Molly McDonald Part 31

"How many people do you make out?" and Hamlin's voice shook a little.

"There's four, ain't there?"

At that distance the fugitives looked like mere black dots. It could scarcely be determined that they moved, and yet their outlines were distinct against the background of white snow, while the two watchers possessed the trained vision of the plains. Hughes answered after a deliberate inspection, without so much as turning his head.

"Thar's four; leastwise thar was four hosses, and two--the Injuns likely--are ridin' double. Thar animals are 'bout played, it looks ter me--just able ter crawl. Ain't had no fodder is 'bout the size o' it.

We ought to be able ter head thet bunch off 'fore they git to the Canadian at thet rate o' travel--hey, Sergeant?"

Hamlin's eyes followed the long sweep of the cross-ridge, studying its trend, and the direction of the intervening valleys. Once down on the other slope all this extensive view would be hidden; they would have to ride blindly, guessing at the particular swale along which those others were advancing. To come to the summit again would surely expose them to those keen Indian eyes. They would be searching the trail ahead ceaselessly, noting every object along the crests of the ridges.

However, if the pa.s.sage around was not blocked with snow, they ought to attain the junction in ample time. With twice as far to travel, their ponies were strong and fit, and should win out against Le Fevre's starved beasts. He waved his gloved hand.

"We 'll try it," he said shortly; "come on, Hughes."

He led off along the steep side of the hill, and forcing his horse into a sharp trot, headed straight out into the white wilderness; Hughes, without uttering a word, brought down his quirt on his pony's flank and followed.

CHAPTER x.x.x

THE FIGHT IN THE SNOW

The slope toward the south had not been swept clear by the wind, and the horses broke through the crust to their knees, occasionally stumbling into hollows where the drifts were deep. This made progress slow, although Hamlin pressed forward recklessly, fully aware of what it would mean should the fugitives emerge first, and thus achieve a clear pa.s.sage to the river. What was going on there to the right, behind the fringe of low hills, could not be conjectured, but to the left the riders could see clearly for a great distance over the desolate, snow-draped land, down to the dark waters of the Canadian and the sh.o.r.e beyond. It was all a deserted waste, barren of movement, and no smoke bore evidence of any Indian encampment near by. A mile or more to the west the river took a sharp bend, disappearing behind the bluffs, and on the open plain, barely visible against the unsullied mantle of snow, were dark specks, apparently moving, but in erratic fas.h.i.+on. The distance intervening was too great for either man to distinguish exactly what these might be, yet as they plunged onward their keen eyes searched the valley vigilantly through the cold clear air.

"Some of your long-horns, Hughes?" asked the Sergeant finally, pointing as he turned and glanced back. "Quite a bunch of cattle, it looks to me."

"Them thar ain't cows," returned the other positively. "Tha 're too closely bunched up. I reckon it 'll be Black Kettle's pony herd."

"Then his village will lie in beyond the big bend there," and Hamlin rose in his stirrups, shading his eyes. "The herders have n't driven them far since the storm broke. You don't see any smoke, do you?"

Hughes shook his head.

"You would n't likely see none against thet gray sky; them ponies is two er maybe three miles off, an' ther camp is likely a mile er so further. Thar 's a big bend thar, as I remember; a sort o' level spot with bluff all 'round, 'cept on the side o' ther river. We hed a cattle corral thar onc't, durin' a round-up. Most likely that's whar they are."

"And Le Fevre is heading straight for the spot. Well, he 'll have to come out on this bench first."

"Yep, there sure ain't no valleys lying between. How many o' these yere gulch openings have we got past already?"

"Three; there 's the fourth just ahead. That's the one they were trailing through. No doubt about that, is there?"

"Not 'less them Injuns took to the ridge. They wus sure in the fourth valley when we fust sighted the outfit back thar. Whatcher goin' ter do, Sergeant? Jump 'em a hoss-back, an' just pump lead?"

Hamlin had thought this over as he rode and already had planned his attack. The opening to the valley, along which Le Fevre's exhausted party were slowly advancing toward them, seemed favorable--it was narrow and badly choked with snow. It offered an ideal place for a surprise and was far enough away from the Indian encampment--if the latter was situated as Hughes believed, in the great bend above--so that no echo of shots would carry that distance, even through the crisp atmosphere. There were two things the Sergeant had determined to accomplish if possible--the rescue of Miss Molly uninjured, and the capture of Le Fevre. No matter how deeply he despised the man he could not afford to have him killed. So far as the Indians were concerned there would be no mercy shown, for if either one escaped he would carry the news to the village. With all this in his mind the Sergeant swung out of the saddle, dropping the rein to the ground, confident that the tired cow-pony would remain quiet. His belt was buckled outside the army overcoat, and he drew his revolver, tested it, and slipped it back loosely into the holster. Then he pulled out the rifle from under the flap of the saddle, grimly handling it in his gloved fingers. Hughes, his head sunk into his fur collar, his hot breath steaming in the cold atmosphere, watched him curiously.

"Lookin' fer a right smart fight, I reckon," he said, a trifle uneasily. "Believe me, yer ain't goin' ter find thet fellar no spring chicken. He 's some on ther gun play."

"I hope he knows enough to quit when he 's cornered," returned the other pleasantly, sweeping his eyes to the opening in the hills, "for I 'm aiming to take him back to Kansas alive."

"The h.e.l.l ye are!"

"That 's the plan, pardner, and I 've got reason for it. I knew Le Fevre once, years ago, during the war, and I 've been some anxious to get my hands on him ever since. He 's worth far more to me alive than dead, just now, and, Hughes," his voice hardening, "you 'll bear that fact in mind when the fracas begins. From now on this is my affair, not yours. You understand? You get busy with the two bucks, and leave the white man to me. Come on now,--dismount."

Hughes came to the ground with evident reluctance, swearing savagely.

"What do yer think I 'm yere for," he demanded roughly, "if it wa'n't to shoot that cuss?"

Hamlin strode swiftly over, and dropped a hand on the s.h.a.ggy shoulder.

"You are here because I ordered you to come with me; because if you hadn't I would have killed you back there in the shack, you red-handed murderer. Now listen, Hughes. I know what you are--a cattle thief.

You and Le Fevre belong to the same outfit, only he was the smarter of the two. I have spared your life for a purpose, and if you fail me now I 'll shoot you down as I would a dog. Don't try to threaten me, you cur, for I am not that kind. I am not trusting you; I have n't from the first, but you are going into this fight on my side, and under my orders."

The two men glared into each other's eyes, silent, breathing hard, but there was a grim determination about the Sergeant's set jaw that left Hughes speechless. He grinned weakly, stamping down the snow under foot. Hamlin's continued silence brought a protest to his lips.

"d.a.m.n if I know why you say that," he began. "Haven't I been square?"

"Because I know your style, Hughes. You hate Le Fevre for the dirty trick he played on you, but you 'd sell out to him again in five minutes if you thought there was any money in it. I don't propose giving you the chance. You 'll go ahead, and you are in more danger from me than that outfit yonder. Now move, and we 'll take a look up the valley."

They ploughed a way through the drifts to the mouth of the narrow opening between the hills, dropping to their knees in the snow, and cautiously creeping forward the last few yards. Hamlin, convinced that fear alone could control the ex-cowthief, kept slightly to the rear.

"Now wait, Hughes," he said, his voice lowered but still tense with command. "Be careful, man. Crawl up there in between those drifts, and look over. Keep down low, you fool."

The two men wriggled slowly forward, smothered in the snowdrift, until Hughes' eyes barely topped the surface. Hamlin lay outstretched a foot below, watchful for the slightest sign of treachery. The cowman stared up the depression, blinking his eyes in the snow glare. The impatient Sergeant gripped his arm.

"Well, what is it? Are they coming?"

"You bet, an' about dead, from the looks of 'em. Them fellars ain't lookin' fer nuthin'. I reckon I could stand up straight yere an' they 'd never see me. Take a look yerself; it's safe 'nough."

Hamlin drew himself up, and peered out over the snow, but still gripped the other's arm. With his first glance up the valley there swept over him a strange feeling of sympathy for those he was hunting. It was a dismal, depressing picture--the bare, snow-covered hillsides, and between, floundering weakly through the drifts, the little party of fugitives, the emaciated ponies staggering with weakness, the men on foot, reeling as they tramped forward, their heads lowered in utter weariness. The girl alone was in saddle, so wrapped about in blankets as to be formless, even her face concealed. The manner in which she swayed to the movements of the pony, urged on by one of the Indians, was evidence that she was bound fast, and helpless. At sight of her condition Hamlin felt his old relentless purpose return. He was plainsman enough to realize what suffering those men had pa.s.sed through before reaching such extremity, and was quick to appreciate the full meaning of their exhaustion, and to sympathize with it. He had pa.s.sed through a similar baptism, and remembered the desperate clutch of the storm-king.

But the sight of that poor girl swaying helplessly in the saddle, a bound prisoner in the midst of those ruffians, who had murdered her father before her eyes and who were bearing her to all the unspeakable horrors of Indian captivity, instantly stifled within him every plea of mercy. No matter what they had suffered, they were a ruthless, merciless gang of cut-throats and thieves, fleeing from justice, deserving of no consideration. Yet their distressed appearance, their lack of vigilance, rendered him careless. They seemed too weak to resist, too exhausted to fight; the cold plucking at their hearts had seemingly already conquered. It was this impression which caused him to act recklessly, rising to his feet, rifle in hand, directly in their track, halting their advance with stern command.

"Hands up! Quick now, the three of you! Don't wait, Dupont; I 've got the drop!"

The white man was in front, a huge, shapeless figure in his furs, his black beard frosted oddly. He stood motionless, astounded at this strange apparition in blue cavalry overcoat, which had sprung up so suddenly in that wilderness. For an instant he must have deemed the vision confronting him some illusion of the desert, for he never stirred except to rub a gloved hand across his eyes.

"By all the G.o.ds, Dupont," roared the Sergeant impatiently, "do you want me to shoot? d.a.m.n you, throw up your hands!"

Slowly, as though his mind was still in a dream, the man's hands were lifted above his head, one grasping a short, sawed-off gun. The expression upon his face was ugly, as he began to dimly understand what this unexpected hold-up meant. There followed an instant of silence, in which Hamlin, forgetful of Hughes, who still remained lying quiet in the snow, took a step or two forward, rifle at shoulder. The two Indians, swathed in blankets, but with arms upraised, were in direct line, motionless as statues. He could see the gleam of their dark eyes, and even noticed the figure of the girl straighten in the saddle.

Dupont gave fierce utterance to an oath. Apparently he failed to recognize the soldier, but as Hughes rose to his knees, suspicion leaped instantly to his brain.

"A hold-up, hey!" he said coolly. "Hughes, you sneaking old coward, come out into the open once. What is it you want?"

"Nothing to that, Dupont," returned the Sergeant, glancing back questioningly toward his companion. "Your old partner is here under my orders. I am Sergeant Hamlin, Seventh Cavalry. Throw down that gun!"

"What! You--"

"Yes, you are my prisoner, I 've followed you from Dodge. Throw down the gun!"

It was dropped sullenly into the snow.