Dorn Of The Mountains Page 10

  “Jest what you want. Goin’ south thet sheep trail is downhill an’ muddy. It’s goin’ to rain hard. Your tracks would get washed out even if you did go south. An’ Anson would keep on thet way till he was clear off the scent. Leave it to me, Milt. You’re a hunter. But I’m a hoss tracker.”

  “All right. We’ll rustle.”

  Then he called the girls to hurry.

  Chapter Eight

  Once astride the horse again Helen had to congratulate herself upon not being as crippled as she had imagined. Indeed, Bo made all the audible complaints.

  Both girls had long waterproof coats, brand new, and of which they were considerably proud. New clothes had not been a common event in their lives.

  “Reckon I’ll have to slit these,” Dorn had said, whipping out a huge knife.

  “What for?” had been Bo’s feeble protest.

  “They wasn’t made for ridin’. An’ you’ll get wet enough even if I do cut them. An’ if I don’t, you’ll get soaked.”

  “Go ahead,” had been Helen’s reluctant permission.

  So their long new coats were slit halfway up the back. The exigency of the case was manifest to Helen, when she saw how they came down over the cantles of the saddles and to their boot tops.

  The morning was gray, and cold. A fine misty rain fell and the trees dripped steadily. Helen was surprised to see the open country again and that apparently they were to leave the forest behind for a while. The country was wide and flat on the right, and to the left it rolled and heaved along a black scalloped timberline. Above this bordering of the forest, low drifting clouds obscured the mountains. The wind was at Helen’s back and seemed to be growing stronger. Dorn and Roy were ahead, traveling at a good trot, with the pack animals bunched before them. Helen and Bo had enough to do to keep up.

  The first hour’s ride brought little change in weather or scenery, but it gave Helen an inkling of what she must endure, if they kept that up all day. She began to welcome the places where the horses walked, but she disliked the levels. As for the descents, she hated those. Ranger would not go down slowly and the shake-up she received was unpleasant. Moreover, the spirited black horse insisted on jumping the ditches and washes. He sailed over them like a bird. Helen could not acquire the knack of sitting the saddle properly, and so, not only was her person bruised on these occasions, but her feelings were hurt. Helen had never before been conscious of vanity. Still she had never rejoiced in looking at a disadvantage, and her exhibitions here must have been frightful. Bo always would forge to the front, and she seldom looked back, facts for which Helen was grateful.

  Before long they struck into a broad muddy belt full of innumerable small hoof tracks. This then was the sheep trail Roy had advised following. They rode upon it for three or four miles, and at length, coming to a gray-green valley, they saw a huge flock of sheep. Soon the air was full of bleats and baas as well as the odor of sheep, and a low soft roar of pattering hoofs. The flock held a compact formation, covering several acres, and grazed along rapidly. There were three herders on horses and several pack burros. Dorn engaged one of the Mexicans in conversation, and passed something to him, then pointed northward and down along the trail. The Mexican grinned from ear to ear, and Helen caught the quick: “¡Si, señor! Gracias, señor.” It was a pretty sight, that flock of sheep, as it rolled along, like a rounded woolly stream of grays and browns and here and there a black. They were keeping to a trail over the flats. Dorn headed into this trail, and, if anything, trotted a little faster.

  Presently the clouds lifted and broke, showing blue sky, and one streak of sunshine. But the augury was without warrant. The wind increased. A huge black pall bore down from the mountains and it brought rain that could be seen falling in sheets from above and approaching like a swiftly moving wall. Soon it enveloped the fugitives.

  With head bowed, Helen rode along for what seemed ages in a cold gray rain that blew almost on a level. Finally the heavy downpour passed, leaving a fine mist. The clouds scurried, low and dark, hiding the mountains altogether and making the gray wet plain a dreary sight. Helen’s feet and knees were as wet as if she had waded in water. And they were cold. Her gloves, too, had not been intended for rain and they were wet through. The cold bit at her fingers so that she had to beat her hands together. Ranger misunderstood this to mean that he was to trot faster, which event was worse for Helen than freezing.

  She saw another black scudding mass of clouds bearing down with its trailing sheets of rain, and this one appeared streaked with white. Snow! The wind was now piercingly cold. Helen’s body kept warm, but her extremities and ears began to suffer exceedingly. She gazed ahead grimly. There was no help. She had to go on. Dorn and Roy were hunched down in their saddles, probably wet through, for they wore no rain-proof coats. Bo kept close behind them and plain it was that she felt the cold.

  This second storm was not so bad as the first, because there was less rain. Still the icy keenness of the wind bit into the marrow. It lasted for an hour, during which the horses trotted on, trotted on. Again the gray torrent roared away, the fine mist blew, the clouds lifted and separated, and, closing again, darkened for another onslaught. This one brought sleet. The driving pellets stung Helen’s neck and cheeks, and for a while they fell so thick and so hard upon her back that she was afraid she could not hold up under them. The bare places on the ground showed a sparkling coverlet of marbles of ice.

  Thus storm after storm rolled over Helen’s head. Her feet grew numb and ceased to hurt. But her fingers, because of her ceaseless efforts to keep up the circulation, retained the stinging pain. And now the wind pierced right through her. She marveled at her endurance, and there were many times that she believed she could not ride farther. Yet she kept on. All the winters she had ever lived had not brought such a day as this. Hard and cold, wet and windy, at an increasing elevation—that was the explanation. The air did not have sufficient oxygen for her blood.

  Still, during all those interminable hours, Helen watched where she was traveling, and, if she ever returned over that trail, she would recognize it. The afternoon appeared far advanced when Dorn and Roy led down into an immense basin where a reedy lake spread over the flats. They rode along its margin, splashing up to the knees of the horses. Cranes and herons flew on with lumbering motion; flocks of duck winged swift flight from one side to the other. Beyond this depression the land sloped rather abruptly; outcroppings of rock circled along the edge of the highest ground, and again a dark fringe of trees appeared.

  How many miles? wondered Helen. They seemed as many and as long as the hours. But at last, just as another hard rain came, the pines were reached. They proved to be widely scattered and afforded little protection from the storm.

  Helen sat her saddle, a dead weight. Whenever Ranger quickened his gait or crossed a ditch, she held onto the pommel to keep from falling off. Her mind harbored only sensations of misery, and a per sis tent thought: why did she ever leave home for the West? Her solicitude for Bo had been forgotten. Nevertheless, any marked change in the topography of the country was registered, perhaps photographed in her memory by the torturing vividness of her experience.

  The forest grew more level and denser. Shadows of twilight or gloom lay under the trees. Presently Dorn and Roy disappeared, going downhill, and likewise Bo. Then Helen’s ears suddenly filled with a roar of rapid water. Ranger trotted faster. Soon Helen came to the edge of a great valley, black and gray, so full of obscurity that she could not see across or down into it. But she knew there was a rushing river at the bottom. The sound was deep, continuous, a heavy murmuring roar, singularly musical. The trail was steep. Helen had not lost all feeling as she had believed and hoped. Her poor mistreated body still responded excruciatingly to concussions, jars, wrenches, and all the other horrible movements making up a horse trot.

  For long Helen did not look up. When she did so, there lay a green willow-bordered treeless space at the bottom of the valley through which a brown-white stream rushed
with steady ear-filling roar.

  Dorn and Roy drove the pack animals across the stream and followed, going deep to the flanks of their horses. Bo rode into the foaming water as if she had been used to it all her days. A slip, a fall would have meant that Bo must drown in that mountain torrent.

  Ranger trotted straight to the edge, and there, obedient to Helen’s clutch on the bridle, he halted. The stream was fifty feet wide, shallow on the near side, deep on the opposite, with fast current and big waves. Helen was simply too frightened to follow.

  “Let him come!” yelled Dorn. “Stick on now! Ranger!”

  The big black plunged in, making the water fly. That stream was nothing for him, although it seemed impassable to Helen. She had not the strength left to lift her stirrups and the water surged over them. Ranger in two more plunges surmounted the bank, and then, trotting across the green to where the other horses stood steaming under some pines, he gave a great heave and halted.

  Roy reached up to help her off.

  “Thirty miles, Miss Helen,” he said, and the way he spoke was a compliment.

  He had to lift her off and help her to the tree where Bo leaned. Dorn had ripped off a saddle and was spreading saddle blankets on the ground under the pines.

  “Nell…you swore…you loved me,” was Bo’s mournful greeting. The girl was pale, drawn, blue-lipped, and she could not stand up.

  “Bo, I never did…or I’d never brought you to this…wretch that I am!” cried Helen. “Oh, what a horrible ride!”

  Rain was falling; the trees were dripping; the sky was lowering. All the ground was soaking wet, with pools and puddles everywhere. Helen could imagine nothing but a heartless, dreary cold prospect. Just then home was vivid and poignant in her thoughts. Indeed so utterly miserable was she that the exquisite relief of sitting down, of a cessation of movement, of a release from that infernal perpetually trotting horse, seemed only a mockery. It could not be true that the time had come for rest.

  Evidently this place had been a campsite for hunters or sheepherders, for there were remains of a fire. Dorn lifted the burned end of a log and brought it down hard upon the ground, splitting off pieces. Several times he did this. It was amazing to see his strength, his facility, as he split off handfuls of splinters. He collected a bundle of them, and, laying them down, he bent over them. Roy wielded the axe on another log, and each stroke split off a long strip. Then a tiny column of smoke drifted up over Dorn’s shoulder as he leaned, bareheaded, sheltering the splinters with his hat. A blaze leaped up. Roy came with an armful of strips all white and dry, out of the inside of a log. Cross-wise these were laid over the blaze, and it began to roar. Then piece by piece the man built up a frame upon which they added heavier woods, branches, and stumps and logs, erecting a pyramid through which flames and smoke roared upward. It had not taken two minutes. Already Helen felt the warmth upon her icy face. She held up her bare numb hands.

  Both Dorn and Roy were wet through to the skin, yet they did not tarry beside the fire. They relieved the horses. A lasso went up between two pines and a tarpaulin over it, V-shaped and pegged down at the four ends. The packs containing the baggage of the girls and the supplies and bedding were placed under this shelter.

  Helen thought this might have taken five minutes more. In this short space of time the fire had leaped and flamed until it was huge and hot. Rain was falling steadily all around, but over and near that roaring blaze, ten feet high, no water fell. It evaporated. The ground began to steam and to dry. Helen suffered at first while the heat was driving out the cold. But presently the pain ceased.

  “Nell, I never knew before how good a fire could feel,” declared Bo.

  And therein lay more food for Helen’s reflection.

  In ten more minutes Helen was dry and hot. Darkness came down upon the dreary sodden forest, but that great campfire made it a different world from the one Helen had anticipated. It blazed and roared, cracked like a pistol, hissed and sputtered, shot sparks everywhere, and sent aloft a dense yellow whirling column of smoke. It began to have a heart of gold.

  Dorn took a long pole and raked out a pile of red embers upon which the coffee pot and oven soon began to steam.

  “Roy, I promised the girls turkey to night,” said the hunter.

  “Mebbe tomorrow, if the wind shifts. This’s turkey country.”

  “Roy, a potato will do me!” exclaimed Bo. “Never again will I ask for cake and pie! I never appreciated good things to eat. And I’ve been a good little pig, always. I never…never knew what it was to be hungry…until now.”

  Dorn glanced up quickly.

  “Lass, it’s worth learnin’,” he said.

  Helen’s thought was too deep for words. In such a brief space had she been transformed from misery to comfort.

  The rain kept on falling, although it appeared to grow softer as night settled down black. The wind died away and the forest was still, except for the steady roar of the stream. A folded tarpaulin was laid between the pine and the fire, well within the light and warmth, and upon it the men set steaming pots and plates and cups the fragrance from which was strong and inviting.

  “Fetch the saddle blankets an’ set with your backs to the fire,” said Roy.

  Later, when the girls were tucked away snugly in their blankets and sheltered from the rain, Helen remained awake after Bo had fallen asleep. The big blaze made the improvised tent as bright as day. She could see the smoke, the trunk of the big pine towering aloft, and a blank space of sky. The stream hummed a song, seemingly musical at times, and then discordant and dull, now low, now roaring, and always rushing, gurgling, babbling, flowing, chafing in its hurry.

  Presently the hunter and his friend returned from hobbling the horses and beside the fire they conversed in low tones.

  “Wal, thet trail we made today will be hid, I reckon,” said Roy with satisfaction.

  “What wasn’t sheeped over would be washed out. We’ve had luck. An’ now I ain’t worryin’,” returned Dorn.

  “Worryin’? Then it’s the first I ever knowed you to do.”

  “Man, I never had a job like this,” protested the hunter.

  “Wal, thet’s so.”

  “Now, Roy, when old Al Auchincloss finds out about this deal, as he’s bound to when you or the boys get back to Pine, he’s goin’ to roar.”

  “Do you reckon folks will side with him against Beasley?”

  “Some of them. But Al like as not will tell folks to go where it’s hot. He’ll bunch his men an’ strike for the mountains to find his nieces.”

  “Wal, all you’ve got to do is to keep the girls hid till I can guide him up to your camp. Or failin’ thet, till you can slip the girls down to Pine.”

  “No one but you an’ your brothers ever seen my parque. But it could be found easy enough.”

  “Anson might blunder on it. But thet ain’t likely.”

  “Why ain’t it?”

  “Because I’ll stick to thet sheep thief’s tracks like a wolf after a bleedin’ deer. An’ if he ever gets near your camp, I’ll ride in ahead of him.”

  “Good,” declared Dorn. “I was calculatin’ you’d go down to Pine sooner or later.”

  “Not unless Anson goes. I told John thet in case there was no fight on the stage to make a beeline back to Pine. He was to tell Al an’ offer his ser vices along with Joe an’ Hal.”

  “One way or another then there’s bound to be blood spilled over this.”

  “Shore! An’ high time. I jest hope I get a look down my old Forty-Four at thet Beasley.”

  “In that case I hope you hold straighter than times I’ve seen you.”

  “Milt Dorn, I’m a good shot,” declared Roy stoutly.

  “You’re no good on movin’ targets.”

  “Wal, mebbe so. But I’m not lookin’ for a movin’ target when I meet up with Beasley. I’m a hoss man, not a hunter. You’re used to shootin’ flies off deer’s horns, jest for practice.”

  “Roy, can we make my camp by
tomorrow night?” queried Dorn more seriously.

  “We will if each of us has to carry one of the girls. But they’ll do it or die. Dorn, did you ever see a gamer girl than thet kid Bo?”

  “Me! Where’d I ever see any girls?” ejaculated Dorn. “I remember some when I was a boy, but I was only fourteen then. Never had much use for girls.”

  “I’d like to have a wife like thet Bo,” declared Roy fervidly.

  There ensued a moment’s silence.

  “Roy, you’re a Mormon an’ you already got a wife,” was Dorn’s reply.

  “Now, Milt, have you lived so long in the woods thet you never heard of a Mormon with two wives?” retorted Roy, and then he laughed heartily.

  “I never could stomach what I did hear pertainin’ to more than one wife for a man.”

  “Wal, my friend, you go an’ get yourself one. An’ see then if you wouldn’t like to have two.”

  “I reckon one’d be more than enough for Milt Dorn.”

  “Milt, old man, let me tell you thet I always envied you your freedom,” said Roy earnestly. “But it ain’t life.”

  “You mean life is love of a woman?”

  “No. Thet’s only part. I mean a son…a boy thet’s like you…thet you feel will go on with your life after you’re gone.”

  “The thought of that…thought it all out, watchin’ the birds an’ animals mate in the woods…. If I have no son, I’ll never live hereafter.”

  “Wal,” replied Roy hesitatingly, “I don’t go in so deep as thet. I mean a son goes on with your blood an’ your work.”

  “Exactly…. An’, Roy, I envy you what you’ve got, because it’s out of all bounds for Milt Dorn.”

  Those words, sad and deep, ended the conversation. Again the rumbling, rushing stream dominated the forest. An owl hooted dismally. A horse trod thuddingly nearby and from that direction came a cutting tear of teeth on grass.

  A voice pierced Helen’s deep dreams, and, awaking, she found Bo shaking and calling her.