Chapter 28

SNOWBOUND

The gleam in Hamlin's eyes impelled the other to go on, and explain fully.

"Lord, I know how yer feel, stranger, an', I reckon, if yer was to plug me right yere it would n't more 'n even matters up. But yer listen furst afore yer shoot. Thet Kiowa Black Smoke was sent on ahead, an' got yere afore the storm. He said them others wus 'bout four hours behind, an' headin' fer this yere cabin to make camp. They wa'n't hurryin' none, fer they did n't suspect they wus bein' tracked. Well, thet was my chance; what I 'd been campin' out yere months a-waitin' fer. I did n't expect ter git nuthin' back, y' understand; all I wanted was ter kill that damn skunk, an' squar accounts. It looked ter me then like I hed him on the hip. He did n't know I was in the kintry; all I hed to do was lay out in the hills, an' take a pot-shot at him afore he saw me."

"And get the girl and the money."

"As God is my witness, I never thought 'bout thet. I jest wanted ter plug him. I know it sounds sorter cowardly, but that fellow 's a gun-fighter, an' he hed two Injuns with him. Anyhow that wus my notion, an' as soon as Black Smoke went lopin' up the valley, I loaded up, an' climbed them bluffs, to whar I hed a good look-out erlong the north trail. I laid out thar all night. The storm come up, an' I mighty nigh froze, but snuggled down inter ther snow an' stuck. When yer onc't get a killin' freak on, yer goin' through hell an' high water ter get yer man. Thet's how I felt. Well, just 'long 'bout daylight an outfit showed up. With my eyes half froze over, an' ther storm blowin' the snow in my face, I could n't see much--nuthin' but outlines o' hosses an' men. But thar was four o' 'em, an' a big fellow ahead breakin' trail. Course I thought it was Le Fevre; I wa'n't lookin' fer no one else, an' soon as I dared, I let drive. He flopped over dead as a door nail, an' then I popped away a couple o' times at the others. One fell down, an' I thought I got him, but did n't wait to make sure; just turned and hoofed it fer cover, knowin' the storm would hide my trail. I 'd got the man I went after, an' just natch'ally did n't give er whoop what become o' the rest. As I went down the bank I heard 'em shootin' so I knowed some wus alive yet an' it would be better fer me to crawl inter my hole an' lie still."

Hamlin sat motionless, staring at the man, not quite able to comprehend his character. Killing was part of the western code, and he could appreciate Hughes' eagerness for revenge, but the underlying cowardice in the man was almost bewildering. Finally he got up, swept the revolver on the bench into his pocket, walked over, and picked up the gun.

"Now, Hughes," he said quietly. "I'll talk, and you listen. In my judgment you are a miserable sneaking cur, and I am going to trust you just so far as I can watch you. I suppose I ought to shoot you where you are, and have done with it. You killed one of the best men who ever lived, a friend of mine, Sam Wasson--"

"Who?"

"Sam Wasson, a government scout."

Hughes dropped his face into his hands.

"Good Lord! I knew him!"

The Sergeant drew a deep breath, and into his face there came a look almost of sympathy.

"Then you begin to realize the sort of fool you are," he went on soberly. "They don't make better men out here; his little finger was worth more than your whole body. But killing you won't bring Sam back, and besides I reckon you 've told me the straight story, an' his shooting was an accident in a way. Then you 're more useful to me just now alive than you would be dead. My name is Hamlin, sergeant Seventh Cavalry, and I am here after that man Le Fevre. We trailed his outfit from Dodge until the storm struck us, and then came straight through travelling by compass. I did not know the man's name was Le Fevre until you told me; up in Kansas he is known as Dupont."

"That 's it; that's the name he took when he sold the cattle."

"The officer robbed and killed was Major McDonald, and it is his daughter they hold. The fellow Dupont quarrelled with and shot was a deserter named Connors. We found the body. Now where do you suppose Le Fevre is?"

Hughes stared into the fire, nervously pulling his beard.

"Wall, I 'd say in west yere somewhar along the Cimarron. 'T ain't likely he had a compass, an' the wind wus from the nor'east. Best they could do, the ponies would drift. The Injuns would keep the gineral direction, o' course, storm 'er no storm, an' Gene is some plainsman himself, but thet blizzard would sheer 'em off all the same. I reckon they 're under the banks ten mile, er more, up thar. An' soon as there 's a change in weather, they 'll ride fer Black Kettle's camp. Thet's my guess, mister."

Hamlin turned the situation over deliberately in his mind, satisfied that Hughes had reviewed the possibilities correctly. If Le Fevre's party had got through at all, then that was the most likely spot for them to be hiding in. They would have drifted beyond doubt, farther than Hughes supposed, probably, as he had been sheltered from the real violence of the wind as it raged on the open plain. They might be fifteen, even twenty miles away, and so completely drifted in as to be undiscoverable except through accident. What course then was best to pursue? The storm was likely to continue violent for a day, perhaps two days longer. His horses were exhausted, and Carroll helpless. It might not even be safe to leave the latter alone. Yet if the frozen man could be left in the hut to take care of himself and the ponies, would there be any hope of success in an effort to proceed up the river on foot? He could make Hughes go--that was n't the difficulty--but probably they could n't cover five miles a day through the snowdrifts. And, even if they did succeed in getting through in time to intercept the fugitives, the others would possess every advantage--both position for defense, and horses on which to escape. Hughes, lighting his pipe, confident now in his own mind that he was personally safe, seemed to sense the problem troubling the Sergeant.

"I reckon I know this yere kintry well 'nough," he said lazily, "ter give yer a pointer er two. I 've rounded up long-horns west o' yere. Them fellers ain't goin' to strike out fer the Canadian till after the storm quits. By thet time yer ponies is rested up in better shape than theirs will be, and we kin strike 'cross to the sou'west. We 're bound either to hit 'em, or ride 'cross thar trail."

"But the woman!" protested Hamlin, striding across the floor. "What may happen to her in the meanwhile? She is an Eastern girl, unaccustomed to this life,--a--a lady."

"Yer don't need worry none 'bout thet. Ef she 's the right kind she 'll stan' more 'n a man when she has to. I reckon it won't be none too pleasant 'long with Gene an' them Cheyenne bucks, but if she 's pulled through so far, thar ain't nuthin' special goin' ter happen till they git to the Injun camp."

"You mean her fate will be decided in council?"

"Sure; thet's Cheyenne law. Le Fevre knows it, an' ol' Koleta would knife him in a minute if he got gay. He's a devil all right--thet ol' buck--but he 's afraid of Black Kettle, an' thar won't be no harm done to the gal."

The Sergeant walked over to the fire, and stared down into the red embers, striving to control himself. He realized the truth of all Hughes said, and yet had to fight fiercely his inclination to hasten to her rescue. The very thought of her alone in those ruthless hands was torture. There was no selfishness in the man's heart, no hope of winning this girl for himself, yet he knew now that he loved her; that for him she was the one woman in all the world. Her face was in his memory; the very soughing of the wind seemed her voice calling him. But the real man in him--the plainsman instinct--conquered the impetuosity of the lover. There must be no mistake made--no rash, hopeless effort. Better delay, than ultimate failure, and Hughes' plan was the more practical way. He lifted his head, his lips set with decision.

"You're right, old man. We'll wait," he said sternly. "Now to get ready. Have you a corral?"

The other made a gesture with his hand.

"Twenty rod b'low, under the bluff."

"We 'll drive the horses down, feed and water them. But first come with me; there is a half-frozen man up yonder."

They ploughed through the snow together, choking and coughing in the thick swirl of flakes that beat against their faces. The three horses, powdered white, stood tails to the storm, with heads to the bluff, while the drifts completely covered Carroll. He was sleeping, warm in the blankets, and the two men picked him up and stumbled along with their burden to the shelter of the cabin. Then Hughes faced the blizzard again, leading the horses to the corral, while Hamlin ministered to the semi-conscious soldier, laying him out upon a pile of soft skins, and vigorously rubbing his limbs to restore circulation. The man was stupid from exposure, and in some pain, but exhibited no dangerous symptoms. When wrapped again in his blankets, he fell instantly asleep. Hughes returned, mantled with snow, and, as the door opened, the howl of the storm swept by.

"No better outside?"

"Lord, no! Worse, if anything. Wind more east, sweepin' the snow up the valley. We 'll be plum shet up in an hour, I reckon. Hosses all right, though."

In the silence they could hear the fierce beating against the door, the shrieking of the storm-fiend encompassing them about.