Kitabı oku: «Wunpost», sayfa 9
“Well, I’m going,” announced Wunpost, for the third or fourth time. “She must have come down away north.”
“No–wait!” protested Billy, “why are you always in such a hurry? And perhaps the flood hasn’t come yet.”
“It’d be here,” he answered, “been an hour, by my watch; and believe me, that old boy would be coming some. Excuse me, if it should hit into one end of a box canyon while I was coming up the other. My friends could omit the flowers.”
“Well, why not stay, then?” she pouted anxiously; “you know Mother didn’t mean anything. And perhaps Father will be down, to see if there was any damage done, and we could catch him first and explain.”
“No explaining for me!” returned Wunpost, beginning to pack; “you can tell them whatever you want. And if your folks are too religious to use my old road maybe the Lord will send a cloudburst and destroy it. That’s the way He always did in them old Bible stories─”
“You oughten to talk that way!” warned Wilhelmina soberly, “and besides, that’s what made Mother angry. She isn’t feeling well, and when you spoke slightingly of Divine Providence─”
“Well, I’m going,” he said again, “before I begin to quarrel with you. But, oh say, I want to get that dog.”
“Oh, it’s too hot!” she protested, “let him stay under the house. He and Red are sleeping there together.”
“No, I need him,” he grumbled, “liable to be bushwhacked now, any time; and I want a dog to guard camp at night.”
He started towards the house, still looking up the canyon, and at the gate he stopped dead and listened.
“What’s that?” he asked, and glanced about wildly, but Billy only shook her head.
“I don’t hear anything,” she replied, turning listlessly away, “but I wish you wouldn’t go.”
“Well, maybe I won’t,” he answered grimly, “don’t you hear that kind of rumble, up the canyon?”
She listened again, then rushed towards the house while Wunpost made a dash for the corral. The cloudburst was coming down their canyon.
CHAPTER XVII
THE ANSWER
The rumbling up the canyon was hardly a noise; it was a tremulous shudder of earth and air like the grinding that accompanies an earthquake. But Wunpost knew, and the Campbells knew, what it meant and what was to follow; and as it increased to a growl they threw down the corral bars and rushed the stock up to the high ground. They waited, and Wunpost ran back to get his dog, and then the dammed waters broke loose. A great spray of yellow mud splashed out from Corkscrew Gorge and a piñon-trunk was snapped high into the air; and while all the earth trembled the dam of mud burst forth, forced on by the weight of backed-up waters. Then more trees came smashing through, followed by muddy tides of driftwood, and as suddenly the debacle ceased.
There was quiet, except for the hoarse rumble of boulders as they ground their way down through the Gorge; and for the muffled crack of submerged tree-trunks, straining and breaking beneath the ever-mounting jamb. It rose up and overflowed in a gush of turbid waters, rose still higher and overflowed again; and then it broke loose in a crash like imminent thunder–the cloudburst had conquered the Gorge. It went through it and over it, spreading out on its sloping sides; and when the worst crush seemed over it washed higher yet and came through with an all-devouring surge. In a flash the whole creekbed was a mass of mud and driftwood, which swashed about and swayed drunkenly on; and, as great tree-boles came battering through, the jamb broke abruptly and spewed out a sea of yellow water.
The fugitives climbed up higher, followed by the cat and dog, and the burros which had been left in the corrals; but the flood bore swiftly on, leaving the ranch unsullied by its burden of brush and mud. The jamb broke down again, letting out a second gush of water which crept up among the lower trees, but just as the Gorge opened up for the third time the flood-crest struck the lower gorge and stopped. Once more the trees and logs which had formed the jamb above bobbed and floated on the surface of a pond; and while the Campbells gazed and wept the turbid flood swung back swiftly, inundating their ranch with its mud.
First the orchard was overflowed, then the garden above the road, then the corrals and the flowers by the gate; and as they ran about distracted the water crept up towards the house and out over the verdant alfalfa. But just when it seemed as if the whole ranch would be destroyed there was a smash from the lower point; the jamb went out, draining the waters quickly away and rushing on towards the Sink. The great mass of mud and boulders which had been brought down by the flood ceased to spread out and cover their fields, and as the millrace of waters continued to pour down the canyon it began to dig a new streambed in the débris. Then the thunder of its roaring subsided by degrees and by sundown the cloudburst was past.
Where the creek had been before there was a wider and deeper creek, its sides cumbered with huge boulders and tree-trunks; and the mixture of silt and gravel which formed its cut banks already had set like cement. It was cement, the same natural concrete which Nature combines everywhere on the desert–gravel and lime and bone-dry clay, sluiced and mixed by the passing cloudburst and piled up to set into pudding-stone. And all the mud which had overlaid the garden and orchard was setting like a concrete pavement. The ancient figs and peach-trees, half buried in the slime, rose up stiffly from the fertile soil beneath; and the Jail Canyon Ranch, once so flamboyantly green, was now shore-lined with a blotch of dirty gray. Only the alfalfa patch remained, and the house on the hill–everything else was either washed away or covered with gravel and dirt. And the road–it was washed away too.
Wunpost worked late and hard, shoveling the muck away from the trees and clearing a section of the corral; but not until Cole Campbell came down the next day was the Stinging Lizard road even mentioned. It was gone, they all knew that, and all their prayers and tears could not bring back one rock from its grade; and yet somehow Wunpost felt guilty, as if his impious words had brought down this disaster upon his friends. He rushed feverishly about in the blazing sun, trying to undo the most imminent damage; and Billy and Mrs. Campbell, half divining his futile regrets, went about their own tasks in silence. But when Campbell came down over the mountain-sheep trail and beheld what the cloudburst had done he spoke what came first into his mind.
“Ah, my road,” he moaned, talking half to himself after the manner of the lonely and deaf, “and I let it lie idle six weeks! All my ore still sacked and waiting on the dump, and now my road is gone.”
He bowed his head and gave way to tears, for he had lost ten years’ work in a day, and then Mrs. Campbell forgot. She had remained silent before, not wishing to seem unkind, but now she spoke from her heart.
“It’s a visitation!” she wailed; “the Lord has punished us for our sins. We should never have used the road.”
“And why not?” demanded Campbell, rousing up from his brooding, and he saw Wunpost turning guiltily away. “Ah, I knew it!” he burst out; “I misdoubted it all the time, but you thought you could keep it from me. But when I came down from Panamint, to see where the waterspout had struck, and found it tearing in from Woodpecker Canyon, I said: ‘It is the hand of God!’ We had not come by our road quite honestly.”
“No,” sobbed Mrs. Campbell, “and I hate to say it, but I’m glad the road is destroyed. What you built we came by honestly, but the rest was obtained by fraud, and now it has all been destroyed. You have worked long and hard, Cole, and I’m sorry this had to happen; but God is not mocked, we know that. I tried to keep it from you, and to keep myself from knowing; but he told me himself that he salted the mine on purpose, so that Eells would build us a road!”
“Aha!” nodded Campbell, and looked out from under his eyebrows at the man who had befriended him by fraud. But he was a man of few words, and his silence spoke for him–Wunpost scuffled his feet and withdrew.
“Well I’m going,” he announced to Billy as he threw on his packs; “this is getting too rough for me. So I crabbed the whole play, eh, and fetched that cloudburst down Woodpecker? And it washed out your father’s road! It’s a wonder Divine Providence didn’t ketch me up the canyon, and wipe me off the footstool, too!”
“Perhaps He spared you,” suggested Billy, whose eyes were big with awe, “so you could repent and be forgiven of your sins.”
“I bet ye!” scoffed Wunpost; “but you can’t tell me that God Almighty was steering that waterspout. It just hit in Woodpecker Canyon, same as one hit Hanaupah last week and another one washed out down below. They’re falling every day, but I’m going up into them hills, and do you reckon one will drop on me? Don’t you think it–God Almighty has got more important business than following me around through the hills. I’m going to take my little dog, so I’ll be sure to have Good Luck; and if I don’t come back you’ll know somebody has got me, that’s all.”
He tightened his lash ropes viciously, mounted his horse and took the lead, followed by Old Walker and the other mules, packed; and when he whistled for Good Luck, to Billy’s surprise the little terrier went bounding off after him. She waved at him furtively and tried to toll him back, but his devotion to his master was still just as strong as it had been when he had adopted him in Los Angeles. When he had been prostrated by the heat he had stayed with Billy gladly, but now that he was strong and accustomed to the climate he raced along after the mules. Wunpost looked back and grinned, then he reached down a hand and swooped his dog up into the saddle.
“You can’t steal him!” he hooted, and Billy bit her lip, for she thought she had weaned him from his master. And Wunpost–she had thought he was tamed to her hand, but he too had gone off and left her. He was still as wild and ruthless as on the day they had first met, when he had been chasing Dusty Rhodes with a stone; and now he was heading off into the high places he was so fond of, to play hide-and-seek with his pursuers. Several had come up already, ostensibly to view the ruin but undoubtedly to keep Wunpost in sight; and if he continued his lawless strife she doubted if the good Lord would preserve him, as He had from the cloudburst.
Time and again he had mounted to go and each time she had held him back, for she had sensed some imminent disaster; and now, as he rode off, she felt the prompting again to run after him and call him back. But he would not come back, he was headstrong and unrepentant, making light of what others held sacred; and as she watched him out of sight something told her again that he was going out to meet his doom. Some great punishment was hanging over him, to chastise him for his sins and bring him, perhaps, to repentance; but she could no more stop his going, or turn him aside from his purpose, than she could control the rush of a cloudburst. He was like a force of nature–a rude, fighting creature who beat down opposition as the flood struck down bushes, rushing on to seek new worlds to conquer.
CHAPTER XVIII
A LESSON
The heat-wave, which had made even the desert-dwellers pant, came to an end with the Jail Canyon waterspout; the nights became bearable, the rocks cooled off and the sun ceased to strike through men’s clothes. But there was one, still clinging to her faded bib-overalls, who took no joy in the blessed release. Wilhelmina was worried, for the sightseers from Blackwater had disappeared as soon as Wunpost rode away; and now, two days later, his dog had come back, meeching and whining and licking its feet. Good Luck had left Wunpost and returned to the ranch, where he was sure of food and a friend; but now that he was fed he begged and whimpered uneasily and watched every move that she made. And every time that she started towards the trail where Wunpost had ridden away he barked and ran eagerly ahead. Billy stood it until noon, then she caught up Tellurium and rode off after the dog.
He led up the trail, where he had run so often before, but over the ridge he turned abruptly downhill and Billy refused to follow. Wunpost certainly had taken the upper trail, for there were his tracks leading on; and the dog, after all, had no notion of leading her to his master. He was still young and inexperienced, though with that thoroughbred smartness which set him apart from the ordinary cur; but when she made as though to follow he cut circles with delight and ran along enticingly in front of her. So Billy rode after him, and at the foot of the hill she found mule-tracks heading off north. Wunpost had made a wide detour and come back, probably at night, to throw off his pursuers and start fresh; but as she followed the tracks she found where several horse tracks had circled and cut into his trail. She picked up Good Luck, who was beginning to get footsore, and followed the mule-tracks at a lope.
Near the mouth of the canyon they struck out over the mud, which the cloudburst had spread out for miles, but now they were across and going down the slope which a thousand previous floods had laid. Ahead lay Warm Springs, where the Indians sometimes camped; but the trail cut out around them and headed for Fall Canyon, the next big valley to the north. She rode on steadily, her big pistol that Wunpost had once borrowed now back in its accustomed place; and the fact that she had failed to tell her parents of her intentions did not keep her from taking up the hunt. Wunpost was in trouble, and she knew it; and now she was on her way, either to find him or to make sure he was safe.
The trail up Fall Canyon twists and winds among wash boulders, over cut-banks and up sandy gulches; but at the mouth of the canyon it plunges abruptly into willow-brush and leads on up the bed of a dry creek. Once more the steep ridges closed in and made deep gorges, the hillsides were striped with blues and reds; and along the ancient trail there were tunnels and dumps of rock where prospectors had dug in for gold. There were dog tracks in the mud showing where Good Luck had come down, and she knew Wunpost must be up there somewhere; but when she came upon a mule, lying down under his pack, she started and clutched at her gun. The mule jumped up noisily and ran smashing through the willows, then turned with a terrifying snort; and as she drew rein and stopped Good Luck sprang to the ground and rushed silently off up the canyon.
Billy followed along cautiously, driving the snorting mule before her and looking for something she feared to find. A buzzard rose up slowly, flopping awkwardly to clear the canyon wall, and her heart leapt once and stood still. There in the open lay Wunpost’s horse, its sharp-shod feet in the air, and there was a bullet-hole through its side. She stopped and looked about, at the ridge, at the sky, at the knife-like gash ahead; and then she set her teeth and spurred up the canyon to where the dog had set up a yapping.
He was standing by a tunnel at the edge of the creek, wagging his tail and waiting expectantly; and when she came in sight he dashed half-way to meet her and turned back to the hole in the hill. She rode up to its mouth, her eyes straining into the darkness, her breath coming in short, quick gasps; and Tellurium, advancing slowly, suddenly flew back and snorted as a voice came out from the depths.
“Hello, there!” it hailed; “say, bring me a drink of water. This is Calhoun–I’m shot in the leg.”
“Well, what are you hiding in there for?” burst out Billy as she dismounted; “why don’t you crawl out and get some yourself?”
Now that she knew he was alive a swift impatience swept over her, an unreasoning anger that he had caused her such a fright, and as she unslung her canteen and started for the tunnel her stride was almost vixenish. But when she found him stretched out on the bare, uneven rocks with one bloody leg done up in bandages, she knelt down suddenly and held out the canteen, which he seized and almost drained at one drink.
“Fine! Fine!” he smacked; “began to think you wasn’t coming–did you bring along that medicine I wrote for?”
“Why, what medicine?” exclaimed Billy. “No, I didn’t find a note–Good Luck must have lost it on the way.”
“Well, never mind,” he said; “just catch one of my mules and we’ll go back to the ranch after dark.”
“But who shot you?” clamored Billy, “and what are you in here for? We’ll start back home right now!”
“No we won’t!” he vetoed; “there’s some Injuns up above there and they’re doing their best to git me. You can’t see ’em–they’re hid–but when I showed myself this noon some dastard took a crack at me with his Winchester. Did you happen to bring along a little grub?”
“Why, yes,” assented Billy, and went out in a kind of trance–it was so unreasonable, so utterly absurd. Why should Indians be watching to shoot down Wunpost when he had always been friendly with them all? And for that matter, why should anyone desire to kill him–that certainly could never lead them to his mine. The men who had come to the ranch were Blackwater prospectors–she knew them all by sight–and if it was they who had followed him she was absolutely sure that Wunpost had started the fight. She stepped out into the dazzling sunshine and looked up at the ridges that rose tier by tier above her, but she had no fear either of white men or Indians, for she had done nothing to make them her enemies. Whoever they were, she knew she was safe–but Wunpost was hiding in a cave. All his bravado gone, he was afraid to venture out even to wet his parched throat at the creek.
“What were you doing?” she demanded when she had given him her lunch, and Wunpost reared up at the challenge.
“I was riding along that trail,” he answered defiantly, “and I wasn’t doing a thing. And then a bullet came down and got me through the leg–I didn’t even hear the shot. All I know is I was riding and the next thing I knew I was down and my horse was laying on my leg. I got out from under him somehow and jumped over into the brush, and I’ve been hiding here ever since. But it’s Lynch that’s behind it–I know that for a certainty–he’s hired some of these Injuns to bushwhack me.”
“Have you seen them?” she asked unbelievingly.
“No, and I don’t need to,” he retorted. “I guess I know Injuns by this time. That’s just the way they work–hide out on some ridge and pot a man when he goes by. But they’re up there, I know it, because one of them took a shot at me this noon–and anyhow I can just feel’em!”
“Well, I can’t,” returned Billy, “and I don’t believe they’re there; and if they are they won’t hurt me. They all know me too well, and we’ve always been good to them. I’m going up to catch your mules.”
“No, look out!” warned Wunpost; “them devils are treacherous, and I wouldn’t put it past ’em to shoot you. But you wait till I get this leg of mine fixed and I’ll make some of ’em hard to ketch!”
“Now you see what you get,” burst out Billy heartlessly, “for taking Mr. Lynch to Poison Spring. I’m sorry you’re shot, but when you get well I hope this will be a lesson to you. Because if it wasn’t for your dog, and me running away from home, you never would get away from here alive.”
“Well, for cripes’ sake!” roared Wunpost, “don’t you think I know that now? What’s the use of rubbing it in? And you’re dead right it’ll be a lesson–I’ll ride the ridges, after this, and the next time I’ll try to shoot first. But you go up the canyon and throw the packs off them mules and bring me Old Walker to ride. I ain’t crippled; I’m all right, but this leg is sure hurting me and I believe I’ll take a chance. Saddle him up and we’ll start for the ranch.”
Billy stepped out briskly, half smiling at his rage and at the straits to which his anger had brought him; but when she heard his heavy groaning as she helped him into the saddle her woman’s heart was touched. After all he was just a child, a big reckless boy, still learning the hard lessons of life; and it had certainly been treacherous for the assassin to shoot him without even giving him a chance. She rode close beside him as they went down the canyon, to protect him from possible bullets; and if Wunpost divined her purpose it did not prevent him from keeping her between him and the ridge. The wound and the long wait had shattered his nerves and made him weak and querulous, and he cursed softly whenever he hit his sore leg; but back at the ranch his spirits revived and he insisted upon going on to Blackwater.
Cole Campbell had cleaned his wound and drenched it well with dilute carbolic, but though it was clean and would heal in a few days, Wunpost demanded to be taken to town. He was restless and uneasy in the presence of these people, whose standards were so different from his own; but behind it all there was some hidden purpose which urged him on to Los Angeles. It was shown in the set lips, the stern brooding stare and his impatience with his motion-impeding leg; but to Billy it was shown most by his oblivious glances and the absence of all proper gratitude. She had done a brave deed in following his dog back and in rescuing him from the bullets of his enemies, but when she drew near and tried to engage him in conversation his answers were mostly in monosyllables. Only once did he rouse up, and that was when she said that Lynch was even with him now, and the look in his eyes gave Billy to understand that he was not even with Lynch. That was it–he was unrepentant, he was brooding revenge, he was planning even more desperate deeds; but he would not tell her, or even admit that he was worried about anything but his leg. It was hurting him, he said, and he wanted a good doctor to see it before it grew worse; but when he went away he avoided her eye and Billy ran off and wept.
