Chapter XVI. A Lock Of Golden Hair
As the sun was rising in a burning August glare over the edge of theparched prairie, Philip saw ahead of him the unpainted board shanty thatwas called Bleak House Station, and a few moments later he saw a man runout into the middle of the track and stare down at him from under theshade of his hands. It was Billinger, his English-red face as white ashe had left Gunn's, his shirt in rags, arms bare, and his tremendousblond mustaches crisped and seared by fire. Close to the station,fastened to posts, were two saddlehorses. A mile beyond these things athin film of smoke clouded the sky. As the jigger stopped Philip jumpedfrom his seat and held out a blistered hand. "I'm Steele--Philip Steele,of the Northwest Mounted."
"And I'm Billinger--agent," said the other.
Philip noticed that the hand that gripped his own was raw and bleeding."I got your word, and I've received instructions from the departmentto place myself at your service. My wife is at the key. I've found thetrail, and I've got two horses. But there isn't another man who'll leaveup there for love o' God or money. It's horrible! Two hours ago you'd'ave heard their screams from where you're standing--the hurt, I mean.They won't leave the wreck--not a man, and I don't blame 'em."
A pretty, brown-haired young woman had come to the door and Billingerran to her.
"Good-by," he cried, taking her for a moment in his big arms. "Takecare of the key!" He turned as quickly to the horses, talking as theymounted. "It was robbery," he said--and they set off at a canter, sideby side. "There was two hundred thousand in currency in the express car,and it's gone. I found their trail this morning, going into the North.They're hitting for what we call the Bad Lands over beyond the Coyote,twenty miles from here. I don't suppose there's any time to lose--"
"No," said Philip. "How many are there?"
"Four--mebby more."
Billinger started his horse into a gallop and Philip purposely heldhis mount behind to look at the other man. The first law of MacGregor'steaching was to study men, and to suspect.
It was the first law of the splendid service of which he was a part--andso he looked hard at Billinger. The Englishman was hatless. His sandyhair was cropped short, and his mustaches floated out like flexiblehorns from the sides of his face. His shirt was in tatters. In one placeit was ripped clean of the shoulder and Philip saw a purplish bruisewhere the flesh was bare. He knew these for the marks of Billinger'spresence at the wreck. Now the man was equipped for other business.A huge "forty-four" hung at his waist, a short carbine swung at hissaddle-bow; and there was something in the manner of his riding, in thehunch of his shoulders, and in the vicious sweep of his long mustaches,that satisfied Philip he was a man who could use them. He rode upalongside of him with a new confidence. They were coming to the top of aknoll; at the summit Billinger stopped and pointed down into a hollow aquarter of a mile away.
"It will be a loss of time to go down there," he said, "and it will dono good. See that thing that looks like a big log in the river?That's the top of the day coach. It went in right side up, and theconductor--who wasn't hurt--says there were twenty people in it. Wewatched it settle from the shore, and we couldn't do a thing--while theywere dying in there like so many caged rats! The other coach burned, andthat heap of stuff you see there is what's left of the Pullman and thebaggage car. There's twenty-seven dead stretched out along the track,and a good many hurt. Great Heavens, listen to that!"
He shuddered, and Philip shuddered, at the wailing sound of grief andpain that came up to them.
"It'll be a loss of time--to go down," repeated the agent.
"Yes, it would be a loss of time," agreed Philip.
His blood was burning at fever heat when he raised his eyes from thescene below to Billinger's face. Every fighting fiber in his bodywas tingling for action, and at the responsive glare which he met inBillinger's eyes he thrust his hand half over the space that separatedthem.
"We'll get 'em, Billinger," he cried. "By God, we'll get 'em!"
There was something ferocious in the crush of the other's hand. TheEnglishman's teeth gleamed for an instant between his seared mustachesas he heeled his mount into a canter along the back of the ridge. Fiveminutes later the knoll dipped again into the plain and at the footof it Billinger stopped his horse for a second and pointed to freshhoof-marks in the prairie sod. Philip jumped from his horse and examinedthe ground.
"There are five in the gang, Billinger," he said shortly--"All of themwere galloping--but one." He looked up to catch Billinger leaning overthe pommel of his saddle staring at something almost directly under hishorse's feet.
"What's that?" he demanded. "A handkerchief?"
Philip picked it up--a dainty bit of fine linen, crumpled and sodden bydew, and held it out between the forefinger and thumb of both hands.
"Yes, and a woman's handkerchief. Now what the devil--"
He stopped at the look in Billinger's face as he reached down for thehandkerchief. The square jaws of the man were set like steel springs,but Philip noticed that his hand was trembling.
"A woman in the gang," he laughed as Philip mounted.
They started out at a canter, Billinger still holding the bit of linenclose under his eyes. After a little he passed it back to Philip who wasriding close beside him.
"Something happened last night," he said, looking straight ahead of him,"that I can't understand. I didn't tell my wife. I haven't told any one.But I guess you ought to know. It's interesting, anyway--and has madea wreck of my nerves." He wiped his face with a blackened rag which hedrew from his hip pocket. "We were working hard to get out the living,leaving the dead where they were for a time, and I had crawled under thewreck of the sleeper. I was sure that I had heard a cry, and crawledin among the debris, shoving a lantern ahead of me. About where BerthNumber Ten should have been, the timbers had telescoped upward, leavingan open space four or five feet high. I was on my hands and knees,bareheaded, and my lantern lighted up things as plain as day. At firstI saw nothing, and was listening again for the cry when I felt somethingsoft and light sweeping down over me, and I looked up. Heavens--"
Billinger was mopping his face again, leaving streaks of char-blackwhere the perspiration had started.
"Pinned up there in the mass of twisted steel and broken wood was awoman," he went on. "She was the most beautiful thing I have ever lookedupon. Her arms were reaching down to me; her face was turned a little toone side, but still looking at me--and all but her face and part ofher arms was smothered in a mass of red-gold hair that fell down to myshoulders. I could have sworn that she was alive. Her lips were red, andI thought for a moment that she was going to speak to me. I could havesworn, too, that there was color in her face, but it must have beensomething in the lantern light and the red-gold of her hair, for when Ispoke, and then reached up, she was cold."
Billinger shivered and urged his horse into a faster gait.
"I went out and helped with the injured then. I guess it must have beentwo hours later when I returned to take out her body. But the placewhere I had seen her was empty. She was gone. At first I thought thatsome of the others had carried her out, and I looked among the dead andinjured. She was not among them. I searched again when day came,with the same result. No one has seen her. She has completelydisappeared--and with the exception of my shanty there isn't a housewithin ten miles of here where she could have been taken. What do youmake of it, Steele?"
Philip had listened with tense interest.
"Perhaps you didn't return to the right place," he suggested. "Her bodymay still be in the wreck."
Billinger glanced toward him with a nervous laugh.
"But it was the right place," he said. "She had evidently not gone tobed, and was dressed. When I returned I found a part of her skirt inthe debris above. A heavy tress of her hair had caught around a steelribbing, and it was cut off! Some one had been there during my absenceand had taken the body. I--I'm almost ready to believe that I wasmistaken, and that she was alive. I found nothing there, nothing--thatcoul
d prove her death."
"Is it possible--" began Philip, holding out the handkerchief.
It was not necessary for him to finish. Billinger understood, and noddedhis head.
"That's what I'm thinking," he said. "Is it possible? What in God's namewould they want of her, unless--"
"Unless she was alive," added Philip. "Unless one or more of thescoundrels searching for valuables in there during the excitement,saw her and carried her off with their other booty. It's up to us,Billinger!"
Billinger had reached inside his shirt, and now he drew forth a smallpaper parcel.
"I don't know why--but I kept the tress of hair," he said. "See--"
From between his fingers, as he turned toward Philip, there streamed outa long silken tress that shone a marvelous gold in the sun, and in thatsame instant there fell from Philip's lips a cry such as Billingerhad not heard, even from the lips of the wounded; and before he couldrecover from his astonishment, he had leaned over and snatched thegolden tress from him, and sat in his saddle staring at it like amadman.