed monstrous, impossible. Yet, manifestly it was true enough to Dale and his allies. The West, then, in reality was raw, hard, inevitable.