The Girl from Montana

by Grace Livingston Hill

  CHAPTER IV

  THE TWO FUGITIVES

  "I'm not anybody in particular," he answered, "and I'm not just sure whereI belong. I live in Pennsylvania, but I didn't seem to belong thereexactly, at least not just now, and so I came out here to see if Ibelonged anywhere else. I concluded yesterday that I didn't. At least, notuntil I came in sight of you. But I suspect I am running away myself. Infact, that is just what I am doing, running away from a woman!"

  He looked at her with his honest hazel eyes, and she liked him. She felthe was telling her the truth, but it seemed to be a truth he was justfinding out for himself as he talked.

  "Why do you run away from a woman? How could a woman hurt you? Can sheshoot?"

  He flashed her a look of amusement and pain mingled.

  "She uses other weapons," he said. "Her words are darts, and her looks areswords."

  "What a queer woman! Does she ride well?"

  "Yes, in an automobile!"

  "What is that?" She asked the question shyly as if she feared he mightlaugh again; and he looked down, and perceived that he was talking farabove her. In fact, he was talking to himself more than to the girl.

  There was a bitter pleasure in speaking of his lost lady to this wildcreature who almost seemed of another kind, more like an intelligent birdor flower.

  "An automobile is a carriage that moves about without horses," he answeredher gravely. "It moves by machinery."

  "I should not like it," said the girl decidedly. "Horses are better thanmachines. I saw a machine once. It was to cut wheat. It made a noise, anddid not go fast. It frightened me."

  "But automobiles go very fast, faster than any horses And they do not allmake a noise."

  The girl looked around apprehensively.

  "My horse can go very fast. You do not know how fast. If you see hercoming, I will change horses with you. You must ride to the nearest benchand over, and then turn backward on your tracks. She will never find youthat way. And I am not afraid of a woman."

  The man broke into a hearty laugh, loud and long. He laughed until thetears rolled down his cheeks; and the girl, offended, rode haughtilybeside him. Then all in a moment he grew quite grave.

  "Excuse me," he said; "I am not laughing at you now, though it looks thatway. I am laughing out of the bitterness of my soul at the picture you putbefore me. Although I am running away from her, the lady will not come outin her automobile to look for me. She does not want me!"

  "She does not want you! And yet you ran away from her?"

  "That's exactly it," he said. "You see, _I_ wanted _her_!"

  "Oh!" She gave a sharp, quick gasp of intelligence, and was silent. Aftera full minute she rode quite close to his horse, and laid her small brownhand on the animal's mane.

  "I am sorry," she said simply.

  "Thank you," he answered. "I'm sure I don't know why I told you. I nevertold any one before."

  There was a long silence between them. The man seemed to have forgottenher as he rode with his eyes upon his horse's neck, and his thoughtsapparently far away.

  At last the girl said softly, as if she were rendering return for theconfidence given her, "I ran away from a man."

  The man lifted his eyes courteously, questioningly, and waited.

  "He is big and dark and handsome. He shoots to kill. He killed my brother.I hate him. He wants me, and I ran away from him. But he is a coward. Ifrightened him away. He is afraid of dead men that he has killed."

  The young man gave his attention now to the extraordinary story which thegirl told as if it were a common occurrence.

  "But where are your people, your family and friends? Why do they not sendthe man away?"

  "They're all back there in the sand," she said with a sad little flickerof a smile and a gesture that told of tragedy. "I said the prayer overthem. Mother always wanted it when we died. There wasn't anybody left butme. I said it, and then I came away. It was cold moonlight, and there werenoises. The horse was afraid. But I said it. Do you suppose it will do anygood?"

  She fastened her eyes upon the young man with her last words as ifdemanding an answer. The color came up to his cheeks. He felt embarrassedat such a question before her trouble.

  "Why, I should think it ought to," he stammered. "Of course it will," headded with more confident comfort.

  "Did you ever say the prayer?"

  "Why,--I--yes, I believe I have," he answered somewhat uncertainly.

  "Did it do any good?" She hung upon his words.

  "Why, I--believe--yes, I suppose it did. That is, praying is always a goodthing. The fact is, it's a long time since I've tried it. But of courseit's all right."

  A curious topic for conversation between a young man and woman on a ridethrough the wilderness. The man had never thought about prayer for so manyminutes consecutively in the whole of his life; at least, not since thedays when his nurse tried to teach him "Now I lay me."

  "Why don't you try it about the lady?" asked the girl suddenly.

  "Well, the fact is, I never thought of it."

  "Don't you believe it will do any good?"

  "Well, I suppose it might."

  "Then let's try it. Let's get off now, quick, and both say it. Maybe itwill help us both. Do you know it all through? Can't you say it?" Thislast anxiously, as he hesitated and looked doubtful.

  The color came into the man's face. Somehow this girl put him in a verybad light. He couldn't shoot; and, if he couldn't pray, what would shethink of him?

  "Why, I think I could manage to say it with help," he answered uneasily."But what if that man should suddenly appear on the scene?"

  "You don't think the prayer is any good, or you wouldn't say that." Shesaid it sadly, hopelessly.

  "O, why, certainly," he said, "only I thought there might be some bettertime to try it; but, if you say so, we'll stop right here." He sprang tothe ground, and offered to assist her; but she was beside him before hecould get around his horse's head.

  Down she dropped, and clasped her hands as a little child might have done,and closed her eyes.

  "Our Father," she repeated slowly, precisely, as if every word belonged toa charm and must be repeated just right or it would not work. The man'smumbling words halted after hers. He was reflecting upon the curioustableau they would make to the chance passer-by on the desert if therewere any passers-by. It was strange, this aloneness. There was a widenesshere that made praying seem more natural than it would have been at homein the open country.

  The prayer, by reason of the unaccustomed lips, went slowly; but, when itwas finished, the girl sprang to her saddle again with a businesslikeexpression.

  "I feel better," she said with a winning smile. "Don't you? Don't youthink He heard?"

  "Who heard?"

  "Why, 'our Father.'"

  "O, certainly! That is, I've always been taught to suppose He did. Ihaven't much experimental knowledge in this line, but I dare say it'll dosome good some where. Now do you suppose we could get some of that verysparkling water? I feel exceedingly thirsty."

  They spurred their horses, and were soon beside the stream, refreshingthemselves.

  "Did you ride all night?" asked the girl.

  "Pretty much," answered the man. "I stopped once to rest a few minutes;but a sound in the distance stirred me up again, and I was afraid to losemy chance of catching you, lest I should be hopelessly lost. You see, Iwent out with a party hunting, and I sulked behind. They went off up asteep climb, and I said I'd wander around below till they got back, orperhaps ride back to camp; but, when I tried to find the camp, it wasn'twhere I had left it."

  "Well, you've got to lie down and sleep awhile," said the girl decidedly."You can't keep going like that. It'll kill you. You lie down, and I'llwatch, and get dinner. I'm going to cook that bird."

  He demurred, but in the end she had her way; for he was exceedingly weary,and she saw it. So he let her spread the old coat down for him while hegathered some wood for a fire, and then he lay down and watched her simpleprepar
ations for the meal. Before he knew it he was asleep.

  When he came to himself, there was a curious blending of dream andreality. He thought his lady was coming to him across the rough plains inan automobile, with gray wings like those of the bird the girl had shot,and his prayer as he knelt in the sand was drawing her, while overhead theair was full of a wild, sweet music from strange birds that mocked andcalled and trilled. But, when the automobile reached him and stopped, thelady withered into a little, old, dried-up creature of ashes; and the girlof the plains was sitting in her place radiant and beautiful.

  He opened his eyes, and saw the rude little dinner set, and smelt thedelicious odor of the roasted bird. The girl was standing on the otherside of the fire, gravely whistling a most extraordinary song, like untoall the birds of the air at once.

  She had made a little cake out of the corn-meal, and they feasted royally.

  "I caught two fishes in the brook. We'll take them along for supper," shesaid as they packed the things again for starting. He tried to get her totake a rest also, and let him watch; but she insisted that they must goon, and promised to rest just before dark. "For we must travel hard atnight, you know," she added fearfully.

  He questioned her more about the man who might be pursuing, and came tounderstand her fears.

  "The scoundrel!" he muttered, looking at the delicate features and clear,lovely profile of the girl. He felt a strong desire to throttle the evilman.

  He asked a good many questions about her life, and was filled with wonderover the flower-like girl who seemed to have blossomed in the wildernesswith no hand to cultivate her save a lazy, clever, drunken father, and akind but ignorant mother. How could she have escaped being coarsened amidsuch surroundings. How was it, with such brothers as she had, that she hadcome forth as lovely and unhurt as she seemed? He somehow began to feel agreat anxiety for her lonely future and a desire to put her in the way ofprotection. But at present they were still in the wilderness; and he beganto be glad that he was here too, and might have the privilege ofprotecting her now, if there should be need.

  As it grew toward evening, they came upon a little grassy spot in a couleewhere the horses might rest and eat. Here they stopped, and the girl threwherself under a shelter of trees, with the old coat for a pillow, andrested, while the man paced up and down at a distance, gathering wood fora fire, and watching the horizon. As night came on, the city-bred manlonged for shelter. He was by no means a coward where known quantitieswere concerned, but to face wild animals and drunken brigands in astrange, wild plain with no help near was anything but an enliveningprospect. He could not understand why they had not come upon some humanhabitation by this time. He had never realized how vast this country wasbefore. When he came westward on the train he did not remember to havetraversed such long stretches of country without a sign of civilization,though of course a train went so much faster than a horse that he had noadequate means of judging. Then, besides, they were on no trail now, andhad probably gone in a most roundabout way to anywhere. In reality theyhad twice come within five miles of little homesteads, tucked away besidea stream in a fertile spot; but they had not known it. A mile further tothe right at one spot would have put them on the trail and made their wayeasier and shorter, but that they could not know.

  The girl did not rest long. She seemed to feel her pursuit more as thedarkness crept on, and kept anxiously looking for the moon.

  "We must go toward the moon," she said as she watched the bright spotcoming in the east.

  They ate their supper of fish and corn-bread with the appetite that growson horseback, and by the time they had started on their way again the moonspread a path of silver before them, and they went forward feeling as ifthey had known each other a long time. For a while their fears and hopeswere blended in one.

  Meantime, as the sun sank and the moon rose, a traveller rode up the steepascent to the little lonely cabin which the girl had left. He was handsomeand dark and strong, with a scarlet kerchief knotted at his throat; and herode slowly, cautiously, looking furtively about and ahead of him. He wasdoubly armed, and his pistols gleamed in the moonlight, while an uglyknife nestled keenly in a secret sheath.

  He was wicked, for the look upon his face was not good to see; and he wasa coward, for he started at the flutter of a night-bird hurrying late toits home in a rock by the wayside. The mist rising from the valley inwreaths of silver gauze startled him again as he rounded the trail to thecabin, and for an instant he stopped and drew his dagger, thinking theghost he feared was walking thus early. A draught from the bottle hecarried in his pocket steadied his nerves, and he went on, but stoppedagain in front of the cabin; for there stood another horse, and there inthe doorway stood a figure in the darkness! His curses rang through thestill air and smote the moonlight. His pistol flashed forth a volley offire to second him.

  In answer to his demand who was there came another torrent of profanity.It was one of his comrades of the day before. He explained that he and twoothers had come up to pay a visit to the pretty girl. They had had a wageras to who could win her, and they had come to try; but she was not here.The door was fastened. They had forced it. There was no sign of her about.The other two had gone down to the place where her brother was buried tosee whether she was there. Women were known to be sentimental. She mightbe that kind. He had agreed to wait here, but he was getting uneasy.Perhaps, if the other two found her, they might not be fair.

  The last comer with a mighty oath explained that the girl belonged to him,and that no one had a right to her. He demanded that the other come withhim to the grave, and see what had become of the girl; and then they wouldall go and drink together--but the girl belonged to him.

  They rode to the place of the graves, and met the two others returning;but there was no sign of the girl, and the three taunted the one, sayingthat the girl had given him the slip. Amid much argument as to whose shewas and where she was, they rode on cursing through God's beauty. Theypassed the bottle continually, that their nerves might be the steadier;and, when they came to the deserted cabin once more, they paused anddiscussed what to do.

  At last it was agreed that they should start on a quest after her, andwith oaths, and coarse jests, and drinking, they started down the trail ofwhich the girl had gone in search by her roundabout way.