The men stared in wonder, searching the ground for evidence of mineral. None could be seen. Suddenly lifting her head, the crone began to sing again, uttering a heart-shaking wail which poured from her quivering lips like the cry of the forsaken. The sight of her withered hands strained together and the tears in her sunken cheeks went to the soul. The desolate rocks, the falling rain, the wild and monstrous cliffs, the encircling mountains, all lent irresistible power to her grief. She seemed the minstrel of her race mourning for a vanished world.
"Come away," Eugene urged with a delicacy which sprang from awe. "Her husband buried there."
Deeply touched to know that her grief was personal, and filled, too, with a kind of helpless amazement at this emotional outbreak, the gold-seekers withdrew down the slope, followed by the riderless pony, leaving the old woman crouched close against the sepulcher of her dead, pouring forth the sobbing wail of her song.
"This looks like the end of our mine," said Kelley, gloomily. "I begin to think that the old witch led us up here just for the sake of visiting that grave."
"It looks that way," responded Wetherell, "but what can we do? You can't beat her, and we've done all we could to bribe her."
Eugene advised: "You wait. Bimeby she got done cryin'. To-morrow she got cold—want meat, coffee—plenty bad. Then we go get her."
They went into camp not far away in the edge of a thicket of scraggly wind-dwarfed pines, and put up their tents for the night.
"Wouldn't it put a cramp into you," began Kelley, as they stood beside their fire, "to think that this old relict has actually led us all the way up here in order to water the grave of a sweetheart who died forty years ago?"
"It shows how human she is."
"Human! She's superhuman. She's crazy, that's what she is."
"It is all very wonderful to me, but I'm worried about her. She mustn't stay out there in this rain. It's going to turn cold. See that streak in the west?"
As Wetherell left the camp-fire and began to climb back toward the comb of rocks he felt not merely the sheer immensity of this granite basin, but the loneliness, its almost insupportable silence and emptiness. With the feeling of one who intrudes he called to the old woman. He stooped and put his arm about her. "Come," he said. "You will die here. Come to the fire."
She suffered him to lead her away, but her head hung on her breast, her arms were limp.
Back at the camp-fire, after seeing that Pogosa had been properly taken care of, the men faced each other in gloomy silence.
"Right here we take our medicine, partner," remarked Kelley. "Here we put a dot and double the line. I'd like to break over that divide and see how it looks in there, but our lady friend seems indisposed, and I guess we'll just toast our knees and think where we missed it."
"After all," said Wetherell, soothingly, "this morning may be merely incidental. Let us be patient. She may recover." And at dark he carried some hot drink over to her tepee, but found her sleeping, and decided not to awaken her.
Back at their fire, as the night deepened, the men lighted their pipes, and with blankets at their backs huddled close about it. An imperious voice broke from Pogosa's tent. Wetherell looked around at Eugene.
"Did you speak?" he asked.
Eugene protested. "No. Pogosa talk."
"It sounded like a chief's voice," Kelley began. "A vigorous voice."
Eugene, trembling like a scared puppy, crept close to Wetherell. His voice was a mere whisper. "That no Pogos'—that Injun spirit talking."
Kelley was amused. "A spirit, eh? What does this spirit Injun say?"
"Say, 'White man with red beard listen—come closer and listen'—"
"That's you, Andy. Draw close. Your side partner has something to say."
Wetherell, alarmed by this delirium of his patient, rose to his feet, and as he did so her harsh voice uttered a short phrase which stiffened Eugene with fright. He left his place and sidled after Wetherell.
"She say me, Eugene, come talk for you."
"Very true. You'll need him. This may be a dying confession," argued Kelley.
"You go ahead in tepee," Eugene urged. "Me sit outside. Pogos' medicine now. See 'um vision. Spirits talk to her."
As he peered in at the tepee door Wetherell perceived Pogosa dimly. She was sitting erect in her bed. Her eyes were wide, the pose of her head erect and vigorous. She appeared a span taller, and when she spoke her voice seemed to issue from a deep and powerful chest.
With Eugene as a scared interpreter, Pogosa said: "Here, now where we are encamped, a battle took place many winters ago, and some of the exiles were slain. One of these was Iapi, the husband of Pogosa. He it was who could not speak Shoshoni."
Impatiently Kelley asked, "Will she be able to show us the mine?"
"She will try, but she is old and her mind is misty. She say she is grateful to you, Red Beard, and will give the gold to you. She asks that you take her back to her own people after you find the mine."
"Is the mine far from here?" asked Wetherell, gently.
"No, but it is very hard to find."
"Can't you trace the trail on a piece of paper for me?" he inquired.
"No, Pogosa cannot make the road. She can only tell you. Send the other white man away."
"Vamoose!" Wetherell called with a note of triumph in his voice, and Tall Ed faded away.
With faltering voice Pogosa began the all-important part of her tale: "The mine is on the head of the Wind River. Not far, but the way is very hard. Pogosa will not be able to lead you. From where we are you cross the valley to the mountain. You turn to your right and descend to a small lake lying under a bank of snow. This bank is held up by a row of black rocks. Below this lake is a stream and a long hill of round stones, all mixed together. On the west side of this ridge, just above another small lake, you will find the mine."
"Can it be approached from below?"
"No, a great cañon and many cliffs are there—" Her voice ceased abruptly. As suddenly as if life had been instantly withdrawn, she fell back upon her bed, and Eugene, released from the grasp of her hand, fled to Kelley, leaving Wetherell alone with the mystery.
"She seems to have dropped into a sort of trance," he said to Kelley, as he came back to the camp-fire.
"Have you faith enough to follow those directions?" asked his partner.
"I certainly have."
Kelley laughed. "She may have a different set of directions to-morrow night. What do you say, Eugene? Pogos' all same fraud?"
Eugene, cowering close to the fire, needed not speech to make evident his awe of the battle-field. "Injun spirits all round," he whispered. "Hear 'em? They cry to Pogos'." He lifted a hand in warning.
"It's only the wind in the dead pines," said Kelley.
"Plenty Injun spirits. They cry!" persisted Eugene.
"There speaks the primitive man," remarked Wetherell. "Our ancestors in Ireland or Wales or Scotland all had the same awe and wonder of the dark—just as the negroes in the South believe that on certain nights the dead soldiers of Lee and Grant rise and march again."
Kelley yawned. "Let's turn in and give the witches full swing. It's certainly their kind of a night."
Eugene spoke up. "Me sleep in your tepee. Pogos' scare me plenty hard."
Ridicule could not affect him, and out of pity for his suffering Wetherell invited him to make down his bed in the doorway of his own little tent.
"I hope gran'ma won't have another fit in the middle of the night," said Kelley, sleepily. "If she does, you can interview her alone. I'm dead to the world till dawn."
Nothing happened after this save that an occasional nervous chill overcame Eugene and caused him to call out, "What's that?" in a suppressed tone. "You hear 'em voice?" he asked several times; to all of which Wetherell replied, "It is the wind. Lie down; it is only the wind."
Musing upon the singular business in the deep of the night, Wetherell concluded that Pogosa, in a moment of emotional exaltation, and foreseeing her inabil
ity to guide him in person, had taken this method of telling him truly where the mine lay.
A mutter of voices in Pogosa's tepee interrupted his thought. "She is delirious again," he thought, but the cold nipped, and he dreaded rising and dressing. As he hesitated he thought he could distinguish two voices. Shaking Eugene, he whispered, "Listen, Eugene, tell me what is going on in Pogosa's tent."
The half-breed needed no awakening. "She speak Sioux. I no speak Sioux. Some Sioux man's talk with her. Mebbe so her husband."
Wetherell smiled and snuggled down in his bed. "All right, Eugene. If Iapi is there he will take care of her. Good night."
* * *
Morning broke gloriously clear, crisp, and frosty. The insects were inert. The air had lost its heat and murk. The sun struck upon the sides of the tepees with cheerful glow, and all was buoyant, normal, and bracing as the partners arose.
Hurrying to Pogosa's tepee, Wetherell peeped in. "I wonder if she remembers her performance?" he asked himself, but could not determine, since she refused to answer Eugene when he questioned her. She took the food which Wetherell gave her, but did not eat or drink. Slowly she rose and hobbled away over the frosty grass toward the grave of Iapi.
"That's a bad sign," observed Kelley. "What's she going to do now, Eugene?"
"She's goin' put meat by stone. Mebbe so Injun spirits come eat."
"Well, she'd better absorb some of the grub herself."
"I think it's a beautiful act," professed Wetherell, lifting his field-glass to study her motions. "She's happy now. She and her dead sweetheart are together again."
"I know Iapi once," Eugene volunteered. "He big man, very strong. Good rider. One spring all people hungry. No game. Ponies weak. Iapi say go kill sheep. Washakie hear of killing sheep. Send warriors. Iapi here. Make battle. Kill mebbe so four, six Injun. Kill Iapi. Washakie sorry now. His spirit cry in trees last night."
"Better let Pogosa alone for the day. The sun is warming the rocks. She is no longer cold. We can leave our camp here and scout around on our own account, returning this afternoon."
They rode across the valley in the direction indicated by the Voice. It was a bewildering maze into which the prospector must descend in search of the gold which is marked in yellow letters on some maps of the state. Several times did Wetherell drop into the basins, searching in vain for the small lake and the black-walled bank of snow, but at last Eugene's eye detected faint indications of a trail.
"We've struck the right road this time," exulted Wetherell. "Here is the wall of black rocks." There was no snow, but he argued that, the season having been extraordinarily warm and wet, this landmark had temporarily disappeared.
"I am sure this is the lake and stream," declared Wetherell. "See where the snow has lain."
"How far down do you figure the mine was?"
"Some miles below, near a second lake. I'm afraid we can't make it this trip. It will be dark by the time we reach camp. We'll just mark the spot and come back to-morrow."
Kelley was for pushing on. "What matter if we don't get back?"
"I'm thinking of Pogosa—"
He shrugged his shoulders. "There's grub and shelter handy. She can come down any time and feed."
"Yes, but I hate to think of her all alone. She may be worse."
"Send Eugene back. We don't need him now."
Wetherell was almost as eager to go on as Kelley, but could not banish the pathetic figure of Pogosa so easily. Now that all signs pointed to the actual mine, his blood was fired with passion for the gold.
"Eugene, go back and wait for us. See that Pogosa is comfortable. We'll return by dark."
The word "dark" sent a shiver through Eugene. He shook his head. "No. I'm afraid. Spirits come again."
"Come on," said Kelley. "You can't make him do that. If we hurry we can get down to the other lake and back by sunset. The squaw will take care of herself. She's used to being alone—besides, the spirits are with her."
With the hope that it was not far, Wetherell yielded and set off down the slope, following the bank of the stream. Soon the other lake could be seen not far below them, and, slipping, sliding amid a cascade of pebbles, the gold-seekers, now glowing with certainty of success, plunged straight toward the pool. Two or three times this precipitous method of descent led them into blind alleys from which they were obliged to climb, but at last, just as the sun went behind the imperial peak, they came out upon the shore of the little tarn which lay shallowly over a perfectly flat floor of cream-colored sand.
"Here we are," called Kelley. "Now if your ghost proves a liar, Pogosa must answer for it. Here is the rocky ridge on the east—"
"And here is trail," called Eugene, pointing to a faint line leading straight into the pines.
Wetherell spurred his horse into this trail, and in less than five minutes came upon the mine. It was not a shining thing to look at, so he did not shout. It was merely a cavernous opening in a high ledge of dark rock. On one side stood the sunken and decaying walls of a small log hut. The roof had fallen in, and vines filled the interior. In front of the door and all about, lumps of reddish, rusty-looking rock were scattered. A big stone hollowed in the middle showed that it had been used as a mortar for crushing the ore. The tunnel itself was irregular in shape and almost high enough to admit a horse. It dipped slightly from the threshold.
Tall Ed spoke first, in a tone of suppressed excitement. "Well, let's see what she's like."
"I trust Pogosa. Up goes our poster," replied Wetherell.
"All right. You put up the sign while I examine this ore."
With his hatchet Wetherell set to work hewing a square face on a tree. He was putting the first tack in his placard when Kelley walked over toward him, and with exaggeratedly quiet voice said:
"Just look at that, will you?"
Wetherell took the lump of ore and thrilled to the sight. It needed no expert to discern the free gold which lay in thin scales and sparkling lumps all through the rock.
"I want to yell," said Kelley, and his voice trembled.
"Don't do it!" said Wetherell. "Let's hurry back to camp and move down here. I won't feel safe till we do."
"I don't leave this place to-night, Andy. You and Eugene go back to camp. I'll stay here and hold down the find."
Wetherell, tremulous with excitement and weak in the knees, remounted his horse and set off for camp. It was a long climb, and the latter part of it tedious by reason of the growing darkness and the weariness of the horses. Wetherell's pony would not lead and was fairly at the end of his powers, but at last they reached their camping-place. Wetherell's first thought was of Pogosa. She was nowhere in sight and her tepee was empty.
"She on hill," declared Eugene. "Lying down on stone. Injun cry there three days."
"The poor old thing! She'll be famished and chilled to the bone. It's a shame, our leaving her alone this way. But that's the way of the man in love with gold. Greed destroys all that is tender and loyal in a man. I am going right up and bring her down. Eugene, you start a fire and put some coffee on to boil."
With a heart full of pity the repentant gold-seeker hurried toward the cairn. The crumpled little figure, so tragic in its loneliness and helpless grief, was lying where he had left it. She did not stir at the sound of his footsteps, nor when he laid his hand softly on her shoulder.
"Come, Pogosa," he said, with gentle authority. "Come, coffee, fire waiting. We found the mine. You're rich. You shall go back to your people. Come!"
Something in the feel of her shoulder, in the unyielding rigidity of her pose, startled and stilled him. He shook her questioningly. She was stark as stone. Her body had been cold for many hours. Her spirit was with Iapi.
* * *
THE OUTLAW
—still seeks sanctuary in the green timber, finding the storms of the granite peaks less to be feared than the fury of his neighbors.
* * *
VII
THE OUTLAW
I
Freeman
Ward, geologist for the government, was not altogether easy in his mind as he led his little pack-train out of Pinedale, a frontier settlement on the western slope of the Rocky Mountain divide, for he had permitted the girl of his deepest interest to accompany him on his expedition.
Alice Mansfield, accustomed to having her way, and in this case presuming upon Ward's weakness, insisted on going. Outwardly he had argued against it, making much of the possible storms, of the rough trails, of the cold and dampness. But she argued that she was quite as able to go as Mrs. Adams, the wife of the botanist of the expedition. So Ward had yielded, and here these women were forming part of a cavalcade which was headed for Frémont Peak, concerning whose height and formation the leader wished to inform himself. Alice was, however, a bit dashed by Ward's change of manner as he laid upon his train his final instructions.
"There is to be no skylarking," he said, "and no back-tracking. Each one is to exercise great care. We cannot afford to lose a horse nor waste our provisions. This is not a picnic excursion, but a serious government enterprise. I cannot turn back because of any discomfort you may encounter in camp."
"I am ready for what comes," Alice answered, smilingly.
But she rode for the rest of the day remarkably silent. There had been times when she was certain that Ward cared a great deal for her—not in the impersonal way indicated by his reprimand—but in the way of a lover, and she was very fond of him, had indeed looked forward to this trip in his company as one sure to yield hours of delightful intimacy. On the train he had been very devoted, "almost lover-like," Peggy Adams insisted. But now she was dismayed by his tone of military command.
Their first day's march brought them to a beautiful water called Heart Lake, which shone dark and deep amid its martial firs at the head of one of the streams which descended into the East Fork, and there the guides advised a camp. They were now above the hunters, almost above the game, in a region "delightfully primeval," as the women put it, and very beautiful and peaceful.
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