And she fled down the trail in the direction whence the sound had proceeded--fled, leaving Mrs. Ransford staring stupidly after her, a prey to utter bewilderment.
CHAPTER XXI
THE MEETING ON THE TRAIL
The quiet was profound. All the world seemed so still. There was no sign of life, yet the warm air was thrilling with the unseen life of an insect world. The heat haze rose from the soft, deep surface sand of the trail, and the gra.s.s-lined edges looked parched beneath the glare of the summer sun. There was no breath from the mountains down here, where the forest trees crowded in on either side, forming a great screen against the cooling breezes, and holding the heat like the sides of an oven.
A startled bird fluttered amongst the branches of a tree with that restless movement which so surely indicates the alarm of some subtle sense which no other creature possesses in so keen a degree. An answering rustle came from near by. And in a moment this was followed by a bustling rush among the leaves as two winged mates fled farther into the forest. Yet the sudden flight seemed quite unnecessary.
Again the stillness was broken. This time it was by the harsh voice of a black carrion. This too was followed by movement, only the movement had no haste or suggestion of fear. It was simply the heavy flapping of slow-moving wings. Two enormous crows launched themselves upon the air from the topmost branches of a distant tree, and perched on the crest of another at the trail-side.
They sat there in solemn, unmoving silence, but with eyes alert and watchful, and who might tell the thought pa.s.sing through their unwholesome minds!
But now a further sound broke the stillness--a sound which perhaps accounted for the movements of the birds. A soft patter grew out of the distance like the pad of m.u.f.fled feet. But it was faint and seemingly far off. The sharp eyes of the feathered watchers were scanning the horizon from their lofty perches. The sound grew. And as it grew the waiting carrion turned to view both distances of the trail. It was evident that the growing sound had a double source.
The padding feet became more distinct. Yes, the sounds were sharper.
The softness had gone, developing into the rhythmic beat of hard hoofs speeding from either direction. Two horses were galloping down the trail at a rapid pace, and quickly it became evident that their meeting must occur somewhere almost directly beneath the watchful eyes of the waiting birds.
Nearer and nearer came the hoof-beats. The birds were plucking at their feathers with an unconcern all too apparent. They ruffled their wings and preened their plumage, a sure indication of satisfaction.
One of the galloping horses slackened its gait. Perhaps its rider had heard the approach of that other, and, with the curious instinctive suspicion of the western trail, prepared to pa.s.s him under the best conditions for defensiveness. Perhaps it was simply the natural action of a horseman on the trail.
But the horse from the other direction had slackened speed too. His rider, too, had reduced his gait to a walk.
The birds overhead ceased their preening and looked below for the possible development they seem to be ever awaiting. It makes no difference, they follow the trail of all animal life, waiting, waiting, with a patience inexhaustible, for the moment of stillness which tells them that life has pa.s.sed and the banquet awaits them.
One of the hors.e.m.e.n came into full view from the height above. The second horseman appeared round a bend. Both men were mounted on the lean, hard-muscled horses of prairie breeding. They were spare of flesh and uncared for, but their muscles were hard and their legs clean. Between them a bend in the trail still intervened, but with each moment they were drawing nearer to each other.
Right under the tree upon which the crows were perched Pete drew rein and sat listening to the shuffling gait of the oncoming horse. The man"s lean face was dark with a brooding hatred. His eyes were fiercely alight with expectancy. A revolver lay across his thigh, the b.u.t.t of it firmly grasped in a hand clutching it with desperate purpose.
The trail was the trail to the farm. Ike had gone to the farm. A horseman was returning along that trail from the direction of the farm. Such was the argument behind his aggressive action. It was a simple argument which in his sober senses might have needed support to urge him to the course he now contemplated. But he was not sober; Beasley had seen to that. He was no more sober than was Ike.
Ike"s horse was moving slowly--much slower than its usual walking gait The man was craning forward. Who, he wondered, was riding toward the farm, and for what purpose? His right hand was on the b.u.t.t of his revolver, but his weapon was still in its holster, for his action was purely precautionary in a country where, when a man has enemies, or has done those things which he knows his fellows resent, it is advisable to look for no support outside his own ability to defend himself.
He remembered the screams of Joan, and he knew how the hills echoed.
He wondered, and wondering he regretted something of what he had done.
But he regretted it only for possible consequences to himself. In reality he reveled in the warm memory of the feel of the girl"s soft cheek.
His horse reached the bend. He could no longer hear the hoof-beats of the other. He drew up with a sudden, nervous movement, and his gun left its holster. But his nerves pa.s.sed, and, with a foul oath, he urged his horse forward. He rounded the bend and came face to face with the figure of Blue Gra.s.s Pete.
"Wher" you bin?" demanded the latter in a manner that was a deliberate insult.
Ike did the only thing his wit could prompt. He laughed. It was a harsh, mirthless laugh, which was equally an insult.
"Quit it!" roared Pete in a blind fury. "Wher" you bin, I say?"
Ike abandoned his laugh, but his face was furiously grinning.
"Bin?" he echoed. "I bin wher" you needn"t to go--wher" it ain"t no use your goin"," he cried, his love of boast prompting him. "I bin to fix things up. She"s goin" to mar----"
A shot rang out. Ike"s face blanched, but like lightning his pistol bit out its retort. Pete reeled and recovered himself, and again he fired. Ike leant forward as though seeking support from the horn of his saddle. Pete had fallen forward on to his horse"s neck. Ike raised his gun and fired again, but there had really been no need for the shot. Even as his gun spoke the other man fell to the ground and rolled over. His dark face was turned upward, so that the waiting crows had a full view of it.
After that Ike remained quite still. His pale face, turning to a greenish hue in contrast to his ginger hair, was staring down at the result of his handiwork. But his eyes were almost unseeing. He was faint and weary, and in great pain.
The moments pa.s.sed. At last he stirred. But his movement was merely to clutch with feeble fingers at the mane of his horse. Vainly his left hand clawed amongst the lank hair, while the fingers of his right released their grip upon his pistol and let it clatter to the ground.
He crouched there breathing heavily, while a harsh croak from above split the air. Again he moved as though the sound had awakened him. He strove to sit up, to lift the reins, and to urge his horse forward.
The beast moved in response to his effort. But the movement was all that was needed. The man reeled, lost his balance, and fell heavily to the ground. He too had rolled on to his back--he too was gazing up with unseeing eyes at the dark-hued carrion whose patience was inexhaustible.
For a moment all was still. Then the horses moved as by common consent. They drew near to each other, and their noses met in that inquiring equine fashion which suggests friendly overtures. They stood thus for a while. Then both moved to the side of the trail and began to graze upon the parching gra.s.s after the unconcerned manner of their kind.
The heavy flapping of wings told of a fresh movement in the trees above. Two great black bodies swung out upon the air. They circled round as though a.s.suring themselves that all was as they could wish it. Then they settled again. But this time it was on the boughs of a low bush less than six feet above the staring faces of their intended victims.
CHAPTER XXII
A MAN"S SUPPORT
Buck looked up as two crows flew low over his head and pa.s.sed on their way, croaking out their alarm and dissatisfaction. Mechanically his eyes followed their movements. For he was well versed in the sights, and sounds, and habits of his world.
Presently he turned again to the trail, and the expression of his eyes had changed to one of speculation. Caesar was traveling eagerly. He had not yet forgotten that farther on along that trail lay the old barn which had been his home from his earliest recollections.
Buck had had no intention of making this visit to the farm when he left Beasley"s saloon. He had not had the remotest intention of carrying out the man"s broadly-given hint. A hint from Beasley was always unwelcome to him, and generally roused an obstinate desire to take an opposite course. Nor was it until he reached the ford of the creek that the significance of the man"s tone penetrated his dislike of him. Quite abruptly he made up his mind to keep straight on.
Curiosity, added to a slight feeling of uneasiness, urged him, and, leaving the ford behind him, he kept on down the trail.
His decision once taken, he felt easier as he rode on. Besides, he admitted to himself now, he was rather thankful to the saloon-keeper for providing him with something in the nature of an excuse for such a visit. He was different from those others, who, in perfect confidence and ignorance, required not the least encouragement to persecute Joan with their attentions. He found it more than difficult to realize that his visits were anything but irksome to the new owner of the farm now that she had settled down with the adequate support of her "hired"
man.
Joan"s graciousness to him was the one great delight of his every waking hour. But he dreaded the moment when her manner might become the mere tolerance she displayed toward Ike and Pete, and any of the others who chose to make her farm a halting-place. So his visits had become rarer; far rarer than made for his own peace of mind, for Joan was always in his thoughts.
Tramping the long trail of the mountains her smiling eyes were always somewhere ahead of him, encouraging him, and shedding a radiance of hope and delight upon the dullest moments of his routine. Never for one moment was the delightful picture of her presence absent from his thoughts. And to him there was nothing in the whole wide world so fair, and sweet, and worthy of the worship he so willingly cast at her feet.
His life had always been full in his wilderness of Nature"s splendor.
In his moments of leisure he had been more than happily content in the pleasant friendship of the man who had sheltered him from childhood.
But now--now as he looked back over all those years, the a.s.sociations seemed dull and empty--empty of all that made life worth living. Not only had he come to realize the woman"s place in a man"s life. It was the old story of the fruit of knowledge. Woman had always been a sealed book to him. Now, at last, the cover had been turned and the pages lay before him for the reading. He yearned for Joan with all the strength and pa.s.sionate ardor of his strong young heart. Nor, even in his yearning, had he full understanding of the real depths of his feelings.
How could he study or a.n.a.lyze them? His love had no thought of the world in it. It had no thought of anything that could bring it down to the level of concrete sensation. He could not have told one feeling that was his. With Joan at his side he moved in a mental paradise which no language could depict. With Joan at his side he lived with every nerve pulsating, attuned to a perfect consciousness of joy. With Joan at his side there was nothing but light and radiance which filled every sense with a happiness than which he could conceive no greater.
Alone, this great wide world about him was verily a wilderness.
The man"s feelings quickly mastered his momentary uneasiness as his horse bore him on toward his goal. The forest path over which he was traveling had lost its hue of gloom which the shadowed pine woods ever convey. There was light everywhere, that light which comes straight from the heart and is capable of lending radiance even to the grave-side itself.
The trail lay straight ahead of him for some distance. Then it swerved in a big sweep away to the left. He knew this bend. The farm lay something less than half a mile beyond it. As they neared it Caesar p.r.i.c.ked his ears and whinnied. Buck leant forward and patted his neck out of the very joy of antic.i.p.ation. It almost seemed to him as if the creature knew who was waiting at the end of the journey and was rejoicing with him. For once he had misunderstood the mood of his horse.