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THE LUCKLESS TRAPPER;

OR,

THE HAUNTED HUNTER

BY WILLIAM R. EYSTER,

AUTHOR OF "WILD NAT" (POCKET NOVEL 21.)

VOL. V.
NOVEMBER 11, 1876.
NO. 62.

NEW YORK:
BEADLE AND ADAMS, PUBLISHERS,
98 WILLIAM STREET.

Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1871, by
FRANK STARR & CO.,
In the office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington.




                          THE HAUNTED HUNTER;

                                  OR,

                   BILL BLAZE, THE LUCKLESS TRAPPER




                              CHAPTER I.

                        A CORPSE IN THE STREAM.


There is a peculiar hiss when a rifle-ball passes in close proximity to
one's head, a sound that no doubt chords with some musical note, yet
upon most ears the noise is apt to fall rather unpleasantly. So the
trapper, though thoroughly seasoned to danger and the thousand chances
and mischances of the bush and plain, dodged his head suddenly, with
a movement more energetic than graceful, at the same time uttering,
though not above a whisper, an ejaculation of surprise and discontent.
In the midst of his reconnoitering it seemed to him that he had been
reconnoitered, and that to some purpose. There was danger in the
atmosphere.

Carefully he peered around him. He caught no sight of the hand that had
fired the shot; he could see nothing and could hear nothing that gave
sign of hostile intentions. Through the bushes that were spread before
him like a curtain he anxiously gazed, with one hand pushing them aside.

"Where the dickins c'u'd that 'a' come from," he muttered. "Some one
hez hed a line shot on this hyer old hoss an' cum mighty nigh a-sendin'
him under. Ef I could only git a site at the varmint ther'd be a case
o' suddint death, sure--ah!"

The soliloquy ceased, for on the small level spot on the opposite side
of the stream, standing out bold and full in the clear moonlight, there
appeared two men. The distance was not great, their actions evinced no
knowledge that any other human being was near them, and as they broke
into conversation every word they spoke was wafted distinctly to the
ears of the listener who lay concealed in the close hanging bushes.

One of these two men was tall and shapely in build. His form gave token
of strength and activity, while the moonbeams that fell upon his face
lit up a countenance that was more than ordinarily handsome. One hand
rested upon the muzzle-end of a heavy rifle, the other was extended
in a shunning gesture, the palm outward as if waving back the man who
faced him.

The other was, if any thing, shorter in stature, but made up for any
lack of hight in breadth of build. His shoulders were almost Herculean
in shape, his hands were large, his neck thick and powerful--altogether
his appearance promised strength rather than activity. His face could
scarcely be distinguished, but even in the shadow one could fancifully
map out a countenance indicative of boldness and resolution.

Thus the two stood in the moonlight, scarcely three yards apart and
facing each other.

"You're quick on the trigger," said the short man; "and if it had been
daylight I might have gone under. I'm not one to bear malice, though
it's a rough old joke to be shot at. If I was some men you'd not be
standing now."

"I know it. Yet daylight or dark, if I had not discovered my mistake
in time, _I_ should have been standing and you down. As I pulled the
trigger I raised the barrel for I saw it was the wrong man. The right
one is near me somewhere though, and had you been he, the scores would
have all been wiped out by this time."

"I thought so. I kinder saw you hitch up your iron, so I knew you had
made a mistake when you threw the tube to your shoulder. It was sudden
though--and not the first time a white man has drawn sights on me. I've
been watching you since you came around here; I've been waiting for you
to show your hand, and I want to know to-night what your game is. If
you are on the square, with no infernal curious kinks in yer nature,
well an' good. But if ye want to know more than ye see, if ye must
take a hand in what don't concern you nor your'n, then take a fool's
advice--an' _move on_."

"See here, Martin, if that's your name, don't borrow trouble about me.
You're not my man. I don't want to know more than one thing, and that
is, where my man is. Then I don't want to do more than one thing. I
want to lay sights on him. After that it's a matter between him and
Killemquick, and the chances in Killemquick's favor."

"That's all right; but s'posin' 'your man' is one of my men--I want
to know something about that; fur down here along Back Load Trail
there's a few on us as hang together mighty close. Ef you get them
double-sights pulled on some as I knows on, mebbe there'll be the like
on you with a quicker finger on the trigger."

"Very well, old man, you know all I can tell you. My name is Winkle,
and I'm laying out for my man. I've heard of Back Load Trail and I've
heard of Dick Martin that rules it. I'm an honest man and a square man,
and I tell you there will be some fancy shooting done along here before
long. If it's to be war between you and me let us know it now and I'll
play my hand careful. Remember, I'm not going to interfere with you
except as I have to; but if so be that there's danger in the air for
one of your friends, more's the pity."

"Yer mighty indefinite, stranger. Ef you've ever heard of Back Load
Trail, as ye say ye have, ye must know that outsiders that sometimes
try to ring in here, occasionally git the'r last sickness. We run
things down here to suit ourselves purty much, an' ef you've got a
grudge ag'in' any one it's all right, so he's an outsider, too. But,
ef it's ag'in' one of us Free Trappers, the bullet is already run that
puts yer light out. I don't know of any strangers on this trail but
yerself an' one more, an' he only come down from the mountains last
night. Ef it's him, all right. Ef it ain't--look sharp. Ef it's me, but
ye say it ain't, I'm here now!"

The voice of Dick Martin rolled out round and full as he uttered the
words, "I'm here now"; there was even something heroic in his tone,
just as there was a world of bitter warning in the first part of his
address. But he seemed to make little impression on his _vis-a-vis_,
who looked at him steadily, and answered him coolly:

"I neither know nor care if the man I'm seeking is a Free Trapper, or
whether he just came down from the mountains. I know I'm a dead shot
and I know I'll shoot him dead. When you find a corpse lying on the
broad of its back with its left eye shot out you may calculate that my
mission is accomplished and that I'm done with this region. As for any
threats you make, I care nothing for them, I fear for nothing, nothing
can harm me. I am above all chances, for I am a minister of Fate, and
until Fate has been served, the lead is not run nor the steel forged
that can harm me."

"By heavens! yer either a gritty man or yer crazy. Ther's not many men
stood up lately and talked that way to my face. I like pluck and I like
grit, so I'm goin' to hold on a leetle longer till I see yer game.
It's not often I take a likin', but I half like you. I come down here
to where you were camped intendin' to do some plain talkin', but I've
altered my mind a leetle on it. Turn in, stranger, Dick Martin bids ye
good-night."

Something in Martin's voice gave evidence to the other of the sincerity
of his words. Though, on their very faces, as much as from their
conversation, you could plainly see their wide dissimilarity, yet
Winkle's voice lost something of its hard, steely ring as he responded:

"Good-night then. We understand each other pretty fairly. Watch my hand
and you may see what I play. I don't think it's against your game,
but if it is I say nothing against your doing your best. Each man for
himself and--"

Whatever else the taller man was about to say was suddenly interrupted
by a wild cry proceeding from the opposite side of the stream, a cry
that startled both men. Martin dropped at full length upon the ground,
while Winkle brought his rifle to a ready and gazed in the direction
from whence came the sound.

The bushes which lined the bank seemed to be violently agitated, there
was a noise as of two men engaged in a fierce and well-contested
struggle. This lasted but for a few seconds, then a dark body shot out
into the moonlight and fell into the water with a sullen splash.

Both men cast curious glances at the spot where the body had
disappeared. Great waves circled out and out, but there was no further
struggling, and for a time no sign of what was the object that had
fallen into the stream. But at length, as the two spectators looked
curiously at each other, there rose into the clear moonshine, that lay
broad and silvery upon the surface of the water, the face of a dead
man; while from his breast, as a center, there irradiated a crimson
fluid that dyed the water with its stain.

Henry Winkle took a few steps forward and gazed anxiously at the body
that was slowly drifting down with the current. Apparently he was
satisfied, for he turned around with what might have been taken for a
sigh of relief. But when his eye explored the little plateau it rested
not on any living thing--Dick Martin had quietly glided away.




                              CHAPTER II.

                            AN APPARITION.


Although there was nothing in the sudden disappearance of Martin that
could particularly alarm Winkle, impressed as he really was with the
present good faith of the man with whom he had lately been conversing,
still from some cause or other he felt by no means at his ease. Who
might be upon the other side of the stream yet remained a mystery, and
until that was solved he could not follow the advice lately tendered
him and "turn in." He gave a quick glance up and down the stream, a
sharp look at the bushes that lined the other shore, and then, with
a quick, noiseless step, turned into the woods from which but a few
moments before he had emerged.

It was his purpose to move up the stream for some little distance, and
then, crossing over, beat carefully down the bank, keeping a look-out
for traces of the parties whom he had no doubt had been engaged in a
deadly struggle at the time the cry had interrupted his conversation.

All about him was silent, and he met with no haps or mishaps for the
time. As he came down the bank, however, his eyes wandered in every
direction, every clump was carefully examined, and his progress was
necessarily slow. At first nothing rewarded his search; but at length
something caught his practiced eye and by even the uncertain light he
could plainly discover a trail, leading in the direction in which he
was proceeding. Immediately he halted for its examination. Almost a
glance showed him that it was a careless and unconcealed one, and that
it was made by a white man. A moment more and Winkle decided within
himself that it was made by the man whom Martin stated had just come
down from the mountains. It led on down the stream, and the explorer
followed cautiously upon it, not forgetting to look from time to time
at either side, in search of further information. When he arrived
opposite to the spot where he and the Free Trapper had held their late
conversation, the track suddenly turned at right angles and it seemed
to him as though the man who made it had from this spot acted with more
caution. And as he cast his eyes to one side he saw the marks left by
the footsteps of a distinct party.

His movements were governed by the utmost caution, but he went rapidly
and noiselessly to the spot. The footprints that he there found
appeared to give him more trouble than the former ones, for it was some
time before his mind was fully settled; then he looked up with the
one word, "Indian," on his lips. He noticed that from their direction
both trails led into the bushes in such a manner as to cross, or at
least meet each other at about the spot from which the body had been
projected into the stream--and accordingly he noiselessly followed the
second trail, with every sense and nerve on the alert to catch the
first signal telling of the proximity of any living beings. It was not
long before he found the trail most suddenly ended, for he came to a
spot where the ground had been beaten and the branches and shrubs most
evidently disarranged by a short but desperate contest. It was too
dark for him to see if there were any traces of blood, but he had no
doubt in his mind but that they were there. Carefully pushing aside the
boughs, he saw that he was immediately on the bank, and in a position
not only to see clearly the spot where he and Martin had met, but near
enough to hear every word of what was then and there said. This much
he noted, then turned aside to seek for further traces of the probable
survivor.

He was not there; and, it was some time before Winkle, practiced as
he was in woodcraft, could discover any sign to indicate in which way
the victor had left. Evidently the man had dropped his carelessness
and was now as cautious in concealing his trail--and he evinced no
mean skill in his efforts--as he was before thoughtless or careless
about the matter. At length, in the dim and hazy light, the search
was rewarded, and Winkle was enabled to tell in which way the man had
departed.

Following a trail that is made carefully and with the intent of leaving
no trace, is at best but slow business. At night it is infinitely
worse. More than once in a dozen rods Winkle paused and scanned the
ground narrowly. At length he came to a halt, completely puzzled--no
mark of bruised grass, imprinted earth or broken twig was to be seen. A
few moments' hesitation and he decided to adopt the plan best adapted
to such a case. Going back to the last spot it was discernible, he took
a careful survey of the surrounding ground, and then turning to the
right he began circling, with a diameter of some rods. Even this method
at first seemed fruitless, but at length, as the perimeter of the
circle almost touched the bank of the stream, he found a faint trace
that sufficed to set him again on the trail. The man had evidently gone
down-stream for several yards, and then, turning to the left, either
taken to the water to conceal his track or else crossed over to the
opposite side. Which had he done? Without hesitation Winkle pushed
ahead, and on gaining the opposite bank discovered the trail, this time
leading _up_ the stream.

This was a discovery indeed, and, while feeling some little uneasiness,
he felt more determined than ever to follow the trail and gain a sight
of this mysterious stranger.

Under the shadow of the trees the traces grew more indistinct and
were once more lost; but allowing himself to be led by instinct, he
hurried on, with his rifle ready to swing to his shoulder at a moment's
warning. A noise fell upon his ears and he halted. At some distance,
and in the direction of down-stream, he heard horse's hoofs rapidly
approaching, the animal, however, being evidently under the control of
a rider.

This appeared to put a new aspect on matters, for, although it might
be Martin, or a friend, the chances also were that it might be an
enemy. Rapidly thrusting his hand in his bosom, Winkle drew therefrom
a whistle, and placed it to his lips. A moment more and a sound
peculiarly shrill and trilling arose on the air. Then the man bent
forward in expectancy. Right ahead, at the distance of a dozen yards,
sounded the neigh of a horse, followed by the noise of a plunge, and
something that resembled the sudden fall of a heavy body. Then bursting
through the underbrush in answer to the call came a noble white steed,
that approached his master at a gallop and placed itself alongside of
him. From the direction in which the animal had come might have been
heard other sounds, but Winkle's whole attention was now given to the
approaching rider. He stood with one hand outstretched, and resting
on the neck of his horse, his eyes riveted on the open sward which,
between the trees among which he stood, glittered and shone clear.

Behind him there was an exclamation, the sound of a struggle and the
voice of some one:

"Dar now, dis chile has yer, suah! T'ink yer steal dat hoss, did yer?"

But at the same time a horse and rider flashed into the anxious sight
of Winkle.

And that rider was a woman!

For just a moment were they visible, but that moment seemed sufficient
to produce a terrible effect on the gazer. He threw up his hand and
uttered a sharp, unearthly cry; his eyes eagerly followed the slight
and graceful form that so easily swung in the saddle; bent forward he
caught the last glimpse of her as her riding-dress fluttered away again
and was lost in the enfolding branches.

Then followed the sound of another horseman. Again a steed and rider
glided across his plane of vision like a shadow on a curtain or a
moving figure in some pantomime. For a moment only it appeared in view,
and then disappeared in the same direction as did the woman.

Emotion was fairly overmastering Winkle. He shook like an aspen, his
hands seemed to have lost their power; but hardly had the second figure
disappeared when his rifle had found its way to his shoulder. But if he
desired to use it with deadly effect, it was too late. Again stillness,
and moonlight, and the nodding trees alone lay before him, while the
retreating footsteps waxed fainter and fainter in the distance.

Mechanically he turned and pursued his way; he heard nothing, saw
nothing--not even the dumb brute by his side, which faithfully paced
along with a step corresponding in slowness with that of its master.

At length a huge rock or mass of rocks lay in his path. Moving a little
to one side he soon skirted them, and as he did so, a light, as from a
suddenly-stirred fire, flamed up before him, illuminating the side of
the bowlder and a small circle in front of it.

Into this circle of light Winkle staggered, and with his rifle
convulsively clutched at a ready, stood gazing with a half-dazed look
into the fire.




                             CHAPTER III.

                            DOUBLY WARNED.


It was no particular feeling of fear that caused Martin to move away in
so quiet a manner, while the struggle was going on upon the opposite
side of the stream. But, as Winkle was to him a stranger, and there
might be some need of investigation, he thought it best that whatever
might be done, should be done by his own unaided exertions. Moving
cautiously, keeping himself well under shade and waiting patiently, he
saw the man, with whom he had been so lately conversing, look around
with a gaze of half wonder at finding himself alone, and then set
forward upon an exploring tour. Not long afterward, at a point some
distance down the stream, a man crossed; and, entering the woods, after
a moment's hesitation, struck off in the direction in which Martin
knew Winkle had camped, or intended to camp for the night. After a
little, hard upon the trail came Winkle, himself. He would doubtless
have followed on for the purpose of seeing the meeting between these
two persons--if meet they should--when he was startled by the sudden
appearance of the two riders. He, too, in a manner almost involuntary,
threw his rifle to his shoulder and, in fact, had the pursuer fairly
covered; but, instead of drawing the trigger, he lowered the weapon,
listened a moment, and then, utterly disregarding the motions of
the two men upon which he had been, but lately, so intent, followed
silently on in the direction in which the woman and the pursuing man
had disappeared.

A walk of a few minutes and the aspect of surrounding things somewhat
changed--sufficiently at least to give token that some man or men had
made a permanent settlement near by. The sound of galloping horses
had ceased; as he advanced, he thought he heard voices engaged in
conversation.

Nor was he mistaken. At some little distance from the edge of the
wood stood a cabin. In front of this the parties had halted. The man
was still mounted, but the woman stood by the threshold of the cabin,
facing her late pursuer, a steely look of defiance upon her countenance.

The man was speaking when Martin came within hearing distance, and his
words fell upon the night-air coldly and distinctly.

"Listen, Edith," he said. "You know me so well, that I need not tell
you that sooner or later I will be heard. I have not come all these
miles to have you put me off with a hand-wave, and a 'begone.' We are,
both of us, older than when we last met and care little for listeners;
but must I say now what I have to say, or will you accord me a more
fitting time and place?"

"As between us, there never can be either a fitting time or place for
communication. All connection, all intercourse between us has ceased,
and forever. I would refuse to willingly hear you, if you came as a
messenger announcing my eternal salvation, and nothing that you can say
or do shall cause me to alter my determination. If you would be safe,
leave me. I am willing to forgive the past, even if I can not forget
it, and I would not see you harmed; therefore I warn you away from
these grounds. I caution you to return from whence you came, if you
dare. And if you dare not, then seek some other place. Away, begone!
for something tells me there is danger in the atmosphere for you here."

"Edith, again, I say, listen. I would speak somewhat of the past; but
more of the future. Through me you have suffered, I admit, but through
me I would have you return again--return to joy and life and youth and
love. I have much that I would tell you. I have sought you long and
faithfully; for three long years I have followed constantly in your
footsteps, but you have as constantly eluded me. Now I find you here
and I must speak."

"Yes, you _have_ followed in my footsteps for three years, and for
four, and for five. Through you I have suffered; but never, never
through you did I or shall I sin. You over-shadowed, you darkened my
young life, made for me existence wretched, pursued me with a thousand
unmanly and mean arts, sought by foul means that which, I can tell you
now, you might then have gained by fair, sought to coerce when you
might have persuaded, actually hunted me down; and now you have sought
me out in this last retreat. Charles Endicott, I tell you beware. I
will not listen to you; I will not hear you; if you pursue I will fly;
if you speak, I will hold my hands to my ears; with me you can do
nothing. But I see trouble for you beyond, trouble black and deadly. Be
advised before it is too late. I am no prophetess or soothsayer, but I
tell you, sure as fate, if you linger here, you linger to meet your own
death. Go your way then; I am dead to the world; I am dead to you; why
should you waste time on a fruitless task?"

"I know you, Edith, and I know your resolution; but, for all that, I
will not go. I am ready to meet death when it comes, for I am one of
those that believe the lot of man is foreordered, and no whining or
flinching can avail aught; but rest assured I shall not die without a
struggle. If you refer to the men of doubtful stamp who are supposed
to haunt this region, all I can say is, I am ready for them; though I
count on no danger in that direction. I have heard of their doings,
and I have heard, too, the name of one who is supposed to exercise a
control over their movements. Martin and I were once friends, and I do
not think I count in vain, when I reckon on his support in all needed
cases. Let this fruitless talk come to an end, and let me, if you will
not appoint a more favorable time, come to that of which I would speak."

The man called Charles Endicott grew more in earnest. With a rapidity
and ease almost miraculous, he threw himself from his horse. So quick
was he, and so graceful, that before the woman fairly knew it, he was
standing near and facing her. She shrunk back somewhat, then raised her
hand with a proud gesture.

"No nearer, sir, no nearer! Think not I am unprotected because you see
me alone."

Endicott stood for a moment gazing silently into the eyes that met
his, fair and full, glowing and sparkling under the moonlight. There
was no quailing in them; no unsettledness of purpose; they did not
fall. He sought to read her soul through them; and all he could see was
unflinching resolution. Poor encouragement to proceed was that steady
stare; a chill crept along his spine, a shiver went through his brain
as he gazed into that face, handsome as a dream, but thin and colorless
as chalk. Her eyes dilated; her form, lithe and slender, straightened;
the proud gesture grew one of menace, and again her lips opened:

"Yes, sir, I am no unprotected female _now_. I hold your life in my
hands in a dozen ways. Times have altered, sir. We stand on a new stage
with new spectators and a new cast of parts. A man more or less, is of
but little importance; your corpse, found with face turned upward and
dead-set eyes staring ghastly, would create little excitement among the
few who might learn of it. Perhaps they might bury it; maybe they would
leave that duty to the wolves. Who knows?"

Endicott's face darkened, for the tone of the woman's voice had a
disdainful ring that cut into his pride like the needle points of a
tattooer. There was sharp pain and an ugly picture left behind. He
tried to smile at her earnestness, but it was a very dismal smile, and
his courage dropped away down toward zero. Not that he feared death--he
only found that he feared the woman!

"Death's-heads and thigh-bones! Run out the black flag if you choose,
yet there will many a day pass before I walk the plank. I see no vision
of sudden death, feel no premonition of approaching dissolution. Say
your say, for you are honest at heart, and when I have listened to you,
you will listen to me, I know. And for my corpse--I entreat you to give
it a Christian burial, should it be found with a ball in the base of my
skull or an underhanded knife-thrust in the small of my back. Danger of
that kind though, is I trust far off."

"Laugh if you will at my warning; yet, as you stand there in the full
moonlight, you make a fair target; and on my honor you stand this
minute covered by more than one weapon of death. You doubt me? Well, I
see a rifle-barrel aimed at your head by the hand of a man who never
yet missed his mark. I see it gleaming, and a wave of my hand brings
the leaden messenger. So go your way; if you remain here five minutes
longer, so help me Heaven, I will see you shot down with as little
mercy as I would a prowling coyote."

How or exactly where she disappeared, Endicott scarcely knew. A mist
appeared to sweep across his eyes, and when the mist rolled away she
was gone. He stared a moment blankly before him, with the words of her
warning ringing in his ears, and a doubt as to what to do in his heart.

"'Shot as a prowling coyote!' Faith, she is in one of her tragic moods
to-night, and I verily believe she would do as she says. She may speak
truly too about some one lying in wait; this is a queer region here,
and if all accounts be true, a bullet from behind a bush would be no
unprecedented thing. I will find my way back to camp as best I can. But
how came she here?"

While muttering these things to himself he remounted his horse, turned
its head in the direction from which he had come and slowly and
thoughtfully began to retrace his steps.

Charles Endicott was a young man. He was well built, strong limbed,
easy in his motions, with a clear, strong voice. His brown hair, long
and well kept, was pushed back from a square forehead; his gray eyes
looked out keenly from under long eyelashes; his nose was shapely,
mouth not ungainly, his beard and mustache full and silken. He settled
firmly in his saddle as though he belonged there, and his horse
bore him as though knowing its master. The manner of his hand upon
the bridle-rein seemed to tell that, though his thoughts might be
elsewhere, still there was will left behind--will and a soul prepared
for any emergency. A face seen by moonlight, it is said, is a heart
unmasked. It may not be so in all cases; but it was in this. There was
a heart then unmasked, a heart untrammeled by the fetters of conscience
or the gyves of moral law. The man was a plotter, the man was a
schemer. Perhaps his plots and schemes might come in contravention
with right? Then right must of needs go to the wall, for the measure of
expediency was the measure of equity with Endicott.

As he passed from the clear space into the wood the animal he bestrode
gave a start, which, while it caused no particular emotion in the heart
of the rider, was still sufficient to make him look warily around. He
thought he saw a gleaming and a glancing some little distance off; he
imagined he could hear the tread of some one approaching. He was right
in his thought, and in his imagination. The gleaming and glancing
were the moonbeams shivering off of the long rifle, and the noise of
footsteps announced the approach of Dick Martin.

Endicott at first sight of the man had thrown his hand warily in search
of a weapon. But, almost instantly recognizing the man, he suffered it
to drop by his side, and, reining in his horse, awaited the issue of
the interview which he foresaw was about to ensue.

When Martin was within a few feet he paused, and the two gave a look at
each other as though they would read the man confronting to the very
soul.

It was Endicott who first broke the silence. He urged his steed onward
a few paces, bent down in his saddle and extended his hand, at the same
time exclaiming:

"Then it _is_ you, Martin. I had half-suspected as much when I first
caught sight of you, and it gave me a shock. We meet as friends, I
hope?"

Martin remained standing unmoved, and as though he did not see the
proffered hand, and answered, in a cool, careless tone:

"Yes, Endicott, it is I--no more, and no less. I know you've got nerves
that are tolerably steady, so I won't show any wonder at your taking
this meeting so coolly; but it's kind of unexpected. You've drifted a
long way out of your latitude to be floating along Back Load Trail.
What's wrong in the East? Are the fools all dead, are the geese not
worth the plucking, have the sheep come short in the wool crop, that
you come here? Or are you in the stream that sets to the gold-diggings?"

"Bah, don't talk to me about the fools, geese and sheep that I've left
behind me! Tell me how it is here. You and I used to understand each
other pretty well, ay, and each other's secrets; so, come now; what's
the best news in this heaven-forsaken region. Dick Martin doesn't
locate here for nothing."

"No, he ain't located here for nothing; you're right. That something
happens to be necessity. My luck in my little speculations ran out
first, and I had to leave. As to what I'm doing here--that's not to be
talked about. Maybe prospecting for gold; maybe Injun trading; maybe
putting daylight through stray travelers and vamoosing with their
traps; maybe any or all of these things--but not likely. I ain't here
for nothing. That's all I can say."

"Martin, we have done business together many a time; we were allies,
if not friends, and I want to know how the case stands now. I don't
want to pry and peer into your private affairs. Maybe I'd be bringing
something to the light that wouldn't stand it so well; but, I've heard
somewhat of you as I came in this direction. Of course I didn't know it
was you I heard the talk about, and of course there is a chance of what
I heard being either true or false, with a little extra weight on the
truth. You remember how we separated, and I don't think you have any
thing to complain of, or any charges of ill faith on my part to bring
against me. Now, the question I want to ask is: Can we rely on each
other as we could of old? A plain yes or no will make the best answer
to the question."

"Well, Endicott, I haven't heard of you particularly, either good or
bad, though I had an intimation that you were in the neighborhood. It
makes no difference what reports have gone trailing toward the East,
and I don't claim to know them; they're bad enough, no doubt. You ask
me a question, and if you must have an answer, why all I can say, is:
In some things, _yes_, in other things, _no_! Will that suit you, or
shall I go ahead and explain?"

"What do you mean by yes?"

"I mean that, in the first place, I would rely on you just as much as I
ever did, and not a particle more. In the second, whatever you get my
word to, that you can depend on my carrying through; but if you think
to find me ready to promise to any and every mad scheme, you are very
much mistaken."

"Any thing that is honest, eh?"

A grim smile flitted over Martin's face at the mention of the word
honest. It was gone in a moment though, and he proceeded:

"Yes, any thing that's honest. Now what is it that you have to propose?
I don't suppose you would have made so much of an introductory if you
had not had something behind it."

"You are partly right. My motto is business first and pleasure
afterward, else I would have had a thousand things to say with regard
to our mutual lives in the past few years. Yet I hardly know what I
would say. I did not seek you; yet, since I have met you, I want to
know if I can count upon your assistance in a little matter which,
springing up suddenly, has found me unprepared to meet it."

"Then you didn't hunt up Back Load Trail for any special reason?"

"No, indeed! It is just my lucky chance. The party I am with are camped
half a mile over yonder. I left them for no very definable reason, and
thereby met with an adventure that may have a great influence on my
actions, perhaps on my whole future life. When we camped over there by
the side of the stream, I thought it was but for the night, now I may
linger in this neighborhood for a day or so. The question is, if I need
a friend will you stand behind me?"

"What's this adventure, and how do you want me to stand behind you? If
what I think is true, you may have more need of it than you think for."

"Well, Martin, I scarce know in what manner I would have you aid me;
perhaps after all only by a neutrality. As to the adventure--I met with
a woman."

There seemed to be nothing either astonishing or disconcerting in this
revelation. After waiting in unbroken silence for any remarks that
Martin might feel inclined to make, Endicott proceeded:

"It was rather strange for a man to ride out of camp with no aim or
object and to stumble upon a woman; stranger, too, when that woman
chanced to be one whom you had known long before, and for whom you had
been long searching and in vain. I do not know what may come of it; but
I know what I want to. How is it? There is no one of our little party
that I care to trust--if I need assistance within the next twenty-four
hours will you give it, and where can I find you?"

Martin looked up slowly and deliberately.

"It seems to me you're putting things on their old basis, what one of
us plans the other is to help carry through."

"Why not? Neither you nor I have grown what the world calls better
since then, and of course the understanding would be now as it always
was--nothing for nothing, all for whatever pays."

"No, I don't suppose we have grown much better; but there may have been
a few changes. As to the woman you speak of, here is all I have to say.
If you have any plans and can carry them out openly and above board,
no force, no underhanded means, no fraud, I'll not lay a straw in your
way; maybe I can help you."

"If not?"

"This. Just you attempt the slightest bit of compulsion, or the first
grain of trickery--try any thing that's not honest, make a move toward
abduction, or take a step toward foul play, and I'll lay you dead in
your tracks."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean what I say. I give you fair leave and fair warning, too. I
don't intend to interfere in any thing _she_ wishes to do, but I mean
she shall not do what she doesn't want to do."

"Do you mean to say that _you_ will exert any control over her actions?"

"Yes, just so far as to let her have her own will. She's one of the few
persons that I have cared for, and when time stops and the sea gives
up its dead, you may, _perhaps_, see me go back on my dead sister's
daughter."




                              CHAPTER IV.

                    BILL BLAZE, THE "SNOLLIGOSTER."


At the very edge of the camp-fire lay two men, mutually clutching each
other, although hostile operations seemed, for the nonce, to have been
suspended. So near to the fire were they that one of them, without
relaxing his hold, had been able to give a log thereon a rousing kick
which had caused the light to flare up, thus enabling him to obtain
a fair view of the other. As Harry Winkle staggered into the circle
of light the two men loosened their grips, and with deliberation rose
to their feet, one of them returning to its sheath a knife, the other
dropping to the ground a hatchet.

"A'mitey Moses, but yer kim neah gittin' a crack across yer skull. What
yer want to steal dat hoss fur--eh?"

"Pompey, there war a nigger nigh onto goin' under about two minnits
ago, an' so yer had better not be axing fool's questions. How d'yer
s'pose I knowed whose hoss that war? The durned red niggers cleaned
me out, root an' branch, 'bout a week ago, an' cum clost to rizin'
my ha'r. I've bin trampin' on the back trace, an' when I cum acrost
a animile handy I wouldn't 'a' bin Bill Blaze ef I hadn't gone fur
him--'special arter what I met to-night. What yer doin' here? Last time
I see'd yer yer war on the Big Red with Cap. Le Compte."

"Hi! You t'ink so! Somebody mite 'a' bin hurt ef I hadn't'a' knowed
it was you when you talk; but dunno 'bout it's bein' dis chile. I's
not bin with dem Hudson Bay fellers sence dat winter when you got so
bad bit up wid dat grizzly. I's on my own hook now, an' takin' care o'
Mass'r Winkle. An' bress my soul, dar he am now!"

The speaker, who was an African of the unmitigated breed, caught sight
of Winkle standing upon the opposite side of the fire.

"Mass'r, dis yere am Mister Bill Blaze. I knows 'um well, an' he's a
fust-rate feller, ef he _war_ a-goin' fur yer hoss. Nussed him up when
he war tore all into leetle bits."

Winkle appeared to be somewhat recalled to life by this address of his
sable attendant; and turning, looked the man thus recommended full in
the face.

Blaze, once introduced, did not stand upon ceremony; but advanced
across the intervening space, extending his hand as he walked.

"Yes siree, I'm that identikle individool, Bill Blaze, jist frum
the mountings! I kin trap more beaver, eat more buffler, steal more
hoss-flesh an' raise more top-knots than any man frum here to the
Columby River. I'm a blarsted bulldorg an' a high-heeled snolligoster.
I kin lick my weight in b'ar's meat, an' my name's Bill Blaze. Waugh!"

"I've heard that name before," said Winkle, taking the offered hand,
"and you're welcome. I'm a little abroad just now, and don't feel like
my own self--for I've seen a ghost."

"Thunder! You look kinder skeery; but ghosts ain't nothin'. I've seen
more ghosts than any man a-trampin'. Had 'em for pards onc't. Fact.
Three on 'em an' myself camped in a shanty down on Black-horn Lick
fur nigh onto a month. There war a woman with her throat cut, an' a
half-breed with his brains stove in, an' his skulp a-danglin' ahind,
an' a black b'ar with his back bruk. The way they tore around that
'ere shanty war nasty. Why, down thar on that thar Lick, ghosts war as
plenty as ha'rs in yer head. An' yell? The catamounts got so 'shamed of
their own mule music they packed their trapsacks an' got. Yer couldn't
find a painter nigher ner fifty mile. No, stranger; don't talk to Bill
Blaze about ghosts, fur he's bin thar!"

Winkle appeared to be little moved by this address. His face still
bore marks of evident perturbation, and there was an absence of mind
depicted in his manner and actions that seemed to strike Blaze as
rather unwarranted. To some remark made he answered rather shortly;
but he accepted of the hospitalities offered him, so far at least as
to seat himself by the fire, and, in default of other entertainment,
entertained himself by the sound of his own voice.

"No, ghosts don't bother this hyar hoss. Nor red-skins nor grizzlies
neither. I kin trap more beaver, kill more b'ar, shoot straighter, run
quicker, jump further, lie faster, stampede more animiles, an' carry
more pelts than any bloody bulldorg ever invented. But, I'm the man
without luck. I've wrastled with the old boy fur thirty years; he's got
an under holt on me; but, I'm dead game, I am! Luck or no luck, I'll
hang like seventeen pair o' tongs and a last inch gamecock. Waugh!"

The negro listened to these announcements, if Winkle did not. He was
accustomed to this style of thing and had heard Blaze before.

"Mass'r Blaze, 'pears to me de bad luck ain't so mitey bad; I's
t'inkin it's toder way cl'ar. Any odder man 'ud bin gone under--dun
gone suah--ef he'd had de half what you's had to go tru. You's allers
a-sayin' you's nary luck, an' allers a-gittin inter de w'ustest kind o'
skrimdigers--an' still you am heah. What's de trouble now?"

"Wal, Pomp, I allow it's no luck as pulls me through, but just pure
grit and muskle in this huyer hoss. I war camped out in a bully old
spot last week; meat plenty, beaver to be had for the taken of 'em,
and every thing going along on a string. Didn't think thar was Injin
within twenty mile, an', blast me, ef they didn't cum down an' clear
us out quicker than the jerk of a dead deer's tail. Bob Short an' I
war thar together, you see, an' Bob struck all right, but they got my
old sorrel mare, an' all our provender, an' I just cum down from them
are mountings after a chase o' four days, poorer ner Job's turkey, an'
nothen left me but Slicer an' this huyer old shootin'-iron. An' this
huyer very blessed night, as I were movin' along promisc'us, thar war a
rifle-ball went _sizz_ a-past my head-piece, ad' I squatted an' see'd
two men a talkin', an' found that thar bit o' lead warn't meant fur me
an' while I war a-listenin', _sock_ cum somethin' right acrost me, an'
hove a yell wuss ner forty catamounts fitin' in a small box. I know'd
it war a copper-belly an' clinched. We hed it, pull an' hug a bit,
an' then I got Slicer out. That thar red-skin won't cum a-pryin' an'
a-peerin' down along Back Load Trace soon ag'in. Nary; not much; waugh!"

The story of the trapper began to interest Winkle; he thought less
and less of the ghost; he descended from the clouds and listened with
earnestness to what the man was saying. He thought of the corpse that
Martin and he had seen drifting down the stream, and believed that the
Indian would _not_ come prying and peering in that neighborhood soon
again. Perhaps, too, this man might be of service to him? At any rate
it would do no harm to meet him cordially.

"Then you are the man who had the tussle over there with an Indian? I
heard the yell, saw him shoot into the stream, and went across to see
what it was about. I was following your trail, when I came across a
sight, or rather a sight came across me, that unhinged my nerves. But,
how came the difficulty with the Indian? What was he doing there? Is
there danger from others that should be specially guarded against?"

"Yes, siree, I'm the man! The diffikilty perobably arove from his not
keepin' both eyes peeled. He was so bent on hearin' that he couldn't
take time to see, an' tumbled onto a hornet's nest. He clinched right
in then by instink, an' as it war die dorg er eat the hatchet, I hed to
let it inte him, though I'd as ruther not. What he was a-doin' I dunno.
Injin deviltry are various. Thar oughtn't to be a red-skin within fifty
miles o' huyer. Thar may be a couple more on 'em or thar mayn't. What
they'd be arter I can't say. Martin ought to know'd ef thar war any,
an' I guess he's got his men out by this time a-lookin'."

"It will be best then to keep a bright look-out?"

"'Twouldn't be onsensible. Leastwise, though I don't think thar's
much danger, it won't hurt to keep one eye open, for I've found it
don't altogether gee right to be too confiding in this section with
anybody--white er red. I'd advise it. I'd advise it, partickler, arter
the talk I heard between you an' Martin. You see, I hain't any doubt
but what yer a good man an' a game man; but, supposin' he was to tell
it to some o' his cronies around here, an' one on 'em should be the man
yer after--I wouldn't put it a-past 'em to slip in here an' slide a few
inch o' steel in somewhar nigh yer jug'lar."

Winkle meditated some little time before he responded; then his words
dropped out slowly and distinctly.

"I am safe from any thing in that shape. It is no mere bravado on my
part when I say so, but a belief so settled that it must be true. I
bear a charmed life while that one other man lives. I have passed
through all straits during the past three years, and from desperate
encounters have come forth unharmed; from beds of deadly sickness have
come up sound and well. I have changed in that time wonderfully, and
the change was not for naught. I do most firmly believe that destiny
has something in store for me; till to-night I thought I knew what it
was. Now I am uncertain; but that it is something more than a stab in
the back or a chance shot in the _melée_ of a night attack I have no
doubt."

"That's all right. I only give my 'pinion on the matter, seein' as may
be I've tramped around here ruther more nor you hev. Jest keep yer
weather eye open--you an' Pomp here is all I mean. And ef any thing
_should_ turn up while I'm in shooting distance, yer kin kalkerlate
that Bill Blaze'll give yer a hint on it."

"Well, well," responded Winkle, "I am not likely to have much
dealings with any one hereabouts; but I begin to think my intentions
have deceived me. I have been lingering in this neighborhood for
several days; but I will do so no longer. To-morrow I will move on
westward--and perhaps, if you have nothing better, you could find it to
your interest to go along."

"That's my identikle name--Moovin'-west Blaze. But I'm steerin' in
toward the settlements to see if thar's anybody sich a blarsted fool as
to trust me fur an outfit. The season's jist commencing, an' ef I hev
any thing like nateral luck I kin pay 'em back when I cum in ag'in and
hev a few pelts in my sack."

"I can arrange that matter, I think," responded Winkle. "I have an
extra horse, and, in fact, nearly every thing you need. I was going on
to the trapping-grounds. Suppose you remain with me a couple days, and
if nothing turns up I will leave this region. If I should, however,
accomplish any of my aims, you shall have what you need anyhow."

"Durn my Trojan! I'm your man. I kin put in a week here, easy. Hev yer
seen Martin's head-quarters yit? If yer hevn't yer ought to call in on
him."

"No; I didn't know that I was so near to it. I have been near here for
some days--within ten or twelve miles perhaps--but I only came into
camp here to-night."

"Yer must go in then. Some on en 'em nosed ye out long ago, an' if yer
don't they may come playin' tricks on yer without sayin' any thing to
Dick. Maybe ye kin git some hints of what yer arter down thar."

"You are right. It may be as well to look a little in that direction.
I've hardly been systematic in my plan of procedure. That comes,
though, of trusting to chance and drifting in the direction Fate seems
to call me. And, by the way, are there any females with the party?"

"Wal, to-morrer morning early will be time enuff to talk it over. I'm
goin' to turn in now and git a snooze. I've had a blarsted long tramp
to-day, and them legs o' mine ain't exackly a steam injine--though,"
by way of a saving clause, and to prevent the idea of any derogatory
admission, "I'm a bloody, blarsted bull-dog and a high-heeled
snolligoster on wheels."

To make arrangements for the night occupied but a short time; and soon,
wrapped in a blanket of Winkle's, Blaze was wooing

    "Sleep that knits up the raveled sleeve of care,
    The death of each day's life, sore labor's bath,
    Chief nourisher in life's feast,"

while silence and darkness reigned around.




                              CHAPTER V.

                         THE SCREAM AT NIGHT.


How long Blaze had been slumbering he could scarcely have even guessed;
but suddenly, and without any assignable cause, he found himself
wide awake. He looked around; he listened. He saw nothing but dim
shadows, heard nothing but the regular breathing of the two sleepers
by his side. Yet his first thought was of danger. He was accustomed to
premonitions. Men who live in an atmosphere of peril meet with them,
understand them, act on them.

He leisurely and thoughtfully unrolled himself from his blanket and
arose to his feet. "Most durn queer," he soliloquized, turning his eyes
in every direction. "This old hoss's narves must be gittin' weak, er
thar's sumthin' wrong a-brewin'. Don't often feel this here way; last
time I did was t'other night, when the copper-bellies was a-cumin' in
onto us without words er warnin'. I'll jist scout around a bit, an' see
if enny thing's broke loose."

Taking his rifle with him, the trapper noiselessly stole away from the
vicinity. He moved around the camp in a gradually increasing circle,
pausing but once in his pace, and that was when he was opposite to the
point where he believed Martin's cabin lay. Full ten minutes passed,
when he heard footsteps and the voices of men engaged in conversation.
Sinking upon the ground at the foot of the tree by which he was
standing, Blaze watched and waited.

Both men were strangers to him; but one of them already has been
introduced to the reader, under the name of Endicott. He had had time
to leave Martin and meet with another man, who seemed a friend; and to
him was imparting information, both as to what had already occurred
that night in the vicinity of Back Load Trace, and as to what might
occur. His words, that spoke of violence and treachery, appeared to
fall upon sympathizing ears. As they drew nearer, all the time becoming
more deeply interested in their conversation, Blaze gave a start
of surprise and recognition; he crouched closely in the shadow and
listened with redoubled interest.

Charles Endicott has been already described, and his companion merits
notice. He, too, differed in something from the class of men one
naturally expects to find on the very outer verge of semi-civilization.
He was a man of perhaps thirty-five years of age, of medium hight. He
walked with a steady, stealthy, cat-like pace, his head, for the most
part, bent down; but now and then it was lifted, and he cast a sharp,
steady gaze around him. The features were firmly cut, the eyes were
steady; yet an undescribable something seemed to be shifting across his
face, which would say to a stranger: Beware of Eben Rothven!

"Yes, Eben, it does make a change in the programme, I'll admit, but,
it's a change to the advantage of both. Don't you see that?"

"I see that we waste here a couple of weeks, and no one knows what the
end of it all will be. You can't count on a woman, and especially such
a woman as you say this is. Break them down physically and mentally,
trample the life out of them, and then they'll rise again. Out of a
wreck that, were it of manhood, would founder with the first breath of
wind, will rise again a good stout ship. You think you can waken the
old dream in her, do you? Why, man, I'm surprised at you! The deadest
thing on the earth is a dead love, and there is no mending a broken
idol. Take my advice and let her go. She will be a burden that will
sink us both. We are on the trail to fortune now; don't let us lose it,
or fly wild at the first scent that crosses it."

"You're welcome to your philosophy about dead idols and the like;
welcome to shake your head and prophesy; but, what I want is your help.
Of course I will get it in some shape or other; but, I prefer it to be
freely and enthusiastically given."

"How much does my help enter into your calculations? I tell you frankly
that I am none of your dashing adventurers, ready to ride into Martin's
camp of Free Trappers. So far as a word of advice and a sacrifice of
time goes, you may count on me; but, don't expect me to stand behind
you, to assist in any mad experiment you see proper to try."

"My 'count' is upon your services as a Reverend--a title and authority
that, as far as you and I know, is still legitimately borne. I want to
use you; a piece of joinery of your handiwork will last for all time. I
can not believe that the cause by fair means is hopeless, and shall try
them first; after that, why, there are a few stout hands and bold heads
at our back, and we must e'en make the most of our stock in trade. To
be sure, we are on the road toward fortune in other directions; but
this is a _certainty_. The woman is worth her weight in gold, almost;
and, besides, it's no new dream with me. It's not so many years since
she was an idol of mine."

"Yes, I've heard of it--and I think, too, that you handled it--or would
have handled it--not over tenderly. Do you think she would forgive
that?"

"That was no fault of mine. I would have done better if the fates had
let me; but they were against me. What could I do, hedged in as I was?
If I could have sunk my past record, and stood out a new man, I'd not
have let 'e'en the winds of heaven visit her face too roughly.' Perhaps
I've got colder and harder since then; but, if so, I think my tongue
can move as glibly and smoothly as ever, and there are fair excuses to
be made for all that was seemingly wrong in the past."

"There is a limit, you may find, to human credulity. You can not wash
out the recollections of the past. Do you think it was any light cause
that drove her out of the world, out of society, refinement, and all
that women of her stamp hold dear? Every day she has spent here, every
rude face and lonely hour that she has seen or felt has cried out
against you. Why, man, you murdered her name, and that is a crime no
woman could ever forgive."

Endicott was silent a moment before the impressiveness of his
companion. Then, by an effort, he broke into a short laugh: "'Is Saul
also among the prophets?' Since when has Eben Rothven set himself up as
a judge of the workings of the human soul? Of course, what you say may
be true as holy writ. But what of it? Fair means or foul--I don't mince
matters. This is no new plan of mine, and so, when opportunity comes,
I can decide on my course quickly. Delay never makes a man. She knows
nothing of the financial aspect of the affair, even now; while I did,
years before it was revealed to the world, or to those who chose to
notice. The time for action has come. Are you with me?"

The man called Rothven hesitated a moment, as if weighing the matter in
his mind; then answered simply: "I am."

"Come on, then," and the two left the spot.

Much of this conversation was Greek to Blaze, but, somehow, he got
it in his head that it related to his new-made friend, Harry Winkle.
He seated himself leisurely against the tree to think it all over.
Both these conspirators were strangers to him, they did not belong to
Martin's men; who were they? He might perhaps have learned more as
to that by following them, but he neglected to do so. And, pondering
over the thing, he must have fallen asleep, for consciousness faded
away. For how long, he could not at once, perhaps, have told, but he
came back to life with a sudden shock, that brought him upon his feet
like the thrill of a strong galvanic battery. He was wakened by a
woman's scream, long, shrill, cutting into and through his ears like an
Indian's death-wail.

He listened to catch it again, but it was not repeated. For a moment
all was silence; then he heard the steady beat of horses' hoofs
stretching away at fullest gallop, and then, the sharp, quick report
of a rifle. He heard the footsteps coming nearer and nearer, and he
crouched in the shadow of the tree, with his hand upon the lock of his
weapon, almost nervously waiting for whatever might follow.

Suddenly he felt a hand laid upon his shoulder. He started, and
turned with a quick motion of offense. It was Winkle, rifle in hand.
The moonlight fell past the tree full upon his face, on which was an
excited if not a wild look.

"Am I crazy to-night? or did you hear it, too? I've seen a ghost this
night, and now, again, I heard it scream for help. What was it, Blaze?"

This he hurriedly asked.

"If yer a lunatic there's a pair on 'em, fur I heard it too. Lay low
here a minnit, an you'll see some more on it."

The hoof-beats sounded nearer; they swept on and on toward them. Then
three horses emerged from the trees out into the light, and neared the
spot where the two men were concealed.

"Is it he?" whispered Winkle, hissing the words out between his
clenched teeth, and with a sharp click the hammer of his rifle went
back.

But Blaze, quickly reaching back, seized his arm.

"Hold hard, there's more ner he thar."

The horsemen raced by like a tornado. It was a party of Blackfeet! And
across the saddle-bow of the savage nearest to Blaze, was flung, or
held, the form of a woman! In a moment Winkle's eye had caught sight of
that which Blaze had perceived--the woman. For a moment he seemed to
lose all control of himself, all power for action. Just one glimpse of
a white, wild face, and a hand clutching fiercely.

"Did you see it--did you see it?" he asked.

"Yes! I seen it! They've just went an' gone an' done it. Thar's grit
in the red-skins, thar are. But you'll be able to see another corpse
along Back Load Trail afore many hours. Dick Martin will be behind 'em
in the shake of a buck's tail--Hello! What's bu'sted?"

The man by his side had sunk, stiff and motionless, upon the grass.

"Blast my tail-feather, ef the young cuss hain't fainted. Thar must be
somethin' _wrong_ in the upper story, sure!"




                              CHAPTER VI.

                            A DOUBLE TRAIL.


On the prairie, alone by moonlight, there is a lonesome solemnity
that startles, appalls. Look in one direction. For miles and miles
there stretches away a tract of rolling land where the grass grows,
the buffaloes graze, the coyotes howl, but no human form can be seen,
no tree waving--a loneliness of nature that you think must somehow of
necessity be interminable. Turn and look in another. Down from the
tableland there stretches a long, grassy slope, where the foliage is
more than ordinarily luxuriant, and at the foot of the declivity is the
long line of timber which marks the course of some stream. There the
broad elm flourishes, the lofty cottonwood shoots upward, and the white
sycamore trees stand gleaming ghostlike under the mellow moonlight.
Perhaps, further away to the left, where the rich bottom is broken by
rising ridges of rocky bluffs, you see the gloomy spread of the cedar
tree reaching upward its dismal-looking arms. Wherever the rolling
prairie-fires have been unable to sweep, there you see the shade of
timber and bush; everywhere else is the blue and red stem, the blue
and bunch-grass or the short, crisp buffalo-grass; and far off in the
distance, with a quiet grandeur of its own, you see the trace-line of
the mountain range.

Some such grand and lonely scene would the reader have noted had he
been standing in some favorable position on the high prairie near Back
Load Trace, a few moments before the occurrence of the incidents just
detailed.

It can well be imagined that Blaze was not the only one startled into
action by the occurrences of the night. The shot, by one of Dick
Martin's men on guard, aroused the Free Trappers, and also caused
Charles Endicott and his companions the keenest alarm. Had their
destined prey been seized by other human wolves? If so--who were those
wolves?

As for Blaze he lost but little time. Almost Herculean in strength, he
gathered on one arm the two rifles, while with the other he bore Harry
toward the camp. On the way he met the negro, who relieved him of the
rifles, and, upon reaching the side of the now smoldering camp-fire,
produced a bottle of spirits and a canteen of water.

It was but a short time until consciousness returned to the fainting
man. He opened his eyes, raised himself, sat upright, looked Blaze full
in the face.

"You saw it all, did you? Now tell me, who was that woman?"

"That bit o' caliker, mister, tho' I dunno as I ever seen it afore, war
most likely a woman that Dick Martin claims a sort o' relationship to,
an' she's bin livin' round hyar fur some considerable time. Frum yer
ackshuns I'd think yer must hev hed a priur morgidge on it, an', ef so,
ye'd better be up an' stirrin', fur by the mitey the durned Blackfoot
is goin' to foreclose."

"Ready, quick, quick," was Winkle's terse answer, looking from one man
to the other. Then he turned, and burying his face in his hands lay
stretched for a moment prone. When he sprung to his feet there was a
new light in his eye, and redoubled strength in his arm. He vaulted
into his saddle, gathered up his reins, and turning to Blaze, in a
firm-set whisper, muttered:

"Lead on--to life or death--but I must see _her_ again."

So, fully armed and fairly equipped, the three men rode out from under
the shadows and cast themselves, with clenched teeth and iron will,
upon the trail. All this took but a few moments to accomplish, since
the three men had within them, each separately, the highest development
of trained sagacity.

As they came out upon the prairie, Blaze took a sweeping glance around
him, as though he would fain impress upon his mind every minutiæ of the
lay of the country.

"Dog-gone the'r hides, thar's just two routes for 'em, an' on'y two, to
take, an' ef I know'd which one it war it's cussed leetle trailin' I'd
do to-night. In this yere leetle game it takes too much eye-pullin' to
run nose-down. It ain't accordin' to reason to s'pose we won't hev to
look out fur all the cussed red-skin tricks ever invented. They've got
one on me a'ready due, so ef I don't squar' with 'em afore beaver-pelts
is prime, I hope I may never tote a trapsack, er p'izen a buffler-wolf
ag'in."

This was said more in the manner of a soliloquy than of a direct
address; in fact, it is doubtful if either of the others could have
heard his low-toned words. Winkle meant work; and so, for the present,
thought little of speaking or of listening. Blaze meant work, too; but,
talk to him was second nature, and when there were no ears open to hear
he would rather press his own into service than, no pressing emergency
demanding it, keep silent. Having a full twenty minutes start, they
reached the spot where Martin and men had first been at fault long
in advance of those worthies, and, as they had not a third trail to
confuse them, and perhaps being more trail-wise, Bill did not have to
spend many minutes in finding the tracks left by the two parties of
Indians.

"One on each route, by mitey! Now, which to foller?"

He gave both the benefit of a close scouting. On the one leading to
the right he found the imprint of a horse's hoof which he recognized
as having been with the abductors. He noticed, too, that one was
double laden. After a bit he came upon some shreds of a woman's dress.
He showed these marks to Winkle, being careful, for the benefit of
Martin, whom he shrewdly suspected would follow hard after, to leave
them untouched. Harry's heart bounded more buoyantly at sight of these
indications, and Blaze took one more look around him before all three
dashed on with redoubled energy. But, as the trail at length lay before
them plain and undisguised, Blaze's enthusiasm suddenly fell away down
below zero. From time to time he glanced at it and at length reined in
his horse.

"Dog-gone my knock-kneed tail-feather!" he exclaimed, "I ain't fit to
lead blind rabbits to water!"

Winkle looked at him in astonishment.

"What is the matter now? Why do you halt?"

But Blaze paid but little attention to his query.

"What a gaul-blasted fool this hyar old hoss are. Tuk right in the fust
pop by a bit o' baby-play. Can't yer see? That gal couldn't a-tore
them bits off o' _her_ dress. It stan's to reason not, sure. Why, cuss
'em, thar's two Injuns ridin' double here, dead shot. I thort it was
too soft a thing. That led hoss in t'other party is the one ez has the
gal on. Jist seen it in time. I'd gamble high thar's ez purty a leetle
hornets' nest a-hangin' under the fust bit o' timber we'd come to, ez
you'll find frum hyar to the Big Red."

How this suggestion was received may well be imagined.

"What are we to do then?" queried Harry. "Must we go all the way back
and start fresh on the other trail?"

"Wal, not quite that bad; but, somewheres blamed nigh. Change my
hind-sights, ef they ain't a-strikin' fur Crooked Cañon, full
drive--we're goin', from the taste I've had of the hosses, to be jist a
leetle too late to see 'em git under kiver."

"You think we can find them yet, though?"

"Think! I know it. Thar ain't no trouble about that; thar's only two
trails, an' like a blarsted green purp I've bin a-barkin' up the wrong
one."

"Then the sooner we look for the right one, the better."

"That's so, only it's provokin' to hev bin losin' all this time. Come
on now, an ef ever an arrer went straight--an' the copper-skins kin
sling 'em nasty, I kin take yer to the spot whar they're headin' fur
to-night. I've bin ham-strung an' sot down on, which ain't very lively
fur the boys!"

Without more hesitation or further parley, Blaze turned to the left and
led off at a rate which he judged best suited to continued effort. Not
for a long time did he utter a word. But when the silence had begun to
be monotonous, he broke it by bringing his hand down with violence upon
his thigh, exclaiming:

"Cussed ef sand-paper ain't slick as grease along side o' this streak
o' roughness. Won't some one draw a bead on me afore I get my ha'r cut
fur nuthin'?"

"Why, what is the trouble now? I hope we are not at fault again?"
anxiously remarked Winkle.

"No, _we_ ain't; but it's three to one an' fifty cents a dozen but what
Dick Martin an' his boys are. I war so bloody, blarsted particular to
leave every thing es I found it, and when they come up, like es not
they'll just skyugle straight along on our trail, an' so they're losin'
time, an' maybe get tuk in, when we mout just as well as not all be
layin' on that trail together. It's too late to fix her now; so here
goes."

Winkle's momentary uneasiness having been allayed, the three rode
rapidly but moodily on.




                             CHAPTER VII.

                        LARIAT DAN'S DISCOVERY.


We have said that the shot which Blaze and Winkle heard had also
aroused Endicott and his party. Lariat Dan, a trailer, trapper and
guide of the party, and whose experience had been immense, and whose
word could not be doubted, said that he had heard, in addition, a
woman's scream for help. At this, as it were by instinct, Endicott and
Rothven looked at each other. Could it be that the woman of whom they
had been conversing but a short time ago, had since been in mortal
danger? Endicott wondered, too, whether the conversation he had with
Martin had any thing to do with it, or, if some sudden peril had come
to the girl as she wandered, as of old, beneath the moonlight? Then
Grizzly Dave, a voyageur of some renown, and also of his party, said
that he "smelt Injun," and thereat Endicott hastily gave orders for an
immediate preparation for a quick move. Accordingly there was a bustle
and buzz around the camp, for a few minutes, every man with nervous
rapidity attending to his duty.

By the time that Martin and half a score or more of his trusty
followers foamed into Endicott's camp, every thing was in a condition
that spoke well for the training and agility of the small brigade.
So ready, too, were Endicott's company for defense, that more than
one saddle of the Free Trappers might have been emptied as they came
charging up had not Lariat Dan been acute enough to distinguish the
thunder of their horses from the sweep of Indian ponies, and informed
Endicott of the number and quality of their approaching visitors. In a
moment it seemed to him that he had caught by intuition a glimpse of
the position of affairs, and he confronted Martin so earnestly that
that worthy's suspicions as to foul play emanating from that camp were
at once dispelled.

"Now, then, ef yer man enough to follow Dick Martin, you've a chance to
ride behind him. Ther's been some carelessness to-night that'll cost
more than the sleepy cusses' brains are worth. Jump into the saddle if
you're ready. What you leave in camp is safe as a church, and come on.
The red-skin rascals shan't get clear without hard riding and harder
fighting."

"What is it? Out with the whole of it! We heard the shot and a scream,
and got ourselves together for any thing rough that might turn up."

"Come on. I can tell you every thing as we go. That fool of a girl
has been gobbled up by the copper-skins, and that when I had six good
men out for them. She'll be fifty miles away up in the mountains by
morning."

The truth, as it was spoken rapidly by Martin, stirred Endicott into
instantaneous action.

"Never mind cacheing the dunnage, I'll bear the damage. Is every thing
ready for a start?" he exclaimed.

"You can just gamble on that yere," was the response of Lariat Dan.

"Then mount and away. Twenty-five dollars apiece extra pay for the
extra work, and every thing else goes on the same!"

"That's the right ring! Count us boys in on this yere frolic--up and
git," said Dan.

Endicott's followers fell in with those of Martin, and the whole body
swept rapidly away, Martin, some yards in advance, heading toward the
trail of the Indians, which passed the camp not many yards distant.
Those few yards were soon traversed, and, with scarce an effort, the
trail was found. There it lay before them, fresh, full and deep. As
they ranged upon it, Endicott drew up to the leader. At the pace
they were going, a free, steady gallop, conversation could be held
with perfect ease, and he wished to gather the particulars of the
catastrophe as well as learn the probable result.

"It seems to me the girl is born to be the center of a mix, and just
lives to make and be in trouble. I've got the whole thing down to a
point now--might have seen it at once if I hadn't had my ideas turned
off thinking of what you had been saying to me to-night. What there is
in her white face and staring eyes I can't see; but she's bewitched
a dozen or so, and in the lot there's a red-skin that's been into my
camp two or three times in the last year. That red-skin has made the
difficulty now."

"Then there's little danger of her coming to any immediate harm?"

"Not so much if they don't tomahawk her as we catch up."

"But will we catch up? What are the chances?"

"Will we? You talk as though you had never done business before with
Dick Martin. Of course we will! What he puts his hand to goes through.
That's what has made him out here. We _must_ catch up. The scent is
fresh, our cattle good, and if we let them get away from us into the
mountains we ought to lose our hair before we get back. Ther's a smart
sprinkling of a chance for some of us to do that, though, anyhow."

"And suppose they do get into the mountains?"

"Well, then, we have a heavy contract to carry, that's all. Ah, what's
that?"

The sudden exclamation was caused by the speaker's catching sight of
the spot where Bill Blaze and party had come upon the trail of the
Indians. Conversing as he was, and rapidly as he was riding, Martin's
eye was never for an instant blinded, but made constant use of the
moonlight, which, before many hours, would fail them. He glanced
backward, caught the direction and comprehended in a moment.

"That's the party that were camped down there," pointing with his
fingers in the direction of Winkle's lately left camp. "Only there were
two men and three horses then. They must have found a third rider.
Wonder if it could be the trapper that is just down from the mountains?
They are on the trail hard--and the more the merrier."

Again they dashed on at a rapid rate. Now the silence was unbroken
by speech. Well mounted and well armed, Martin hoped to overtake the
red-skins before the moon should set, or they have an opportunity
to find cover. The three men who had so unexpectedly come to his
assistance had evidently a start, and they might be riding in view.
Perhaps they might so embarrass the retreat that he would soon come up.
Once at close quarters, unless against overwhelming odds, he could rest
confident in the prowess of his men.

A mile more was soon devoured; then the whole cavalcade came to a
sudden halt at the exclamation from their leader.

A new addition had been made to the number of the forces on one side or
the other, and, anxious as he was to push on, Martin was here compelled
to pause and make a thorough examination; the result of which proved at
once embarrassing and unexpected. On inspection it was evident that at
this spot a small party of Indians had halted for some hours. The grass
was beaten down and upon the ground was the imprints of moccasined
feet. At first there was a difficulty in finding any further traces of
the horsemen of whom they were in pursuit. Martin and two or three of
his most experienced trailers gave their keen eyes to the work, while
Lariat Dan, Grizzly Dave and Mike Motler went circling round on their
own account. Endicott and Eben Rothven remained motionless, conversing
between themselves. Rothven had entered upon this ride with manifest
reluctance, and would even now fain have persuaded his friend that
their best policy was to withdraw from a pursuit which was attended
with positive danger, and the result of which was so dubious in its
nature. But Endicott was neither to be persuaded nor warned, and
listened with half-closed ears to the words of his partner.

Almost simultaneously Martin and Grizzly Dave uttered an ejaculation.
Each had found a trail leading away from the halting-place. Dick had
already found the path made by the halting squad, and, by careful
scouting, had satisfied himself that it had been traversed by three
mounted men, and a led horse. And looking a few yards further he found
the footprints of the same four horses leading back in almost the
exact direction from whence they had come. Having noted this he turned
to examine into what Grizzly Dave had found.

It was evidently a trail, though a faint one. Just a shadow of a track
left, a bruising of the grass as though by the muffled feet of horses.
And by the side of it another track, that of Harry Winkle and his two
followers. They cautiously moved on a few paces, keeping, with some
difficulty, the marks in view. When they came to a spot in the prairie
that was soft and rather bare, the hoof-prints of the three horses
could be quite plainly discerned. More than that, one of those horses
was doubly laden, as could be told by the depth of his tracks. Then
Lariat Dan made another discovery which he showed in silence. It was a
little shred of stuff which Martin at once recognized as a shred from
Edith Van Payne's dress.

"We have it now, boys; come ahead!" shouted the leader, and again they
pressed on, guided partly by the feebly discernible Indian trail,
partly by the bolder one of the three white men. But, moving with as
much rapidity as they could, time, and valuable time, was consumed, and
so far it could not be disguised that the red-skins had traveled two
miles to the white men's one.

Another mile brought a fresh development. The pursued had thrown away
all disguise and all attempt to conceal their trail, apparently being
more desirous of making a rapid flight than aught else.

As they galloped on, now Lariat Dan drew up alongside of Endicott and
spoke to him in a low tone: "Fall back an' out a little; I want to tell
yer somethin' you mout not hev noticed."

Something in the tone of the speaker struck strangely the one
addressed, and without hesitation he did as requested.

"I rayther think ther's more in this than _all_ on us can cipher out
at onc't, an' so I thort I'd tell you, kinder private like, thet this
huyer is all durned foolishness, an' we're losin' time. Jist call me
a double-barreled ground-hog ef the gal hesn't gone t'other way. It's
the purtiest piece o' red-skin devilment I've seen fur a coon's age,
an' I'll allow it did take in this old hoss at fust; but, I kin see
with half an eye now, that them are cusses blinded that trail just enuf
fur it to be found an' time fooled away on it an' the devil's dance
played, an' then the two lots'll git together ag'in an' be up in the
cover. Ef yer want to see the gal yer best plan is to corner right
off. I kin see with both eyes shut whar the're slidin' fur, an' ef the
hosses kin go the pace, I kin purty nigh make up lost time enough to
put yer thar before 'em."

"And how many of the Indians do you think we will find 'thar', waitin'
for them and ready to gobble us?"

"Nary durned one! The other is the nasty trail to foller. Ther'll be
jist three o' them, and you and yer partner throwed in. Ef yer say so
I'll tip our boys the wink an' we can take the route by ourselves,
er ef yer wants it, I kin tell Martin an' maybe the hull lot will go
a-b'ilin' off. Don't think too cussed long, for time's preshus."

In the gambling game that Endicott was ready to play, no hand could
have been dealt him which would better suit his purposes, provided the
statements of Dan, so positively made, could be relied on. There was a
risk to run; but the actual rescue of Edith Van Payne by himself, and
the consequent possession of her, surrounded only by his own men, was a
trump card that he was bold enough to make an effort to possess.

He was willing, for such an unexpected good fortune, to break, at a
moment's notice, with Martin.

In fact, as the reader may have surmised, he had already half decided
upon, but a few hours before, the abduction of Miss Van Payne by
himself and his men. Now he thought he saw the game played to a
successful termination, and seeing that, he was willing to blind his
eyes to the difficulties and dangers between. He looked at his henchman
with an approving smile, and slowly said: "You have done well. Let
Dave and Mike know and we will follow your lead in search of the other
party."

Rothven was close at hand, indeed he was hardly likely to be found
among the first riders, and when Charles Endicott in an undertone
requested him to gradually reduce his speed, he did it without urging.
He thought it was a sign that they were about to relinquish the chase;
a something which certainly met with his full approval. So quietly
and skillfully was the thing managed that, before their defection was
discovered, the five men had dropped behind, had turned their horses'
heads, and, under the skillful guidance of Lariat Dan, were stretching
out over the plain at a gait that plainly evinced that they were
desirous of making up for lost time.

Since the utmost silence was maintained, it was some time before Eben
could form any estimate of the direction in which he was going, or
learn the cause of their withdrawal. When at length an explanation was
vouchsafed him, he drew up like one who seems to think he has fallen
from the frying-pan into the fire; but he did not appear to think it
worth while to reason with the rest. Only he grumbled out that he
thought, if they must go on such a fool's chase, leaving their own
legitimate interests, he conceived that at least a decent regard for
their own safety, not entering into the question of effectiveness,
might have been exercised, and instead of plunging off into darkness
and danger alone, they might have followed on with the main body.

Dan, their present guide, took this murmuring quite pleasantly.

"Yer ha'r'll be just as safe when daylight comes, as ef ye'd follered
to a stray shot with Martin an' his trappers. Thar's no tellin' how
many o' them will go under afore mornin' yet."

"Yes, come now, don't be grumbling; but save your breath for some
emergency. We have a long ride before us and something of business at
the end of it. I never went more gayly to a ball than I go to my work
to-night."

"Oh, I'm not grumbling, and when the time comes you will find me as
ready as the readiest. Only I've a respect for the old Napoleonic
maxims about the heaviest battalions, and the strength of union."

"Them's only jineral principles," interposed Grizzly Dave. "When yer
come down to the fine p'ints, ye'll find that, when ther time fur a
galvanized bu'ster to go in out of the wet has arrove, the identical
cuss that shoots plum center slides along with it, an' yer bound to
drop. Ef Dick Martin's hand's out, there's the man pullin' in the
stakes this very minnit."

What answer Rothven might have made can not be recorded, for far
behind them they, with sudden startlingness, heard the peal of firearms.

"Thar's business now, an' you was just a-grumblin' thet yer head wasn't
bein' run slap inter the hornets' nest," said Grizzly Dave. "They've
run somethin' to a hole."




                             CHAPTER VIII.

                      THE FREE TRAPPERS TRAPPED.


It might hardly be credited; yet at least twenty minutes elapsed before
the absence of Endicott and his men was noticed. Martin, himself, had
full occupation in following the dim trail, while his men, not having
yet fraternized with the strangers, accepting them on trust, from
Martin's orders, as allies, were alike careless of their absence or
presence.

When the desertion was discovered, Martin still continued in apparent
indifference to it. After looking from one to another, in temporary
doubt, one of the men rode to the side of their leader, and imparted
to him the fact, that Endicott, Rothven, and three other men had
disappeared from their number.

Whatever he may have felt inwardly, there was no outward manifestation
that this intelligence was unexpected, or even new. He received it with
a careless nod and wave of the hand, and his only remark was:

"That's all right. Never mind about them; they're all old enough to
take care of themselves."

The man drew back, completely deceived by the manner of Martin, and in
consequence, there was an idea in the minds of most then present, that
he had not only been cognizant of their departure, but that it was more
than likely that the absence which had seemed so mysterious originated
from his orders.

Inwardly, Martin was more troubled than he would have cared to have
owned. It reawakened the ugly suspicions which had led him toward the
camp of Endicott, upon the first discovery of the abduction of Edith.
Could he have imagined how any understanding with the Indians could
have been effected, he would have altered his plans immediately. Once
or twice he did think of turning back to find and follow the trail of
Endicott.

Perhaps it would have been as well to have done so. It was leading
toward his niece, though there had been no complicity with the
red-skins. The defection might, however, have been caused by cowardice;
so he reasoned, or it might be that Endicott had other schemes on
foot, which on mature deliberation he judged to be of more importance
than knight-errantry, and dangerous pursuit. The latter view seemed
plausible, since he knew him to be a man of schemes and speculations;
one, too, not apt to be led away from his course by any motives of
sentimental humanity.

By this time the conformation of the ground over which they were
traveling, began somewhat to change. Although, following the high
divide, the road was still good, yet on one side or the other frequent
ravines ran away; in front wound a stream, its line of timber showing
black under the moonlight. To this the trail directly led. The near
bank was precipitous, presenting in most places, a barrier against
fording. Yet here and there old buffalo water trails had worn paths to
the stream, one of which the driving rain, with its temporary torrents,
had washed down, until the descent was not only practicable but easy.
Down one of these paths led the trail, crossing the stream, and leading
up through a rift in the timber, which stood thickly on the opposite
side.

As it happened, the moonlight streamed directly through this rift,
reaching every part of the path, shedding sufficient light to make
every object therein distinctly visible. As he gave a glance down the
bank, at the moment of beginning the descent, Martin noticed this, and
that, an impenetrable gloom overspread every other surrounding object.
Although not expecting danger, and almost certain that he had three
times the number of men that he might by any possibility meet with, yet
it seemed better to him to order a halt for a moment, while he took a
closer view. In obedience to his order, his men drew rein just before
coming to the brink of the bluff, while he glanced carefully around,
listening with suspended breath.

No sound, save the noise of the night-wind and the rippling of the
water fell on his ears. So, with carbine at a ready, he began the
descent. Just before he reached the water's edge a beaver on the
opposite bank dropped off, making so little noise that ears less acute
than those of Martin would have doubtless failed to notice it. Every
visible sign betokened loneliness and safety. Pushing on across he
wound his way up the opposite bank. The ascent, making a reversed
curve, was gradual. He passed on perhaps three hundred yards until he
could see, at some little distance ahead, the point where the crown
of the bank turned onto the second bottom, and then began to retrace
his steps. Arriving again at the stream, he drew to one side until
almost concealed by the shadow of an elm, and then, in a tone low, yet
sufficiently loud to be heard by his men, gave the order to advance.

Just as the foremost two, but a few yards away, came in sight, he heard
a slight, hissing, rustling noise, and something touched him lightly on
the shoulder. To him it seemed like a whisper from Death; for he knew
they were ambuscaded in the cañon. The touch was given by the feather
end of an Indian arrow. The very silence that followed the advent of
this messenger of hostility was appalling. Yet withal he retained his
self-possession.

In a moment he had taken in the whole position, and decided as to the
force of the aggressors, and the course to be pursued. He judged that
a few men had been stationed in the shadows to watch, to attack, to
harass, to delay. As they were there it seemed but little difference
whether he had them on front, flank or rear, as far as danger was
concerned; and that it would be best to dash past them as rapidly as
possible. They were probably too few in number to make any thing like
an open attack, and it was only while they were in front that there
could be danger.

Acting on this supposition, his voice suddenly broke the stillness,
ringing out clear and full upon the ears of the startled men:

"Forward at a gallop, men, and fire at sight or sound!"

Then ensued a noise of hastily advancing horsemen, who charged into
the line of moonlight with reckless obedience to the command of their
leader.

Again close to Martin, evidently hurtled in the direction of his voice,
there fell an arrow. Then, as with a yell that was scarcely a cheer his
men came plunging across the stream, half a dozen shafts fell in their
midst.

Keen eyes and ears were open, and as Martin fired his carbine in the
direction from whence he judged the arrows had come, the sound of its
report was caught up by the rattle and crash of the firearms in the
hands of his men. It seemed to be a blind affair, in which luck would
be apt to go further than judgment. Again came a flight of arrows,
whistling into the ranks of the white men as they swept by, Martin now
at their head, and the revolvers of the assailed cracked viciously as
reply. In a moment more, the danger, for the present, was past, and
the whole party passed out of the dangerous defile and galloped a few
hundred yards upon the comparatively safe prairie.

Then they drew rein to inquire into the amount of the damage done.

Not a man was missing; but two or three sat but loosely in their
saddles; while there were two men who had lost their horses and come
out on foot. By good fortune the wounds of the injured men proved but
slight, and with a little rude surgery they were both willing and able
to proceed.

What injury, if any, had been inflicted upon the attacking party it was
impossible to determine. All the firing on the part of the assailed,
had been at random, even though one or two had thought, as they pulled
the trigger of their revolvers, that they were marking down black
shades that might be Indians. Whatever may have been their loss, the
half-dozen, at which number Martin had estimated the size of the party,
had done their best, and succeeded in inflicting a very fair amount of
damage. Whatever was their loss, all remained noiseless in the late
left ravine.

From his hunting-shirt one of the men drew an arrow. It had glanced
along a leathern strap that he wore, and hung dangling by its feathered
end. Handling it carefully he showed it to Martin. That worthy took it
and looked at it with a thoughtful glance. By the relative position of
head and feather he recognized it in a moment as a war-arrow, and by
its make he could give a shrewd guess at the tribe to which its owner
had belonged, and he turned to his men with:

"There's been some underhand work that I don't know any thing about
between some of you boys and these red-skins, and this is what's come
of it. I didn't think much of two or three of them being reckless
enough to carry off the girl--there's lots of men that will gamble
away their lives for the woman that takes their fancy--but there's
too many of 'em in this thing not to have a little something else
behind it all to urge them on. I ought to look it out and bring the
matter straight, for we can't afford to be eternally mussing with the
red-skins. However, it's too late now to bother, and, if every man does
his duty, we'll let the matter rest when we get to camp. But, I tell
you, it's got to be the last time that one of our men goes back on the
copper-skins."

Having said this much, he turned to the serious work before him. Not
for long was he at fault. Again he was on the trail. Scarcely had he
followed for two hundred yards, when it took a sudden bend to the
right, and began to run parallel with the creek. For perhaps a quarter
of a mile it continued in that course, then, turning once more to the
right, it was lost in the shade of the timber.

All came to a halt and looked around. From the taste they had had they
were all in a fit frame of mind to act with prudence. Besides, there
were two footmen in the party now.

Standing there, there suddenly appeared, away off on their left, a
little clump of moving objects which had just emerged from the head of
a ravine. "One, two, three--" the white men counted the number until it
ended at seven.

"Seven durned, cussed, pisen red-bellies, by mitey! Them's the cusses
that killed my hoss, I'll bet my brains!" exclaimed one of the footmen.

Martin scanned the party cautiously, but could perceive no traces
of Edith. They in turn, looking back and perceiving that they were
observed by the white men, halted a moment, and, drawn up on the
hillside slope, made gestures of challenge and menace. When they saw
no movement was made in response, they moved off again in single file.
Their boldness seemed strange, yet it must be remembered that it was
at night, and it was only a plunge from hillside to ravine and they
would be invisible. They were shrewd enough to be able to know of their
comparative safety.

There seemed to be little danger, now, in attempting to unravel the
thread of the trail which led into the timber. Several men were
dispatched upon this errand, while others pushed still further on to
find their point of exit. When at length it was found and inspected,
a singular sensation was effected. The party of whom they were in
pursuit had evidently affiliated with a few others and taken part in
the ambuscade; and after the dash past them of the white men, all had
made good their retreat to this point, near which their horses had been
tethered; and, as the seven men they had seen were evidently identical
with the men of the ambush, the question arose: "Where was Edith Van
Payne?"

That question arose--and almost immediately received its answer.
Martin, once more bringing his judgment into play, saw in a moment they
had been tricked. Now, when he once was aware of it, he could trace
out how, as well as Blaze had done in the early part of the chase.
He reasoned and thought and knit his brows, and his face grew black.
Without doubt he knew now that he should have followed the other trail,
and knew, too, in what direction it tended, what spot aimed at. He was
almost as wise as Blaze himself as regarded the lay of the land in a
circle of some hundred miles.

Now, having thrown away the enthusiasm of the first rush of the
pursuit, there was only one course left, and that a disheartening
one--to acknowledge the error, and attempt to repair it as soon as
possible. There was one little gleam of sunshine for him. It seemed
more than likely that Winkle and two other men had followed the right
trail. The possibility that Endicott and his men had done the same was
a problem to be thought over. Should such a supposition be verified, it
was hard to tell what would be the feelings awakened. Upon the whole,
it is possible that Martin would about as lief have his niece in the
hands of her present captors as in those of Charles Endicott.

"No use talking, boys, we've been fooled, and we must make the best
of it. We took the wrong trail. Now, which of you feels dead certain
that he knows in what direction Straight and Crooked Cañons lay, and
the straight road to them, for by the holies, that's where we've got to
bend for now."

At this, though the faces of more than one of the party fell, there
was no lack of men to offer their needed knowledge. Nor was there any
serious disagreement in the statements regarding the direction of
the specified locality. Drawn up in a little circle, the direction,
distance, and lay of the intervening ground, were discussed, and a plan
of procedure mapped out. As the wounded men were not seriously hurt,
two of them gave remounts to those who had lost their horses, and,
in company with the third, started to return to Martin's ranche. The
remainder, having looked well to their arms, pushed off at a regular
gallop in the new direction.




                              CHAPTER IX.

                     THE BIVOUAC IN CROOKED CANON.


"Nary time, old man. There ain't a cussed bit o' danger here--no, not
nary a half a primin'. Camp right down an' bunk in peace and quietness.
My narves is steady, an' thar ain't no eitchin' in the forefinger o' my
right hand. A man in skirty-coats would be safe here, ef he'd nothin'
better than a double-barreled shot-gun with no hind-sights."

It was after dark, in a wild and gloomy spot, all shaded and strewn
with trees and rocks, and the three men with their three horses were
almost breathless from a difficult ascent which they had just made.
The three men were Bill Blaze, who was speaking, Harry Winkle, who had
spoken, and Pompey, who, the picture of contentment and fidelity, kept
his place a little in the background.

"You are sure that we can do nothing more at present, and that we are
in no danger of attack, ourselves? We might have been seen by some
look-out or scout. I'm always on the side of prudent carefulness."

"Nary bit, I tell yer! Didn't I, Bill Blaze, put yer through? We didn't
make no more show than a bob-tail rat. Ef thar war any extra dodge I
didn't put on, jist tell me on it, an' I knock under. It warn't no
use bein' so dog-goned careful, but havin' bin lit on in one camp,
an' sarcumvented a leetle later, makes a feller draw his bead mighty
fine. You've hed a lesson from Bill Blaze when that chap war doin' his
purtiest, an' ef you hain't l'arned any thing you'd better sell yer
claim an' go East; yer ain't wanted har."

"I suppose it's all right then. We can give our horses a chance to rest
and graze; then a little food and sleep for ourselves; then to work.
Pity that we must eat and sleep whether we will or no. What valuable
time we have lost in procuring a chance to do the two."

"I ain't so much on the sleep; it's kinder nateral now to do without
it; but, I never could see thet it was losin' time to take a good
squar' meal o' buffler. I've seen the time, too, when I didn't think it
war losin' time to gruge clean through a hind-quarter of a black-tailed
buck. If ye'd gone across the Cimmerin river, an' got lost on the
Ratone Mountings, ye mout hev thought yer war puttin' in the time
purty well, guzzlin' down froze hackberries. As for roast coyote, that
war a delicacy o' the season to smack yer lips over. Four pound er so
wouldn't a-took yer appetite down to regulation pitch. Waugh!"

"Hackberries and prairie-wolf--rather a miserable diet, I should say.
Have you tried it?"

"Hev I tried it? Yer right, I hev. That is, the hackberry part. Ther'
war only one wolf to about seventy ov us, an' by the time I got my
knife out it war all gone, so I stayed my innards a while smellin' on
his bones. I found the derned cusses hed forgot to open his skull--an'
them brains! Imagine it yerself; I never kin do 'em justice. Ef I could
find a squaw as could dress up vittles to taste like 'em did, consarn
my high-heeled top-knot, ef I wouldn't hook on! 'Pears to me I'd be
almost willin' to go back to the settlements."

Blaze's enthusiasm, over that remembered meal of brains, amused Winkle
vastly. It was not the words, but the manner of the man, that made him
at times forget his anxiety, bringing to the surface feelings that
had long been buried. There was over all the mixed quaintness and
bluffness, moderation and braggadocio of the hunter, an irresistible
appearance of honesty and trustworthiness that had won upon him in the
moments following immediately their first meeting. As the man seemed to
have but little to say of others, and all that he had said of himself
might well be uttered by one who, swinging loose, years ago, from the
restraints of civilization, had ever since, through hardships and
dangers, through thick and thin, fire and water, relied for the most
part upon himself--at the worst, we do not doubt without some cause, or
shadow of cause. As Winkle had none, he felt inclined to trust. After a
time arose a desire to confide.

The three men had been in camp for some time. They had talked some
little, using, as in a country shadowed by danger becomes almost
habitual, a guarded tone. There had been intervals of silence, too,
when Winkle's mind thronged with exciting and troublous thoughts. These
thoughts, rushing along tumultuously, and in an orderless throng,
became too oppressive. They drove away sleep, banished hunger, brought
weariness to rest, and made inaction work.

What all that foreboded he knew by experience. He was willing to brood,
yet there was a limit he neither cared or dared to pass. Over and
beyond the old troubles, which had well-nigh crazed his brain, he had
found that at Back Load Trace, which had been startling at first, in
fact appalling. When he first caught sight of the face of Edith Van
Payne he was bewildered. Then he fancied that his mind had given way,
or that he had seen a visitor from the other world. So fully convinced
was he of this, that, when he had found Blaze in his camp he had been
afraid or ashamed to question him as to his knowledge concerning the
pale-faced girl who had flashed by him in the moonlight, or of her
shadowy pursuer. It was only after he had heard a scream, seen her
borne off, and had the aid of the evidence of Blaze's senses, that he
came to admit that he was dealing with the stern natural instead of
the appalling supernatural. During the hours of pursuit there had been
but little time to ask questions, and indeed his mind, agitated by
surrounding circumstances, suggested but few. Now, in the moments of
inaction, scores arose.

How it came that he thus found Edith, and amidst such strange
surroundings, gave him cause for much troubled thought. How came she at
Back Load Trace, apparently protected by Martin and his Free Trappers?
And what chance, or was it chance, that had brought Endicott and her
together? Perhaps Blaze could answer some of these questions, and so,
having, as we before stated, during their brief acquaintance acquired a
large stock of confidence in him, to Blaze he applied.

"I ain't much acquainted with Dick Martin, an' I don't know more ner
the law allows concernin' his private affairs. He come in here several
years ago with a couple of men, an' put up a ranche. He war slightly
green on the perairie, but hed the balance o' his teeth cut some year
afore, an' he l'arned fast. Who he is, er what he is, I can't fur
sartin say; but, he's at the head of as lively a gang of hunters an'
Free Trappers as I want to meet. They make a purty wide range when the
season's opened an' pelts is prime. The rest o' the time thar's allers
more or less on 'em loafin' around Back Load Trace. Mebbe they're
squar' an' mebbe they ain't. They never troubled me, but there's men
in the gang that's not the kind to stick at trifles. I never heerd o'
Martin himself doin' any partikiler deviltry; but, somehow, the place
hain't the sweetest o' names. An honest trapper don't ginerally camp
long about thar, an' when he meets any o' the men trappin' on the same
stream he ain't anxious to stay."

"And the woman we saw and to save whom we started upon this trip? Who
is she, where did she come from? What is her connection with this
Martin?"

"Now yer askin' questions ag'in that I ain't up to the handle on. Ef
ye'd talk about trace-chains an' beaver-bait you'd find me _thar_. I've
tramped over hundreds o' miles an' never see'd a red deer or a white
squaw; but the next time I went over the ground thar war plenty o'
both. The tramp o' civalization allers brings both along in the same
trapsack. Allers a-murderin' an' a-murderin' the deer as it brings 'em.
Mebbe it ain't so all over the country; but I often wondered whether
they'd all go under when thar weren't no more outskirts fur 'em to live
on."

A shade of vexation passed over Winkle's face as he answered somewhat
hotly: "As I'm not deer-hunting, I care little to speculate on their
future destiny. My questions had reference to something entirely
different."

"Yes," said Blaze, reflectively. "So I'll allow. Mebbe it all amounts
to the same--mebbe it don't. I've seen deer-hunts that bagged no game,
an' I've seen them which did. As fur the gal, I've hear'n of her
oft'ner than I've seen her. She turned up one mornin' at Back Load
Trace as though she war shook outen a bag. A kinder adopted darter o'
Martin's; some one said onc't she war his niece."

"But what is she doing in such a place?"

"What does gals ginerally do? Rides in the country, shoots a good
string they say, an' raises the devil now an' then. Bin the makin'
on her too. So thin she couldn't git on more ner one side of a hoss,
an' so weak she couldn't throw a shadder when she first arove. Bin
a-pickin' up sence then."

"And the man I saw riding just behind her--what does he do here? Is he
connected with Martin's establishment?"

"Which man was those? Describe the crittur."

To the best of his ability Winkle drew a word-picture of Endicott.
Blaze listened with interest, his face showing that he recognized the
portrait.

"Now yer comin' to su'thin' I can talk on. No, he ain't none o'
Martin's men, an' don't b'long in these regions. He war jist passin'
through, in company with three or four more, an' see'd Martin's niece.
Knowed her of old, he did. He's a dead idol, he ses, which I suppose
are about same's a dead beat, an' from the looks o' the man, I should
specify war a very true hit. Killed the gal onc't afore, but she's come
to life ag'in, an', as the other chap ses, ain't likely to forgit it.
Ef--"

"Man, man!" exclaimed Winkle, excitedly. "How came you to know this?
The same story, the same story! To travel fifteen hundred miles, and
the first man I pick up can tell me the same story! I tell you,"
continued he, fiercely, leaping up and shaking his clenched fist in the
direction of Back Load Trace, "I tell you he's _my_ man!"

"Ef you'd go a leetle slower it mout facillate peddlin' operations. Sit
down yere like a reasonable white man that ain't anxious to hev his
h'ar cut fur nothin', an' I'll tell yer, nigh as I kin, the facts in
the case."

This common-sense address recalled Winkle to himself, and he resumed
his sitting position, but his eye still blazed and his frame shook with
suppressed emotion.

"Tell me where you heard this then, or how you came to know so much of
a story I certainly should not have expected to hear in this region."

"Simple as coon-trappin'. When I fust struck yer camp I'll honest allow
I mout hev been indooced to hev run off yer hoss-flesh."

After this rather queer exordium Blaze paused as if expecting an
outburst; but Winkle was beginning to understand his man and remained
silent.

"Yas, that's an onmitigated fact. Soon es I slung inter the rights o'
things I felt a speshal call to see they warn't run off. So, while you
an' the dark war snoozin' I hed one eye open. I felt somethin' war
abroad, an' went out a-scoutin'. Nigh whar you come so nigh puttin' my
light out, under the shadder o' the trees, in fact whar you found me,
I heerd two men a-talkin'; one on em was 'your man'; t'other a gospil
chap, that talked es though he'd bucked cl'ar frum under the Big Book
an' tuk to travelin' on his shape."

"What were they talking of, and how came they to speak of that which
you have just mentioned?"

Thus questioned, Blaze gave a synopsis of their conversation as
understood by him, winding up with:

"And now, s'posin' you give us an idea of what yer man has really bin
a-doin'."




                              CHAPTER X.

                      A STORY OF A DOUBLE MURDER.


As we have already stated, Winkle, while fighting the crowd of phantoms
and fancies that over-shadowed him, had felt inclination to confide in
his newly-found comrade. Being thus addressed decided him.

"I don't know that I'm making mountains out of mole-hills. I think,
though, that perhaps I have given way where I should have fought it
out, and allowed myself to be over-powered by that which would only
make a ripple in some men's lives. Sometimes I can think of that man
Endicott coolly enough; there are times, too, when I want and intend
to kill him. Yet I suppose that others have been injured as much--and
forgiven. Men are not always responsible for their mad fancies--do you
think they are?"

Blaze gave a curious look at the speaker. He appeared to ask the
question in perfect good faith, so the trapper answered:

"Not fur the'r mad fancies allers. No."

"I don't want to make a long story, and I don't want to go into too
many details. It will only raise the devil in me again and that I am
trying to keep down. I want my head cool now, if ever. It seems to me
it's cleared off wonderfully of late; perhaps it might so happen that
I could forgive. All the forgiveness in the world, though, won't bring
poor Ned back to life, or mend a mother's broken heart.

"I've never had much to do with him personally. I'm glad of it. Perhaps
there would have been enough of the cursed fascinating power about him
to have ruined me too. Ruin! No, that's not the word, either. He did
that anyhow. Made me his slave, or his tool, or his victim.

"You see Ned went from college into business, and might have done well
if he had never met Endicott. And I went from business into love, and
might have prospered if Endicott had not lived. There are some crimes
that law don't avenge and some that it does. Endicott has tried his
hand at both sorts, and the law, being weak, only punished him, or
attempted to, for the latter. Very lightly it laid it on him, too."

"Mebbe it hit him harder than you think fur," interpolated Blaze. "It's
no fun gittin' inter them clutches. But go on."

"Perhaps it did. I don't believe I ever thought of that before. Ned and
mother and I were wrapped up in each other. It's not often, I think,
that you find a family like ours was. There had never been a difference
of opinion or a single jar; but every thing went on smoothly. Ned was
the pet. He was the youngest and the frailest, and when I was away
at college he was left alone with mother. It never made me jealous a
bit because, somehow, it seemed natural. When I came home I petted him
too. We weren't rich exactly; but we had some money, and by a little
care had managed to live almost as though we were. Perhaps if we had
felt poverty we might have been happier. But, we had a taste of the
luxurious, and I'm afraid it gave and fed a desire for means more
ample. Ned, at least, got possessed with a yearning to be wealthy; and
I was in haste myself to realize some of my dreams. I'm not going to
trouble you with a complete family history, or tell how he and I, in
our different spheres, toiled ahead, with fair prospects, for several
years.

"One day I saw Edith Van Payne; and the picture she marked in my brain
just then has never faded since. Some men speak of being able by
shutting their eyes to bring up the scenes of long ago;--but, shut or
open, it's always there, I see her just the same. I can't imagine why a
woman should have such an influence. It's strange, it's even monstrous.
After that day, as I looked for her, I saw her oftener. Eventually I
came to know her. Then I found she was worth the studying. She was
entirely different from any other woman I had ever met, for there were
everlasting contradictions connected with her. She looked dashing and
almost masculine, yet she really was intensely feminine; she seemed at
first meeting to be beyond emotion, but, as I came to know her, she
was extremely sensitive. She was one of those women externally stamped
with all the marks of heartlessness, and yet have true, honest hearts
all ready for the crushing. Perhaps I was slow with my wooing, yet I
know I was wrapped up in it. I can not tell how much encouragement
I, at first, received. As much, I guess, as I deserved. You see, she
was almost alone in the world, and was making her own way as best she
might. She had a younger brother, though I saw very little of him.
After a bit Ned became acquainted with her. I introduced him myself.
They soon became great friends, though their friendship never ripened
into any thing like sentimentality. Their ages were too near for that.
If any thing, she was a few months the older.

"How or when Ned first became mixed up with Endicott I do not know.
In haste to become rich, he was open for speculation. I'm not certain
that it was not through Miss Van Payne. She knew him, met him often,
yet by some chance I never was introduced to him, never saw the three
together. What do you suppose the result was? He murdered both! It all
seemed to be done in an instant as it were. I was away from home for
a fortnight, and when I came back it was over. Ned he killed; that I
_might_ have borne, but, until a few days ago, I thought he had killed
the woman too.

"Mother had noticed a change in the boy. For two or three days she
would not see him; then he would come home taciturn and upset. At that
time she could only guess that his business affairs were going wrong.
Afterward I found how far out he had been led by this Endicott, who,
all the time feathering his own nest well, was dragging him to the
quicksands of financial rottenness.

"What you have told me of the conversation you overheard throws some
light on his course with Edith, though that I have not yet been able
to fully comprehend. It seems he would have married her and dared
not, even if he could. Preferring, then, the roundabout way of a
schemer to the straightforwardness of an honest man, he attempted to
establish an ownership in her. Curse him, he deliberately set about
compromising her! She could take good care of herself, and he knew it,
but he blackened her reputation simply and solely to give himself time,
hoping to conceal his own part in the matter and eventually to smooth
the affair over. Had he known the woman as I did, he never would have
attempted it, since he succeeded _too_ well.

"The crisis came during my absence. Carefully as he covered the traces
of his agency, Ned detected his share in the work. At first, to be
sure, there was only a faint suspicion; but, that soon ripened into
a certainty. Knowing my hopes and wishes, brotherly love urged him
to employ every means to learn the truth. Once engaged in this, he
was led to suspect Endicott's business integrity, and the revelations
brought about by an investigation in that direction were of themselves
overpowering.

"Then he did either a foolish or an unfortunate thing. Just in the
white heat he met Endicott. Remember, that he not only knew that this
man had compromised, almost beyond redemption, the woman his brother
loved; but that he himself was involved in a network of toils from
which he could not hope to escape short of the loss of his means, and,
worse still, with a damaged reputation. They met--and Endicott killed
him.

"Of course the jury found extenuating circumstances. Legal chicanery,
set in motion by money, saved his worthless neck--a neck that could I
have once grasped I would have wrung with as little compunction as that
of a chicken. I think I could have borne that horror; but, engrossed as
I was by it, it was some weeks before I knew that Edith had disappeared.

"At this time I believed she had made away with herself. I never
doubted it until the other night. Of all those who knew her, there
are few that did not believe the same. Heaven knows that I was loth
to believe it. I hunted high and low for her, since I never doubted
her honor, though I had never received any assurance of her love for
me. Her own brother was left in the dark as to what had become of her.
He found an envelope addressed to him, containing a sum of money she
had saved for a rainy day, and the simple words, written in pencil,
'Good-by.'

"My own business, suffering for a time from utter neglect, was disposed
of; my heart was chilled toward my broken-hearted mother--God help me,
she may be dead to-night--and I spent my time seeking for traces of
Edith, and waiting to meet Endicott.

"While I was off on what I thought a slight trace, for I had not
fully allowed myself to believe that she was dead, he emerged from a
prison, and escaped me. I followed him East; he eluded me. I heard of
him South; but he was gone when I reached New Orleans. Then I gave
way and was sick for a long season. When I came to myself something
prompted me to turn Westward. Strange how Fate, or some occult law
of attraction, drew me here. Yet many months of wandering, through
hardships and perils, brought me no surcease, and the tension on my
nerves has been gradually tightening ever since I found myself west of
the Mississippi. The rest you know. What _may_ happen, neither you, nor
I, nor any other living mortal may say."

Winkle told his story in a slow, quiet, yet intense way. Blaze listened
to it with evident interest.

"A condemned hard case he was. I've knowed men shot fur less than them.
That's the cuss o' civilization. If yer goin' to draw a bead upon this
man ye'd better do it here than furder East. Bein' that you've found
the girl alive, mebbe you'll weaken on that. A human critter's a curi's
consarn that only goes under onc't. In course red-skins I don't take
much account on; but, when it comes to drawin' it fine on a white, an'
he not lookin' for it--'pears to me it 'u'd glimmer the fire-sight."

"I think at two hundred yards he would be a dead man?"

Winkle said this slowly and half inquiringly, as though a doubt had
arisen in his mind; and then he continued, in a tone in curious
contrast to the one he generally used in speaking of Endicott:

"You know I've followed after him so long and was so certain of it. It
would be hard to let him go after all."

"Two hundred yard is some distance, an' a man's a mark o' moderate
bigness. I've seen a deer missed at fifty. Buck ag'er an' fancy
shootin' don't agree good. If you'll just keep cool an' not rush the
funeral mebbe ye'll eventooally git straight enough to not care a cuss
if school keeps er not. I've done ye more ner a hundred dollars' worth
of good a'ready."

"True, I know that--yet if that man were here now, if he could appear
suddenly--"

A remarkable change came over the man as he broke off the sentence and
sprung to his feet. Blaze, who trusted completely his own senses, and
was confident that Winkle could have discovered no signs of any danger,
looked at him in doubt and amazement as he stood bending now to one
side, again to another, eagerly listening, his rifle clutched with a
nervous grip.

"D'ye hear him?" he whispered. "He's coming, he's coming! curse him, I
tell you he's here now."

Then Blaze listened. It seemed, almost like a fancy, too, that he
heard, away miles off, a voice. He knew not whether it was the voice
of man or of nature. There are times when in Western solitudes the
two sound so wondrously alike that one is startled and perplexed. The
voices that one hears in the cottonwoods by the river-side, or the
cedars in the cañons! A brooder or a dreamer alone with them might well
be driven mad.

While the trapper listened, Winkle stole noiselessly away. The negro,
who had, during the recital of Winkle's story, been lying wrapped in a
blanket, unconsciously sleeping, suddenly awoke to consciousness, and
answered Blaze's astonished exclamation of, "Where the thunder's the
boy gone to?" with:

"Jist hold on hyar a bit. Dat's nuffin new. He done gone do dat ebery
leetle while; I fotch him back. Dat's de on'y t'ing 'bout Mass'r Winkle
dat's cur'us. He say he t'inks he hear hees man."

Pompey, without more ado, slid off in the direction in which Winkle
had gone, leaving Blaze alone, to ruminate on the story he had just
heard. The negro was brimful of western experience, and Blaze thought
it needless to follow. This summary exit of the two from camp gave him
fresh food for reflection, and his thoughts were somewhat mixed as
would appear from his soliloquy:

"Some, now, would call him crazy. I dunno; guess both sides is ground
down to one p'int, an' that, 'my man.' Everyways else I reckon he's
more brains ner I hev--which's a fair allowance fur this individooal to
make. Ef he could git 'my man' off his intellek he'd be purty square.
Cuss me, though, ef I wouldn't like to know whether 'my man' _is_ in
the cañon, or hereabouts. That's the queer part of the thing--his
followin' him by guess, er instink. I've see'd a herd o' deer scattered
this way an' that an' the t'other, an' often wondered how it come they
war all together ag'in by mornin'. Not so sing'lar as the way he's
follered 'my man.' I wonder ef he'll ever find him? I b'lieve 'bout
two month waitin' to see, alongside o' this Winkle, would tame me down
amazin'. I'm gittin' steady es an otter-slide now. Waugh!"




                              CHAPTER XI.

                          WHITHER EDITH WENT.


The average American Indian is not a charming object. Treacherous,
bloodthirsty, cunning, he seems to need but the opportunity to show
himself a monster. Much may be said in extenuation; but, there will
still remain behind the hard array of facts. Was the author writing for
Cheyenne, Crow, Blackfoot, Comanche or Apache readers, perhaps he might
say the same of the white man, and the statement, on their limited
personal knowledge, be readily accepted. In the one case it is to be
hoped that the exceptions are in reality the rule, while in the other
we fear they prove it.

Edith Van Payne was well acquainted with the general character of the
dusky people into whose hands she had fallen. When War Hawk and his
daring followers had swooped down upon her, she had, at the first
shock, uttered a scream for help. In imagined security it was most
sternly startling to feel herself caught up and borne off like the
rush of the wind. The crack of a rifle, fired, she doubted not, by
one of Martin's men, recalled her, in some measure, to herself. Yet,
as she hung across the neck of the warrior's steed, and felt the
firm grip of his powerful hand, she might well lapse into a state of
semi-unconsciousness. When, at length, she again became fully awake to
her position, a long distance had been placed between her and her late
home.

When Edith found herself able to catch a confused glimpse of her
abductor, she thought she recognized his face. That thought gave her
some comfort at least, since it brought her a sense of relief from any
present positive danger.

The relations between Martin and the red-skins who surrounded him
had been heretofore those of peace. By a rare piece of good luck, at
the outset, and afterward by judicious management, he had so secured
their apparent good-will that he had been led to look upon them rather
as allies. With some of them he had carried on considerable traffic
in pelts and robes, and they came often to his ranche. Edith, with a
woman's curiosity, had scanned them narrowly, and the most of them had
accepted the gaze of her flashing eye in an unconcerned manner. In one
or two she detected answering glances of admiration that rather amused
her.

In the Indian who was now bearing her away she believed she recognized
War Hawk, one of those she had classed as her admirers.

By the time that War Hawk had joined the small party that was awaiting
him, Edith had settled in her mind the course which she intended to
pursue. Holding herself in constant readiness to accept any opportunity
to escape, she would keep up a bold front. She would not waste her
strength in vain endeavors, but in the hour of action be brave and
resolute.

War Hawk marked the phases of returning consciousness, bewilderment,
doubt and final determination. Though he could not fully understand,
he could appreciate much of the mental force which faced, in calmness,
such a situation. A thrill of pride ran through him at the thought,
that he had not been mistaken in the stuff of which his captive was
made.

"The White Bird need not fear. War Hawk would not harm. He hopes she
will some day neither fear nor wish to fly. She must not flutter now.
There is danger to both, and he will not die alone."

"For myself I fear not. I am in no present haste to flutter nor fly. I
remember you, sir; I know you. The years that you have passed among the
whites--for I know your story--should have taught you better. And you
will have to account for this, to not only the white people, but your
own tribe. Be sure that both will be ready to bring you to a reckoning."

"War Hawk has a heart to feel, and also is brave to dare. Now be still.
Shall he trust you to ride?"

It was during the momentary halt that this conversation took place.
She, seeing nothing to be gained by refusing, answered by an
affirmative motion of the head. In a moment she was transferred to the
back of a mustang, and all the preparations for blinding the trail
having already been made before she was fairly settled to a seat, both
parties had moved off. Unlearned as she was in wood and prairie-craft,
she had no difficulty in perceiving that an effort was being made to
deceive those who might follow after. From the smallness of the number
of men engaged in the affair, she did not doubt but that more than
ever, the red-skins intended to employ stratagem in preference to
force in their retreat. They knew, as well as did Edith, that, as the
trapping season was just about to open, there was an unusually large
number of hunters at Back Load Ranche. Doubtless, also, they believed
that pursuit would be immediately made.

For a time the pace was moderate. So slow did they seem to be
progressing, that Edith had hopes for a time of hearing the footsteps
of Martin and his men thundering on in their wake. She did not believe
War Hawk would execute his dark threat, even though she was aware that
prisoners had been killed to prevent their rescue or escape.

This slow rate of progress did not long continue. Again they were
hastening on, all attempts at concealment of their route being thrown
aside. They swept across the prairie for hours. The moon sunk in the
west, the night grew darker around them, but with untiring energy they
dashed on.

There is no need to chronicle in detail the history of the flight.
The night passed; the day broke, and still they pressed ahead. No
living human being crossed their path. There were no certain signs of
pursuit. Once, from the actions of the Indians, Edith had her attention
specially turned backward. She thought she caught, through the
marvelously clear prairie atmosphere, a glimpse of three dark objects
miles away. It might be a little clump of horsemen--more likely a herd
of antelope or elk.

They rode in silence. Neither the captive nor the captors felt much
disposition to converse. A feeling of suspense and uncertainty was
brooding in the minds of both. Edith, even, began to look forward with
a dim yearning for the time to halt to arrive. Weariness began to
oppress her, sleep to try at her eyelids.

At length they left the prairie; crossing a shallow stream, they went
up its bank for some distance; then, turning away from it, and picking
their way for perhaps half a mile over uneven and stony ground, they
entered a defile which, under the name of Straight Cañon, led through
the rocky range before them. In its gloomy recesses the spirits of
Edith sunk again. She would have prayed for a halt, had she not been
so unwilling to show weakness. Perhaps it was purely pride--perhaps it
was from good judgment. Physically so frail-looking she had the will
to brave fatigue. Had she allowed herself to falter at all, the result
would have been utter prostration.

War Hawk seemed at length to have an idea that he was, perhaps, tasking
his captive beyond her powers of endurance. More than once he scanned
her features narrowly. Her naturally pale cheek seemed to be no paler;
there was no tremor in her hands; her eyes blazed as brightly as ever.

"If the White Bird is worn out, let her ask and she shall stop. There
is no danger. She can rest. But a little further on, we come to a long
halt."

Without hesitation she responded:

"I am tired, but can go further."

Straight Cañon was threaded, and a narrow valley lay before them.
Beyond another range loomed up darkly.

Crossing the valley they began to ascend a gentle slope. They had not
gone far when at some little distance she heard a signal which was
immediately answered by one of the Indians beside her. A few moments
more, and the halting-place was reached.

Rude as were the accommodations, it was with a feeling of unutterable
relief that Edith Van Payne rested her wearied limbs in her little
prison-hut. She had scarce noticed the two or three lodges that were
scattered around.

How long a halt would be made there she scarce thought it worth while
to ask. The by no means unsavory viands that were brought her she put
aside for the time almost untasted, only too glad to be at rest and
alone.




                             CHAPTER XII.

           "WHEN A WOMAN WILLS THERE'S NOTHING MORE TO SAY."


Daylight waned, and the shadows deepened. In the west the crimson
flames that flared over the mountains died away, and the night-stars
began to shimmer in their field of blue. A moist, sweet wind came
wandering up from the woods. Edith sat within her little prison-house
alone.

From time to time she heard voices without; but they came to her as
if in a dream. The cold look of the woman had deepened till her face
seemed like crystallized water itself.

But in the frigidity of her eyes was a something that was suggestive
of unfrozen depths beyond. There was no trace of despair--no sign of
intense misery directly arising from her present condition like that
which would have fallen upon some women. Only the traces of a former
congealment were deepened; that was all. And so, she sat there in
silence, thinking. So absorbed in her reverie was she that, apparently,
she did not hear a footstep approaching the matting that did duty as
a door to her cabin, did not notice the tall and graceful form of War
Hawk, as he entered; and only awoke with a start to consciousness at
hearing a voice, remarkably sweet and mild for one belonging to a son
of the forest and plain, addressing her.

"The White Bird is sad, and the War Hawk would comfort her--yet he
is afraid to come before her. She need not fear him. He is a great
warrior, but would not harm her for many lodges and much of all that is
dear to the heart of a warrior. Can the White Bird look upon the War
Hawk with a smile? She will see him as gentle as a fawn, for she is
dear to him, and what she says shall be music in his ear."

Edith suffered her eyes to rest steadily upon her Indian admirer, whose
assumed gentleness could not disguise his stern, unyielding nature. So
the woman thought, though her eye met his unflinching and undaunted.

"The White Bird may be sad, but it is the sadness of years. She asks
neither favor nor kindness from the War Hawk. As she has protected
herself in the past, so she can in the present and the future. She has
been hurt to the heart so long ago that she has no soul for the great
chief. Let him go his way and she will go hers."

The ghost of a smile flitted over the face of the brave at this
request. This conquest of his had not been altogether bloodless, as the
waters of Back Load stream could bear witness.

"The White Bird will grace the wigwam of the War Hawk, and those who
have hurt her heart shall be forgotten. If they come near her again,
let her speak the word and they shall die. This arm will protect her,
and no woman will be more honored among my nation."

Edith looked curiously at the speaker. She measured him with her eye
and gauged his soul as he spoke. Perhaps she could see in this dashing
red-skin something to admire, even though there was nothing for one of
her race to love.

"The White Bird returns her thanks," she said, with a graceful but
sweeping courtesy. "The chief's wooing is rough and his grip is like
steel, but she knows the warriors of his tribe and their ways, and the
War Hawk may well be the greatest among them. He is pleasant to look
upon, and the squaw of his lodge will have the eyes of many maidens
turned upon her in envy; yet the White Bird, as he has chosen to call
her, has no heart for him. Her soul rests with one of her own kindred.
Though she has not seen him for years, and will never meet him again,
yet her heart will ever beat time to him--even though he knows it not,
and little dreams that she still lives. Let the War Hawk seek another;
I am not for him."

"The warriors of our tribe are not used to wooing as are the
pale-faces, and if War Hawk had sought the fair one he loves as our
warriors seek their squaws, she might have thought his grip was
stronger yet. He has handled her tenderly and would ever do so; yet
she should know that she _must_ be his. She is in his hands now, he
will have her taken into his tribe; he will guard her and care for her;
no other shall be so cherished. He has been in danger from her people
and his own for her and life has been lost to win her. Do you think,
then, when he loves her so strongly, that he will open his hand when
she is in it and let her fly away? No. The White Bird must forget her
pale-faced friends--and--" his voice grew harder and colder, and there
was a ring of savage fierceness in it as he spoke--"let her dream of
her pale-faced lover no longer. If she should see him again it would
be to destroy him, for he may not look on your face again and go away
living. The War Hawk will let no eyes rest upon his pale-faced squaw in
love."

Edith Van Payne realized more than ever the depth to which she had
stirred the heart of her dusky-visaged admirer.

"War Hawk, you have wasted time in your pursuit, and you seek what
will never, never be yours. There are fair maidens of your own race;
woo them and win them--me you never can, by either kind words or by
threats. I am protected by the Great Spirit, and neither hope nor fear.
Your pursuit may bring you much of evil--to me it can only bring a new
experience in life. Do not be deceived. I am, and of reason, a mystery
to you, the solution of which it is dangerous for you to attempt."

Perhaps Edith drew herself up rather proudly as she uttered these
words, perhaps there was something, too, of scorn mingled with her
pride, and unintentionally outcropping in her words and gestures,
for War Hawk appeared touched to the quick. He strode a pace
forward and raised his hand with a gesture that might indicate
either impressiveness or menace. The woman only turned sideways and
unflinchingly gazed into his face as he spoke.

"The War Hawk has run many risks for his pale White Bird. He has faced
not only the rifles of her friends, but even now he stands against
the wishes of his tribe. It is not a light thing for a great chief
to choose to bring a pale-face woman into his cabin; but he has seen
something of the world, something of the pale-faces, too, and he will
accomplish his desires. The White Bird has flown away from her people;
they will never see her again. Had they even the courage to follow her,
they would not know in which way to turn their steps. The War Hawk
will say no more this time; but let her think of what he has said, and
perhaps she will yet smile at the coming of the footsteps of the great
chief."

"Let not the Blackfoot brave deceive himself. He is not dealing with a
helpless squaw of his tribe. I can help myself if forsaken by friends.
But I have no fears of that. Their eyes are keen, their limbs are
untiring, and they are already on the trail. You may not see them, or
hear them; but they will be near you, and when the time comes you will
find your White Bird has flitted--if before that the fatal bullet has
not stricken you--"

Without then was the sound of a rapidly-approaching horseman. Edith
paused in her speech as she heard it, and her savage wooer looked
uneasily around him as though he half-feared this hot-haste messenger
might be the bearer of unpleasant tidings. The two, listening, heard
a distant greeting, the sound of beating hoofs ceased, and then the
newcomer, an Indian, inquired for War Hawk. The chief, on hearing this,
made an obeisance and left the cabin as quietly as he had entered it.

Edith Van Payne remained alone. With feminine curiosity she listened
to see if she could not learn what this messenger had to communicate.
She only heard voices speaking in a low and smothered tone, but soon
the conversation became more earnest. Then she sought to gain a view
of the speakers. Circumstances favored her. When she cast her glance
upon them, she saw that preparations for a move of some kind were being
made. In front of the second cabin War Hawk was in close conference
with several of the braves. Nearer to her, in fact within a few paces
of her own wigwam, stood a single savage, holding by the bridles two
horses--one of which she recognized at a glance as Whirlwind, the
favorite steed of War Hawk.

This man stood with his back toward her, his eyes bent in the direction
of the others, evidently more intent upon the conference of his
brethren than upon the movements of the captive girl. The great black
steed, that stood almost unwatched and within, as it were, arm's length
of her, was the fleetest among the fleet horses of the tribe.

Great acts are often the effect of intuition. She tried the fastenings,
and found nothing to hinder her egress. A moment, and she had
noiselessly glided to the side of Whirlwind. A moment more and she had
swung herself upon him, had snatched up the bridle, struck him a sharp
blow across the shoulder--and then, like an arrow, had bounded away
and was sweeping back toward the mountains through which they had just
passed!

The noble steed, to which Edith, practiced horseman that she was, clung
so closely and firmly, had not hesitated a moment. He swung at once
into a pace that was tremendous. His rider retained her seat with ease,
and while urging him to his highest speed, did not for a moment lose
her perfect mastery of him. The other horse had wrenched himself loose
at the time that Whirlwind started, and, bearing no burden, kept neck
and neck with her.

Soon the wild shouts of War Hawk and his allies died away in the
distance. She saw an opening in the hills, the defile of a cañon
looming dark before her; and into its recesses she plunged without a
moment's hesitation. What might be in store for her beyond, in the
lonesome darkness, she neither knew, nor thought of, nor cared for. For
the time at least, Edith Van Payne was free.

The horses seemed to know the road well. At least they stretched out,
plunging on with unfaltering steps into the darkness. Before long the
thrill and thrall of her fear wore off, and, as no savage yells or
echoing hoof-beats resounded behind her, she coolly settled herself to
the work before her. The long twilight had died away, and the moon,
nearly full, was up and shining directly through the narrow road,
doubling the gloom that lay upon the wooded and rocky slopes on each
side,--so that she seemed riding along a path of light laid upon and
through a bed of darkness. Her quick eye ranged along this path, now
and then diving into the darkness upon either side of her; yet seeing
nothing but rocks and trees.

Yet, there was some one near. Not a hundred yards ahead of her, just
in the shade of the trees, his wariness all excited by the noise of
ringing hoof-strokes, Bill Blaze was sitting in his saddle with eyes
strained to catch sight of the person so recklessly approaching. And
when he saw the woman bearing down upon him, the riderless horse
galloping at her side, he could scarce refrain from a shout of triumph
as he recognized in her the object of his search.

"Minks and mushrats!" thought he. "Blam'd ef she _ain't_ Dick Martin's
gal. A trump, by mitey! She's cleaned out the hull b'iling; stampeded
ther corral, an' 's bringin' the pick o' the lot into camp! Bill Blaze
an' her 'll move inter Back Load camp rejoicin'. Waugh!"

When the fast rider was galloping by, she heard at her left a voice,
calling to her in what seemed a guarded tone:

"Hullo, thar! Back Load Trace! Dick Martin! Van Payne! Friends. Hullo!
hold on, friends!"

She looked hastily toward the spot from which the voice proceeded. A
man, evidently a white man and a trapper from his garb, pushed out from
the shadows, and rode toward her.

For a moment she hesitated, undecided whether to augment her speed,
or to wait for him. The sight of a white man seemed a sign of aid and
comfort. Again he hailed her. In the moonlight she could see that he
held his right hand up, with the palm open and toward her; a sign of
amity. Confidence came to her by inspiration, and without a struggle
she allowed him to range up to her side. When he came nearer, she knew
that she had never seen him among the Free Trappers who followed the
beck of Martin.

"There is little time for talk now. I know not how closely pursuers may
be behind us. What we have to say we must say as we gallop on. I see
that you know me, and I need not stop to explain."

"That's all right. We've bin on the scout arter ye, an' I war jest
rollin' slow into what I thort war blam'd dangerous diggin's. Wouldn't
wonder ef you've saved my skulp; an' yer chances won't be any the wuss
fur hevin' Bill Blaze to steer yer through this yere diffikilty."

"Do you know this country? I took this route by chance, without knowing
whither I was going; and only determined on riding on till I found
myself--somewhere."

"Know it like a book. Yer tuk the right; couldn't 'a' showed ye a
better myself. Yer driftin' right through Crooked Cañon. You might 'a'
taken a shorter cut to reach the other side of the mount'ins; but then,
you'd 'a' missed me, sure. How the what you call 'em did yer git on it?
Don't 'spose the top-knots is so overflowin' with the milk o' human
kindness, thet they've sit ye up in the hoss bissness theirselves!"

Edith, in a few brief words, explained the rapidly-shifting scenes of
the evening, passing lightly over her interview with War Hawk, and
winding up with:

"And now, as you are fittest to act the part of guide, what do you
propose doing?"

Blaze was silent a moment as he revolved in his mind the intelligence
that he had received, then answered:

"Yer see, Miss, thet ain't so easy to answer right at onc't. All that
excitement wern't fur nothin'. Depend upon it, that scout tumbled
acrost somethin' that wern't kalkerlated to fit the'r arrangements.
It's more ner likely Martin and his men are comin' up Straight Cañon.
Yer see ther's two passes--one on 'em called Straight and t'other
Crooked. We're in the Crooked. I tried this yere one acause my luck's
the dog-gonedest contrairiest thing you ever see'd, and I allus hev to
be just whar I oughtn't, ef I don't want every thing to bu'st up to
eternal smash. We can't git out o'here to-night, an' I guess the best
thing is to sail along a few hours, an' then stop off till morning.
Martin's sure to be somewhar in the neighborhood. Ef he's in this
cañon, we'll find him; ef he's in the t'other, he'll keep yer Indian
friends up an' busy, an' find us, since I've got a few ideas about them
copper-skins, an' when I think 'em over _right_, I'll let you know what
they are. Just now let us make our prettiest time."

In accordance with this, the speed, which had slackened as they
conversed, was accelerated, and for a long time the two rode on in
silence.




                             CHAPTER XIII.

                             A WILD RIDE.


It was morning now in the cañon. Heroes and heroines require sleep--in
that they resemble other more commonplace individuals. Perhaps Blaze
had slept some; but, wearied as he had been for some days with a
constant round of dangerous adventures and hairbreadth escapes,
at daylight he was wide awake, ready to face whatever dangers and
difficulties the morning might bring. The woman was still as a statue.
Her breath came quietly; her slumber was sweet. Blaze sat at a little
distance from her, just by the horses, with his rifle close at hand,
and looked at his fair charge. There was something in the face of Edith
that seemed to be worth studying. As he thought how frail and nerveless
she looked in the first pale light of the morning, he was afraid that
he had his hands full.

"Blamed ef the little woman looks es though she'd stand carryin'.
Kinder sorter 'pears of glass, like. Shouldn't wonder ef she'd break
all up into small bits afore I git her a rod. She ain't put up as solid
es a Blackfoot squaw. Es fur as the fakilty of transportin' goes, I'd
kinder sooner she war. Cur'ous how tastes does differ! Howsomever, Bill
Blaze will do his level best, an' ef luck don't run too all-fired rough
it may be on the keerds to--blast it, yes! To what? Ef I ain't keerful
the copper-skins'll take my ha'r, an' Dick Martin shoot me on sight.
As fur that crazy Winkle, I dunno how soon he'll come crawlin' up an'
lettin' drive on s'picion that I'm his man. There's a three-cornered
state of affairs here, an' no mistake. It's a kinder blessin' maybe,
after all, that the gal herself ain't likely to give much trouble."
Then he gave a start. "She must 'a' knowed I war thinkin' on her, fur
she's got her eyes wide open."

Edith had opened her eyes. She looked around for a moment with an air
of quiet bewilderment. Then, apparently comprehending the status of
things, she slowly raised her head from the rude pillow; something like
the shadow of a blush flitted across her cheek, and she turned to the
trapper.

"Well, sir, the morning is here; what do you propose doing?"

"I'd sooner hev Chep Carter draw a bead on me with his finger all ready
on the trigger and him dead set on shootin', than answer that question.
Blamed ef I know _what_ to do."

"One of us must decide what is to be done, and that right quickly. If
you think you can find a way to get beyond our enemies to a place of
safety, at Back Load Clearing, or elsewhere, say so. If you think you
can not, say so; and I'll try what my wits are worth in this emergency."

Blaze scratched his nose dubiously. It was not that he had not full
confidence in himself, but rather it was an unexpectedly amusing thing
for this woman, on whose frailty he had but lately been passing mental
criticisms, to speak in such short, decisive and self-reliant tones.

"Mebbe the best thing would be to do nothin'. I've know'd persons as
war in a box to git out by just sittin' still--an' I've know'd others,
that war bound to keep movin', to run right slap onto the biggest
kind o' a hornet's nest. In course, I kin find a way out. That's my
name--jest what I war made fur. Only, don't push a willin' hoss. Let me
roominate a bit."

"Last night you said, wait till morning. It's morning now, and having
waited patiently I am anxious to be up and off. Think quickly, then;
I'm not a friend to slow going."

"Wal, yer see, ther's several bearin's on this yere. We know whar
we've bin, whar we are, but don't know whar we're goin', an' more
particularly, who's wantin' to go with us. The end to this trail's a
ticklish spot to travel over, that wants daylight or full moonlight
to git safely through. Then, I've a couple ov chums somewhars in this
region, that I can't leave without seein'. I don't feel afeard of the
red-skins. My narves is es steady as a shootin'-match, and they's a
sure sign. Ye wouldn't like to stay here a day longer, would ye?"

"I am on the side of safe boldness, whatever that may be. I wish to
make my way from this region as quickly as may be convenient and safe!"

"Jest one minnit. This yere's how the land lays: Es I told yer, I've
a couple of chums somewhars nigh. We was a-lookin' fur you, ye see,
an' there's two other lots on the same biz, an' one on 'em is comin'
up Straight Cañon ef there's any faith in signs. The other lot may be
goin' on the same road, or we may stumble acrost 'em on our way down.
Blest ef I don't wish I knowed which are on this trail an' which on
t'other. Now, we'll take a bite o' somethin' to stay our in'ards, an'
then be movin'. I hope I've cut it short."

The bite was soon taken, and taken almost in silence. From time to time
Edith asked a question, and at length understood that Blaze was of the
opinion that Martin and his men had followed in pursuit, and it was
their approach that had alarmed the Indians. He told Edith, as briefly
as it was in his nature to speak, that War Hawk had not ventured to
bring his wished-for bride into the village of his tribe; that, in
all probability, save the chance of a stray hunter, there was not an
Indian outside of War Hawk's small party, within thirty miles of them.
Their journey for the day, he thought, would be one of comparative
safety. Their greatest danger lay away out upon the plain, beyond the
opening of the cañon; and for that reason he was anxious to augment the
strength of their party, even though he felt able, if his "luck held,"
to carry her through in safety by himself.

Having said this much, in his strange and rather uncouth way, the two
sought saddle and Blaze led his charge down the cañon.

They rode along, at first, rapidly and in silence.

Before long Edith became satisfied that Blaze had been wise in thinking
that they needed daylight to make their way over that part of their
journey. The road, before so smooth, became rougher and rougher, until,
finally it seemed to her that it would grow absolutely impassable.
Here and there, to the side, she saw gulches and ravines that invited
them by their evenness, but her guide resolutely withstood their
wooings, and kept straight on. Around and over rocks, across dykes and
gullies, up and down they went, till at last, meeting with obstacles
more serious than any they had as yet encountered, they dismounted and
toiled upward on foot.

"Ef we're spry now," encouraged Blaze, "half an hour more will take us
over the roughest, an' then we'll hev level road, clean down to the
mouth of the cañon."

Accustomed as Edith was to exertion and exercise, she was heartily glad
when the most toilsome part of the road was passed, and, seated once
more on Whirlwind, she could pursue her journey with more ease, though
Blaze, still on foot, was piloting her carefully.

"Here we come," said he, as, turning a sharp corner, they found
themselves at the beginning of a better path. Then in a different tone
of voice, in a voice that partook of mingled excitement and uneasiness,
he shouted: "The devil! Here he comes!" and, quick as light, firing
his rifle, he sprung forward, while the steed of Edith, which had been
giving hitherto unnoticed tokens of dissatisfaction, with a scream of
fright, gave a mighty plunge, and then, in an uncontrollable frenzy,
rushed like a thunderbolt away! As she was borne on in this mad career
she heard the voice of Blaze, mingled with the snarl and roar of a
wild beast, and, over her shoulder, for a moment, saw him closing in
in mortal conflict with a deadly monarch of the mountains--an immense
grizzly bear.

Only for a moment the scene flashed across her vision--just long enough
to bring a cold chill of terror to her heart, then she was out of sight.

Crooked Cañon did not then belie its name. It swept away to the
right with a long curve, and, as she was whirled, breathless and
horror-stricken along it, she could catch no glimpse of what might
happen to Blaze behind, or any new danger in the way ahead. She saw
only the rocks and trees that, circling in, seemed as she advanced
an ever-lifting barrier that changed with the shifting sameness and
speed of a kaleidoscope. The ring of Whirlwind's hoofs was flung far
ahead and behind; it echoed lonesomely in the cañon. And it fell upon
listening ears!

A man had halted just in the shade of the scrubby trees that lined the
edge of the cañon. He started up at the noise of flying feet, and,
still shading himself, gazed in the direction of the sound. What he
saw was a woman on a maddened horse, keeping her seat with the skill
of a practiced rider, yet being borne with dreadful speed toward the
jagged rocks and almost impassable precipices which he knew lay at the
entrance, not so very far beyond. As she came nearer he looked again,
and then sprung madly forward. Had he been a moment sooner he might
have grasped the bridle of the animal. As it was, Whirlwind flitted
past him like a dream; in front of him was only the opposite wall of
the chasm.

He heard the sound of an exclamation; then the crack of a rifle, and
felt a something on his cheek as though a hot iron had been laid there.
His arms were dropped by his side; they raised again convulsively. He
cast a look around, and, as by instinct, he saw on the crown of the
bank before him Charles Endicott, with a smoking rifle and a sneer on
his face.

       *       *       *       *       *

When Blaze came rushing down Crooked Cañon, hard on the trail of Edith,
his blood trickling from numberless sharp scratches, though yet strong
and nervous, he came suddenly upon a man lying stretched out at full
length upon the ground, his face resting upon one of the very tracks of
Edith's flying steed. When he had turned him over he found that this
man was Harry Winkle. It did not take long to examine his hurts. He was
still alive, though partially stunned, and he saw at a glance there was
a wound on the side of his face from which the blood was slowly oozing.

When he had noted this much, Winkle gathered himself up, rose to a
sitting posture and looked around with a wild stare.

"Right there," he muttered, pointing up the slope, "I saw
_him_--Endicott! And Edith she went down the cañon. Let me go, I must
find her first."

He got to his feet, looked around, caught up his rifle, moved off with
a step rapidly growing firmer.




                             CHAPTER XIV.

                         HUNTED TO THE VERGE.


On the morning of the day after Edith Van Payne had made her escape
from War Hawk, the purlieus of Crooked Cañon were enlivened with a
rather more than ordinary number of denizens. Not only Edith and Blaze
coming through it, and Winkle and Pompey on the west side, but on the
east bank were camped Endicott and his followers. As may be supposed,
Endicott himself, though a fair shot and possessed of considerable
experience, was not as yet a finished ranger. Any deficiencies in this
respect were fully supplied by the attainments of Lariat Dan, the pilot
of the party, and his able assistants, Mike Motler and Grizzly Dave. As
these men were honest, as times go, they were hardly to be considered
trustworthy, and therefore were not admitted into Captain Endicott's
confidence. This troubled him very little. He intended to make blind
tools of them so long as it was possible. When he could do that no
longer--why, they had roughed it on the border long enough to have the
gilding pretty well knocked off of the corners of their honesty; and
he had but little doubt of being able, if need came, to bend them to
his wishes.

In place of Endicott and his followers, perhaps we should say Endicott
and his follower. He and Eben Rothven were, at the present time, by
themselves, though the other three were almost if not quite within
supporting distance. The two, this morning, were holding a council
of war. They were ready enough to cast themselves into a desperate
adventure, provided they could see, with reasonable clearness, the
probable result. Just now, as the future appeared somewhat beclouded,
they thought it best to consider a bit. While Dave and his two
lieutenants were risking their scalps in Straight Cañon, Endicott and
Rothven were discussing whether it was likely to prove a profitable
business to venture their own in the same direction.

Rothven of course was opposed to the venture. Perhaps in the beginning,
seeing Edith Van Payne carried off before his very face, some little
enthusiasm had been kindled in his heart. He was not all bad, and
there were some traces of chivalry in his composition. However, this
enthusiasm had time to die out; and, having other plans of his own,
there is but very little doubt that he would have been very willing to
leave the captive to her fate.

In the way of this a difficulty had arisen. Even had Endicott been in
a frame of mind to listen to reason, something seemed to tell him that
there might be some trouble in calling the other men off the pursuit.
They were very good specimens of border ruffians; but, having once been
laid on the trail, their blood got up. Not being of the calculating,
scheming class, it even amused Endicott to see from day to day how
earnest they grew.

The two men walked away from their camp in the heat of their
discussion. They forgot their prudence. If there had been a hostile
red-skin near, he might have stalked up and shot them both.

A little time having elapsed, as might be expected they got to be
cooler, and both having yielded a little, they talked in a more guarded
manner. Perhaps it was well for them they did so. Perhaps, on the
contrary, it would have been better if they had given some clear and
unmistakable manifestation of their presence.

Having become more reasonable, and having expressed their opinions to
each other, they separated. At least Endicott remained standing while
Rothven went back a few paces.

Standing by himself, with his rifle by his side, and looking into the
cañon before him, Endicott was revolving many thoughts in his mind;
yet was not so abstracted as to fail to note the conformation of the
ground in front of him. The banks of Crooked Cañon, generally almost
perpendicular, were here practicable. He did not think it would be
much trouble for one to descend into the ravine, or for one to come
up. There was a ledge running down in a regular inclined plane of what
seemed to be a rather gradual slope. In reality, this slope was more
practicable than it looked. Having noticed this natural roadway, he
caught himself wondering why it was there; whether it was ever used;
and, if so, by whom and for what purpose. As he wondered he endeavored
to cast his glance up the cañon. Then he heard a noise in that
direction. What a strange coincidence it was that he should be there!

He saw as in a picture part of that which we have detailed in the last
chapter.

Then came before him the woman whose abduction had drawn him into this
mountain fastness. He saw, as she went streaming by, Harry Winkle start
out from among the shrubbery and trees beneath and opposite to him to
make a frantic grasp at her rein; he saw, too, the unsuccessfulness of
the attempt, with Miss Van Payne's horse sweeping on, leaving Winkle
standing right before him.

A throb of hate and mad passion quivered through him from crown to
heel. Hate, passion, fear! In the twinkling of an eye his rifle was at
his shoulder; one glance along its brown tube and the finger on the
trigger did its work. When Charles Endicott and Harry Winkle at last
stood face to face, Endicott fired the first shot.

Something within seemed to tell him that shot was going home just as
he meant it to go; so that, when Winkle threw up his hands and pitched
forward upon his face, he was not at all surprised. A stumbling-block
and a cause of fear were out of his path. Martin had warned him of this
man, and, acting on that warning, he thought he had put him beyond
mischief and the power of working it.

He had no time for reflection though. Winkle might lie there a prey for
the vultures and coyotes, since Edith Van Payne had passed.

Like lightning his thoughts drove through his brain. Could she gain the
mastery over her frantic steed in time to prevent his plunging into
certain death? That was the query. Could he aid her? That came next. He
knew if she kept straight on it would be certain death. One last long
and sharp curve and she came to the end where her choice of ways was a
broken, rugged, rocky descent that lay upon one side, the entrance to
it almost undiscoverable, and a sheer precipice.

This he thought as he ran.

As the reader has seen, he was a man of both thought and deed, and very
often the deed came first; so he was rushing on his errand before some
men would have gotten over the first flush of surprise at the woman's
appearance. What he had to do was to stop her; _then_ it would be time
enough to query how she escaped.

Rothven heard the report of the rifle; when he looked around he saw his
comrade dashing past him at full speed. He did not know whether or no
there was danger, and Endicott vouchsafed him no explanation. When he
had waited in terrible suspense for a few moments, he crept cautiously
to the spot where he had left his co-conspirator standing, and peering
anxiously around him, at length saw Bill Blaze coming down the cañon.

The spirit of darkness, who, they say, loves his own, must have loaned
Endicott wings, and guided his footsteps, too, perhaps. Through brake
and brush he dashed, and over rocks and down declivities; and when
Edith at last was able, just at the very line of deadly danger, to
draw rein, and, quivering and breathless, slip from her saddle, there
appeared at her side, as if by magic, with a hand on her bridle-rein
and a mocking sneer on his lips, the face and form of the last man she
desired to see--Charles Endicott.

Breathless as he was, it took some little time for him to be in
speaking condition, and while he was recovering his breath she was
recovering her consciousness and courage. The very moment she saw him
she argued illy from his presence. To be sure, Bill Blaze was in the
vicinity; but she could scarcely give a guess at how near, and when she
last caught sight of him he had such a work before him that it might
well finish him. The corpse of more than one hunter has lain side by
side with the body of a dead grizzly.

"Well, friend Edith, we have met again, as I prophesied we would, and I
think that now you are fated to hear my story to the end. I have ridden
fast and far for a chance to tell my tale, and I doubt if you will be
so cruel as not to hear what I would say to you."

She looked at him with a glance of superb scorn.

"Not as fast or as far as I have ridden," she said. "But if you were
not in the same field as the fox during the race, I suppose you
think you are at least in at the death. Perhaps you are. You might,
perchance, claim my dead body--it is certain you shall never have lot
or parcel of my living soul."

"Oh, how brave we are! It reminds me of the grand old times when we
were both heroes. You think you hate me, do you? Perhaps you do. I
know I have done you deadly wrong; but that wrong I am most anxious to
right. Your judgment is clear beyond that of average mortals, and I but
ask you to exercise it in this case. I am sure that you will, if you
treat me fairly, acknowledge that, in all that past, on which you now
profess to scorn to look, I acted in a manly, noble way, and as best I
could for your best interests. Won't you give me that credit?"

"You! _you!_ Give credit to _you_! Why, you abominable, loathsome spawn
of the slum and the prison--it was not the way that I was injured,
but the _thing_ that injured me! When I think of _that_, I quiver and
glow white from crown to toe. Is it a wonder that I went wild when I
realized it? Leave me, leave me before I die of rage!"

She flamed up like a mad tigress. Her eyes flashed on him with a
baleful light, and her white, regular teeth shut with an angry click.
Only a weapon at hand and she would have shot him dead; only strength,
and she would have torn him limb from limb.

And he? He stood and looked her in the eyes without flinching. Only his
face was deathly white for a moment, and then there rose a something in
his throat that seemed to be choking him as he smothered his anger.

"You want it to be without the gloves, do you? So be it. Here! See
here! These hands of mine are tender enough for a backwoodsman, are
they not? Yet see where they are half-eaten off at the wrists. Ha! ha!
you don't see it--why, they are dropping off from the burning touch of
the cursed gyves. Right round there is where they clung. No mark there?
Well, there ought to be, for I've worn the fetters. Yes, there's the
hand of a jail-bird with the prison smutch on it; and he offers it to
you. You don't accept, do you?"

She shrunk away from him with a gesture of horror, yet her eyes were
fixed upon his face as though by fascination, while he continued:

"Did you never hear of a martyr to justice? Do you know nothing of the
cry, 'Hang _some one_ to quiet the public nerves?' Do you know how a
name can be murdered, and that, for such a murder, there can be no
retributive justice? I loved you once, and I love you now; you loved me
once, and you shall love me again. The ex-convict is at your feet; but
he woos you in the teeth of danger; he does not forget that. There is
little time to be lost in idle play. We have had all the romance years
ago; we come now to the stern reality."

She burst out: "I did not love you then, I will not love you now. I
have passed beyond the regions of romance, and learned what I would
that I had known then. You can not drive me and you dare not kill me."

"Dare I not? Kill! kill! Do you think no killing has even been done?
Didn't you hear the ring of my rifle but a moment ago? Force rules the
world--and _here_ I am power! Along Back Load Trace there were weapons
ready to come at your call, but here the tables are turned. Within
beck are three sturdy ruffians and--a _preacher_. Not a namby-pamby,
white-neckerchiefed nothing, but a man of nerve that can be relied on;
yet his handiwork will last in spite of pride or prejudice. Strange to
find a blacksmith here--but reserve to the winds!--you shall have a
chance to test his workmanship, and see how you like his welding."

As he stepped forward she shrunk back with a hunted look in her eyes.
At bay at last! His words fell like the stroke of a knife. And to her
there was a terrible suggestiveness in them. At whom had his rifle been
aimed a moment ago? She did not doubt him--she feared him. And the fear
of her fear was overpowering. Still, she sought to keep a solid front.
She would fight gamely to the last.

"Hands off me, sir; you have shown your hand too soon. I am to be
wooed, perhaps, but cold as you find me, I like not your love-making.
Satan himself would look like an angel of light by your side."

"We are growing nice," he said, with a mocking sneer. "A woman who
lives by herself with the angelic trappers of Back Load Trace may well
know in what guise the angel of darkness is likely to come. Mine you
are, and as mine I claim you."

The moral strength of Edith Van Payne gave way, and left behind a
horrible terror. She saw no way of escape but one, and, with a sudden
spring, she sought to fling herself upon the animal that had borne her
so gallantly from her captors the night before. She sought to do this,
but was unsuccessful. A bound, and Endicott was by her side, and had
caught her round the waist with a grasp of iron.

"Ho, there, Eben!" he shouted, and she heard footsteps beyond, in the
direction in which he had pointed. With a mad fury she caught Endicott
by the throat; she writhed from his grasp; she struck him with her
clenched hand. Then as, despising her blows as though they were but
strokes of a feather, he dashed at her, she gave one wild, piercing and
despairing shriek, and, with the rapidity of light, leaped from the
brink of the precipice.

And as she leaped the report of three rifles echoed her scream.




                              CHAPTER XV.

                         THREE SHOTS--AT LAST!


When Bill Blaze found Harry Winkle lying prone upon the ground, though
he looked in every direction with a rapid glance, yet he gave no sign
that the sight was unexpected, and when Winkle raised to his feet
and staggered off after muttering a couple broken sentences, instead
of attempting to stop him, or wasting time in questions, he rapidly
extracted from those sentences the very pith of their meaning, and as
rapidly decided how he should act.

That Edith Van Payne had gone forward and further on her headlong
journey he readily understood; and that no aid of his could avert the
danger of a catastrophe at the mouth of the cañon. Unless she succeeded
in checking the speed of Whirlwind, before he could succeed in reaching
her, her troubles would doubtless be over. That she had done this he
hoped, and almost believed. The words of Winkle, however, suggested a
new complication.

Charles Endicott was doubtless in the neighborhood, and had fired the
shot which he had heard. Having once made out this much he could easily
trace the course of events.

When Endicott fired he watched long enough to see Winkle go down,
and then dashed across toward the plateau upon which Crooked Cañon
debouched. If Edith was safe, she was probably in his hands. Judging
from the past he could easily guess what sort of a reception Winkle
would meet with if, in his present bewildered state, he came wandering
near.

All this Blaze took in by almost one sweep of thought and his
resolution was taken, as it were by instinct. He gave but a single
glance upward to confirm his opinion of the practicability of the
ascent, and then threw himself into the work he fancied he saw before
him. Up the steep and jagged side of the cañon he rushed, and then
forward directly over the jutting promontory around which Crooked
Cañon swept to its point of debouchure. With reckless carelessness he
crashed through the bushes and underbrush, intent only on reaching the
point for which he was aiming. When he had traversed half the distance
he came upon a man standing, leaning against a tree. This man was
Rothven. The instinct of the trapper befriended him, since it removed
the finger, so hastily thrown there, from a trigger that was seldom
pulled in vain. Eben's appearance was not aggressive. On the contrary
there was a listlessness about him that told rather of careless waiting
than anxious expectancy. Only he was looking in the direction in which
the trapper was going. When Endicott had passed him he had somehow
comprehended not only what had happened but also what might occur; and
preferred not to come on the carpet prematurely. In fact, he cared
little to appear at all. The glimpse of Blaze, whom he really did not
notice until that worthy had passed him, rather startled him. From his
appearance he judged it was one of Martin's men. Then, a feeling of
curiosity obtained the mastery over him, and he followed on to see what
was in that strange race. He had not taken many paces when he heard the
voice of Endicott: "Ho, there, Eben!" and he came in sight of Blaze
just as a wild and piercing scream, uttered by a woman's voice, rung in
his ears.

He saw Blaze stop suddenly and peer through a rift in the foliage.
What the trapper saw must have been exciting, since his eyes dilated,
his whole form quivered. That was just for a second; in a second more
he stood like a statue, his left foot forward, his left arm extended,
his right arm up, his finger on the trigger of the rifle that covered
Charles Endicott's heart.

       *       *       *       *       *

Edith Van Payne had obtained such a place in her uncle's heart that
Martin sometimes fancied he must have a dual nature. He forgot that
having lapsed from civilization to barbarism, from the circles of
refinement to the uncouthness of ultra-frontier life, and having so
fully settled to that position as to feel as though 'to the manor
born,' that nevertheless, chameleon-like, change of diet might bring
him back to some semblance of his old color. He had been going his
way while Edith went hers, and the affinity between the two seemed
to be but slight. Once or twice he had looked at her queerly, and
thought that, perchance, there was a spice of poetical nonsense, of
unadulterated and unselfish feeling, yet lingering around him. As often
he had cast the thought aside after a moment's revolution. Now, for a
day or two, he had had an opportunity to gauge himself, and found that
this wilful, wild-eyed niece of his had become, during the gradual
developing months of their acquaintance, more dear to him than he could
ever have imagined--even away back in younger days that floated by over
quieter waters. And, mixed with all this, was the wild, hard pride that
close behind him he brought strength and skill and sagacity in no mean
force; called out in a moment's warning to follow, to aid, to rescue.
He wondered if Edith believed that he was on the trail; he queried if
she knew how stout arms grasping trusting weapons were ready to strike
in for her at the first opportunity. Somehow, he never doubted of her
present safety from any serious harm, or despaired of her ultimate
rescue. Strongly self-reliant, he had seen success too often follow his
undertakings, to feel faint at heart now.

Two things troubled him immensely. That he should have been deceived
at the outset of the pursuit by Indian strategy, and the defection of
Endicott and his men. He accounted at first thought for the latter, by
the supposition that Endicott's men had seen through the stratagem,
and keeping the knowledge to themselves, the party had flown off at a
tangent, leaving him, Martin, to follow the false trail. When they met
again, if meet they should, he would have a small account to settle
with Mr. Charles Endicott.

That meeting was destined to take place rather sooner than he
anticipated. By chance he struck the trail made by five men, and, on
consultation, was satisfied that it was made by the deserters. He
questioned, then, within himself, whether Endicott was not in league
with the Indians. Such alliances had been formed before then; and he
knew that, if it should be practicable, Endicott would stop at nothing
to carry out his end. However that might be, he believed that if he
followed that trail, he would most likely come upon traces of Edith.
And so, believing this, he desisted from his intention of pushing on to
the further end of Straight Cañon, and turned off to one side. After a
time, he came to where they had halted the previous night. Here the
party had divided, three men going to the north, while the remaining
two had turned aside, westward.

Again he followed Endicott, though he sent out a detachment of trusty
men in the wake of Lariat Dan. He rode on quietly; he halted suddenly.
He saw a sight that brought him from his horse in an instant--Edith
Van Payne was struggling in the arms of Charles Endicott. He saw her
throw the man off and rush forward; as she leaped over the brink of the
precipice, his rifle lay ready for the base of Endicott's brain, and,
as her shrill scream echoed and reëchoed through gulch and cañon, his
finger tightened on the trigger.

       *       *       *       *       *

Pompey came slowly back from an unsuccessful search for traces of
Edith. Without being seen he had reconnoitered Endicott's camp, and
satisfied himself that she was not there. As far as the simple question
of Edith Van Payne's rescue, unattached to any other idea, went, it is
likely that, he felt very little interest. But he had an interest in
whatever concerned his employer and friend, Harry Winkle, and so could
bring a second-handed enthusiasm to the pursuit. While he was watching
Endicott's camp, he saw Lariat Dan leave it in company with Grizzly
Dan and Mike Motler. He recognized all three of those worthies, and at
one time had a half-formed notion of revealing himself to them, and
attempting to sound them in search of information. When he saw that
they turned their faces northward, and started as if on a quest, he
altered his mind. Understanding that they were in the employ of the
deadly enemy of Harry Winkle, he did not think it advisable to let
his presence be known, unless to secure some positive advantage; and
he could see none at this present. So he remained concealed among the
cedars on the _butte_, and let the three go their way. Perhaps an hour
later, as he was listlessly returning to find Winkle, the bushes on his
left parted, and a man stepped out, and ranged up by his side. A glance
told him it was Mike Motler, whom he supposed miles away.

Motler was a quiet, almost surly sort of man, who went his own way and
carried his own pelts. His employer, when he had one, seldom heard
him speak; but he generally did as he was ordered without useless
questions. Therefore he was a valuable man. Sometimes, though, he
had an opinion of his own, and acted on it. Wherein he was slightly
unreliable. As he pulled trigger quick, and always shot plum-center, he
was an unpleasant man to have a difficulty with.

This Motler nodded to Pompey, as though they were going into camp
together after a separation of only a couple of hours instead of as
many years. Pompey understanding him pretty well, did the same, and
casually remarked:

"Whar's Dan?"

"Lookin' fer tame rabbits in a coyote's hole. A-bu'stin' himself to
find what ain't thar."

"Whar then?"

"Dunno. Mabbe in heaven. He'd better stay thar. Somethin' rotten on
the board an' I've bunched my hand. I kin pass the brick an' lose my
ante; durned ef I want to see his blind."

Motler made this speech in detachments, and with a preoccupied air.
Pompey listened and walked on. Motler suddenly startled him by the
query:

"Whar yer goin'?"

"Nowhar much--camp I guess."

"Ef yer want to gamble, put yer money on a funeral. I feel it in my
bones."

"Whose funeral am dat den? I hain't heerd o' no corpse."

"Never you mind. Ther corpus 'll be laid out by the time mourners hes
arrove."

The African was not cowardly, but he certainly was a little
superstitious. The moody tone of Motler sounded almost prophetic,
and he wondered whether it could possibly be his own funeral that
was meant. He had seen men rubbed out in unexpected ways and at
short notice. He revolved this, in his mind, a few moments, and
even questioned whether it would not be best to turn aside and let
his unsought companion attend the obsequies by himself. Perhaps he
might have done so had the meeting occurred a little sooner; but the
catastrophe came quicker than he expected.

First he heard sounds beyond the intervening vail of foliage, and
obtained a confused impression that there was that transpiring which
needed his attention. Personal fears were flung to the winds, as Mike
Motler, quickening his gait, whispered:

"Didn't I tell yer! Wait an' ye'll hear the bell a-ringin. I'm a-holden
the rope now."

An ominous peal that bell would give when its rope was pulled! Motler
was holding in his hands a twelve-pound rifle!

What occurred after the wall of branches, that finally intervened, was
parted, Pompey could never fully comprehend. At least he remembered the
shout of a man, a confused struggle, the screams of a woman; then the
death-bell at his side tolled once.

       *       *       *       *       *

Love and fear combined with hate to lend wings to Harry Winkle.
His brain cleared and clouded again; but, with the clearing came
strength; that remained. He flew down the cañon with a speed that was
prodigious. Yet Edith had had a start that would have rendered his
efforts unavailing if she had gone straight and unchecked forward. The
thought that such would be the case, combining with the burning hate
which Endicott's late attempt on his life had aroused, brought back the
confusion, and he passed over a few hundred yards of ground without
sight or hearing. A regiment of soldiers, a tribe of Indians, might
have passed him unheeded. When he came around the last crook in Crooked
Cañon, and the straight vista which led to the sheer precipice opened
up before him, he came back to life, real and earnest, again. He took
in the picture before him--the woman he loved struggling in the arms
of the man he hated. He would have shot Endicott on the spot could he
have done so without danger to Edith; he brought his rifle to a ready.
While he looked, running as he looked, she broke away from the man,
gave a great bound, and he heard her despairing cry echoed by the ring
of firearms. He did not stop, though, to see who had fired, at whom, or
with what effect. When two great master-passions clash, one of them is,
for the time at least, ground to the wall. When love and hate became
antagonistic in his breast, hate was swept aside like a feather in the
wind.

To the right ran the narrow, winding, rugged path by which Blaze had
led him up into Crooked Cañon. Down this he darted with his teeth
clenched, and his hands, now unincumbered by the useless rifle he had
cast aside, extended. He did not even give a cry or utter a moan,
but there was a fear of a horror in his eye that seemed wilder than
any half-crazed light that had ever shone there in the time of his
previous agonies. To the right and left of him the jagged rocks heaved
up in great billows, horribly suggestive. He wished himself back in
the roaring surf of the previous years. When, half-way down, he came
to a ledge that led away and around toward the precipice, visible and
accessible by a crevice in the side of the gulch he was descending, he
could bear the suspense no more. No need to pause and think if its path
was dangerous when once there had taken possession of him the thought
that by following it he could sooner catch sight of Edith Van Payne or
her mortal remains. Through, out, along, all quiveringly expectant, and
ears open for a cry or a groan, sped Winkle.

And so, after the weary, maddening years of separation, alone,
suspended, as it were, between earth and heaven, on a narrow footing
that seemed all too precarious for life and living mortals, met at the
last Harry Winkle and Edith Van Payne!

When from Charles Endicott's arms Edith had rushed to a leap she feared
as fatal, there came to her the stupor of falling scarce broken by
the crash through the top of the kindly intervening cedar. Bruised
and hard shaken, she lay coiled up at the foot of the tree, ready,
at a half-conscious movement, to fall still further, even to eternal
nothingness, when there crawled toward her a man, through what perils
he was passing, or how he was avoiding them he knew not. He only knew
that his soul's other half was hanging over certain death, with no
other eye than his to see her danger, and no other arm than his to
rescue her.

At last! From off the knee of the cedar he drew her, up onto the wider
footing of the yet-narrow ledge. Kneeling, with his back against the
wall of solid rock, he held in his arms his own long-lost darling! Away
above him Martin, Blaze and the others stood, at the brink, peering
downward. He heard their shouts like the remembrance of a noise in
a dream. The sound of a gentle sigh escaping from her lips drowned
all other voices. He clutched her closer, looked at her wan, white
cheeks, and, as her wild eyes opened, covered her mouth with kisses.
He thought, too, that her lips moved to meet his. For a moment or two
longer she lay in his arms cold, nerveless, colorless, almost lifeless.
Yet she was the woman he loved!

Consciousness began slowly to return. She hid her face on his breast
at its first dawning and slowly gathered strength. When at last she
heard the loud beating of his heart she looked up, for the first time
forgetting the danger from which she had fled, and the danger from
which she had been saved. She saw a face, firm-set, yet beaming,
resolution yet happiness penciled thereon. With a scream she made an
almost fatal attempt to throw herself from his embrace.

The steel-set arm wound itself tighter around her waist, with steady
strength drawing her again closely to its owner's breast.

"Harry! You here! Let me go! Let me go to death; but let me go!"

"Not so, my darling. Here, on my breast you rest. Fate's last bolt has
been shot, and I laugh now at the empty quiver. Mine you are, now and
forever."

"Never, never! Let me go! I say again--I have said and sworn!"

"And so have I--listen while I swear again."

His face grew darker, his brow wrinkled ominously, while a hard red
light shone in his eyes.

"I have sworn that nothing should come between us--nothing, be it
mortal or immortal--honor or dishonor--death or perdition. And now I
swear--here on the brink of death, where a false step or unguarded
movement is utter ruin--that if follies and fancies are to sunder us
again, if there is no hope for us together here, then the only thing
left is a sudden death for both. You know me well, you ought to believe
me completely: now I swear that you stain my soul with a double murder.
Mine in life rather, else before another hundred beats of the heart
that loves you--you know how wildly--these arms unclasp; but beyond
the shadow. Together we henceforth live, or here we two together die!
Choose!"

There was a yearning look of a hungry soul in his eyes. He quivered
and grew white with suppressed love and horror; but his voice did not
falter, and the red heat of a desperate resolve was round him. As he
spoke he raised himself to a standing position, and, holding the woman
more closely than ever, braced himself for a deadly spring.

She then for a moment was silent; her white face grew whiter; her teeth
were set hard and words of violence came surging up to her tongue's
end. She strove to utter them; but the whiter, firmer set, more
desperate face and the great, struggling soul before her drove them
back. There was war in the woman, and the man watching that wild face
thought she would die before him.

Then the stronger will conquered; the haggard and strong look broke up;
a gleam of submission and unutterable love rolled across her face. She
dropped her cheek back upon his shoulder, till her lips almost touched
his ear, her arms twined about his neck, and she whispered:

"Harry, my poor darling, we will live for each other!"


                                THE END

       *       *       *       *       *




                  THE ILLUMINATED DIME POCKET NOVELS!

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                       NOW READY, AND IN PRESS.

No. 1--Hawkeye Harry, the Young Trapper Ranger. By Oll Coomes.

No. 2--Dead Shot; or, The White Vulture. By Albert W. Aiken.

No. 3--The Boy Miners; or, The Enchanted Island. By Edward S. Ellis.

No. 4--Blue Dick; or, The Yellow Chief's Vengeance. By Capt. Mayne Reid.

No. 5--Nat Wolfe; or, The Gold-Hunters. By Mrs. M. V. Victor.

No. 6--The White Tracker; or, The Panther of the Plains. By Edward S.
Ellis.

No. 7--The Outlaw's Wife; or, The Valley Ranche. By Mrs. Ann S.
Stephens.

No. 8--The Tall Trapper; or, The Flower of the Blackfeet. By Albert W.
Aiken.

No. 9--Lightning Jo, the Terror of the Santa Fe Trail. By Capt. Adams.

No. 10--The Island Pirate. A Tale of the Mississippi. By Captain Mayne
Reid.

No. 11--The Boy Ranger; or, The Heiress of the Golden Horn. By Oll
Coomes.

No. 12--Bess, the Trapper. A Tale of the Far South-west. By Edward S.
Ellis.

No. 13--The French Spy; or, The Fall of Montreal. By W. J. Hamilton.

No. 14--Long Shot; or, The Dwarf Guide. By Capt. Comstock.

No. 15--The Gunmaker of the Border. By James L. Bowen.

No. 16--Red Hand; or, The Channel Scourge. By A. G. Piper.

No. 17--Ben, the Trapper; or, The Mountain Demon. By Maj. Lewis W.
Carson.

No. 18--Wild Raven, the Ranger; or, The Missing Guide. By Oll Coomes.

No. 19--The Specter Chief; or, The Indian's Revenge. By Seelin Robins.

No. 20--The B'ar-Killer; or, The Long Trail. By Capt. Comstock.

No. 21--Wild Nat; or, The Cedar Swamp Brigade. By Wm. R. Eyster.

No. 22--Indian Jo, the Guide. By Lewis W. Carson.

No. 23--Old Kent, the Ranger. By Edward S. Ellis.

No. 24--The One-Eyed Trapper. By Capt. Comstock.

No. 25--Godbold, the Spy. A Tale of Arnold's Treason. By N. C. Iron.

No. 26--The Black Ship. By John S. Warner.

No. 27--Single Eye, the Scourge. By Warren St. John.

No. 28--Indian Jim. A Tale of the Minnesota Massacre. By Edward S.
Ellis.

No. 29--The Scout. By Warren St. John.

No. 30--Eagle Eye. By W. J. Hamilton.

No. 31--The Mystic Canoe. A Romance of a Hundred Years Ago. By Edward
S. Ellis.

No. 32--The Golden Harpoon; or, Lost Among the Floes. By Roger Starbuck.

No. 33--The Scalp King. By Lieut. Ned Hunter.

No. 34--Old Lute, the Indian-fighter; or, The Den in the Hills. By E.
W. Archer.

No. 35--Rainbolt, the Ranger; or, The Demon of the Mountain. By Oll
Coomes.

No. 36--The Boy Pioneer. By Edward S. Ellis.

No. 37--Carson, the Guide; or, the Perils of the Frontier. By Lieut. J.
H. Randolph.

No. 38--The Heart Eater; or, The Prophet of the Hollow Hill. By Harry
Hazard.

No. 39--Wetzel, the Scout; or, The Captive of the Wilderness. By
Boynton Belknap.

No. 40--The Huge Hunter; or, The Steam Man of the Prairies. By Ed. S.
Ellis.

No. 41--Wild Nat, the Trapper. By Paul Prescott.

No. 42--Lynx-cap; or, The Sioux Track. By Paul Bibbs.

No. 43--The White Outlaw; or, The Bandit Brigand. By Harry Hazard.

No. 44--The Dog Trailer. By Frederick Dewey.

No. 45--The Elk King. By Capt. Chas. Howard.

No. 46--Adrian, the Pilot. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham.

No. 47--The Man-hunter. By Maro O. Rolfe.

No. 48--The Phantom Tracker. By Frederick Dewey.

No. 49--Moccasin Bill. By Paul Bibbs.

No. 50--The Wolf Queen. By Captain Charles Howard.

No. 51--Tom Hawk, the Trailer. By Lewis Jay Swift.

No. 52--The Mad Chief. By Captain Chas. Howard.

No. 53--The Black Wolf. By Edwin E. Ewing.

No. 54--Arkansas Jack. By Harry Hazard.

No. 55--Blackbeard. By Paul Bibbs.

No. 56--The River Rifles. By Billex Muller.

No. 57--Hunter Ham. By J. Edgar Iliff.

No. 58--Cloudwood; or, The Daughter of the Wilderness. By J. M. Merrill.

No. 59--The Texas Hawks. By Joe E. Badger, Jr. Ready

No. 60--Merciless Mat. By Capt. Chas. Howard. Ready Oct. 10th.

No. 61--Mad Anthony's Scouts. By Emerson Rodman. Ready

No. 62--The Luckless Trapper; or, The Haunted Hunter. By William R.
Eyster. Ready

No. 63--The Florida Scout; or, The Princess of the Everglades. By Jos.
E. Badger, Jr. Ready Nov. 21st.


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*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 68371 ***