CHAPTER III
TRAILING THE "BLACK TAIL"
The woman started. She threw up her head. Her wide eyes, wonderfuland dark, searched the deep aisles of the shaded pine woods about her.Her hair hung loosely in a knot at the nape of her neck, and itsintensely dark masses made an exquisite framing for the oval of thehandsome face beneath the loose brim of wide prairie hat.
The stillness of these wooded slopes of the Cathills was profound.They possessed something of the solemnity belonging to the parent rangeof the Rockies beyond. For they were almost primeval. The woman mighthave belonged to them, her dark beauty so harmonized with itssurroundings. Yet for all her coloring, for all the buckskin she worefor upper garment, there was nothing in her nature of the outlandswhich now claimed her. She was of the cities. She was bred andnurtured in the civilized places. The life about her was another life.It was crude and foreign to her. It claimed her by force ofcircumstance against every instinct and emotion.
Her searching ceased, and her eyes fixed their steady regard upon agray-brown object moving amongst the myriad of black stanchions whichsupported the tousled roof of melancholy green foliage above her. Withan almost imperceptible movement one buckskin clad arm reached slowlyout toward the small sporting rifle which leaned against an adjacenttree-trunk. Her whole poise was tense and steady. There was in herattitude that hard decision which one associates only with theexperienced hunter. There was almost too much decision in a woman soobviously young.
The weapon was drawn toward her. For one brief moment it was laidacross her lap upon the paper-covered book she had been reading. Thenits butt found its way to a resting place against her soft shoulder.Not for an instant had her gaze been diverted from the moving object.Now, however, her head inclined forward, and her warm cheek was laidagainst the cool butt. The sights of the weapon were brought up intoline. The pressure of her forefinger was increased upon the trigger.There was a sharp report followed by a swift rush of scampering hoofsamongst the brittle pine cones and needles which carpeted the twilitwoods. Then, in a flash, all the tense poise gave way to consideredbut rapid activity.
The woman sprang to her feet. She was tall and straight as a willow.Her rough canvas skirt was divided. Her buckskin shirt was fringed andbeaded. She made a picture of active purpose that belied herfemininity. In a moment she was in the saddle of the pony which hadbeen dozing a few yards away. Her rifle was slung upon one shoulder,and her paper-covered book was thrust within the fastenings of hershirt. She was hot in pursuit of the small black-tailed deer which hershot had wounded.
Effie bent low in the saddle which she rode astride. Herwell-accustomed pony twisted and turned, threading its way almostmiraculously through the labyrinth of bald tree-trunks. Thesepot-hunts, which were of such frequent occurrence, were the recreationwhich alone made life tolerable to its mistress.
The woman saw only her quarry. For the rest she left the road to herpony. With slack reins she leaned forward, carrying her featherweightover the horn of the saddle. The woods meant nothing to her. The mazeof tree-trunks as they sped by conveyed no threat of danger. She wasconcerned only with the obviously limping beast which was to providevenison for the pot for the next two weeks to come.
Her pony gained nothing upon the wounded deer. But it lost no distanceeither. The scene changed and changed again. The woods yielded toopen grass, and again they merged into scattered scrub, through whichit was difficult to track their quarry. Up hill, down dale, overhummock, through hollow. Once more through the dark aisles of agedpine woods. And always northward.
Time had no place in the woman's mind. Excitement, hope, doubt. Theseoccupied her to the full. And above all purpose reigned.
Twice she drew up to within shot. But she refrained. She was herselfas breathless as her quarry, and the shot would probably have beenwasted. Besides, those pauses of the poor hunted beast carried theirown significance to her practised mind. Its limping was sore, and nowits stumblings were becoming more and more frequent.
They had passed an open stretch, a mere cup surrounded by sharp-rising,pine-clad hills. They entered woods on the northernmost slope, andbegan a climb so severe that pursuer and pursued were brought to asheer scramble. The toil was terrific, but Effie's pony, bred of thetough prairie fibre, clawed up with indomitable courage and endurance.The deer kept its lead by desperate, agonizing effort, and the womanknew that the summit would have exhausted its resources.
On they went, on and up, the pace of both ever slackening. One hundredyards only separated them now, and, with almost every stride, thedistance was lessening. The summit was in sight. The pony was blowinghard. Effie urged him, and the vicious Mexican spurs found his flanks.There was no thought of sparing in the girl's mind. If the bronchofailed her, then she must finish the chase on foot.
Another fifty yards or so and the deer would have reached the summit.Could she permit it? Dared she risk what lay beyond? If the open pinewoods continued she might, but--what lay beyond?
Without further speculation she suddenly flung out of the saddle. Herdecision was taken. She dared not risk that summit with her pony nowrapidly failing. She must chance her own unsteadiness. The pursuithad been hard and breathless. Well, she must trust to her nerve.
She left her steaming pony and dropped on one knee. With all her mindand will concentrated she drew a deep breath as the rifle was raised toher shoulder. With a stern deliberation she leveled her sights andfired. The spent deer stood, and shook, and then gazed round. Therewas something dreadful in the appeal of its wistful attitude. For onesecond the woman closed her eyes. Then they opened, and their beautywas full of resolve. Again the rifle was at her shoulder. Again thesights were leveled. Again the weapon spat out its vicious pellet.This time the weapon was lowered for good, and the movement wasinspired by the sight of the deer. It quietly dropped upon its kneesand rolled over on its side.
Ten minutes later the body of the deer was securely lashed to the backof the saddle. There was no regret in the heart of the woman as herpractised fingers secured the warm body. It was game. Fair game,brought down in open chase, and it would provide welcome change in themonotonous diet of her home. Besides, the spirit of the hunter grippedher soul. It was the only thing which made life endurable in thesedrab outlands.
At the summit of the hill she breathed a sigh of relief. Her judgmentand decision were amply proved. Nor in any uncertain fashion. Thewoods ceased in a clean cut, such as is so frequently the case wherethe pine world reigns. And rearing blankly before her gaze stood adense barrier of low and heavy green bush. It needed small enoughimagination to realize the security which lay in its depths for sosmall a creature as a wounded deer.
For some thoughtful moments Effie gazed upon the barrier. Then sheturned and surveyed her dejected pony. Again her decision was takenwithout hesitation. She stooped and set a pair of hobbles about thetired creature's pasterns, and, leaving him to his own devices, set offto ascertain her whereabouts.
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But her movements were not without feminine curiosity, added to whichwas the businesslike desire to familiarize herself with every foot ofthe country within reach of her home. This was a break into newterritory. Time was small enough object to her, and, besides, her ponyneeded time to recuperate from its leg weariness.
It required less than ten minutes, however, to banish every otherthought from her mind and absorb it in amazement at her discovery. Abrief battle with a dense and obstinate scrub found her standing in thecentre of a wide sort of bridle path, scored with a dozen or so cattletracks crowded with the spurs of driven cattle.
She stood gazing down at the signs everywhere about her in the loosesand, dumbfounded at the sight. She knew there was no homestead orranch within miles of this region. Was she not bitterly aware that herown home marked the fringe of the cattle world in this direction?
Slowly there grew in the depths of her heart a f
eeling of apprehension.The stillness, the remoteness, the tremendous solitude, and yet--thosetracks.
She stood intent and listening. Her ears were straining for a sound.But only there came to her the whispering breezes rustling the mournfulfoliage of the pine woods behind her. Her eyes were raised to thewalls of scrub lining the roadway. They searched vainly for a sign.There was none. Simply the riot of nature about her, and, at her feet,those tracks.
She moved. Then swiftly she passed across to the western side of theroadway where the westering sun threw ample shadow. All unconsciouslyit seemed her movements became almost furtive, furtive and rapid. Shepassed down the bush-lined way, hugging the grassy edges to avoidleaving trace of her footsteps in the sand. Understanding was withher, and that understanding warned her of the jeopardy in which shestood should her presence be advertised.
Thought, speculation and imagination were a-riot in her now. She wasproceeding in the direction the broad cloven hoof marks indicated.What--lay beyond?
Many minutes passed. Breathless minutes of pulsing excitement for thewoman who knew only monotony and the drudgery of an outland life. Nowomanish fears could deter her. She believed and hoped she was on theeve of a great discovery, and such was her reckless desire that nothingcould deter her.
The aspect of the scrub changed. It became dotted with taller trees.The paler foliage of spruce reared itself, and, here and there,isolated clumps of towering pines threw shadows across her path. Thengaps broke up the continuity, but, even so, the view beyond to her leftwas cut off by remoter growths. Once or twice she hazarded her wayinto them in her search for information, but always she returned to thebroad track of the footprints of driven cattle.
The pathway rose at a steep incline. It bent away to the right, and,in the distance, it seemed that it must converge upon the sharp cutedge of the great pine woods she had so recently left. With thisconclusion came another. The track must terminate abruptly or it mustpass back into the great pine bluff.
The end, however, was neither of these things. And it was far nearerthan she had suspected. The path twisted back into the huge reverse ofan S, and finished abruptly at the sharp edge of a wide deep valley.
It came upon her almost with a shock. The tracks had abruptly swungwestward. She rounded the bend, and, in a moment, found herself gazingout over a wide valley from a dizzy height.
Her first feeling was that the drop was sheer, precipitate. Thenrealization superseded, and she flung herself full length upon theground and pressed her way into the shelter of an adjacent bush. Thepath had not ended. It passed over the brink and continued its wayzigzagging down the terrific slope to the valley below. It was this,and the sight of a distant spiral of smoke rising from below, which hadflung her into the shelter of the friendly bush. Her risk had onlybeen momentary, but even in that moment she had been silhouetted infull view of any chance gaze below.
She drew herself toward the edge of the drop. Just where she had flungherself it was clean and sheer, and the bush overhung. Thus she wasleft with a full view of the depths below. Her dark eyes dwelt uponthe zigzagging path. She followed its downward course to the greenplain. She tracked it across to the far side of the valley. Then shedrew a sharp breath, and her eyes widened.
The telltale smoke rose from the heart of a woodland bluff, and near bya large herd of cattle was grazing, watched over by three mounted menwhose horses were moving slowly over the bright green carpet of grass.
She lay quite still, regardless of all but those moving figures, andthe dark green bluff. She was watching and waiting for she knew notwhat. Her heart was thumping in her bosom, and her breath camerapidly. There was no question in her mind. In a moment her wholelife seemed to have changed. The day had dawned to a contemplation ofthe monotonous round of drudging routine, only to close with a thrillsuch as she had never dreamed could be hers.
The moments passed; rapid, poignant moments. The sun dipped lowertoward the alabaster crests of distant mountain peaks. The peace ofthe scene suggested nothing of the turbulent thought a-riot behind herwide, dark eyes. What must be done? What could she do--a woman? Shefelt helpless--so helpless. And yet----
She raised herself upon her elbow and propped her soft cheek upon thepalm of her hand. She must think--think. The chance of it all. Itwas so strange. There lay the secret revealed--the secret which everyrancher in the district for years had sought to discover. There wasthe camp of the Lightfoot gang. She had discovered it, had discoveredits approach. Everything--she, a woman.
What could she do with the secret? How could she---- She thought ofher husband. But somehow her enthusiasm lessened with the thought.But she needed him. Yes. There was no room for any doubt on thatscore. He must be roused, and convinced. He most be made to see theimportance and significance of her discovery, and they must turn itto----
The crack of a rifle startled her. Almost on the instant thewhistling, tearing of a bullet sounded in the bush to the left of her.Her glance was terrified as it turned in the direction. Then, in amoment, she was crouching lower as she searched the valley away over bythe bluff.
In an instant her nerves strung tight. A group of men were standingjust within its shadow, and the three horsemen, who had been ridinground the cattle, were racing directly toward the foot of the pathwayleading out of the valley. She must have been seen when she had stoodat the opening. And now----
But there was not a second to lose. She sprang to a crouching positionunder the bush. Another shot rang viciously upon the still air. Thebullet tore its way through the bush. This time it was still wider ofher hiding place. But already she had begun her retreat--swiftly, andcrouching low.
She reached the shelter of the barrier just as another bullet whistledoverhead. Then she set off at a run.
And as she ran she calculated the chances. She had a big start, andthe horsemen had to face the zigzag climb. If she made no mistakesthere was little chance of their discovering her. They could nevermake that climb before she reached her pony.
She increased her pace. Her nerves were steadying. Strangely hercontrol was wonderful. There was no real fear in her--only tension.Now as she ran down the open way her eyes were alert for everylandmark, and her woodcraft was sufficiently practised to stand her ingood stead. She recognized each feature in the path until she came tothe point where she had first entered it In a moment she was battlingher way through the thick bush, and the tension she was laboring undertook her through it in a fraction of the time her first traversing hadbeen made. Her pony was standing within ten yards of the spot at whichshe had left him.
She breathed a great relief. In a moment she had unbuckled the hobbleson his forelegs. Then, with the habit of her life on the plains, shetightened the cinchas of the saddle. Then she replaced the bit in itsmouth.
As she swung herself into the saddle the distant plod of hoofs poundingthe cattle tracks reached her. For one instant she sat in doubt.Then, with a half-thought fear lest her hard pursuit of the woundeddeer had left her tough broncho spent, she swung him about and vanishedlike a ghost into the gloomy depths of the woods.
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