Dorn Of The Mountains Page 7

  Then once more they were at a standstill. Helen heard the thud of boots striking the ground and the snorts of horses.

  “Nell, I see horses,” whispered Bo excitedly. “There, to the side of the road…and here comes a man….Oh! If he shouldn’t be the one they’re expecting!”

  Helen peered out to see a tall dark form, moving silently, and beyond it a vague outline of horses, and then the pale gleam of what must have been pack loads.

  Dorn loomed up and met the stranger in the road.

  “Howdy, Milt. You got the girl sure or you wouldn’t be here,” said a low voice.

  “Roy, I’ve got two girls…sisters,” replied Dorn.

  The man, Roy, whistled softly under his breath. Then another lean rangy form strode out of the darkness and was met by Dorn.

  “Now boys…how about Anson’s gang?” queried Dorn.

  “At Snowdrop, drinkin’ an’ quarrelin’. Reckon they’ll leave there about daybreak,” replied Roy.

  “How long have you been here?”

  “Mebbe a couple of hours.”

  “Any horse go by?”

  “No.”

  “Roy, a strange rider passed me last night before dark. He was hittin’ the road. An’ he’s got by here before you came.”

  “I don’t like thet news,” replied Roy tersely. “Let’s rustle. With girls on hossback, you’ll need all the start you can get. Hey, John?”

  “Snake Anson shore can foller hoss tracks,” replied the third man.

  “Milt, say the word,” went on Roy as he looked up at the stars. “Daylight not far away. Here’s the forks of the road, an’ your hosses, an’ our outfit. You can be in the pines by sunup.”

  In the silence that ensued Helen heard the throb of her heart and the panting little breaths of her sister. They both peered out, hands clenched together, watching and listening in strained attention.

  “It’s possible that rider last night wasn’t a messenger to Anson,” said Dorn. “In that case Anson won’t make anythin’ of our wheel tracks or horse tracks. He’ll go right on to meet the regular stage. Bill, can you go back an’ meet the stage comin’ before Anson does?”

  “Wal, I reckon so…an’ take it easy at thet,” replied Bill.

  “All right,” continued Dorn instantly. “John, you an’ Joe an’ Hal ride back to meet the regular stage. An’ when you meet it, get in an’ be on it when Anson holds it up.”

  “Thet’s shore agreeable to me,” drawled John.

  “I’d like to be on it, too,” said Roy grimly.

  “No, I’ll need you till I’m safe in the woods…. Bill, hand down the bags. An’ you, Roy, help me pack them. Did you get all the supplies I wanted?”

  “Shore did. If the young ladies ain’t powerful particular, you can feed them well for a couple of months.”

  Dorn wheeled, and, striding to the stage, he opened the door.

  “Girls, you’re not asleep? Come!” he called.

  Bo stepped down first. “I was asleep till this…this vehicle fell off the road back a ways,” she replied.

  Roy Beeman’s low laugh was significant. He took off his sombrero and stood silently. The old driver smothered a loud guffaw.

  “Vee-hicle! Wal, I’ll be dog-goned! Joe, did you hear thet? All the spunky gurls ain’t born out West.”

  As Helen followed with cloak and bag, Roy assisted her, and she encountered keen eyes upon her face. He seemed both gentle and respectful, and she felt his solicitation. His heavy gun, swinging low, struck her as she stepped down.

  Dorn reached in the stage and hauled out baskets and bags. Those he set down on the ground.

  “Turn around, Bill, an’ go along with you. John an’ Hal will follow presently,” ordered Dorn.

  “Wal, gurls,” said Bill, looking down upon them. “I was shore powerful glad to meet you-all. An’ I’m ashamed of my country…offerin’ two sich purty girls insults an’ low-down tricks. But shore you’ll go through safe now. You couldn’t be in better company fer ridin’ or huntin’ or marryin’ or gittin’ religion….”

  “Shut up, you old grizzly,” broke in Dorn sharply.

  “Haw! Haw! Good bye, gurls, an’ good luck,” ended Bill as he began to whip the reins.

  Bo said good bye quite distinctly, but Helen could only murmur hers. The old driver seemed a friend.

  Then the horses wheeled and stamped, the stage careened and creaked, presently to roll out of sight in the gloom.

  “You’re shiverin’,” said Dorn suddenly, looking down upon Helen. She felt his big hard hand clasp hers. “Cold as ice!”

  “I am c-cold,” replied Helen. “I guess we’re not warmly dressed.”

  “Nell, we roasted all day and now we’re freezing,” declared Bo. “I didn’t know it was winter at night out here.”

  “Miss, haven’t you some warm gloves an’ a coat?” asked Roy anxiously. “It ain’t begun to get cold yet.”

  “Nell, we’ve heavy gloves, riding suits, and boots…all fine and new…in this black bag,” said Bo, enthusiastically kicking a bag at her feet.

  “Yes, so we have. But a lot of good they’ll do us to night,” returned Helen.

  “Miss, you’d do well to change right here,” said Roy earnestly. “It’ll save time in the long run an’ a lot of sufferin’ before sunup.”

  Helen stared at the young man, absolutely amazed with his simplicity. She was advised to change her traveling dress for a riding suit—out somewhere in a cold windy desert—in the middle of the night—among strange young men!

  “Bo, which bag is it?” asked Dorn, as if she were his sister. And when she indicated the one, he picked it up. “Come off the road.”

  Bo followed him and Helen found herself mechanically at their heels. Dorn led them a few paces off the road behind some low bushes.

  “Hurry an’ change here,” he said. “We’ll make a pack of your outfit an’ leave room for this bag.” Then he stalked away and in few strides disappeared.

  Bo sat down to begin unlacing her shoes. Helen could just see her pale pretty face and big gleaming eyes by the light of the stars. It struck her then that Bo was going to make eminently more of a success of Western life than she was.

  “Nell, those fellows are n-nice,” said Bo reflectively. “Aren’t you c-cold? Say, he said hurry.”

  It was beyond Helen’s comprehension how she ever began to disrobe out there in that open windy desert, but, after she had gotten launched on the task, she found that it required more fortitude than courage. The cold wind pierced right through her. Almost she could have laughed at the way Bo made things fly.

  “G-g-g-gee!” chattered Bo. “I n-never w-was so c-c-cold in all my life. Nell Rayner…an’…may the g-good Lord forgive y-you!”

  Helen was too intent on her new troubles to take breath to talk. She was a strong, healthy girl, swift and efficient with her hands, yet this, the hardest physical ordeal she had ever experienced, almost overcame her. Bo outdistanced her by moments, helped her with buttons, and laced one whole boot for her. Then with hands that stung, Helen packed the traveling suits in the bag.

  “There! But what an awful mess!” exclaimed Helen. “Oh, Bo, our pretty traveling dresses!”

  “We’ll press them t-tomorrow…on a l-log,” replied Bo, and she giggled.

  They started for the road. Bo, strange to note, did not carry her share of the burden, and she seemed unsteady on her feet.

  The men were waiting beside a group of horses, one of which carried a pack.

  “Nothin’ slow about you,” said Dorn, relieving Helen of the grip. “Roy, put them up while I sling on this bag.”

  Roy led out two of the horses.

  “Get up,” he said, indicating Bo. “The stirrups are short on this saddle.”

  Bo was an adept at mounting, but she made so awkward and slow work of it in this instance that Helen could not believe her eyes.

  “How’re the stirrups?” asked Roy. “Stand in them. Guess they’re about right…. Careful
, now. Thet hoss is skitterish. Hold him in.”

  Bo was not living up to the reputation with which Helen had credited her.

  “Now, miss, you get up,” said Roy to Helen. And in another instant she found herself astride a black, spirited horse. Numb with cold as she was, she yet felt the coursing thrills along her veins.

  Roy was at the stirrups, with swift hands.

  “You’re taller’n I guessed,” he said. “Stay up, but lift your foot…shore now I’m glad you have them thick soft boots. Mebbe we’ll ride all over the White Mountains.”

  “Bo, do you hear that?” called Helen.

  But Bo did not answer. She was leaning rather unnaturally in her saddle. Helen became anxious. Just then Dorn strode back to them.

  “All cinched up, Roy?”

  “Jest ready,” replied Roy.

  Then Dorn stood beside Helen. How tall he was! His wide shoulders seemed on a level with the pommel of her saddle. He put an affectionate hand on the horse.

  “His name’s Ranger an’ he’s the fastest an’ finest horse in this country.”

  “I reckon he shore is…along with my bay,” corroborated Roy.

  “Roy, if you rode Ranger, he’d beat your pet,” said Dorn. “We can start now. Roy, you drive the pack horses.” He took another look at Helen’s saddle, and then moved to do likewise with Bo’s.

  “Are you…all right?” he asked quickly.

  Bo reeled in her seat.

  “I’m n-near froze,” she replied in a faint voice. Her face shone white in the starlight. Helen recognized that Bo was more than cold.

  “Oh, Bo!” she called in distress.

  “Nell, don’t you worry now.”

  “Let me carry you,” suggested Dorn.

  “No. I’ll s-s-stick on this horse or d-die,” fiercely retorted Bo.

  The two men looked up at her white face, and then at each other. Then Roy walked away toward the dark bunch of horses off the road and Dorn swung astride the one horse left.

  “Keep close to me,” he said.

  Bo fell in line and Helen brought up the rear.

  Helen imagined she was near the end of a dream. Presently she would awaken with a start and see the pale walls of her little room at home, and hear the cherry branches brushing her windows and the old clarion-voiced cock proclaim the hour of dawn.

  Chapter Six

  The horses trotted. And the exercise soon warmed Helen until she was fairly comfortable except in her fingers. In mind, however, she grew more miserable as she more fully realized her situation. The night now became so dark that, although the head of her horse was alongside the flank of Bo’s, she could scarcely see Bo. From time to time Helen’s anxious query brought from her sister the answer that she was all right.

  Helen had not ridden a horse for more than a year, and for several years she had not ridden with any regularity. Despite her thrills upon mounting she had entertained misgivings. But she was agreeably surprised, for the horse, Ranger, had an easy gait and she found she had not forgotten how to ride. Bo, having been used to riding on a farm near home, might be expected to acquit herself admirably. It occurred to Helen what a job that would have been but for the thick comfortable riding outfits. The suits, like this unheard of adventure, had been ready for them.

  Dark as the night was, Helen could dimly make out the road underneath. It was rocky, and apparently little used. When Dorn turned off the road into the low brush or sage of what seemed a level plain, the traveling was harder, rougher, and yet no slower. The horses kept to the gait of the leader.

  Helen, discovering it unnecessary, ceased attempting to guide Ranger. There were dim shapes in the gloom ahead, and always they gave Helen uneasiness until closer approach proved them to be rocks or low scrubby trees. These increased in both size and number as the horses progressed. Often Helen looked back into the gloom behind. This act was involuntary and occasioned her sensations of dread. Dorn expected to be pursued. And Helen experienced along with the dread, flashes of unfamiliar resentment. Not only was there an attempt afoot to rob her of her heritage but even her personal liberty. Then she shuddered at the significance of Dorn’s words regarding her possible abduction by this hired gang. It seemed monstrous, impossible. Yet manifestly it was true enough to Dorn and his allies. The West then in reality was raw, hard, inevitable, a reality hateful to Helen.

  Suddenly her horse stopped. He had come up alongside Bo’s horse. Dorn had halted ahead and apparently was listening. Roy and the pack train were out of sight in the gloom.

  “What is it?” whispered Helen.

  “Reckon I heard a wolf,” replied Dorn.

  “Was that cry a wolf’s?” asked Bo. “I heard. It was wild.”

  “We’re gettin’ up close to the foothills,” said Dorn. “Feel how much colder the air is.”

  “I’m warm, too, but…,” Helen answered.

  “If you had your choice of being here or back home, snug in bed…which would you take?” asked Bo.

  “Bo!” exclaimed Helen, aghast.

  “Well, I’d choose to be right here on this horse,” rejoined Bo.

  Dorn heard her, for he turned an instant, then slapped his horse and started on.

  Helen now rode beside Bo, and for a long time they climbed steadily in silence. Helen knew when that dark hour before dawn had passed and she welcomed an almost imperceptible lightening in the east. Then the stars paled. Gradually a grayness absorbed all but the larger stars. The great blue white morning star, wonderful as Helen had ever seen it, lost its brilliance and life, and seemed to retreat into the dimming blue.

  Daylight came gradually so that the gray desert became distinguishable by degrees. Rolling bare hills, half obscured by the gray lifting mantle of night, rose in the foreground, and behind was gray space, slowly taking form and substance. In the east there was a kindling of pale rose and silver that lengthened and brightened along a horizon growing visibly rugged.

  “Reckon we’d better catch up with Roy,” said Dorn, and he spurred his horse.

  Ranger and Bo’s mount needed no other urging, and they swung into a canter. Far ahead the pack animals showed with Roy driving them. The cold wind was so keen in Helen’s face that tears blurred her eyes and froze her cheeks. And riding Ranger at that pace was like riding in a rocking chair. That ride, invigorating and exciting, seemed all too short.

  “Oh, Nell, I don’t care what becomes of…me!” exclaimed Bo breathlessly.

  Her face was white and red, fresh as a rose, her eyes glanced darkly blue, her hair blew out in bright unruly strands. Helen knew she felt some of the physical stimulation that had so roused Bo, and seemed so irresistible, but somber thought was not deflected thereby.

  It was clear daylight when Roy led off around a knoll from which patches of scrubby trees, cedars Dorn called them, straggled up one side of the foothills.

  “The grass on the north slopes where the snow stays longest,” said Dorn.

  They descended into a valley that looked shallow but proved to be deep and wide, and then began to climb another foothill. Upon surmounting it, the sun had arisen and so glorious a view confronted Helen that she was unable to answer Bo’s wild exclamations.

  Bare yellow cedar-dotted slopes, apparently level, so gradual was the ascent, stretched away to a dense ragged line of forest that rose black over range after range, at last to fail near the bare summit of a magnificent mountain sunrise—flushed against the blue sky.

  “Oh, beautiful!” cried Bo. “But they ought to be called Black Mountains.”

  “Old Baldy there is white half the year,” replied Dorn.

  “Look back an’ see what you say,” suggested Roy.

  The girls turned to gaze silently. Helen imagined she looked down upon the whole wide world. How vastly different was the desert! Verily it yawned away from her, red and gold near at hand, growing softly flushed with purple far away, a barren void, borderless and immense, where dark green patches and black lines and upheaved ridges only served to
emphasize distance and space.

  “See thet little green spot,” said Roy, pointing. “Thet’s Snowdrop, an’ the other one…way to the right…thet’s Show Down.”

  “Where is Pine?” queried Helen eagerly.

  “Farther still, up over the foothills at the edge of the woods.”

  “Then we’re riding away from it.”

  “Yes. If we’d gone straight for Pine, thet gang could overtake us. Pine is four days’ ride. An’ by takin’ to the mountain, Milt can hide his tracks. An’ when he’s thrown Anson off the scent, then he’ll circle down to Pine.”

  “Mister Dorn, do you think you’ll get us there safely…and soon?” asked Helen wistfully.

  “I won’t promise soon, but I promise safe…. An’ I don’t like bein’ called ‘mister,’ ” he replied.

  “Are we ever going to eat?” inquired Bo demurely.

  At this query Roy Beeman turned with a laugh to look at Bo. Helen saw his face fully in the light and it was thin and hard, darkly bronzed, with eyes like those of a hawk, and with square chin and lean jaws showing scant light beard.

  “We shore are,” he replied. “Soon as we reach the timber. Thet won’t be long.”

  “Reckon we can rustle some, an’ then take a good rest,” said Dorn, and he urged his horse into a jog trot.

  During a steady trot for a long hour Helen’s roving eyes were everywhere, taking note of the things from near to far—the scant sage that soon gave place to as scanty a grass, and the dark blots that proved to be dwarf cedars, and the ravines opening out as if by magic from what had appeared level ground to wind away widening the gray stone walls, and, farther on, patches of lonely pine trees, two and three together, and then a straggling clump of yellow aspens, and up beyond the fringed border of forest, growing nearer all the while, the black sweeping benches rising to the noble dome of the dominant mountain of the range.

  No birds or animals were seen in that long ride up toward the timber, which fact seemed strange to Helen. The air lost something of its cold cutting edge as the sun rose higher and it gained sweeter tang of forestland. The first faint suggestion of that fragrance was utterly new to Helen yet it brought a vague sensation of familiarity and with it an emotion as strange. It was as if she had smelled that keen pungent tang long ago and her physical sense caught it before her memory.