"Oh, I'm a Texas cowboy,Far away from home,If I ever get back to TexasI never more will roam."
"Oh, I'm a Texas cowboy,Far away from home,If I ever get back to TexasI never more will roam."
"Hey, in there!" The song ceased abruptly, and, gun in hand the Texan answered.
"There ain't no hay in here! What do you think this is, a cow's hotel? The livery barn's next door!"
"They ain't no outlaw goin' to run Timber City while I'm marshal!"
"Put 'er here, pardner!" answered the Texan. "You run Timber City an' I'll run the Red Front! Come on in an' buy a drink, so I can get my change!"
"You're arrested fer disturbin' the peace!"
"Come an' get me, then. But come a-shootin'!"
"You can't git away with it. I got twenty men here, an' everyone packin' a gun!"
"You've got me, then," mocked the Texan. "I've only got two guns. Run 'em in in a bunch. I can only take care of a dozen, an' the rest can get me before I can reload."
"Yer kickin' up an awful stink fer a dollar an' four bits."
"'Tain't the money, it's the principle of the thing. An' besides, I aimed to pull a hell-winder of a jamboree—an' I'm doin' it."
"You ain't helpin' yer case none by raisin' a rookus like this. Come out an' give yerselfup. All there is agin you is a fine an' a little damages."
"How much?"
"We'll make it fifty dollars' fine, an' you'll have to talk to Pete Barras about the damages."
The Texan laughed derisively: "Guess again, you short horn! I've got more money than that!"
"You comin' out, or I got to go in there an' git you?"
"I ain't comin' out, an' you ain't comin' in here an' get me," defied the cowboy; "you ain't got the guts to—you an' your twenty gun-fighters to boot! Just you stick your classic profile around the corner of that wall an' I'll shoot patterns in it!"
"You can't git away. We've got yer horse!"
"If I was a posse I'd surround you an' string you up for a bunch of horse-thieves!"
"What you goin' to do about it?"
"I'm standin' pat—me. What you goin' to do?"
"Come on out, hands up, an' submit to arrest before you git in too deep."
"There ain't a marshal in Montana can arrest me!"
"What's yer name?"
"Hydrophobia B. Tarantula! I'm a curly wolf! I can't be handled 'cause I'm full of quills! I've got seventeen rattles an' a button, an' I'm right now coiled!"
"Yer drunk as hell," growled the marshal, "wait till you git sober an' you won't feel so damn hard."
"You're goin' to miss some sleep waitin', 'causethere's seventeen quarts in sight, without countin' the barrel goods an' beer."
For answer the exasperated marshal sent a bullet crashing into the wall high above the Texan's head, and the shot was immediately followed by a volley from the crowd outside, the bullets slivering the woodwork, or burying themselves harmlessly in the barricade of beer-kegs.
"This saloon's gettin' all scratched up, the way you ruffians are carryin' on," called the Texan, when the noise had subsided, "but if it's shootin' you want, divide these here up amongst you!" Reaching around a keg, he emptied a gun through the window, then reloaded, and poured himself another drink.
"The main question is," he announced judicially to himself, as he contemplated the liquor in the glass, "I've drunk one quart already, now shall I get seventeen times drunker'n I am, or shall I stay drunk seventeen times as long?" He drank the liquor and returned the glass to the bar, "guess I'll just let Nature take her course," he opined, and glanced about him quizzically. "I mistrusted this wasn't goin' to be no prosaic jubilee, but what I'm wonderin' is, how's it goin' to come out? 'Tain't likely anyone'll get hurt, 'cause they can't hit me, an' I don't want to hit them. But, this is goin' to get monotonous sometime an' I'll want to leave here. They've got my horse, an' it's a cinch I ain't goin' away afoot. Guess I'll have to borrow onelike Ol' Bat did down to Las Vegas an' get plumb out of the country. An' there's another reason I can't linger to get venerable amongst my present peaceful surroundin's. When Ol' Bat finds I've quit the outfit he'll trail me down, just as sure as I'm goin' to take another drink, an' when he does, he'll——"
Once more the voice of the marshal sounded from without: "Hey, young feller, I'm willin' to go half way with you——"
"Half of nothin's nothin'!" replied the Texan, "I ain't goin' nowhere!"
"You better listen to reason an' give yerself up. If you do we let you off with a hundred dollar fine, an' damages—if you don't, I'm goin' to charge you with shootin' to kill, an' send you up to Deer Lodge fer a year. You got just one minute to think it over. It's gettin' dark an' I ain't had no supper."
"Me neither. You go on ahead an' get yours first, an' then hurry back an' let me go."
"I ain't foolin'! What you goin' to do?"
"Shoot to kill—if that's what I'm charged with," and the marshal leaped back as a bullet sung past his head.
As darkness gathered the crowd poured volley after volley into the saloon and the Texan replied sparingly, and between shots he drank whisky. It was dark inside the building and the cowboy could see the flash of the guns in the street. Suddenly the bombardment ceased.
"Wonder what they're up to now," he muttered,peering between the kegs. He was finding it hard to concentrate his thoughts, and passed a hand across his forehead as if to brush away the cobwebs that were clogging his brain. "I've got to out-guess 'em!" He shook himself fiercely: "Le's see, if they rush me in the dark, some of 'em's due to fall down cellar where Ike left the trap open, an' some of 'em's goin' to get mixed up with bottles an' beer-kegs—if I don't shoot they won't know where I am, an' while they're ontanglin' themselves maybe I can slip away in the dark."
A light flared suddenly beyond the wooden partition, flickered a moment, and burned steadily. The Texan's eyes widened as his hands closed about the butts of his guns: "Goin' to burn me out, eh?" he sneered, and then, with a smile, laid the two guns on the bar, and watched the glow that softened the blackness about the edges of the screen. "They can't burn me without burnin' up their whole damn little wooden town," he speculated, "but what in the devil do they want with a light?" With the words on his lips, the light moved, and once more he reached for his guns. A candle appeared around the end of the partition that formed the doorway. The Texan fired and the room was plunged into darkness. And then—through the inky blackness, thick with the pungent powder smoke, sounded a cry—a jerky, stabbing cry—a cry of mortal fear—a woman's cry—thatwoman's cry: "Tex—Tex! Strike a light!"
The Texan reeled as from a blow, the gun droppedfrom his nerveless fingers and thudded upon the floor. He leaned weakly against the back bar. He was conscious that his eyes were staring—straining to pierce the blackness in the direction of the sound—and yet, he knew there was nothing there! His mouth went dry and he could distinctly hear his own breathing. He pulled himself jerkily erect and clawed the edge of the bar. His groping hand closed about an object hard and cylindrical. It was the quart bottle of whisky from which he had filled his glass. Suddenly, he shuddered. "It's the booze," he thought, "it's got me—at last—I'm—I'mbugs!" The bottle slipped through his fingers and rolled along the bar and the air became heavy with the fumes of the liquor that splashed unheeded from its mouth. He passed his hand across his brow and withdrew it slippery and wet with sweat.
"Christ!" Thickly the word struggled from between the dry lips. He stooped, his hand groping for the gun, his fingers closed uncertainly upon the butt, and as he straightened up, the muzzle swung slowly into line with his own forehead. And in that instant a light puff of cool air fanned his dripping forehead. The gun stopped in its slow arc. The lids closed for an instant over the horribly staring eyes. The shoulders stiffened, and the gun was laid gently upon the bar—for, upon that single puff of night air, delicate, subtile—yet unmistakably distinguishable from theheavy powder smoke and the reeking fumes of the whisky, was borne a breath of the wide open places. The man's nostrils quivered. Yes, it was there—the scent of the little blue and white prairie flowers—her flowers. Instantly his brain cleared. A moment before he had been hopelessly drunk: now, he was sober. It was as though the delicate scent had entered his nostrils and cleansed his brain, clearing it of the befuddling fog, and leaving it, wholesome, alert, capable. Poignantly, with the scent of those flowers, the scene of a year ago leaped into memory, when he had stooped to restore them to her hands—there in the tiny glade beside the big boulder.
"Alice!" he cried, sharply.
"Tex!" The name was a sob, and then; "Oh, please—please strike a light! I'm—I'm—afraid!"
For just an instant the Texan hesitated, a match between his fingers, and his voice sounded strangely hard: "A light, now, will mean they'll get me! But—if you're real, girl, I'll trust you—If you ain't—the quicker they shoot, the better!" There was a scratching sound, a light flared out, and candle outstretched, the girl came swiftly to the bar, and as he held the match to the wick, the Texan's eyes gazed wonderingly into the eyes of blue.
Alice Endicott gazed searchingly into the Texan's flushed face and wondered at the steadiness of his eyes. "They—they said you were drunk," she faltered.
The cynical smile that she remembered so well twisted the man's lips: "They were right—partly. I was headed that way, but I'm cold sober, now."
"Then leave your guns here and come with me. You must submit to arrest. They'll fine you and make you pay for the damages and that will be all there'll be to it."
The Texan shook his head: "No. I told that marshal he couldn't arrest me, an' he can't."
Alice's heart sank. "Please—for my sake," she pleaded. "If you haven't got the money——"
"Oh, I've got the money, all right—a whole year's wages right here in my pocket. It ain't the money, it's the principle of the thing. I made my brag, an' I've got to see it through. They mightgetme, but they'll never arrest me."
"Oh, please——"
Tex interrupted her sharply, and the girl was startled at the gleam that leaped suddenly fromthe grey eyes: "What are you doing here? Has he—didn't you an' Win—hit it out?"
"Oh, yes! Yes! Win is here——"
"An' he let you come in alone—an' stayed outside——"
"No—he doesn't know. He's up at the Camerons. I went for a ride, and coming back I saw the crowd, and when they told me the man in here was a Texan, somehow, I just knew it was you."
The gleam faded from the man's eyes and he regarded her curiously; "But, what are you doin' in Timber City—you an' Win?"
"Why, it's our anniversary! We wanted to spend it here where we were married. And besides we've got the grandest scheme. Win wants to see you. Come on, give yourself up, and pay their old fine."
"I won't be arrested," repeated the Texan stubbornly, "an' don't count me in on any scheme with you an' Win." Once more his eyes blazed, and his words came low and tense: "Can't you see—I haven't forgot. I don't reckon I ever will forget! I loved you then, an' I love you now——"
"Don't, don't, Tex! You haven't tried to forget. How many girls have you known since—a year ago?"
"None—an' I don't want to know any! There ain't any more like you——"
Alice interrupted him with a laugh: "Don't be a fool! I know loads of girls—and they're all prettier than I am, and they've got lots more sense, too. Please don't spoil our anniversary this way.There are twenty men out there, and they're all armed, and they've sworn to kill you if you don't give yourself up."
"They better start in killin', then." Throwing back his shoulders, he struck the bar with his fist. "I'll tell you what I'll do—an' that's all I'll do. You go back an' tell 'em I'll pay my fine, an' a reasonable amount of damages if they'll leave my horse outside and let me go away from here. It ain't because I'm afraid of 'em," he hastened to add, "not a man of 'em—nor all of 'em. But, if you want it that way, I'll do it."
"But, we don't want you to go away!" cried the girl. "Win wants to see you."
The cowboy shook his head: "I'm goin' away—an' far away," he answered, "I don't know what his scheme is, an' I don't want to know. We'd all be fools to tackle it. If that plan suits you, go ahead—no arrest—I'll just pay my fine an' go. An' if it don't suit you, you better go back to Win. This is no place for you anyhow. Let 'em go ahead with their killin', if they think they can get away with it."
For a moment the girl hesitated, then, picking up her candle from the bar, she started slowly toward the door. "If I can only get word to Win and Mr. Colston," she thought, "I can delay things until they get here."
"Well, what'd he say?" growled Hod Blake, stepping from among his retainers.
The tone angered the girl and she glancedcontemptuously into the eyes that stared boldly at her from beneath the wide hat-brim: "He said that you can't arrest him," she answered defiantly, "and if you knew him as well as I do, you'd know he told the truth."
"Oh-ho, so he's got a record, has he?" leered the marshal. "Mebbe they'll be more to this here business than just pickin' up a plain drunk—little reward money, mebbe—eh?"
"No, no!" cried the girl, "not that! It's just his—his pride. He will never submit to arrest."
"He won't, eh? Well, then he'll shove up the posies!"
"He'll go away peaceably if you give him the chance. He offered to pay his fine and the damages to the saloon, if you'll allow him to ride away unmolested."
"Oh, he will, will he?" sneered the marshal. "It wouldn't take no mind reader to tell that he's goin' to pay them fine an' damages—peaceable or onpeaceable, it don't make no difference to me. But, about lettin' him ride off without arrestin' him—they ain't nothin' doin'. I said I'd arrest him, an' I will—an' besides, I aim to hold him over a spell till I can find out if they ain't a reward out fer him. If they ain't nothin' on him what's he anxious to pay up an' git out fer?"
"Oh, can't you listen to reason?"
"Sure, Hod," urged Barras, jumping at the Texan's offer, "listen to reason. He ain't done nothin' to speak of. Let him pay up an' git."
"You shet yer mouth!" snapped the marshal."They's reason enough in what I said. If they ain't nothin' on him it ain't goin' to hurt him none to hold him over a few days. It'll do him good. Give him a chanct to sober up."
"He's as sober as you are, now," flashed the girl angrily, "an' if he was as drunk as he could get, he'd have more sense than you'll ever have."
"Kind of peppery, ain't you? Well, you c'n go back an' tell him what I said. He c'n take it or leave it. An' while yer gone, I'll jest slip around an' put a couple of more boys guardin' the back door."
The man turned on his heel and disappeared into the darkness. Glancing about in desperation, Alice saw the tall man who had first spoken to her, still seated upon a corner of the horse trough, a little apart from the crowd. She hastened to his side: "Will you do something for me?" she asked, breathlessly.
With a dexterous contortion of his nether lip, the man gathered an end of his huge moustache into the corner of his mouth: "What would it be?" he asked noncommittally.
"Hurry to Mr. Cameron's and tell my husband and Mr. Colston to come down here quick!"
"Y Bar Colston?" he asked, with exasperating deliberation.
"Yes. Oh, please hurry!"
His left eyelid drooped meaningly, as he audibly expelled the moustache from between his lips,and jerked his head in the direction of the saloon, "Y'ain't helpin' his case none by draggin' Y Bar into it," he opined. "Hod hates Y Bar on account he trades over to Claggett. Hod, he runs the main store here besides bein' marshal."
"Oh, what shall I do!"
Making sure they were out of earshot, the man spoke rapidly. "They ain't only one way to work it. You hustle back an' tell him to slip down cellar an' climb up the shoot where they slide the beer-kaigs down. It opens onto the alley between the livery barn an' the store. Hod ain't thought of that yet, an' my horse is tied in the alley. Tell him to take the horse an' beat it."
For an instant the girl peered into the man's eyes as if to fathom his sincerity. "But why should you sacrifice your horse?"
The man cut her short: "I'll claim his'n, an' it's about an even trade. Besides, he done me a good turn by not shootin' me in there when he had the chanct, after I tried to help Barras hold him. An' I'm one of these here parties that b'lieves one good turn deserves another."
"But," hesitated the girl, "you were shooting into the saloon at him. I saw you."
"Yup, I was shootin', all right," he grinned, "but he'd of had to be'n ten foot tall fer me to of hit him. It wouldn't of looked right fer me not to of be'n a-shootin'."
"But, won't they shoot him when he tries to get away?"
The grin widened: "They won't. Tell him tocome bustin' right out the front way on the high lope, right into the middle of 'em. I know themhombresan' believe me, it's goin' to be fun to see 'em trompin' over one another a-gittin' out of the road. By the time they git in shootin' shape, he'll be into the dark."
"But, they'll follow him."
"Yes, mom. But they ain't goin' to ketch him. That horse of mine kin run rings around anything they've got. Better hurry now, 'fore Hod thinks about that beer-kaig shoot."
"Oh, how can I thank you?"
"Well, you might set up a brass statoo of me acrost from the post office—when the sun hit it right it would show up clean from the top of the divide."
Alice giggled, as the man extended his hand: "Here's a couple more matches. You better run along, now. Jest tell that there Texas cyclone that Ike Stork says this here play is the best bet, bein' as they'll starve him out if a stray bullet don't find its way between them kaigs an' git him first."
She took the matches and once more paused in the doorway and lighted her candle. As she disappeared into the interior, Ike Stork shifted his position upon the edge of the horse trough and grinned broadly as his eyes rested upon the men huddled together in the darkness in front of the saloon.
The girl crossed to the bar, and reading thequestion in the Texan's eyes, shook her head: "He won't do it," she said, "he's just as mean, and stubborn, and self-important and asrudeas he can be. He says he's going to arrest you, and he's going to hold you for a few days in jail to see if there isn't a reward offered for you somewhere. He thinks, or pretends to think, that you're some terrible desperado."
The cynical smile twisted the Texan's lips: "He'll be sure of it before he gets through."
"No, no, Tex! Don't shoot anybody—please! Listen, I've got a plan that will get you out of here. But first, you've got to promise that you will see Win. We've set our hearts on it, and youmust."
"What's the good?"
"Please, for my sake, promise me."
The man's eyes devoured her. "I'd do anything in the world for your sake," he said, simply. "I'll promise. Tell Win to drift over to Claggett day after tomorrow, an' I'll meet him somewhere along the trail."
"Surely? You won't disappoint us?"
The man regarded her reproachfully: "You don't think I'd lie to you?"
"No, forgive me, I—" she paused and looked straight into his eyes, "and, will you promise me one thing more?"
"Tell me straight out what it is, an' I'll tell you straight out what I'll do."
"Promise me you won't drink any more until—untilafter you've seen Win."
The Texan hesitated: "It's only a couple of days. Yes, I'll promise," he answered, "an', now, what's your plan?"
Alice glanced toward the door, and leaned closer: "It really isn't my plan at all," she whispered, "but there's a man out there with a big, drooping faded-looking moustache, he said you did him a good turn by not shooting him, or something——"
"Ike Stork," grinned the Texan.
Alice nodded: "Yes, that's his name, and he said to tell you it was the best bet, whatever that is."
"I get him. Go on."
"Well, he says there's some kind of a chute that they slide the beer-kegs down into the cellar with, and for you to go down and climb up the chute. It will let you out into the alley between this building and the livery stable. The marshal hasn't thought of posting any guards there, and Ike's horse is tied in the alley, and you're to take him and make a dash out the front way, right through the crowd. He says they'll all fall over each other and be so scared that they won't think to shoot till you've had a chance to get away."
As the girl talked she could see that the Texan's eyes twinkled and when she finished, his shoulders were shaking with silent mirth: "Good old Ike!" he chuckled. "You tell him I say he's a bear!"
"He said it would be fun to see them trampleover each other getting out of the way."
"I'll sure see that he gets his money's worth," grinned the Texan.
A troubled look crept into the girl's face: "You won't—hurtanyone?" she asked.
The man shook his head: "Not onless some of 'em don't get out of the road. Might knock down a few with the horse, but that won't hurt 'em to speak of. It wouldn't pain me none to knock that marshal about half ways down the street—not for anything he's done to me, but because I've got a hunch he talked pretty rough to you."
"Oh, I hope it's all right," whispered the girl, "do you really think it will work?"
"Work! Of course it'll work! I've got it all pictured out right now. It's a peach! Just you get off to one side far enough so's not to get caught in the rush, an' you'll see some fun. Tell Ike not to forget to put up an awful howl about losin' his cayuse, just to make the play good."
"Do you think he's really sincere—that it isn't just a trick to get you out where they can shoot you? How long have you known this Ike Stork?"
"Dead sure." The Texan's tone was reassuring, "known him a good half-hour. You ought to seen those eyes of his when he thought I was goin' to shoot him—never flinched a hair. He's a good man, told me to hurry up an' make a job of it."
The girl held out her hand: "Good-bye, Tex—tillday after tomorrow."
The cowboy took the hand and pressed it fiercely: "You're goin' to be there, too? That'll make it harder—but—all right."
"Remember," smiled the girl, "what I said about there being loads of other girls."
"Too bad you hadn't been born in the West, so Win would never known you—then—maybe——"
"What shall I tell our friend the marshal?" interrupted the girl.
The Texan grinned: "Just tell him not to order any extra meals sent down to the jail on my account. An', here, tell him the drinks are on the house," he handed the girl a quart bottle of whisky. "That'll keep 'em from gettin' restless before the show starts."
Candle in one hand, bottle in the other, the girl made her way to the door. As she stepped out into the night, she was hailed roughly by the marshal: "Well, what'd he say, now?"
"He said," answered the girl, scornfully, "that you were not to order any extra meals sent down to the jail on his account. And he sent you this and asked me to tell you that the drinks were on the house." She extended the bottle which the marshal eagerly grasped despite the strenuous objections of Pete Barras who clamoured for the return of his property.
"Ain't I had hell enough fer one day?" demanded the bartender, "what with gittin' shotin the arm, an' gittin' tried to be held up fer four dollars of Sam's debts, an' gittin' laid out cold with a spittoon, an' gittin' my glasses an' bottles all busted, an' gittin' my place all shot up, an' my merrow shot to hell, an' my kegs all shot holes in, without all you's hornin' in an' drinkin' up what little I got left? As the feller says, where do I git off at?"
"S'pose you dry up an' let me talk," retorted the marshal. "They ain't no one payin'younawthin' to maintain law an' order in this town."
"If they was I'll be damned if I wouldn't maintain it, 'stead of millin' around drinkin' up other folks' whisky——"
"Look a-here Pete Barras, this makes twict, now, you've ondertook to tell me my business. You shet yer yap, 'er you don't draw no damages when we corral that outlaw in yonder. I ain't so sure you didn't start the rookus, nohow. Besides, the boys needs a little drink, an' we'll charge this here bottle up along with the rest of the damages an' make him pay 'em."
"Y'ain't caught him yet. Where do I git off at if you don't ketch him?"
Ike Stork, grinning huge enjoyment over the altercation, managed to motion Alice to his side: "Better git over to yer cayuse," he cautioned. "He's pretty near had time to make it into the alley, an' when he comes, he'll come a-shootin'. Guess I'll jest keep the squabble a-goin', they all seem right interested," he indicated the crowd thathad edged close about the two principals. And Alice smiled as she mounted her horse to hear the renewed vigour with which retort met accusation after the redoubtable Mr. Stork had contributed his observations from the side lines. The girl's eyes were fixed upon the black mouth of the alley, now, and with each passing minute she found it harder and harder to restrain her impatience. Would he never come? What if the window had been guarded unknown to Stork? What if Stork's horse had broken loose or been moved by someone passing through the alley? What if—a bloodcurdling yell split the darkness. And with a thunder of hoofs, an indistinguishable shape whirled out of the alley. A crash of shots drowned the thunder of hoofs as from the plunging shape darted thin red streaks of flame. Straight into the crowd it plunged. For a fleeting instant the girl caught a glimpse of bodies in confused motion, as the men surged back from its impact. Above the sound of the guns shrill cries of fear and hoarse angry curses split the air.
As Ike Stork had predicted, the Texan had "come a-shootin'."
Alice had pressed forward until her horse stood at the very edge of the seething mêlée. Swiftly, objects took definite shape in the starlight. Men rushed past her cursing. The marshal lay upon the ground shrieking contradictory orders, while over him stood the outraged Barras, reviling him for permitting his man to escape. Other men were shooting, and between the sounds of the shots the voice of Ike Stork could be heard loudly bewailing the loss of his horse. Hoof beats sounded behind her, and glancing backward, Alice could see men mounting the half-dozen horses that stood saddled before the store and the livery barn. As a man, already in the saddle, urged the others to hurry he raised his gun and fired in the direction the Texan had taken.
"They'll kill him!" thought the girl. "No matter how fast his horse is, those bullets fly faster!" Another shot followed the first, and acting on the impulse of the moment, with the one thought to save the Texan from harm, she struck her horse down the flank and shot out into the trail behind the fleeing cowpuncher. "They won'tdare to shoot, now," she sobbed as she urged her horse to his best, while in her ears rang a confusion of cries that she knew were directed at her. Leaning far forward, she shouted encouragement to her straining animal. In vain her eyes sought to pierce the darkness for a glimpse of the Texan. Her horse took a shallow ford in a fountain of spray. A patch of woods slipped behind, and she knew she was on the trail that led to the Missouri, and the flat-boat ferry of Long Bill Kearney. She wondered whether Tex would hold to the trail, or would he leave it and try to lose his pursuers among the maze of foothills and coulees through which it wound? Maybe he had turned into the patch of timber and was even now breathing his horse in the little wild flower glade. If so, her course was plain—to keep on at top speed and lead his pursuers as far as possible along the trail. Dimly, she could hear the thunder of hoofs in her wake. She wondered how long it would be before they overtook her.
On and on she sped, her thoughts racing wildly as the flying feet of her horse. "What would Win think? What would the horsemen behind her say when at last they overtook her? Maybe they would arrest her!" The thought terrified her, and she urged her horse to a still greater burst of speed. Presently she became aware that the hoof beats behind had almost died away. Fainter and fainter they sounded, and then—far ahead, on top of a knoll silhouetted against the star-dotted sky, shesaw the figure of a horseman. Instantly it disappeared where the trail dipped into a coulee, and with a thrill of wild exhilaration she realized that her horse had run away from the pursuers, and not only that, he was actually closing up on the Texan despite the boast of Ike Stork that his animal could run rings around any others.
She topped the rise, and half way across a wide swale, caught another glimpse of the horseman. The man pulled up, sharply. There were two horsemen! She had almost come up to them when suddenly they crashed together. She distinctly heard the sound of the impact. There was a short, sharp struggle, and as the horses sprang apart, one of the saddles was empty, and a rider thudded heavily upon the ground. Then, faintly at first, but momentarily growing louder and more distinct, she heard the rumble of pursuing hoofs. She glanced swiftly over her shoulder and when she returned her eyes to the front one of the riders was disappearing over the rim of the swale, and the other was struggling to his feet. For only an instant the girl hesitated, then plunged straight down the trail after the fleeing rider. As she passed the other a perfect torrent of vile curses poured from his lips, and with a shudder, she recognized the voice of Long Bill Kearney. The interruption of the headlong flight had been short, but it had served to cut down their lead perceptibly. The sounds of pursuit were plainer even than at first and glancing over her shoulderas she reached the rim of the swale, she could see horsemen stringing down into the depression. Topping the ridge she was surprised to find the Texan only a short distance ahead. He was plying his quirt mercilessly but the animal moved slowly, and she could see that he limped. Swiftly she closed up the distance, and as she rode, she became conscious of a low hoarse rumbling, a peculiar sound, dull, all pervading, terrifying. Glancing ahead, beyond the figure of the rider, a cry escaped her. The whole world seemed to be a sea of wildly tossing water. The Missouri! But surely, not the Missouri as she had remembered it—this wild roaring flood! The river they had crossed a year ago on Long Bill's flat-boat had been a very commonplace stream, flowing smoothly between its banks. But, this——
As she caught up to the horseman, he whirled, gun in hand. "Tex!" she screamed.
The gun hand dropped, and the man stared at her in amazement. "What are you doing here?"
"I came—they had horses and were going to kill you—I rode in between so they wouldn't shoot——"
"Good God, girl——"
"Hurry!" she cried, frantically, "they're close behind."
"Horse went lame," he jerked out as he plied quirt and spurs. "Got to make the ferry. Long Bill says the river's broke all records. He's runnin' away. Left his flat-boat tied to a tree. It'sonly a little ways. You go back! I can make it. Had to knock Bill down to keep him from blockin' my game. Once on that boat, they can't follow."
"But, they're almost here—" Even at the words, a horseman topped the ridge, and with a yell to his followers, plunged toward them.
The Texan scowled darkly: "Go back! They'll never say I hid behind a woman's skirts!"
"I won't go back! Oh, hurry, there's the boat! Two more minutes, and we'll be there! Turn around and shoot! It'll hold 'em!"
"I won't shoot—not when they can't shoot back!"
The foremost horseman was almost upon them when they reached the flat-boat. He was far in advance of the rest, and as the Texan swung to the ground the report of a six-gun rang loud, and a bullet sang over their heads.
The bullet was followed by the sound of a voice: "Shoot, you fool! Keep a-shootin' till you pile onto the boat, an' I'll shoot back. Them hounds back there ain't hankerin' fer no close quarters with you—I told 'em how good you was with yer guns." And Ike Stork followed his words with two shots in rapid succession.
"Good boy, old hand!" grinned the Texan, "how's that!" Six shots cut the air like the reports of an automatic, and Ike, swerving sharply, galloped back in a well-feigned panic of fear. It was the work of a moment to get the Texan's horse aboard, and Alice followed with her own.
The man stared. "Get back!" he cried, "I'mgoin' across! Go back to Win!"
"They'll shoot if I don't stay right here! Ike can't hold 'em but a few minutes, at best. They'd have you at their mercy. This boat moves slowly."
The Texan took her roughly by the arm. "You go back!" he roared. "Can't you see it won't do? You can't come! God, girl, can't you see it? The touch of you drives me crazy!"
"Don't be a fool! And I won't see you shot—so there! Oh, Tex, it's you who can't see—I do love you—like a sister. I always think of you as my big brother—I never had a real one."
The Texan backed away. "I don't want no sister! What'll folks say? This big brother stuff won't go—by a damn sight!" Hoof beats sounded nearer, and a stream of curses floated to their ears.
"There comes that horrible Long Bill," cried the girl, and before the Texan could make a move to stop her, she seized an ax from the bottom of the boat and brought it's keen edge down upon the mooring line. The flat-boat shuddered and moved, slowly at first, then faster as it worked into the current. The Texan gazed dumbfounded at the rapidly widening strip of water that separated them from the shore. But he found scant time to stare idly at the water. All about them it's surface was clogged with floating debris. The river had risen to within a foot of the slender cable thatheld the boat on its course, and the unwieldy craft was trembling and jerking as uprooted trees and masses of flotsam caught on the line, strained it almost to the point of snapping and then rolled under by the force of the current, allowed the line to spring into place again. Slowly, the boat, swept by the force of the flood, worked out into the stream, adding its own weight to the strain on the line. The craft shuddered as a tree-trunk struck her side, and seizing a pole, the man shoved her free. The rushing water sucked and gurgled at the edge of the boat, and Alice stepped nearer to the Texan. "We're moving, anyway," she said, "we can't see the shore, now. And the voices of the men have died away."
"We can't see, because it's cloudin' up, an' we can't hear 'em because the river's makin' such a racket. With the pull there is on the boat, we ain't ever goin' to get her past the middle—if I could, I'd work her back right now where we come from."
"They'd shoot you!"
"If they did it would only be me they'd get—the river won't be so particular."
"You mean—we're in danger?"
"Danger!" The naïve question angered the cowboy. "Oh, no we ain't in any danger, not a bit in the world. We're just as safe as if we was sittin' on a keg of powder with the fuse lit. There's nothin' in the world can hurt us except this little old Mizoo, an' it wouldn't think of such a thing——"
"Don't try to be sarcastic, Tex, you do it veryclumsily."
"Maybe I do, but I ain't clumsy at guessin' that of all the tight places I've ever be'n in, this is the tightest. How far can you swim?"
"Not a stroke."
"So can I."
"Anyway, it's better than being lost in a dust storm—we won't shrivel up and die of thirst."
"No, we won't die of thirst, all right. But you an' me have sure stumbled into a fine mess. What'll Win think, an' what'll everyone else think? If we go under, they'll never know any different, an' if we do happen to get across, it'll be some several days before this river gets down to where we can get back, an' I can see from here what a lovely time we're goin' to have explainin' things to the satisfaction of all parties concerned."
"You seem to be a born pessimist. We're not going under, and what's to prevent us from waiting out here until the men on the bank go away, and then going back where we started from?"
A flash of lightning illumined the horizon and the Texan's voice blended with a low rumble of thunder. "With the force of water the way it is," he explained, "we can't move this boat an inch. It'll carry to the middle on the slack of the line, an' in the middle we'll stay. It'll be uphill both ways from there an' we can't budge her an inch. Then, either the line'll bust, or the river will keep on risin' till it just naturally pulls us under."
"Maybe the river will start to fall," venturedthe girl.
"Maybe it won't. We've had enough rain this spring for four summers already—an' more comin'."
"We'll get out someway." The Texan knew that the words were forced. And his heart bounded with admiration for this girl who could thus thrust danger to the winds and calmly assert that there would be a way out. A nearer flash of lightning was followed by louder thunder. "Sure, we'll get out," he agreed, heartily. "I didn't mean we wouldn't get out. I was just lookin' the facts square in the face. There ain't any jackpot that folks can get into that they can't get out of—somehow."
"Oh, does something awful always happen out here?" the girl asked almost plaintively. "Why can't things be just—just normal, like they ought to be?"
"It ain't the country, it's the folks. Get the right combination of folks together, an' somethin's bound to happen, no matter where you're at."
Then the storm struck and the girl's reply was lost in the rush of wind and the crash of thunder, as flash after blinding flash lighted the surface of the flood. They had reached midstream. The boat had lost its forward motion and lay tugging at the taut line as the water rushed and gurgled about it. The rain fell in blinding torrents causing the two horses to huddle against each other, tremblingin mortal fear. The drift was thicker in the full sweep of the current, and the Texan had his hands full warding it off the boat with his pole. By the lightning flashes Alice could see his set, tense face as he worked to keep the debris from massing against the craft. A heavy object jarred against the cable, and the next moment the two gazed wide eyed at a huge pine, branches and roots thrashing in the air, that had lodged against the line directly upstream. For a few moments it held as the water curled over it in white masses of foam. Then the trunk rolled heavily, the roots and branches thrashing wildly in the air, and the whole mass slipped slowly beneath the cable. It struck the boat with a heavy jar that canted it at a dangerous angle and caused the terrified horses to struggle frantically to keep their feet.
"Quick!" roared the Texan, "get to the upper side, before they smash you!" In vain he was pushing against the trunk of the tree, exerting every atom of power in his body to dislodge its huge bulk that threatened each moment to capsize the clumsy craft. But he might as well have tried to dislodge a mountain. The frightened animals were plunging wildly, adding the menace of their thrashing hoofs to the menace of the river. Vainly the Texan sought to quiet them but the sound of his voice was drowned in the roar of thunder, the swishing splash of rain, and the gurgle of water that purled among the roots and branches of the pine. Suddenly the lame horse reared high,pawed frantically for a moment and with an almost human scream of terror, plunged over the side. Alice reached swiftly for the flying bridle reins of her own animal and as her hand closed upon them he quieted almost instantly. Relieved of the weight of the other horse, the boat shifted its position for the worse, the bottom canting to a still steeper angle. A flash of lightning revealed the precariousness of the situation. A few inches more, and the water would rush over the side, and both realized that she would fill instantly.
It is a peculiar vagary of the human mind that in moments of greatest stress trivialities loom large. Thus it was that with almost certain destruction staring him in the face, the Texan's glance took in the detail of the brand that stood out plainly upon the wet flank of the girl's horse. "What you doin' with a Y Bar cayuse?" he cried. "With Powder Face?" and then, the boat tilted still higher, he felt a splash of water against his foot, and as he reached out to steady himself his hand came in contact with the handle of the ax. Seizing the tool, he sprang erect, poised for an instant upon the edge of the boat which was already awash, and with the next flash of lightning, brought its blade down upon the wire cable stretched taut as a fiddle gut. The rebound of the ax nearly wrenched it from his grasp, the boat shifted as the cable seemed to stretch ever so slightly, and the Texan noted with satisfaction that the edge was no longer awash. Another flash oflightning and he could see the frayed ends where the severed strands were slowly untwisting. Another blow, and the cable parted. With a jerk that nearly threw the occupants into the river the boat righted herself, the flat bottom striking the water with a loud splash. Before Alice realized what had happened she saw the high flung tree-roots thrash wildly as the released tree rolled in the water. She screamed a warning but too late. A root-stub, thick as a man's arm struck the Texan squarely on top of the head, and without a sound he sank limp and lifeless to the bottom of the boat.
For a moment the girl sat paralysed with terror as her brain grasped the full gravity of her position. The wind had risen, and blowing up river, kicked up waves that struck the boat with sledgehammer force and broke over the gunwales. Overhead the thunder roared incessantly, while about her the thick, black dark burst momentarily into vivid blazes of light that revealed the long slash of the driving rain, and the heaving bosom of the river, with its tossing burden of uprooted trees—revealed, also her trembling horse, and the form of the unconscious Texan lying with face awash in the bottom of the boat. His hat, floating from side to side as the craft rocked in the waves, brushed the horse's heels, and he lashed out viciously, his iron-shod hoofs striking the side of the boat with a force that threatened to tear the planking loose.
The incident galvanized her into action. If those hoofs had struck the Texan? And if he were not already dead, suppose he should drown in the filthy water in the bottom of the boat? Carefully, she worked the frightened animal to thefarther end of the boat, and swiftly made her way to the limp form of the cowboy. She realized suddenly that she was numb with cold. Her hat, too, floated in the bottom of the boat, and her rain-soaked hair clung in wet straggling wisps to her neck and face. Stooping over the injured man she twisted her fingers into the collar of his shirt and succeeded in raising his face clear of the water. Blood oozed from a long cut on his forehead at the roots of his hair, and on top of his head she noticed a welt the size of a door knob. With much effort she finally succeeded in raising him to a sitting posture and propping him into a corner of the boat, where she held him with her body close against his while she bathed his wound and wiped his eyes and lips with her rain-soaked handkerchief. Opening her shirt, the girl succeeded in tearing a strip from her undergarments with which she proceeded to bandage the wound. This proved to be no small undertaking, and it was only after repeated failures that she finally succeeded in affixing the bandage smoothly and firmly in place. The storm continued with unabated fury and, shivering and drenched to the skin, she huddled miserably in the bottom of the boat against the unconscious form of the man.
Added to the physical discomfort came torturing thoughts of their plight. Each moment carried her farther and farther from Timber City—from Win. When the lightning flashed she caught glimpses of the shore, but always it appeared the same distance away. The boat was holding to themiddle of the stream. She knew they must have drifted miles. "What would Win say?" over and over the same question repeated itself in her brain, and step by step, she reviewed the events of the night. "I did the right thing—I know I did!" she muttered, "they would have killed him!" And immediately she burst into tears.
Inaction became unbearable, and shifting the body of the Texan so that his head would remain clear of the ever deepening wash in the bottom of the boat, she seized the pole and worked frantically. But after a few moments she realized the futility of her puny efforts to deviate the heavy craft a hair's breadth from its course. The tree-root that had knocked the Texan unconscious had descended upon the boat, and remained locked over the gunwale, holding the trunk with its high-flung tangle of roots and branches close alongside, the whole structure moving as one mass.
She discarded the pole and tried to arouse the unconscious man, shaking and pounding him vigorously. After a time his head moved slightly and redoubling her efforts, she soon had the satisfaction of seeing his eyes open slowly. His hand raised to his bandaged head, and dropped listlessly to his side. Placing her lips close to his ear to make herself heard above the roar of the storm, she begged and implored him to rouse himself. He evidently understood, for he moved his arms and legs and shifted his body into a more comfortable position. "I—don't—remember—" thewords came in a low, faltering voice, "what—happened."
"When you cut the cable that root hit you on the head," she explained, pointing to the root-stub that held the boat firmly against the trunk of the tree.
He nodded his understanding, and in the illumination of the almost continuous flashes of lightning stared at the root, as if trying to collect his scattered wits. The boat jerked unsteadily, hesitated, jerked again and the branches and uplifted roots of the tree swayed and thrashed wildly. He struggled to his knees, and holding to the girl's arm raised himself unsteadily to his feet where he stood swaying uncertainly, his eyes fixed on the thrashing branches. His vitality returned with a rush. His eyes narrowed as he pointed out the danger, and his voice rang strong above the storm: "Where's the ax?"
Stooping, the girl recovered it from the water at her feet. Instantly, it was seized from her hand, and staggering to the root, the Texan chopped at it with blows that increased in vigour with each successive swing. A few moments sufficed to sever it, and springing to one side, the man drew the girl to the bottom of the boat, while above them the branches thrashed and tore at the gunwales. A moment later the craft floated free, and placing his lips to her ear, the Texan explained: "They stick down as far as they do up, an' when we pass over a shallow place they drag along thebottom. If we'd struck a snag that would have held the tree, it would have been 'good-night' for us. That root would have ripped down through the bottom, and all there'd be'n left of us is two strings of bubbles. We're lucky."
Alice shuddered. "An' now," continued the cowboy, "we've got to bail out this old tub. What with the water that rolled in over the edge, and what's rained in, we'll have a boatful before long."
"Why, there's barrels of it!" cried the girl. "And we haven't anything to bail with!"
The Texan nodded: "There's barrels of it all right. I saw a fellow empty a barrel with a thimble, once—on a bet. It took him a considerable spell, but he did it. My boots hold considerable more'n a thimble, an' we can each take one an' go to it."
"But, wouldn't it be better to try and reach shore?"
"Reach shore?" With a sweep of his arm the man indicated the surface of the turgid flood. Following the gesture, Alice realized the utter futility of any attempt to influence the course of the clumsy craft. The wind had risen to a gale, but the full fury of the electrical storm had passed. Still continuous, the roar of the thunder had diminished to a low rumbling roll, and the lightning flashed pale, like ghost lightning, its wan luminescence foreshortening the range of vision to include only the nearer reaches of wild lashing water upon whose surface heaved and tossed thetrunks and branches of trees over which the whitecapped waves broke with sodden hiss. The shore line with its fringe of timber had merged into the outer dark—an all-enveloping, heavy darkness that seemed in itself athing—a thing of infinite horror whose evil touch was momentarily dispelled by the paling flashes of light. "Oh, where are we? Where are we going?" moaned the girl.
"Down river, somewhere," answered the Texan, with an attempt at cheerfulness. The man was industriously bailing with a boot. He tossed its mate to the girl. "Bail," he urged, "it gives you somethin' to think about, an' it's good exercise. I was about froze till I got to heavin' out this water. We ain't so bad, now. We're bound to get shoved ashore at some bend, or the wind'll blow us ashore. Looks to me as if she was widenin' out. Must of overflowed some flat." Mechanically she took the boot and, following the example of the Texan, began to bail out. "Rain's quit, an' this wind'll dry us out when we get the boat emptied so we don't have to sit in the water. My shirt's most dry already."
"The wind has changed!" cried the girl. "It's blowing crosswise of the river, now."
"More likely we've rounded a bend," opined the Texan. "I don't know the river below Claggett."
"If we're blown ashore, now, it will be the wrong shore."
"Most any old shore'd look good to me. I ain't what you might call aquatic by nature—I ain'teven amphibious." Alice laughed and the sound was music to the Texan's ears. "That's right, laugh," he hastened to say, and the girl noticed that the cheerfulness was not forced, "I've never heard you laugh much owin' to the fact that our acquaintance has been what you might call tribulations to an extent that has be'n plumb discouragin' to jocosity. But, what was so funny?"
"Oh, nothing. Only one would hardly expect a cowboy, adrift in the middle of a swollen river to be drawing distinctions between words."
"Bailin' water out of a boat with a boot don't overtax the mental capacity of even a cowboy to absolute paralysis."
"You're certainly the most astonishing cowboy I've ever known."
"You ain't known many——"
"If I'd known a thousand—" The sentence was never finished. The boat came to a sudden stop. Both occupants were thrown violently to the bottom where they floundered helplessly in their efforts to regain their feet. "What happened?" asked the girl, as she struggled to her knees, holding fast to the gunwale. "Oh, maybe we're ashore!" Both glanced about them as a distant flash of lightning threw its pale radiance over the surface of the flood. On every side was water—water, and the tossing branches of floating trees. The Texan was quieting the terrified horse that crouched at the farther end of the boat, threatening momentarily to become a very realmenace by plunging and lashing out blindly in the darkness.
"Struck a rock, I reckon," said the cowboy. "This cayuse'll be all right in a minute, an' I'll try to shove her off. Must be we've headed along some new channel. There hadn't ought to be rocks in the main river."
The clumsy craft shifted position with an ugly grating sound as the current sucked and gurgled about it, and the whitecapped waves pounded its sides and broke in white foam over the gunwales. The Texan took soundings with the pole. "Deep water on three sides," he announced, "an' about a foot down to solid rock on the other. Maybe I can climb out an' shove her off."
"No! No!" cried the girl, in a sudden panic of fear. "You can't swim, and suppose something should happen and the boat moved off before you could climb into it? You'd be washed off the rock in a minute, and I—I couldn't stand it alone!"
"The way she's millin' around on the rock, I'm afraid she'll rip her bottom out. She's leakin' already. There's more water in here now, than when we started to bail."
"Most of it splashed in over the side—see, when the waves break."
"Maybe," assented the Texan, carelessly, but in the darkness he stooped and with his fingers located a crack where the planking had been forced apart, through which the river water gushed copiously. Without a word he stepped to thegirl's saddle and took down the rope. "We've got to get off here," he insisted, "where'd we be if some big tree like the one that knocked me cold would drift down on us?" As he talked he passed the loop of the rope over his head and made it fast about his shoulders, and allowing ten or twelve feet of slack, knotted it securely to a ring in the end of the boat. "There, now I can get onto the rock an' by using the pole for a crow-bar, I can pry us off, then if I get left I'll just trail along on this rope until I can pull myself in."
The man's first effort resulted only in breaking a couple of feet from the end of his lever, but finally, by waiting to heave on his bar at the moment a wave pounded the side, he had the satisfaction of seeing the craft move slowly, inch by inch toward the deeper water. A moment later the man thanked his stars that he had thought of the rope, for without warning the boat lifted on a huge wave and slipped from the rock where it was instantly seized by the current and whirled down stream with a force that jerked him from his feet. Taking a deep breath, he clutched the line, and easily pulled himself to the boat, where the girl assisted him over the side.
They were entirely at the mercy of the river, now, for in the suddenness of their escape from the rock, the Texan had been unable to save the pole. Groping in the water for his boot he began to bail earnestly, and as Alice attempted to locate the other boot her hand came in contact with theinrushing stream of water. "Oh, itisleaking!" she cried in dismay. "I can feel it pouring through the bottom!"
"Yes, I found the leak back there on the rock. If we both bail for all we're worth maybe we can keep her afloat."
Alice found the other boot and for what seemed interminable hours the two bailed in silence. But despite their efforts, the water gained. Nearly half full, the boat floated lower and more sluggishly. Waves broke over the side with greater frequency, adding their bit to the stream that flowed in through the bottom. At length, the girl dropped her boot with a sigh that was half a sob: "I can't lift another bootful," she murmured; "my shoulders and arms ache so—and I feel—faint."
"Just you prop yourself up in the corner an' rest a while," advised the Texan, with forced cheerfulness, "I can handle it all right, now." Wearily, the girl obeyed. At the bow and stern of the square-ended boat, the bottom curved upward so that the water was not more than six or eight inches deep where she sank heavily against the rough planking, with an arm thrown over the gunwale. Her eyes closed, and despite the extreme discomfort of her position, utter weariness claimed her, and she sank into that borderland of oblivion that is neither restful sleep, nor impressionable wakefulness.
It may have been minutes later, or hours, that the voice of the Texan brought her jerkily erect.Vaguely she realized that she could see him dimly, and that his arm seemed to be pointing at something. With a sense of great physical effort, she managed to follow the direction of the pointing arm, and then he was speaking again: "It's breakin' daylight! An' we're close to shore!" Alice nodded indifferently. It seemed, somehow, a trivial thing. She was conscious of a sense of annoyance that he should have rudely aroused her to tell her that it was breaking daylight, and that they were close to shore. Her eyes closed slowly, and her head sank onto the arm that lay numb and uncomfortable along the gunwale.
The Texan was on his feet, eagerly scanning his surroundings that grew momentarily more distinct in the rapidly increasing light. The farther shore showed dimly and the man emitted a low whistle of surprise. "Must be a good four or five miles wide," he muttered, as his eyes took in the broad expanse of water that rolled between. He saw at a glance that he was well out of the main channel, for all about him were tiny islands formed by the summits of low buttes and ridges while here and there the green tops of willows protruded above the surface of the water swaying crazily in the current.
"Some flood!" he muttered, and turned his attention to the nearer bank. The boat floated sluggishly not more than fifty or sixty feet from the steep slope that rose to a considerable height. "Driftin' plumb along the edge of the bench," heopined, "if I only had the pole." He untied the rope by which he had dragged himself aboard from the rock, and coiled it slowly, measuring the distance with his eye. "Too short by twenty feet," he concluded, "an' nothin' to tie to if I was near enough." He glanced downward with concern. The boat was settling lower and lower. The gunwales were scarcely a foot above the water. "She'll be divin' out from under us directly," he muttered. "I wonder how deep it is?" Hanging the coiled rope on the horn of the saddle he slipped over the edge, but although he let down to the full reach of his arms his feet did not touch bottom and he drew himself aboard again. The boat was moving very slowly, drifting lazily across a bit of slack water that had backed into the mouth of a wide coulee. Fifty yards away, at the head of the little bay formed by the backwater, the Texan saw a bit of level, grass-covered beach. Glancing helplessly at his rope, he noticed that the horse was gazing hungrily at the grass, and in an instant, the man sprang into action. Catching up his boots he secured them to the saddle by means of a dangling pack string, and hastily uncoiling the rope he slipped the noose over the horn of the saddle. The other end he knotted and springing to the girl's side shook her roughly. "Wake up! Wake up! In a minute it'll be too late!" Half lifting her to her feet he hastily explained his plan, as he talked he tore the brilliant scarf from his neck and tied it firmly about his own wrist and hers. Making hertake firm hold about his neck he seized the knotted rope with one hand, while with the other he reached for the ax and brought the handle down with a crash against the horse's flank. The sudden blow caused the frightened animal to leap clean over the low gunwale. He went completely out of sight, but a moment later his head appeared, and snorting, and thrashing about, he struck out for shore. When the slack was out of the line the Texan threw his arm about the girl's waist, and together they leaped over the side in the wake of the swimming horse. Even with the small amount of slack that remained, the jerk when the line pulled taut all but loosened the Texan's hold. Each moment seemed an eternity, as the weight of both hung upon the Texan's one-handed grip. "Hold for all you're worth!" he gasped, and he felt her arms tighten about him, relinquished the hold on her waist and with a mighty effort gripped the rope with the hand thus freed. Even with two hands it was no mean task to maintain his hold, for the current slight as it was, swung them down so the pull was directly against it. The Texan felt the girl's grasp on his neck weaken. He shouted a word of encouragement, but it fell on deaf ears, her hands slipped over his shoulders, and at the same instant the man felt the strain of her weight on his arm as the scarf seemed to cut into the flesh. The Texan felt himself growing numb. He seemed to be slipping—slipping—from some great height—slipping slowly down a long, soft incline.In vain he struggled to check the slow easy descent. He was slipping faster, now—fairly shooting toward the bottom. Somehow he didn't seem to care. There were rocks at the bottom—this he knew—but the knowledge did not worry him. Time enough to worry about that when he struck—but this smooth, easy slide was pleasant. Crash! There was a blinding flash of light. Fountains of stars played before his eyes like fireworks on the Fourth of July. An agonizing pain shot through his body—and then—oblivion.
A buckskin horse, with two water-soaked boots lashing his flanks and trailing a lariat rope from the horn of his saddle, dashed madly up a coulee. The pack string broke and the terrifying thing that lashed him on, fell to the ground with a thud. The run became a trot, and the trot a walk. When the coulee widened into a grassy plain, he warily circled the rope that dragged from the saddle, and deciding it was harmless, fell eagerly to eating the soggy buffalo grass that carpeted the ground.
While back at the mouth of the coulee lay two unconscious forms, their bodies partly awash in the lapping waves of the rising river.