CHAPTER XV.
PIEGAN TAKES A HAND.
I don't believe a detailed account of how we spent that night would beclassed as wildly interesting; if memory serves me right, it was ableak, hungry, comfortless passage of time, and I am willing to let itgo at that. We managed to secure a buffalo steak for breakfast. No manneeded to starve in that country during those days of plentiful game;but we were handicapped by the necessity of doing our hunting in a verysurreptitious manner. However, we didn't starve; the worst weexperienced was an occasional period of acute hunger, when we didn'tdare fire a shot for fear of revealing our whereabouts.
Nor can I see, now, where we accomplished anything beyond killing timethe following day. To be sure, we scouted faithfully, and once or twicecame perilously near being caught by squads of Mounted Police appearingfrom unexpected quarters. Our scouting was so much wasted energy. We gotnowhere near the Police camp; we failed to get a glimpse of any of ourmen; and so, for all we knew to the contrary, they might have loaded theplunder and decamped for other regions. When night again spread itsconcealing folds about us, we had only one tangible fact as a reward forour exertions--Lessard had returned to Fort Walsh--presumably. Earlythat morning, escorted by four troopers, he had crossed Lost River anddisappeared in the direction of the post. Of his identity thefield-glasses assured us. But that was the sum total of our acquiredknowledge, and it brought us no nearer the breaking up of theGoodell-Gregory combination or the recovery of the loot.
So for a third night we were compelled to seek sanctuary in the silentcanyons. And the third day brought us no better luck. At evening we wereconstrained to admit that we were simply butting our heads against awall--with an ever-present possibility of the wall toppling over andcrushing us flat.
Altogether, we spent five consecutive days hovering around thatcollection of law-enforcers, in imminent risk of capture. Each night inthe open was more cheerless than the preceding one, and each day broughtthe same sense of futile effort at its close. Twice during that time thePolice camp moved, and we had to be wary, for they scoured thesurrounding territory with painstaking thoroughness. But we felt thatthere was yet a chance for us to turn the tables, for Goodell was stillwith the troop, and also Gregory; we saw them both the morning of thefifth day.
"It beats me why they're pecking around over the same ground so much,"Mac observed. "I suppose they're looking for us, but I'm pretty surethey haven't had a glimpse of us for three days, and so I don't see whythey should think we're still hanging around. Logically, if we'd gotthat bunch of money, we'd be getting out of the country. Lord, I do wishthose four would show their hand--make a move of some kind."
"So do I," I seconded. "We're not doing much good that I can see. And Ithink I could play the game with a heap more enthusiasm if I had somecoffee and white bread under my belt once or twice a day. We'll gohungry, and likewise get a devilish good soaking to-night, or I'm badlymistaken."
We had checked our horses on the summit of the divide that ran down toLost River on one side and on the other sloped away to the southeast.The wind that was merely a breath at sundown had gathered strength toitself and now swept across the hill-tops with a resonant roar, pilinglayer on layer of murky low-flying clouds into a dense mass overhead.Night, black as the bottomless pit, walled us in. A fifty-mile breezelashed us spitefully, tugging at our shirt-sleeves and drowning ourvoices, while we halted on that pinnacle. By the dank breath of thewind, the ominous overcasting of the sky, all the little signs that aprairie-wise man learns to read, we knew that a storm was close at hand.Shelter there was none, nor food, and we stood in need of both.
"You're right," MacRae admitted. "But how are we going to help it?We'll just have to grin and tough it out."
"I'll tell you how we'll help it," I proposed recklessly, shouting tomake myself heard above the noisy wind. "We can go down and tackle thatbull-train we saw pulling along the foot of the ridge. They'll knowwe're on the dodge, but that won't make any difference to them. I knownearly every bull-whacker that freights out of Benton, and they're apretty white bunch. If it's Baker's outfit, especially, we'll be welcomeas flowers in May. You said they'd likely camp at that spring--Ten Mile,isn't it? What d'ye think? Shall we go down and take a chance? I suredon't like the look of things up here. It's going to be a rip-snorter ofa night, once it cuts loose."
"I'm ready to go against nearly anything, right now," MacRae franklyowned. "If you think it's worth trying, why, it's a go with me."
"Let's drift, then," I declared; and straightway we turned our horsesbroadside to the wind and tore away for Ten Mile Spring and thecreature comforts I knew were to be had at the white-sheeted wagons wesaw crawling slowly along the Stony Crossing trail late that afternoon.
As Mac had calculated, the freight-train was camped at the Spring; andit was a mighty good thing for us that MacRae knew that country so wellor we would never have found them, short of riding our horses to astandstill. Long before we got there the deep-throated thunder wasgrowling over us, and the clouds spat occasional flurries of rain.
We made the freight camp, however, just as the storm cut loose in deadlyearnest. Luckily for me, it was Baker's outfit. I took a long chance,and stalked boldly in. And here I was treated to a surprise, one thatafforded both MacRae and me considerable food for thought; Horner, thewagon-boss, a man I knew well, frankly declared that no one at FortWalsh had heard that we were accused of robbery and murder. For thatmatter, he said, he didn't care a tinker's dam if we were; he had gruband bedding and we were welcome to both.
So with this assurance of good-will we picketed our horses close by thecircle of wagons--where we could get to them quickly should any ofLessard's troop happen into the camp--and prepared to devour the supperHorner's good-natured cook bestirred himself to make ready. As we filledour plates and squatted under the canvas that sheltered the cook'sDutch-oven layout, a man under the hind end of the chuck-wagon proppedhimself on elbow and shouted greeting to us. In the semi-dark I couldn'tsee his face, but I recognized the voice. It was our friend of thewhisky-keg episode, Piegan Smith.
"Hello, thar, fellers!" he bellowed (Piegan always spoke to a man as ifhe were a hundred yards away). "Say, Flood, yuh ain't been t' Benton an'back already, have yuh?"
"Faith, no," I owned, between mouthfuls, "and it's hard telling when Iwill get there. How come you to be pacing along this trail, Piegan? Goneto freighting in your old age?"
"Not what yuh could notice, I ain't," he snorted. "Catch _me_ whackin'bulls for a livin'! Naw, I sold my outfit to a goggle-eyed pilgrim thathas an idea buffalo hides is prime all summer. So I'm headed for Bentonto see if I kain't stir up a little excitement now an' then, to passaway the time till the fall buffalo-run begins."
"If you're looking for excitement, Piegan," MacRae put in dryly, "you'dbetter come along with us. We'll introduce you to more different brandsof it in the next few days than Benton could furnish in six months."
"Maybe," Piegan laughed. "But not the brand I'm a-thirstin' for."
Mac was on the point of replying when there came a most unexpectedinterruption. I looked up at sound of a startled exclamation, and beheldthe round African physog of Lyn Rowan's colored mammy. But she had noeyes for me; she stood like a black statue just within the firelight, atin bucket in one hand, staring over my head at MacRae.
"Lawd a-me!" she gulped out. "Ef Ah ain't sho'ly laid mah ol' eyes onMarse Go'don. Is dat sho' 'nuf yo', wid yo' red coat an' all?"
"It sure is, Mammy," Mac answered. "How does it happen you're travelingthis way? I thought you were at Fort Walsh. Is Miss Lyn along?"
"She suttinly am," Mammy Thomas emphatically asserted. "Yo' doan catchdis chile a-mosyin' obeh dese yeah plains by huh lonesome. Since deydone brought Miss Lyn's paw in an' planted him, she say dey ain't no usefoh huh to stay in dis yeah redcoat country no longer; so we all packedup an' sta'ted back foh de lan' ob de free."
MacRae, I am sure, was no more than half through his meal. But heswallowed the coffee in his cup, and tosse
d his eating-implements intothe cook's wash-pan.
"I'll go with you, Mammy," he told her. "I want to see Miss Lyn myself."
"Jes' a minute, Marse Go'don," she said. "Ah's got to git some wa'mwatah f'om dis yeah Mr. Cook."
The cook signaled her to help herself from the kettle that bubbled overthe fire, and she filled her bucket and disappeared, chattering volubly,MacRae at her heels.
I finished my supper more deliberately. There was no occasion for me togobble my food and rush off to talk with Lyn Rowan. MacRae, I suspected,would be inclined to monopolize her for the rest of the evening. So Iate leisurely, and when done crawled under the wagon beside Piegan Smithand gave myself up to cigarettes and meditation, while over his pipePiegan expressed a most unflattering opinion of the weather.
It was a dirty night, beyond question; one that gave color to Piegan'sprophesy that Milk River would be out of its banks if the storm heldtill morning, and that Baker's freight-train would be stalled by mud andhigh water for three or four days. I was duly thankful for the shelterwe had found. A tarpaulin stretched from wheel to wheel of the wagonshut out the driving rain that fled in sheets before the whooping wind.The lightning-play was hidden behind the drifting cloud-bank, for noglint of it penetrated the gloom; but the cavernous thunder-bellowroared intermittently, and a fury of rain drove slantwise against soddenearth and creaking wagon-tops.
If the next two hours were as slow in passing, to MacRae and Lyn, asthey seemed to me, the two of them had time to dissect and discuss thehopes and fears and errors of their whole existence, and formulate a newphilosophy of life. Piegan broke a long silence to remark sagely that ifMac was putting in all this time talking to that "yaller-headed fairy,"he was a plumb good stayer.
"They're old friends," I told him. "Mac knew her long ago; and all herpeople."
"Well, he's in darned agreeable company," Piegan observed. "She's amighty fine little woman, far's I've seen. I dunno's I'd know when t'jar loose m'self, if I knowed her an' she didn't object t' me hangin'around. But seein' we ain't in on the reception, we might as well getunder the covers, eh? I reckon most everybody in camp's turned in."
Piegan had a bulky roll of bedding under the wagon. Spread to its fullwidth, it was ample for three ordinary men. We had just got out of ouroutside garments and were snuggling down between the blankets when Maccame slopping through the puddles that were now gathering in everydepression. He crawled under the wagon, shed some of his clothing, andgot into bed with us. But he didn't lie down until he had rolled acigarette, and then instead of going to sleep he began talking toPiegan, asking what seemed to me a lot of rather trifling questions. Iwas nearly worn out, and their conversation was nowise interesting tome, so listening to the monotonous drone of their voices and the steadybeat of falling rain, I went to sleep.
Before a great while I wakened; to speak truthfully, the ungentle voiceof Piegan Smith brought me out of dreamland with a guilty start. MacRaewas still sitting up in bed, and from that part of his speech whichfiltered into my ears I gathered that he was recounting to Piegan thetale of our adventures during the past week. I thought that odd, for Macwas a close-mouthed beggar as a general thing; but there was no validreason why he should not proclaim the story from the hill-tops if hechose, so I rolled over and pulled the blankets above my head--toprotect my ear-drums if Piegan's astonishment should again find verbalexpression.
The cook's battle-cry of "Grub _pi-i-ile_" wakened me next. A thin lineof yellowish-red in the east betokened the birth of another day, a dayborn in elemental turmoil, for the fierce wind was no whit abated, northe sullen, driving rain.
"I've enlisted a recruit," MacRae told me in an undertone, as we atebreakfast. "It struck me that if we had somebody along that we couldtrust to ride into that Police camp with his mouth shut and his ears andeyes open, we might find out something that would show us how the landlay; even if he accomplished nothing else, he could learn if thosefellows are still with the troop."
"That was why you were making that talk to Piegan last night, was it?" Isaid. "Well, from what little I've seen and heard of him, he'd be awhole team if he's willing to throw in with us and take a chance." Whichwas perfectly true. Old Piegan had the reputation, on both sides of theline, of loving to jump into a one-sided fight for the pure joy ofevening up the odds. He was a boisterous, rough-spoken mortal, but hisheart was big, and set in the right place. And, though I didn't know itthen, he had a grouch against Hicks, who had once upon a time run himinto Fort Walsh in irons on an unjustified suspicion of whisky-running.That was really what started Piegan in the smuggling business--a desireto play even, after getting what he called a "damn rough deal."
"He's willing enough," Mac assured me. "Aside from the fact that mostany white man would go out of his way to help a girl like Lyn Rowan,there's the certainty that the Canadian government will be prettygenerous to anybody who helps round up that crooked bunch and restorethe stolen money. Piegan snorted when I told him we were on thedodge--that they were trying to nail us for holding up the paymaster.That's the rottenest part of the whole thing. I think--but then we'vegot to do more than think to get ourselves out of this jackpot."
He stopped abruptly, and went on with his breakfast. By the time we weredone eating, the gray light of a bedraggled morning revealed tiny lakesin every hollow, and each coulee and washout was a miniature torrent ofmuddy water--with a promise of more to come in the murky cloud-driftthat overcast the sky. Horner sent out two men to relieve thenight-herders, remarked philosophically "More rain, more rest," andretired to the shelter of the cook's canvas. His drivers sought cover inand under the wagons, where they had spent the night. But though mud andswollen streams might hold back the cumbrous freight outfit, it did notfollow that heavy going would delay the flitting of the thieves, if theyplanned such a move; nor would it prevent the Mounted Police fromdescending on the Baker outfit if they thought we had taken refugethere. So we held council of war with Piegan, after which we saddled upand made ready to tackle the soaked prairies.
While we were packing grub and bedding on Piegan's extra horse, Lynjoined us, wrapped from head to heel in a yellow slicker. And by the wayMac greeted her I knew that they had bridged that gap of five years totheir mutual satisfaction; that she was loath to see him set out on ahazardous mission she presently made plain.
"Let it go, Gordon," she begged. "There's been too much blood shed overthat wretched gold already. Let them have it. I know something dreadfulwill happen if you follow it up."
MacRae smiled and shook his head stubbornly. "I'm too deep in, littlewoman, to quit now," he told her patiently. "If it was only a matter ofyour money, we could get along without it. But Sarge stands to lose alot, if we give up at this stage of the game. And besides, I'd always bemore or less on the dodge if this thing isn't cleared up. I've got tosee it through. You wouldn't have me sneak out of this country like awhipped pup, would you? There's too big an account to settle with thosefellows, Lyn; it's up to us, if we're men. I can't draw back now, tillit's settled for good and all, one way or the other."
"THERE'S BEEN TOO MUCH BLOOD SHED OVER THAT WRETCHED GOLDALREADY. LET THEM HAVE IT."
_Page 212._]
"Oh, I know how you feel about it," she sighed. "But even if it comesout all right, you're still tied here. You know they won't let you go."
"Don't you worry about that," he comforted. "I'll cross that bridge fastenough when I come to it. You go on to Benton, like a good girl. I feelit in my bones that we're going to have better luck from now on. And ifwe do, you'll see us ride down the Benton hill one of these finemornings. Anyway, I'll send you word by Piegan before long."
Piegan was already mounted, watching us whimsically from under thedripping brim of his hat. I shook hands with Lyn, and swung into mysaddle. And when Mac had kissed her, we crowded through a gap in thecircle of wagons, waved a last good-by, and rode away in the steadilyfalling rain.