Chapter XXVI
When Day Dawned
Upon the flat top of Red Dirt Hill, Howard and Helen drove theirstakes. Thereafter they made a little fire in the shelter of a tumbleof boulders and camped throughout the night under the blazing desertstars. Were they right? Were they wrong? They did not know. In thedarkness they could make out little of the face of the earth aboutthem. Alan thought himself certain of one thing: that only near herecould it be likely that Longstreet should have broken off fragments ofstone with so plain a marking of red dirt on them. Helen merely knewthat her father had more than once climbed up here, though she hadlaughed at him for seeking gold upon the exalted heights. To knowanything beyond this meagre and unsatisfying data, they must await thedawn.
The hours passed and Sanchia Murray did not come. Before now, theyestimated, she could have hurried here even though she came on foot;before now, had she thought of it and had the patience, she might havefound Longstreet's horse. Yet she did not come. The fact made theiruncertainty the greater. They had ample opportunity to ask themselvesa hundred times if they had done the foolish thing in racing off here.Should they have held by Sanchia?
Toward morning it grew chill and they came closer together over theirlittle brush fire. They spoke in lowered voices, and not always ofHelen's father and of his gold. At times they spoke of themselves.To-morrow Helen might be mistress of a bonanza; to-morrow she might be,as she was to-night, a girl but briefly removed from pennilessness. Asthe stars waxed and began at last to wane and the sky brightened, asthe still thin air grew colder at the first promises of another day,they discussed the matter quietly. And it seemed that this was not theonly consideration in the world, nor yet even the chiefest. But----
'I can't come to you like a beggar-girl,' she whispered.
'If I lost everything I had--and I could not lose everything since Iwould go on loving you--would that make any difference, Helen?'
She hesitated. 'You know,' she said quietly at last.
So, when the pallid sky gave way to the rosy tints of the new day, theyknew everything, being richly wise in the wisdom of youth. Even it wasgranted them to see the red earth about them and to know that Alan'ssurmise had led them aright. Just yonder in a little hollow to whichthe shadows clung longest, were the marks left by Longstreet's pick;there was a tiny pit in which he had toiled exposing a vein of rockfrom which he had chipped his samples; near the spot his location stakeand notice. Promptly they removed their own stakes, taking claims onboth sides of his.
'We were right!' called Alan triumphantly. 'But how about Sanchia? Hetold her and-----'
'Look!' Helen caught his arm and pointed.
Upon a neighbouring hill, by air-line not over half a mile from theirown, but almost twice that distance by the trail one must follow downand up the rugged slopes, were two figures. Clearly limned against thesky, they were like black outlines against a pink curtain.
'That is Sanchia!' Helen was positive. 'There is a man with her.It---- Do you think----'
He did not know why she should think what he knew she did think; whathe himself was thinking. It was altogether too far to distinguish oneman from another. It might even be Longstreet himself. But he knewthat she feared it was Jim Courtot, to whom naturally Sanchia wouldturn at a moment like this; and never from the first did he doubt thatit was Courtot.
'It's some one of Sanchia's crowd,' he said with high assumption ofcarelessness. 'But here is what I can't understand! Your father toldSanchia; she has raced off and staked; and as sure as fate, they are onthe wrong hill! Sanchia wouldn't make a blunder like that!'
Helen was frowning meditatively. She understood what Howard had inmind, and she, too, was perplexed.
'Do you know,' she cried suddenly, 'I think we have failed to do papajustice!'
'What do you mean?'
'He never said outright that he had told her; he merely let us thinkthat he had. He never once said positively that he had faith inSanchia; he just said, over and over, that one accused should be givena chance to prove his innocence! Now, supposing that he had ledSanchia to think that his mine was over yonder on that other hill? Hewould be risking nothing; and at the same time he would be giving herthat chance. No,' and it was a very thoughtful Helen who spoke, 'Idon't know that we have ever done dear old pops justice.'
They stood, silent, watching the growing day and the two motionlessfigures upon the other hill. Those figures, as the day brightened,began to move about; plainly they were searching quite as Alan andHelen had searched just now. They were making assurance doubly sure,or seeking to do so. They disappeared briefly. Again they stood, sideby side, in relief against the sky.
'That is Jim Courtot, I know it.' Helen's hands were tight-pressedagainst her breast in which a sudden tumult was stirring. All ofyesterday's premonition swept back over her. 'You two will meet thistime. And then----'
'Listen, Helen. I no longer want to meet Jim Courtot. I would becontent to let him pass by me and go on his own way now. But if hedoes come this way, if at last we must meet---- Well, my dear,' hesought to make his smile utterly reassuring, 'I have met Jim Courtotbefore.'
But her sudden fear, after the way of fear when there is an unfoundeddread at the bottom of it, gripped her as it had never done before; shefelt a terrified certainty that if the two men met it would be Alan whodied. She began to tremble.
Far down in the hollow lying between Red Dirt Hill and the eminencewhereon stood Sanchia and Courtot, they saw a man riding. He came intoa clearing; had they not from the beginning suspected who it must bethey would have known Longstreet from that distance, from hischaracteristic carriage in the saddle. No man ever rode like JamesEdward Longstreet. And Courtot and Sanchia had seen him.
He jogged along placidly. They could fancy him smiling contentedly.Helen and Howard watched him; he was coming toward them. They glancedswiftly across the ravine; there the two figures stood close together,evidently conversing earnestly. The sun was not yet up. Longstreetrode into a thickness of shadow and disappeared. In five minutes hecame into sight again. Courtot and Sanchia had not stirred. But now,as though galvanized, they moved. Courtot leaped from his boulder andbegan hurrying down into the canon, seeking to come up with the man onthe horse. Sanchia followed. Even at the distance, however, sheseemed slack-footed, like one who, having played out the game, knowsthat it is defeat.
'Papa is coming this way!--Jim Courtot is following him--in ten minutesmore----'
She did not finish. Howard put his arms about her and felt her bodyshaking.
'You do love me,' he whispered.
She jerked away from him. A new look was in her eyes.
'Alan Howard,' she said steadily, 'I love you. With my whole heart andsoul! But our love can never come to anything unless you love me justexactly as I love you!'
'Don't you know----'
'You do not know what it has meant to me, your shooting those two menin papa's quarrel. But they lived and I have tried to forget it all.If they had died, then what?' Her eyes widened. 'If you and Courtotmeet, what will happen? If he kills you, there is an end. If--if youkill him, there is an end! Call it what you please, if it is notmurder, it is a man killing a man. And it is horrible!'
Mystified, he stared at her.
'What can I do?' he muttered. 'You would not have me run from him,Helen? You do not want me to turn coward like that?'
'If you kill him,' she told him, her face dead-white, 'I will nevermarry you. I will go away to-morrow. If you would promise me not toshoot him, I would marry you this minute.'
He looked down into the ravine trail. Longstreet was appreciablynearer. So was Courtot. Behind Sanchia lagged spiritlessly, seemingof a mind to stop and turn back. He looked at Helen; she had had nosleep, she was unstrung, nervous, distraught. He gnawed at his lip andlooked again toward Courtot.
'If you love me!' pleaded Helen wildly.
'I love you,' he said grimly. 'That is al
l that counts.'
He waited until she looked away from him. Then silently he drew hisgun from its holster; the thing was madness, but just now there was nosanity in the universe. He could not run; he must not kill Courtot.He dropped the gun behind him and with the heel of his boot thrust itaway from him so that it fell into a fissure in the rock. He turnedagain to watch Courtot coming on.
The eerie light of uncertainty which is neither day nor night layacross the hills. It was utterly silent. Then, the rattle of stonesbelow; horse and rider were so close that they could see Longstreet'supturned face. Courtot was close behind him; Courtot looked up andthey could see his face.
'You must go, now,' whispered Helen. 'You have promised me.'
'I am keeping my promise,' he said sternly. 'But I am not going to runfrom him. You would hate me for being a coward, Helen.'
She looked at him, puzzled. Then she saw that the holster at his hipwas empty.
'Oh,' cried Helen wildly, 'not that! You must kill him, Alan. I wasmad with fear. I----'
Stopping the flow of her words there swept over her the paralyzingcertainty that it was useless to batter against fate; that a man'sdestiny was not to be thrust aside by a woman's love. For out of thesilence there burst a sound which to her quivering nerves was fraughtwith word of death; that sound which in countless human hearts presagesa death before the dawn--the long, lugubrious howling of a dog. Itseemed to her to burst out of the nothingness of the sky, to arise inthe void of an unseen ghostly world where spirit voices foretold theonrush of destruction.
Jim Courtot was hurrying up the slope. They saw him stop dead in histracks. He, too, seemed turned to stone by the sound. It came again,the terrible howling of a dog, nearer as though the creature spedacross the hills on the wings of the quickening morning wind. Sanchiastopped and began to draw back. Longstreet came on unconcernedly.
A third time, and again nearer, came the strange baying. Courtot heldwhere he was, balancing briefly. Then they heard him cry out, hisvoice strange and hoarse; he whirled about and began to run. He wasgoing down the trail now, running as a man runs only from his death,stumbling, cursing, rising and plunging on.
'Look!' Howard's fingers had locked upon Helen's arm. 'It is KishTaka!'
She looked. Behind them, outlined against the sky, were a strangepair. A great beast, head down, howling as it ran, that was biggerthan a desert wolf, and close behind it, gaunt body doubled, speedinglike an arrow, a naked man. They flashed across the open space andsped down the steep slope of the ravine where, in the shadows, theybecame mere ghost figures.
'It is Kish Taka!' said Howard a second time. 'And again Kish Taka hassaved my life.'
Dazed, the girl did not yet understand. She shivered and drew close toher lover, stepping into his arms. He held her tight, and they turnedtheir fascinated eyes below. The speed of Jim Courtot in the grip ofhis terror was great; but it looked like lingering leisure compared tothe speed of Kish Taka and his great hungering dog. And, now, behindKish Taka came a second dog, like the first; and behind it a secondman, like Kish Taka.
If Jim Courtot remembered his revolver, it must have been to know thatnot long would that stand between him and the two rushing, slaveringbeasts and the two avenging Indians behind him. His one hope was hishidden cave with its small orifice and concealed exit. And Jim Courtotmust have realized how small was his chance of coming to it.
They saw him plunge on. The light slowly increased. They saw how thedogs and men gained upon him. They lost sight of all down in theravine among the shadows. They saw Courtot again, still in the leadbut losing ground. They lost sight of him again. They heard a wildscream, a gun fired, the howl of a dog. Another scream, tortured andterrified. Then, in the passes of the hills, it was as still as death.
Longstreet, alone, had not seen all of this; the dogs had swept on, butto him, deep in his own thoughts, they were but dogs barking as dogshave a way of doing. Sanchia sat in a crumpled heap, her face in herhands. Longstreet's face was smiling when he came to where hisdaughter stood with her lover's arms tight about her.
'I gave that woman her chance, and she was not innocent,' he announcedequably. 'I wanted to make sure, but I had my doubts of her, my dear.Do you know,' he went on brightly, as though he were but now making afresh discovery of tremendous importance to the world, 'I am inclinedto believe that she is entirely untrustworthy! I first began tosuspect her when she appeared to be in love with me!' He came closerand patted Helen's hand; his kindly eyes, passing over the stakes ofhis claim, were gentle as he peered reminiscently across the deaddeparted years. 'Why, no woman ever did that except your mother, mydear!'
Printed in Great Britain by Butler & Tanner Ltd., Frome and London
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