CHAPTER XXV
A GUEST FOR AN HOUR
"Can you stand on your feet?" he asked.
Supporting her as she made the trial he felt his way from where thehorse had plunged through to where he found a partial seat for her."Are you much hurt?" he asked again.
She could not, if she would, have told in how many places she wasbroken and bruised. All she was sharply conscious of was a pain in onefoot so intense as to deaden all other pain. It was the foot that hadbeen caught under the horse. "I think I'm all right," she murmured, ina constrained tone and, in her manner, briefly. "How did you find mehere?" she asked, almost resentfully. "Where am I?"
He knew from her words she had neither headed nor followed anyexpedition against him but he did not answer her question: "I'll seewhether I can get the horse up."
While he worked with the horse--and once during the long, hard effortshe heard between thunder claps a sharp expletive--Kate tried tocollect in some degree her scattered and reeling senses. What quietedher most was that her long and fear-stricken groping for hours in thestorm and darkness seemed done now. Without realizing it she waswillingly turning her fears and troubles over to another--and to onewho, though she stubbornly refused to regard him as a friend, she wellknew was able to shoulder them. She heard the kicking and pawing ofthe horse, then with new dismay, the low voices of two men; and next inthe terrifying darkness, more kicking, more suppressed expletives, moreheaving and pulling, and between lightning flashes, quieting words tothe horse. The two men had gotten the frightened beast to his feet.
Laramie groped back to Kate. He had to touch her with his hand to besure he had found her: "I'm taking you at your word," he said, abovethe confusion of the storm.
"What do you mean?"
"That you're alone and don't know where you are."
"I am alone. I wish I might know where I am."
Both spoke under constraint: "It's more important to know how to gethome," he replied, ignoring the request in her words. "Your horse ishere for the night--that's pretty certain," he declared, as a sheet ofrain swept over the crater. "I've got a horse near by and we'll startfor where we can get more horses."
There was nothing Kate could say or do. She already had made up hermind to submit in silence to what Laramie might suggest or impose. Onething only she was resolved on; that whatever happened there should beno appeal on her part.
His first thought was to get her out of the pit by the way she hadplunged in. A moment's reflection convinced him that such a precautionwas unnecessary. When he asked her to follow him he held her wetgloved hand in his hand. "Look out for your footing till we get to thehorse," was his warning. "The way we're going, we should never makebut one slip. Take your time," he added, as she stepped cautiouslyafter him out into the drive of wind and rain. "It's only about twentysteps."
In obeying orders she gave him nothing to complain of, but there waslittle relaxing of the tension between the two. Every step she took onher injured foot was torture, made keener by the uncertain footing.More than once, even despite the dangers of her situation, she thoughtshe must cry out or faint in agony. The twenty steps along the steepface of the canyon, pelted by rain, were like two hundred. Kate madethem without a whimper. Thence she followed him slowly between rockywalls guarding the nearly level floor of the widening ledge, till theyreached the horse. She stumbled at times with pain; but if it were tokill her she would not speak.
Hawk had followed the two from the abutment. He joined them now. Katewas only aware that a second man had come up and was moving silentlynear them. Laramie spoke to him--she could not catch what hesaid--then helped her into the saddle. "I'm going to the house again,"he said, "this man will stay with you. I'll be back in a moment."
Little as she liked being left with another, she could not object. Therocky wall saved her partly from the storm and as to the other man shewas only vaguely conscious at intervals of a shapeless form outlinedbeside the horse.
Laramie was gone more than a moment but under Kate's shelter nothinghappened. The horse, subdued by storm and weariness, stood like astatue. Uneasy with pain, Kate was very nervous. New sounds wereborne on the wind from the darkness; then she heard Laramie's voice;and then a rough question from another voice: "How the hell did you gethim out?"
"Walked him out," was the response. Laramie had brought back her ownhorse. "Get on him," added Laramie, speaking to the other man. "I'lllead my horse--he's sure-footed for her. You know the way down."
Kate made only one effort as the man she knew must be Laramie came tothe head of the horse she was on, patted his wet neck and took hold ofthe bridle. She leaned forward in the saddle: "I'll try again to gethome if you'll help me get out of here."
"I'm helping you get out," was the reply. "If you knew where you were,you wouldn't talk yet about trying for home." He stepped closer to thesaddle, tested the cinches and spoke to Kate: "It's a hard ride. Youcan make it by letting the horse strictly alone. I'll lead him but hewon't stand two bosses in this kind of a mess, over the only trail thatleads from here. How you ever got in, God only knows, and He won'ttell--leastways, not tonight. Sit tight. Don't get scared no matterwhat happens. If the horse should break a leg all we can do is toshoot him and you can try your own horse; but your horse is all in now."
To ride at night a mile in the chilling blackness of a mountain stormis to ride five. To face a buffeting wind and a sweep of heavy rainmile after mile and keep a saddle while a horse pauses, halts, startsand staggers, rights himself, gropes painfully for an uncertainfoothold among rocks where a bighorn must pick his way, is to test theendurance even of a man.
Laramie, moving unseen and almost unheard in the inky blackness,piloted the nervous beast with an uncanny instinct, past the dangers onevery hand. He guided himself with his feet and by his hands, haltingon the edge of crevices and heading them with the horse at hisshoulder, feeling his way around slopes of fallen rock and clamberingacross them when they could not be escaped, holding the lines at theirlength ahead of the horse and speaking low and reassuringly to urge himon: waiting sometimes for a considerable period for a flash oflightning to give him his bearings anew.
Kate could see in each of these blinding intervals his figure. Eachflash outlined it sharply on her retina--always the same--patient,resourceful, silent and unwearied. The man who had been directed toride her own horse she never caught sight of. When they reached opencountry and better going her guide did not break the silence. He spokeonly when at last he stopped the horse and stood in the darkness closeto her knee:
"This brings us to the end of our trail--for awhile. We're in front ofmy cabin. Of course, it's small. And I've been thinking what I oughtto say to you about things as you'll find them here. The man that rodebehind us and passed us on your horse is Abe Hawk. You know what theycall him over at your place; you know what they call me for taking hispart--you know what you called me."
She repressed an exclamation. When she tried to speak, he spoke on,ignoring her. "Never mind," he said, in the same low, even tone thatsilenced her protest, "I'm not starting any argument but it's time forplain speaking and I'm going to tell you just what has happenedtonight, so, for once, anyway, we'll understand each other--I'm goingto show my cards.",
The chilling sheets of rain that swept their faces did not hasten hisutterance: "When you get home and tell your story, your men will knowit was Abe Hawk you ran into whether you knew it or not. They'll askyou all about his hiding place and you'll tell them all you know--whichwon't be much. I don't complain of all that--it's war; and part of thegame. All I'll ask you not to say is, that I brought Abe Hawk with youto my cabin. Abe won't be here when they come--it isn't that. We cantake care of ourselves. I'm speaking only because I don't want myplace burned. It isn't much but I think a good deal of it. Burning itwon't help get rid of me. It will only make things in this countryworse than they are now--and they're bad enough. I wouldn't havebrought you here if th
ere'd been any other place to take you. Therewasn't; and for awhile you'll have to make partners with the two menyour father and his friends are trying to get killed."
She almost cried out a protest: "How can you say such a thing?"
"Just the plain fact, that's all."
"Is it fair because you are enemies to accuse my father in such a way?"
"Have it as you want it but get my view of it with the one you get overat your place. And if you'll climb down we'll go under cover."
"Now may I say something?"
"No more than fair you should."
She spoke low but fast and distinctly; nor was there any note of fearor apology in her words: "You must put a low estimate on a woman if youwould expect her to go home with tales from the camp of an enemy thathad put her again on her road. It may be that is the kind of woman youknow best----"
Laramie tried to interrupt.
"I've not done," she protested instantly. "You said I might saysomething: It may be that is the kind of woman you understand best.But I won't be classed with such--not even by you. If you've saved mefrom great danger it doesn't give you the right to insult me by tellingme you expect me to be a tale-bearer. It isn't manly or fair to treatme in that way."
"You mustn't expect too much from a thief."
"You shame yourself, not me, when you use a word I never in my life,not even in anger, ever used of you."
"You shame your friends when you call me or think of me as anythingelse. I'm no match for you----"
"I've not done----"
"I'm no match for you, I know, in fine words--or in any other kind of agame--don't think I don't know that; but by----" he checked himselfjust in time, "thief or no thief, you've had a square deal from meevery turn of the road."
Bitter with anger, he blurted out the words with vehemence. If helooked for a quick retort, none came. Kate for an instant waited:"Should you wish me," she asked, "to look for anything else at yourhands?"
"Well, we're not holding up this rain any by talking," he returnedgruffly. "Get down and we'll get inside. You can stay here tillmorning."
"Oh, no!"
"Why not?"
"Just put me on the road for home and let me be going."
"This is my cabin. I told you that."
"I can't _stay_ here."
"This is my cabin. I'm responsible for the safety of everyone thatsteps under my roof."
"I know, but I must go home. They have most likely been searching thetrails for me. Father would telephone"--she was desperate forexcuses--"to Belle and learn I'd started home--and the storm----"
He did not hesitate to cut her off: "Afraid of me, eh?"
The contempt and resentment in his words stirred her. Withoutanswering she sprang as well as she could in her wet habit from thesaddle and faced him, close enough almost to see into his eyes in thedarkness. From the fireplace inside a gleam of light, from the blazethat Hawk had started, piercing the tiny window sash shot across herface: "Does this look like it?" she demanded, her eyes seeking his. Hewas stubborn. "Answer me!" she exclaimed in a tone of a dictator.
"Then why don't you do what I ask you to do instead of giving me astory about Barb Doubleday telephoning?" he demanded. She winced ather mistake in urging an impossible thing. She felt when she made it,Laramie would not credit so wild an assertion. Her father would nottake the trouble to telephone to save even a bunch of his steers from astorm, much less his daughter. "But there may be others over there,"Laramie added grimly, "that would."
The reference to the man he hated--Van Horn--was too plain to be passedover. "Now," she returned, as if to close--and standing her ground asshe spoke, "have you said all the mean things you can think of?"
He evaded her thrust. "The wires are down a night like this, anyway,"he objected. "If you'd be as honest with me as I am with you we'd getalong without saying mean things."
"I am honest with you. Can't you see that a woman can't always be asopen in what she says as a man?"
"What do I know about a woman?"
"But since you make everything hard for me I shall be open with you."
"Come inside then and say it."
"I couldn't be any wetter than I am and if I've got to say this to oneman I won't say it to two: You ask me to stay all night in your cabinas it I were a small boy--instead of what I am."
"You could take all the shooting irons on the place into your own roomwith you."
"I shouldn't need to. But what would people say of me when they heardof it? That I had stayed here all night! You know what they can do toa woman's reputation in this country--you know how some evil tonguestalk about Belle. I would like to keep at least my reputation out ofthis bitter war that is going on--can't you, won't you, understand?"
He was silent a moment. "Come in to the fire, then," he said atlength, "and we'll see what we can do. You've been on the wrong roadall night. There's no need of any secrets now on anybody's part, Iguess. But I'd rather turn you over to ten thousand devils than to theman you're going back to tonight."
"Surely," she gasped, "you don't mean my own father?"
"You know the man I mean," was all he answered. Then he threw open thecabin door and stood waiting for her to pass within.