He leaned against a willow, his face suddenly old and white with something more than exhaustion, and laughed in such an oddly pitched, cracked tone that the wolf-dog slunk to him on his belly and licked the dangling hand. He caught the scarred head of Bart and looked steadily down into the eyes of the wolf.
"It was a close call, Bart. There wasn"t more than half an inch between Satan and--"
The black turned his head and whinnied feebly.
"Listen to him callin" for help like a new-foaled colt," said the master, and went to Satan.
The head of the stallion rested on his shoulder as they went slowly on.
"Tonight," said the master, "you get two pieces of pone without askin"."
The cold nose of the jealous wolf-dog thrust against his left hind. "You too, Bart. You showed us the way."
The rattle had left the breathing of Satan, the stagger was gone from his walk; with each instant he grew perceptibly larger as they approached the border of the wood. It fell off to a scattering thicket with the Grizzly Peaks stepping swiftly up to the sky. This was their magic instant in all the day, when the sun, grown low in the west, with bulging sides, gave the mountains a yellow light. They swelled up larger with warm tints of gold rolling off into the blue of the canyons; at the foot of the nearest slope a thicket of quaking aspens was struck by a breeze and flashed all silver. Not many moments more, and all the peaks would be falling back into the evening.
It seemed that Satan saw this, for he raised his head from the shoulder of the master and stopped to look.
"Step on," commanded Barry.
The stallion shook himself violently as a dog that knocks the water from his pelt, but he took no pace forward.
"Satan!"
The order made him sway forward, but he checked the movement.
"I ask you man to man, Bart," said the master in sudden anger, "was there ever a worse fool hoss than him? He won"t budge till I get on his back."
The wolf-dog shoved his nose again into Barry"s hand and growled. He seemed quite willing to go on alone with the master and leave Satan forgotten.
"All right," said Barry. "Satan, are you comin"?"
The horse whinnied, but would not move.
"Then stay here."
He turned his back and walked resolutely across the meadow, but slowly, and more slowly, until a ringing neigh made him stop and turn. Satan had not stirred from his first halting place, but now his head was high and his cars p.r.i.c.ked anxiously. He pawed the ground in his impatience.
"Look there, Bart," observed the master gloomily. "There"s pride for you. He won"t let on that he"s too weak to carry me. Now I"d ought to let him stay there till he drops."
He whistled suddenly, the call sliding up, breaking, and rising again with a sharp appeal. Satan neighed again as it died away.
"If that won"t bring him, nothin" will. Back we got to go. Bart, you jest take this to heart: It ain"t any use tryin" to bring them to reason that ain"t got any sense."
He went back and sprang lightly to the back of the horse and Satan staggered a little under the weight but once, as if to prove that his strength was more than equal to the task, he broke into a trot. A harsh order called him back to a walk, and so they started up into the Grizzly Peaks.
By dark, however, a few halts, a chance to crop gra.s.s for a moment here and there, a roll by the next creek and a short draught of water, restored a great part of the black"s strength, and before the night was an hour old he was heading up through the hills at a long, swift trot.
Even then it was that dark, cold time just before dawn when they wound up the difficult pa.s.s toward the cave. The moon had gone down; a thin, high mist painted out the stars; and there were only varying degrees of blackness to show them the way, with peaks and ridges starting here and there out of the night, very suddenly. It was so dark, indeed, that sometimes Dan could not see where Bart skulked a little ahead, weaving among the boulders and picking the easiest way. But all three of them knew the course by instinct, and when they came to a more or less commanding rise of ground in the valley Dan checked the stallion and whistled.
Then he sat canting his head to one side to listen more intently. A rising wind brought about him something like an echo of the sound, but otherwise there was no answer.
"She ain"t heard," muttered Dan to Bart, who came running back at the call, so familiar to him and to the horse. He whistled again, prolonging the call until it soared and trembled down the gulch, and this time when he stopped he sat for a long moment, waiting, until Black Bart whined at his side.
"She ain"t learned to sleep light, yet," muttered Barry. "An" I s"pose she"s plumb tired out waitin" for me. But if something"s happened--Satan!"
That word sent the stallion leaping ahead at a racing gait, swerving among rocks which he could not see.
"They"s nothin" wrong with her," whispered Barry to himself. "They can"t be nothin" happened to her!"
He was in the cave, a moment later, standing in the center of the place with the torch high above his head; it flared and glimmered in the great eyes of Satan and the narrow eyes of Bart. At length he slipped down to a rock beside him while the torch, fallen from his hand, sputtered and whispered where it lay on the gravel.
"She"s gone," he said to emptiness. "She"s lef" me--" Black Bart licked his limp hand but dared not even whine.
Chapter x.x.xVII. Ben Swann
Since the night when old Joe c.u.mberland died and Kate c.u.mberland rode off after her wild man, Ben Swann, the foreman of the c.u.mberland ranch, had lived in the big house. He would have been vastly more comfortable in the bunkhouse playing cards with the other hands, but Ben Swann felt vaguely that it was a shame for so much s.p.a.ce in the ranch house to go to waste, and besides, Ben"s natural dignity was at home in the place even if his mind grew lonely. It was Ben Swann, therefore, who ran down and flung open the door, on which a heavy hand was beating. Outside stood two men, very tall, taller than himself, and one of them a giant.
They had about them a strong scent of horses.
"Get a light" said one of these. "Run for it. Get a light. Start a fire, and be d.a.m.ned quick about it!"
"And who the h.e.l.l might you gents be?" queried Ben Swann, leaning against the side of the doorway to d.i.c.ker.
"Throw that fool on his head," said one of the strangers, "and go on in, Lee!"
"Stand aside," said the other, and swept the doork.n.o.b out of Ben"s grip, flattening Ben himself against the wall. While he struggled there, gasping, a man and a woman slipped past him.
"Tell him who we are," said the woman"s voice. "We"ll go to the living-room, Buck, and start a fire."
The strangers apparently knew their way even in the dark, for presently he heard the sc.r.a.ping of wood on the hearth in the living-room. It bewildered Ben Swann. It was dream-like, this sudden invasion.
"Now, who the devil are you?"
A match was scratched and held under his very nose, until Ben shrank back for fear that his splendid mustaches might ignite. He found himself confronted by one of the largest men he had ever seen, a leonine face, vaguely familiar.
"You Lee Haines!" he gasped. "What are you doin" here?"
"You"re Swann, the foreman, aren"t you?" said Haines. "Well, come out of your dream, man. The owner of the ranch is in the living-room."
"Joe c.u.mberland"s dead," stammered Ben Swann.
"Kate c.u.mberland."
"Her! And--Barry--the Killing at Alder--"
"Shut up!" ordered Haines, and his face grew ugly. "Don"t let that chatter get to Kate"s ears. Barry ain"t with her. Only his kid. Now stir about."
After the first surprise was over, Ben Swann did very well. He found the fire already started in the living-room and on the rug before the hearth a yellow-haired little girl wrapped in a tawny hide. She was sound asleep, worn out by the long ride, and she seemed to Ben Swann a very pretty picture. Surely there could be in her little of the father of whom he had heard so much--of whom that story of the Killing at Alder was lately told, He took in that picture at a glance and then went to rustle food; afterward he went down to sleep in the bunkhouse and at breakfast he recounted the events of the night with a relish. Not one of the men had been more than three years on the place, and therefore their minds were clean slates on which Swann could write his own impressions.