CHAPTER XXI
MADONNA DOLOROSA
Blake was cooking supper when, shortly before sunset, Gowan drove upto the waterhole, with a pony in lead behind the heavy wagon. Leavingthe wagon with the rope and other articles of his load on the far sideof the creek bed, he watered and picketed the horses, and came acrossto the tent with his rifle and a roll of blankets.
"Howdy, Mr. Blake. Got here in time for supper, I see," he remarked ashe unburdened himself. "Met Mr. Knowles and the ladies down near theranch. They told me about the shooting." He faced about to stare atAshton's bandaged head. "They told me you came mighty near gettingyours. You shore are a lucky tenderfoot."
Ashton shrugged superciliously. "The worst of it is the additionalhole in my hat. I see you have a new one. Is that the latest style onthe range?"
"Stetson, brand A-1.," replied the puncher. "How does it strike you,Mr. Blake?--and my new shirt? Having a dude puncher on our range kindof stirred up my emulosity. They don't have real cowboy attire likehis at an ordinary shorthorn cow town like Stockchute--but I did thebest I could."
Blake made no response to this heavy badinage. He set the supper onthe chuck-box, and laconically said: "Come and get it."
"Might have known you've been on round-up," remarked Gowan, with aninsistent sociability oddly at variance with his usual taciturnreserve. "According to Miss Chuckie, you're some rider, and accordingto Mr. Knowles, you can shoot. I wouldn't mind hearing from you directabout that shooting this morning."
Blake recounted the affair still more briefly than he had told it toKnowles.
"That shore was a mighty close shave," commented the puncher. "But youhaven't said what the fellow looked like."
"He wore ordinary range clothes," replied Blake. "I couldn't see himbehind the rocks, and caught only a glimpse of him as he went aroundthe ridge. His horse was much the same build and color as Rocket."
The puncher stared at Ashton with his cold unblinking eyes. "You shorepicked out a Jim Dandy guide, Mr. Tenderfoot. According to this, itlooks mighty like he's gone and turned hawss thief. Mr. Knowles saysyour Rocket hawss has vamoosed. If he's moving to Utah under yourex-guide, it'll take some lively posse to head him. What d'you say,Mr. Blake?"
"I think the man is apt soon to come to the end of his rope--afterdropping through a trap door," said the engineer.
Gowan looked at him between narrowed eyelids, and paused with upraisedcoffee cup to reply: "A man that has shown the nerve this one haswon't let anyone get close enough to rope him."
"It will be either that or a bullet, before long," predicted Blake."The badman is getting to be rather out of date."
"Maybe a bullet," admitted Gowan. "Never any rope, though, for hiskind.--Guess I'll turn in. It's something of a drive over toStockchute and back with the wagon, and I got up early. You and Ashtonmight go on watch until midnight, and turn me out for the rest of thenight."
"Very well," agreed Blake.
The puncher stretched out on his blankets under a tree, a few yardsfrom the tent. Ashton took the dishes down to sand-scour them at thepool, while Blake saw that everything damageable was disposed safefrom the knife-like fangs of the coyotes.
"How about keeping watch?" asked Ashton, when he returned with thecleansed dishes. "Shall I take first or second?"
"Neither," answered Blake. "You will need all the sleep and rest youcan get. Tomorrow may be a hard day. Turn in at once."
"If you insist," acquiesced Ashton. "I still am rather weak anddizzy." He went to the tent and disappeared.
Blake took the lantern and strolled across to the wagon, to look atthe numerous articles brought by Gowan. He set the lantern over in thewagon bed on top of what seemed to be a heap of empty oat sacks, whilehe overhauled the load. It included three coils of rope of a hundredfeet each, a keg of railroad spikes, two dozen picket-pins, two heavyhammers, a pick and shovel, and a crowbar.
The last three articles had not been ordered by Blake. The puncher hadbrought them along, apparently with a hazy idea that the descent ofthe canyon would be something on the order of mining. There were alsoin the wagon two five-gallon kerosene cans to use in carrying water upthe mountain, a sack of oats, Gowan's saddle, and two packsaddles.
In shifting one of the packsaddles to get at the hammers, Blakeknocked it against the sack on which the lantern had been set. Thelantern suddenly fell over on its side. Blake reached in to pick itup, and perceived that the sack was rising in a mound. He caught upone of the hammers, and held it poised for a stroke. From the sackcame a muffled rattle. The hammer descended in a smashing blow.
The sack rose and fell as if something under it was squirming aboutconvulsively. But to Blake's surprise it did not fall aside anddisclose that which was making the violent movement. The squirminglessened. He grasped an outer corner of the sack and jerked it upward.It failed to flip into the air. The lower part sagged heavily. Thesquirmer was inside and--the mouth of the sack was tied fast.
Blake looked at it thoughtfully. After some moments, he placed thesack where it had lain at first, and upset the keg of spikes on top ofit. He then carefully examined Gowan's saddle; but it told himnothing. He shook his head doubtfully, and returned to camp.
Going quietly around to Gowan, he set down the lantern close beforethe puncher's face and stopped to light a cigar. Gowan stirredrestlessly and rolled half over, but did not open his eyes. Blakesmoked his cigar, extinguished the lantern, and quietly stretched outon the edge of the sleeper's blankets. In a few moments he, too, wasasleep.
About two o'clock Gowan stirred and rolled over, pulling at hisblankets. Instantly Blake was wide awake. The puncher mumbled, drewthe blankets closer about him, and lay quiet. Blake went into the tentand dozed on his own blankets until roused by the chill of dawn. Hewent down for a plunge in the pool, and was dressed and back at thefireplace, cooking breakfast, when Gowan started up out of his heavyslumber.
"Yes, it's getting along about that time," Blake called to himcheerfully. "You might turn out Ashton. He has made as good a night ofit as you have."
Gowan had been staring at the dawn, his lean jaw slack. As Blakespoke, he snapped his mouth shut and came over to confront theengineer. "You agreed to call me at midnight," he said.
"My apology!" politely replied Blake. "I know how you must feel aboutit. But I hope you will excuse me. I saw that you, like Ashton, neededa full night's sleep, and so did not disturb you."
The puncher looked away and muttered: "I'm responsible for you to Mr.Knowles. He sent me here to guard you."
"That is true. Of course you will say it's owing to no fault of minethat we have come through the night safely. Well, we have a big day'swork before us. May I ask you to call Ashton? Breakfast is ready."
At this the puncher sullenly went to rouse the sleeper. Ashton cameout rubbing his eyes; but after a dip in the pool, he declared himselfrestored by his long sleep and ready for a day's work. During thenight his bandage had come loose. He would have tossed it away, butBlake insisted upon re-dressing the wound. He did so with as muchskill and almost as much gentleness as had his wife.
When Blake and Ashton left the camp, the puncher was leading thehorses across to load their first packs. The two levelmen walkedbriskly up the valley, carrying only enough food and water to lastthemselves until evening, when Gowan was to have the camp moved to thetop of High Mesa.
Beginning from his bench-mark at the foot of the mountain, Blakecarried the level line slantingly up the ridge side. The work was slowand tedious, since the telescope of the level could never be on ahorizontal line either higher or lower respectively than the top andbottom of the thirteen-foot rod. This necessitated setting-up theinstrument every few feet during the steepest part of the ascent.
They saw nothing of Gowan, who had chosen a more roundabout but easiertrail. At midmorning, however, they were overtaken by Genevieve andIsobel and Thomas Herbert Vincent Leslie Blake. Knowles had startedfor Stockchute to seek the aid of the sheriff and his Indianprisoners. The ladies divide
d the ascent into several stages, ridingahead of the surveyors and resting in the shade of a rock or pineuntil the men had passed them.
Near noon, when the levels had been carried up close to the top ofHigh Mesa, Gowan rode down to the party to inquire where the new campwas to be pitched.
"I've brought up a lot this trip," he stated. "I can fetch the rest bysundown, if I don't have to meander all over the mesa with these firstpacks."
"Where did you leave the packhorses?" asked Blake.
"Up along the canyon where Ashton shot his yearling deer," answered thepuncher. "It's about half way between that gulch where you say you'regoing down and the bend across from the head of Dry Fork Gulch."
"We'll camp there," decided Blake. "It is on the shortest trail tothat gulch, and you'll not have time to get your second load fartherbefore dark."
The puncher started back. But Isobel, who had come riding up withGenevieve, called out to stop him: "Wait, Kid. It is almost noon. Youmust take lunch with us."
"Can't leave those hawsses standing with the packs, Miss Chuckie, ifthey're to make another trip today," he replied.
"Suppose you unload them and come back along the edge of the canyon?"suggested Blake. "We shall knock off soon and all go over to give mywife her first look at the canyon. We can eat lunch there together."
To this Gowan nodded a willing assent, and he jogged away, with a halfsmile on his thin lips. But that which pleased him had precisely theopposite effect on Ashton. He did not fancy sharing the companionshipand attention of Miss Knowles with the puncher. As this interferencewith his happiness was due to Blake, he showed a petulant resentmenttowards the engineer that won him the girl's sympathetic concern. Sheattributed his fretfulness to his wound. Blake made the same mistake.
"You've done quite enough for the morning, Ashton, with that head ofyours," he said. "We're over the worst now, and can easily run on upto the camp this afternoon. We shall knock off for a siesta."
"Needn't try to make out I'm a baby!" snapped Ashton.
"Leave your rod here," went on Blake, disregarding the other'sirascibility. "I'll take the level. It may enable us to see the bottomof the canyon."
He started on up the slope beside his wife's pony. Ashton was somewhatmollified when he saw Isobel linger for him to walk beside her horse.She was carrying the baby, who, regardless of scenic attractions, hadfallen asleep during the long climb from the lower mesa. The sight ofthe child clasped to her bosom awakened all that was highest in hisnature. Concern over his wound had sobered her usual gay vivacity to alook of motherly tenderness.
"Do you know," he murmured during a pause in their conversation, "youmake me think of pictures of the Madonna!"
"Lafe!" she protested, blushing and as quickly paling. "You should notsay such a thing. It is lovely--a beautiful thing to tell me; but--butI do not deserve it!"
"Madonna!--my Madonna!" he murmured in ardent adoration.
"Oh, please! when I've asked you not to!" she implored. "It is notright! I--I am not!--" Tears glistened in her soft eyes. She bent overto suppress a sob that might have awakened the sleeping infant.
Ashton gazed up at her, wonder and contrition mingling with hisdeepening adoration. "Forgive me, Miss Chuckie! But I meant it--I feelit! I never before felt this way towards any girl!... I know I have noright to say anything now. I am a pennyless adventurer, a disgraced,disinherited son, a mere cowpuncher apprentice; but if, by nextspring, I shall have--"
"Oh, see. They're getting such a long way ahead of us!" exclaimed thegirl, urging her pony to a faster gait.
The animal started forward with a suddenness that left Ashton behind.He made no effort to regain his position beside the girl's stirrup.Instead, he lagged farther and farther in the rear, his face crimsonwith mortification and anger. As his chagrin deepened, his flushbecame almost feverish and there was a suggestion of wildness in hisflashing eyes. It was as though his passion was intensifying someinjury to his brain caused by the concussion of the bullet on hisskull.