CHAPTER XIV
Wellesly waited in silence and apparent resignation until his captorsdisappeared down the canyon and the last sound of the horses' feetstumbling over the boulders melted into the distance. Then he beganwriggling his body and twisting his arms to see if there were anypossibility of loosening the rope. It would give just enougheverywhere to allow a very slight movement of limbs and body, but itwas impossible to work this small slack from any two of the loops intoone. Wellesly pulled and worked and wriggled for a long time withoutmaking any change in his bonds. Then he put all his attention upon hisright arm, which he could move up and down a very little. He had anarrow hand, with thumb and wrist joints as supple as a conjurer's, sothat he could almost fold the palm upon itself and the hand upon thearm. One turn of the rope which bound his arms to his body was justabove the wrist, and by working his hand up and down, until he rubbedthe skin off against the bark of the tree, he managed to get this banda little looser, so that, by doubling his hand back, he could catch itwith his thumb. Then it was only a matter of a few minutes until hehad the right arm free to the elbow. On the ground at his feet lay amatch, which had dropped there when his captors rifled his pockets. Ifhe could only get it he might possibly burn through some of the bandsof rope. He thought that if he could get rid of the rope across hischest he might be able to reach the match. He worked at this with hisone free hand for some time, but could neither loosen nor move it. Hepicked at it until his finger-ends were bleeding, but he could make noimpression on its iron-like strands.
A breeze blew the lapel of his light coat out a little way and therehis eye caught the glint of a pin-head. He remembered that MargueriteDelarue had pinned a rose in his buttonhole the day before he left LasPlumas. He had been saying pretty, half-loverlike nothings to herabout her hair and her eyes, and to conceal her embarrassed pleasureshe had turned away and plucked a rosebud from the vine that clamberedover the veranda. He had begged for the flower, and she, smiling andblushing so winsomely that he had been tempted to forget hisdiscretion, had pinned it in his buttonhole. It had fallen outunnoticed and he had forgotten all about it until the welcome sight ofthe pin brought the incident back to his memory. With a littleexclamation of delight he thrust his free hand upward for the pin, buthe could not reach it. Neither could he pull his coat down through thebands of rope. He worked at it for a long time, and finally stoppedhis efforts, baffled, despairing, his heart filled with angryhopelessness. Again the breeze fluttered the lapel, and with a suddenimpulse of revengeful savagery he thrust down his head and snapped atthe coat. Unexpectedly, he caught it in his teeth. Filled with a newinspiration, he kept fast hold of the cloth and by working it alongbetween his lips, he finally got the head of the pin between histeeth. Then he easily drew it out, and, leaning his head over,transferred it to his fingers.
He drew a deep breath of exultation. "Now," he thought, "this settlesthe matter, and I'll soon be free--if I don't drop the pin. My blessedMarguerite! I could almost marry you for this!"
Carefully he began picking the rope with the pin, fiber by fiber, andslowly, strand by strand, the hard, twisted, weather-beaten cords gaveway and stood out on each side in stubby, frazzled ends. The pin bentand turned in his fingers, and the blood oozed from their raw ends.But he held a tight grip upon his one hope of freedom, and finally therope was so nearly separated that a sudden wrench of his body brokethe last strands. He put the bent, twisted, bloody pin carefully awayin his pocket and, stooping over, found that he could barely reach thematch on the ground. He was able to grasp also two or three dry twigsand sticks that lay near it. On the bark of the pine tree to which hewas tied were many little balls and drops of pitch. He felt over thesurface of the tree as far as he could reach and pulled off all thathe could get of this. Then he found that the only part of the ropethat he could at once reach and see was that directly in front of hisbody. He turned and twisted, but there was no other way. If heattempted to burn it anywhere else he would have to guess at the bestway to hold the match, and he might waste the precious heat in whichlay his only hope.
He stuck the pitch in a ring around the rope where it circled his bodyjust below the stomach. Then he set his teeth together, and with hisface gone all white and sick-looking, lighted the match and held itunder the pitch. Eagerly he watched the little flames dart upward overthe rope. He flattened his body against the tree as the scorching heatreached his skin. The match burned low, and by its dying flame helighted one of the dry twigs. It was full of pitch and burned upbrightly. The flame leaped up and caught his shirt. Holding theburning stick in his mouth he slapped the fire with the palm of hisone free hand and soon smothered it, before it had done more thanscorch the skin of his chest. The cloth of his trousers charred underthe fire and held a constant heat against his body, and the pain fromthe blistering wound almost made him forget his desperation. Twice hestarted impulsively to fling away the tiny brand, but quickremembrance of his desperate situation stopped the instinctivemovement, and, with grinding teeth, he held it again under the rope.The smell of the burning flesh rose to his nostrils and sickened him.He felt himself turning faint. "I can not stand it!" he groaned andflung away the burning twig. In an instant he realized what he haddone, and stooping over he tried to reach it where it blazed upon theground. But it was too far away. In an agony of hopelessness he seizedthe rope with his one free hand and jerked it with all his strength.It broke at the burned place and left him free as far as the hips,although the left arm was still bound to his body.
An empty tin can caught his eye in the grass a little way off. It wasout of his reach, but he saw a stick on the ground part way around thetree. By twisting and stretching his body to the utmost he could reachthe stick, and by its aid he soon had the can in his hand. The top hadbeen almost cut out, and holding the can in his hand and the flyingleaf of tin in his teeth he worked and twisted and pulled until hetore it out. Its edge was sharp and jagged, and sawing and cuttingwith it he soon freed himself from the remaining bonds of rope. As thelast one dropped away and he stood up and stretched himself in theshade of the pine tree he found that he was trembling like a leaf andthat a cold sweat covered him from head to foot. Shivering, he steppedout into the hot sunshine.
But he had no time to waste on a nervous collapse. He found some teain the pack, and hastily stirring up the embers of the breakfast fire,he made the coffee pot full of a brew as strong as he could drink.There was also part of a small sack of flour, and he quickly mixed apaste of flour and water and spread it over the deep, blistered burnon his abdomen. Then, with a can of baked beans in one hand and thecoffee pot of tea in the other, he started down the canyon.
The tiny stream from the spring grew smaller and smaller and finallylost itself in the thirsty earth. For a little way farther thestraggling vegetation and the moist sand showed its course, but longbefore he reached the mouth of the canyon all sign of waterdisappeared and nothing remained but hot sand and barren rocks. Whenhe reached the larger canyon through which they had come up from theplain two days before, he hid behind some huge boulders and watchedand listened for sign of his captors. He thought he heard the faintsound of a horse's hoofs far in the distance. He started from hishiding-place and ran down the canyon, hoping to get out of sight, ifit should be his two enemies returning, before they could reach theplace. He was still trembling with the exhaustion of the forenoon'slong nervous strain, and when his foot slipped upon a stone he couldnot save himself from a fall. He went down full length upon the sand,and half his precious store of tea was spilled. He dared not take thetime to go back and make more. There was still left nearly a quart ofthe strong liquid, and he thought that if he would be very careful andremember to swallow only a little each time it might take him safelyacross the desert. He hurried on, running where the way was smooth andhard enough, and again clambering over boulders or ploughing heavilythrough the sand.
When he came to the mouth of the canyon and looked out over the low,rocky hills and the sandy, white waste beyond, the sun was alrea
dy inits downward course. He was red and panting with the heat, which hadbeen well nigh intolerable between the high, narrow walls of thecanyon, and his whole body smarted and glowed as if it had beenencased in some stinging hot metal. He carefully studied the sky lineof the Fernandez mountains, which rimmed the desert on the west, andmarked the pass through which he and his companions had come,impressing it upon his mind that he must keep that constantly beforehis eyes. It seemed easy enough, and he said to himself that if hejust kept his face toward that pass he would have no trouble and thathe would certainly reach it before noon the next day. He listenedintently for sounds from the canyon, but could hear nothing, and withmuch relief he decided that he must have been mistaken and that hewould be safe from immediate pursuit.
"I'm lucky so far," he said to himself as he started on the faintlymarked trail across the barren foothills, "even if I did spill my tea.If they should follow me, it would be my last day on earth. Thatdamned Jim would shoot me down as soon as he could get near enough."Then he remembered that this was Thursday, and that Colonel Whittakerwould expect him in Las Plumas that afternoon. "He'll send to theranch to inquire about me when I don't show up to-morrow," Welleslythought, "and then everybody will turn out to search for me. But, GoodLord! I needn't pin any hopes to that! I'd be dead and my bones pickedand bleached long before anybody would think of looking in this hellhole for me. There would be absolutely no way of tracing me. My onlyhope is to--now, where is that pass! Yes, there it is. I'm headed allright."
He walked rapidly over the low, rocky hills, still fearing possiblepursuit and frequently looking back, until he reached the sandy levelsof the desert. There the trail was so faint that he could scarcelyfollow it with his eye. He stopped, perplexed and doubtful, for hecould not remember that it seemed so blind when he traveled it before."But there is the pass," he thought. "I'm headed all right, and thismust be the road. It is just another indication of my generalstupidity about everything out of doors. I never look at a road, orthink about directions, or notice the lay of the land, as long asthere is anybody with me upon whom I can depend. I might as well payno more attention to this trail and strike straight across the desert.If I keep my face toward the pass I'm all right."
As long as the road kept a straight course across the sand and alkaliwastes he followed it. But when it bent away in a detour he chose theair line which he constantly drew from his objective point, andcongratulated himself that he would thus save a little space. Hetramped along, in and out among the cactus and greasewood, andfinally, near sunset, he came upon a great, field-like growth ofprickly-pear cactus. The big, bespined joints spread themselves in athick carpet over the sand and climbed over one another in greathummocks and stuck out their millions upon millions of needles inevery direction. The growth looked as if it might cover hundreds ofacres.
"So that's the reason the trail bent like a bow," thought Wellesly ashe looked at the field of cactus in dismay. "I ought to have knownthere was some good reason for it. If I'm lucky enough to find itagain I'll know enough to stick to it. Well, I must skirt along thisfield of devil's fingers till I find the road again. I wonder if I'llknow it when I see it."
The sun went down, a dazzling ball of yellow fire, behind the rounded,rolling outlines of the Fernandez mountains, and from out the toweringcrags of the Oro Fino range the moon rose, white and cool, lookinglike a great, round wheel of snow. Wellesly had planned to keep onwith his journey through the greater part of the night, in order totake advantage of the cooler atmosphere. But the trail was so faint hefeared he might not recognize it in the less certain light of themoon, and so he decided to stop where he was for the night. With hisheel and a sharp-edged stone he stamped in the head of the can ofbaked beans and with his fingers helped himself to a goodly share ofits contents. He forced himself to drink sparingly of what remained ofhis tea. Not more than a pint was left and he dared take no more thana few sips. To keep from pouring the whole of it down his throat ingreat gulps strained his will power to the utmost. His whole bodyclamored for drink. He would seize the coffee pot with a savage gripand carry it half way to his lips, stop it there with gritting teeth,and with conjured visions of men dying with thirst force himself toput it down again. He said to himself that of all the times in hislife which had required self-control none had ever made such sweepingdemands upon his will power as did this. After he had finished hissupper and was ready to lie down on the sand to sleep, he carried thecoffee pot some rods away, to the edge of the growth of cactus, andhid it there under the protection of the branching, needle-coveredjoints of the prickly-pear, where he could not get it without havinghis hands pierced and stung by the spines. For he feared that histhirst might rouse him in the night and that, with his facultiesbenumbed with sleep, he might drink the whole of the precious store.
By midnight the air of the desert had cooled enough for him to sleepwith comfort, save for the thirst that now and again wakened him withparched mouth and clinging tongue. In the morning, he resolutely atehis breakfast of cold baked beans, helping himself with his fingers,forcing himself to swallow the very last morsel he could choke down,before he took the coffee pot from its hiding-place. His eyelids fell,and with a gasping breath he put it to his lips. Then he summoned allhis will power and took two small swallows.
As he plodded through the sand he wondered what would be the outcomeof his journey, even if he should succeed in getting safely across thedesert and beyond the mountain pass. He remembered that there was nosign of water and no human habitation between the desert and the ranchwhere his misfortunes had begun. He had seen no one there but theEnglishman, and he wondered whether he would find the place desertedor whether he would run into the arms of other members of the samegang that had lured him away. No matter. He would find water there,and he was ready to face any danger or run any risk for the chance ofonce more having all the water he could drink.
The sun was well up in the sky and the desert glowed like an oven. Hotwinds began to blow across it--light, variable winds, rushing now thisway and now that. They made little whirlwinds that picked up the sand,carried it some distance, and then dropped it and died away. Welleslysaw one of these sand clouds dancing across the plain not far away,and instantly the hopeful thought flashed upon him that it was thedust raised by some horsemen. He ran toward it, shouting and wavinghis hat. It turned and whirled along the sandy levels in anotherdirection, and he turned too and ran toward a point at which hethought he could intercept it. Presently it vanished into the heatedair and he stopped, bewildered, and for a moment dazed, that nohorsemen came galloping out of the cloud. He looked helplessly abouthim and saw another, a high, round column that reached to mid-sky,swirling across the plain. Then he knew that he had been chasing a"dust-devil." He swore angrily at himself and started on, and whennext he swept the mountain range with his eye for the pass that washis objective point he could not find it. Suddenly he stopped and shuthis eyes, and a shuddering fear held his heart. Slowly he turnedsquarely around and looked up, afraid and trembling. There were theFernandez mountains and there was the pass he wished to reach. He hadno idea how long he had been traveling in the backward direction. Asudden panic seized him and he ran wildly about, now in one directionand now in another. Panting with the exertion he savagely grasped thecoffee pot and drained it of its last drop.
"Now I have signed my death warrant," he thought, as he threw away theempty vessel. He sank down on the hot sands and buried his face in hisarms. For the first time his courage was all gone. Presently he feltthe effects of the tea and he stood up, ready to go on.
"It is no use trying to find the road again," he mused. "It would bejust so much lost time and effort. I'll just keep my eye on the passand go directly toward it, as nearly as I can."
He tried to eat more of the beans, but they stuck in his parchedthroat. The tin was so hot that it burned his fingers, and, believingthey would be of no more use to him, he threw them away. The draughtof tea had much refreshed him and he started across the tracklesswaste of sand
and alkali with renewed determination.
He tramped on and on, the sun blazed down from a cloudless sky andbeat upon the level plain, and the sand, filled with heat, threw backthe rays into the scorching air. The heat seemed to fill the plain asif it were a deep, transparent lake of some hot, shimmering liquid. Ata little distance every object loomed through the heat-haze distorted,elongated and wavering. The hot sand burned Wellesly's feet throughhis boots. The notion seized him that if he touched his body anywhereit would blister his fingers. Even the blood in his veins felt fieryhot and as if it were ready to burst through its channels. The sunseemed to follow him and blaze down upon him with the maliciouspersecution of a personal enemy. He shook his fist and swore at theball of fire.
For a long time he kept his eyes resolutely upon the Fernandez passand would look neither to left nor right. But after a while his braingrew dizzy and his determination faltered. He stopped and lookedabout him. Off to one side he thought he saw a lake, lying blue andlimpid in a circlet of gray sand, and he ran panting toward it,reaching out his hands, and ready to plunge into its cool depths. Heran and ran, until he stumbled and fell with exhaustion. It happenedthat he lay in the shadow of a big clump of greasewood, and after alittle he revived and sat up. Then he rose and looked all about--andknew that the longed-for lake was only the lying cheat of the desertsands. He fastened his eyes again upon the mountain pass and trudgedon over the burning waste and through the burning heat, mumbling oathsof threat and anger. His tongue seemed to fill his whole mouth, andtongue and mouth and throat burned like red-hot metal.
The stories he had heard from Jim and Haney constantly haunted him. Hecould not drive them away. In imagination he saw himself lying on thewhite, hot sands with open mouth, protruding tongue, black face andsightless eyes. The picture sent a thrill of horror through him andmoved his dizzy, flagging brain to fresh resolution. He stumbled onthrough the blazing, parching, cruel heat, sometimes falling and lyingmotionless for a time, then pulling himself up and going on with willnewly braced by the fear that he might not rise again. Once he sank,groaning, his courage quite broken, and mumbled to himself that hecould go no farther. As he fell the loud whirr of a rattlesnakesounded from the bush of greasewood beside him. Instinctive fearinstantly mettled his nerves and he sprang up and leaped away from thehidden enemy. The fear of this danger, of which he had not thoughtbefore, steadied his brain once more and helped him bend his willunyieldingly to the task of going on and on and on, forever andforever, through the burning, blasting heat.
Often he turned from his course and wandered aimlessly about in wrongdirections, forgetting for a time his objective point and rememberingonly that he must keep going. Once he came upon human bones, withshreds of clothing lying about, and stood staring at them, his eyesheld by the fascination of horror. Finally he forced himself to moveon, and after he had tramped through the scorching sand for a longtime, he found himself staring again at the bleaching skeleton.Through his heat-dazed brain the thought made way that the fascinationof this white, nameless thing had cast a spell upon him and had drawnhim back to die here, where his bones might lie beside these that hadwhitened this desert spot for so many months. Perhaps this poorcreature's soul hovered over his death place and in its loneliness anddesolation had fastened ghoulish talons into his and would pin himdown to die in the same spot. The idea took instant possession of hisbewildered mind and filled him with such quaking fear and horror thathe turned and ran with new strength and speed, as if the clawing,clamoring ghost were really at his heels.
By mere blind luck he ran in the right direction, and when next he hadconscious knowledge of his surroundings he was lying on the ground atthe mouth of the Fernandez pass, well up in the mountains, with thewhite moonlight all about him. Dazedly he thought it would be betterfor him to lie still and rest, but from somewhere back in his mindcame the conviction that there was something upon which he must keephis eyes fastened, some place toward which he must go, and that hemust keep on going and going, until he should reach it. Determinationrose spontaneously, and he got up and stumbled on, frequently falling,but always soon rising again and keeping on with his journey. After along time he saw something that glittered in the moonlight. His firstthought was "water!" and with a cry that died in his parched, swollenthroat he sprang forward and seized it. But it was only a bottle, aflat, empty whisky flask. He turned it over and over in his hands witha haunting notion that in some way it was connected with his past.
Slowly the recollection shaped itself in his heat-bewildered facultiesthat he and the two men who were luring him away had drunk from thisflask here and that then he had thrown it beside the road. Presentlythe idea grew out of this recollection that he was on the right roadand that soon he would come to the house where there was water. Thethought made him spring forward again, and he rushed on aimlessly,thinking of nothing but that somewhere ahead of him there was water.He ran on and on, now this way and now that, falling and lyingunconscious, then, revived by the cool night air of the mountains,rising and staggering on again. The sun rose and looked hotly downupon him as he dragged himself along, hatless, haggard, his skinburned to a blister, his eyes red and his swollen, blackened tonguehanging from his mouth.
After a time he caught sight of a clump of green trees with somethingshining behind them, which he thought was the water he was lookingfor--water, for which every boiling drop of blood in his body wasfiercely calling; water, which his blistering throat and tongue musthave; water, for which the very marrow of his bones criedout--water--water--and he ran with all the speed his frenzied longingcould force into his legs. Presently he could hear the rustle of greenleaves, and he thought it was the purring of wavelets on the bank, thewhite, shining bank that beckoned him on. He put out his hands toplunge into the cool, bright waves. They struck a blank, white hall,and he fell unconscious beside the doorway of Emerson Mead's ranchhouse.