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CHAPTER XV
COMRADES IN SORROW
Wade Ruggles and Parson Brush sprang to their feet and confronted the white-faced Captain Dawson, who stared at them and breathed fast. For a full minute they gazed into one another’s faces, dazed, motionless and speechless. The partners stood, each with pipe in hand, the faint smoke curling upward from the bowls, their slouched hats still on their frowsy heads, the revolvers at their cartridge belts spanning their waists, their trousers tucked in the tops of their boots, and with their heavy flannel shirts serving for coats and vests.
Captain Dawson was similarly attired. He had dashed out of his own cabin and into that of his friends, his long locks flying, and even the strands of his heavy beard rigidly apart, as if from the consternation that had taken possession of his very soul.
In those seconds of tomb-like stillness, an ember on the earthen hearth fell apart and a twist of flame threw a yellow illumination through the small room, grim and bare of everything suggesting luxury.
It was the parson who first found voice, but when he spoke the tones, even to himself, sounded like those of another person.
“Captain, it is possible that there is some mistake about this.”
“Would to God there might be!”
“Let us hope there is.”
“Mistake!” he repeated in a husky, rasping voice; “can there be any mistake about that?”
He threw out his single arm as he spoke, as if he would drive his fist through their chests. But he held a crumpled bit of paper in the face of the parson, who silently took it from him, crinkled it apart and turning his side so that the firelight fell on the sheet, began reading the few words written in pencil and in the pretty delicate hand which he knew so well.
“Read it out loud, parson,” said Ruggles, speaking for the first time.
Felix Brush did so in a voice of surprising evenness:
“My Dearest Father:–I have decided to go with Lieutenant Russell. We love each other and I have promised to become his wife. Do not think I love you any less for that can never be. I cannot remain here. You will hear from us soon and then I pray that you will come to your own
Nellie.”
“Have you been to his shanty?” asked Ruggles, who hardly comprehended the meaning of his own words.
“Why would he go there?” angrily demanded the parson.
“Mebbe the villain changed his mind.”
“But, if he had, she would not be there.”
“Yes; I went to his cabin,” bitterly answered Captain Dawson; “he has not been in the place for hours; all is dark and deserted; if I found him, I would have killed him.”
The three were laboring under fearful emotion, but with surprising power forced themselves to seem comparatively calm.
“Captain, tell us about it,” said the parson, carefully folding the bit of paper upon itself and shoving it into his pocket, unobserved by the others.
Despite his apparent calmness it took a few moments for the father to gain sufficient self-control to speak clearly. Seated in the chair, he looked into the embers of the fire on the hearth, compressed his lips and breathed hard. His two friends had also seated themselves, for it seemed to them it was easier to master their agitation thus than while upon their feet.
“What have I to tell, but my everlasting woe and shame? The lieutenant and I have been working for several days by ourselves on a new lead. I had noticed nothing unusual in his manner nor indeed in that of my child. At lunch time to-day he complained to me of not feeling like work, and told me not to expect him back this afternoon. I would have returned with him, had not the indications of the new lead been so good. And actually he invited me to do no more work until to-morrow, though why he should have done it, when it would have spoiled their whole scheme, is more than I can explain.
“It was part of his plan to deceive you.”
“I don’t see how it could do that, for there was no need of his inviting me,–but let it go. It came about that I worked later than usual, so that it was dark when I got home. I was surprised to see no light and to find no fire or Nellie. I thought nothing of that, however, for who would have believed it possible that there could be anything wrong? I supposed she was with some of the folks and being tired I sat down in my chair and fell asleep.
“When I awoke, the room was cold, silent and as dark as a wolf’s mouth. I felt impatient and decided to give her a scolding for being so neglectful. I groped around until I found a match, intending to start a fire. I had just lit the lamp and set it down on the table, when I caught sight of a folded piece of paper with my name in her handwriting on the outside. It gave me a queer feeling and my hands trembled when I unfolded and read it.
“I don’t clearly remember the next few minutes. The room seemed to be spinning around, and I think I had to sit down to keep from falling, but what saved me from collapse was my anger. I have been consumed with indignation once or twice in my life, but was never so furious, so uncontrollable, so utterly savage as I was after reading that note. If I could have found Russell, I would have throttled him. It may sound strange, but I hardly once thought of Nellie; it was he, the villain, whom I yearned to get my hands on.”
“Of course,” said Ruggles, “that’s the way you oughter feel.”
“I don’t know what possessed me to do so, but I rushed out and made straight for his cabin, as if I would find him there. Of course that too was empty, and then I came here. Fool that I have been!” exclaimed the parent, leaping to his feet and striding up and down the room; “not to see all this, but,” he added pathetically, “I believed that Nellie loved me.”
The flaming wrath of the two melted into pity for the stricken father. Parson Brush laid his hand on his shoulder and compelled him to resume his seat. Then he spoke with the tenderness of a woman:
“That child does love you more than she loves her own life, but she is blinded by her infatuation for that smooth-tongued scoundrel. It is the nature of her sex to feel and act thus; but, as I said, it does not mean that her love for you is less–”
“Don’t talk of her love for me,” fiercely interrupted the parent; “we only judge of a person by his actions.”
“But you and I have made mistakes–”
“Nothing like this; why did she not ask me? why did he not tell me that he wished to marry her?–that is if he does,” added the father, as if determined to make his own cup as bitter as possible.
“He did not ask you, because he knew you would refuse; for from the first time he entered this community, he was determined to have her.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because Ruggles and I read him; we did what no one else did,–we measured the man. Am I right, Wade?”
The miner nodded his head.
“Every word is as true as gospel; we noticed his sly looks at her, that first night you and him entered the Heavenly Bower and she was there. We couldn’t make any mistake about it.”
“And you didn’t warn me! You two are as bad as he, because you kept the secret when you ought to have put me on my guard, so that I might have strangled him at the first advance he made.”
Sympathy for the man prevented his listeners taking offence at the words which, from any one else, would have brought serious consequences. The parson said soothingly:
“If you were not so wrought up, captain, you would not be so unreasonable; suppose Wade and I had gone to you with the statement that the man who, according to your own words, had saved your life but a short time before in the mountains, was a villain, who contemplated robbing you of your child; what would you have done?”
“Thanked you and been on my guard.”
“You would have done nothing of the kind; you would have cursed us and told us to mind our own business.”
“No matter what I would have done, it was your duty to tell me, regardless of the consequences to yourselves. I might have resented it, but my eyes would have been opened and this blow saved me.”
“Nothing could have opened your eyes, for you were blind,” said the parson, who felt that though the man was intensely agitated, he ought to hear some plain truths; “even had you suspected there was ground for our fears, you would have gone to Lieutenant Russell and demanded an explanation. He would have denied it, and you would have believed him with the result that he would have been put on his guard and would have deceived you the more completely.”
“Likewise, as aforesaid,” added Ruggles, “the villain would have come to us and made us give our grounds for our charges. What ridic’lous fools we would have been, when all we could answer was that we thought he looked as if he meant to run away with your darter.”
“There may be some justice in what you say,” replied the captain more composedly; “It was I who was blind, but I can’t understand it. Never until I read that piece of paper, did I suspect the truth.”
“Howsumever, the parson and me haven’t been idle; we often talked it over and fixed on a line that we thought would work better than going to you. We showed the leftenant that we was onto his game; I give him a scowl now and then, as it fell convenient, that said ‘Beware!’ We, that is the parson and me, made up our minds to watch close, and, at the first sign that was dead sure, we’d fall onto him like a couple of mountains.”
“And why didn’t you?”
“He fooled us as he did you. We was talkin’ over matters the very minute you busted into the door and was satisfied that he had larned he was playin’ with fire and had concluded to drop it. We was as big fools as you.”
CHAPTER XVI
NOW
It was the parson who now broke in.
“Why do we sit here, lamenting that which cannot be helped? Do you mean to give up, captain, and let her go? Will you settle down to toil in the diggings, giving her no further thought, while this pretty-faced lieutenant is chuckling over the clever manner by which he fooled you as well as us–”
“No!” fairly shouted the roused parent; “I will follow them to the ends of the earth! They shall not find a foot of ground that will protect them! She has never seen me angry, but she shall now!”
“We are with you,” coolly responded Brush, “but only on one condition.”
“What’s that?”
“That this account is to be settled with him alone; you musn’t speak so much as a cross word to Nellie; she will shed many a bitter tear of sorrow; she will drain the cup to its dregs; he, the cause of it all, is to be brought to judgment. When do you wish to take up the pursuit?”
“Now!”
“And we are with you.”
There was something wonderful in the way Parson Brush kept control of himself. Externally he was as calm as when standing in front of the adamantine blackboard, giving instruction to Nellie Dawson, while down deep in his heart, raged a tempest such as rouses into life the darkest passions that can nerve a man to wrong doing. Believing it necessary to stir the father to action, he had done it by well chosen words, that could not have been more effective.
For weeks and months the shadow had brooded over him. Sometimes it seemed to lift and dissolve into unsubstantiality, only to come back more baleful than before. And the moment when he had about persuaded himself that it was but a figment of the imagination, it had sprung into being and crushed him. But he was now stern, remorseless, resolute, implacable.
It was much the same with Wade Ruggles. He strove desperately to gain the remarkable control of his feelings, displayed by his comrade, and partly succeeded. But there was a restless fidgeting which caused him to move aimlessly about the room and showed itself now and then in a slight tremulousness of the voice and hands, but his eyes wore that steely glitter, which those at his side had noticed when the rumble and grumble told that the battle was on.
Captain Dawson went from one extreme to the other. Crazed, tumultuous in his fury, and at first like a baffled tiger, he moderated his voice and manner until his companions wondered at his self-poise.
“They have started for Sacramento and are now well advanced over the trail,” he remarked without any evidence of excitement.
“When do you imagine they set out?” asked Brush.
“Probably about the middle of the afternoon; possibly earlier.”
“Then,” said Ruggles, “they have a good six hours’ start. They haven’t lost any time and must be fifteen or twenty miles away.”
“The trail is easy traveling for twice that distance, as I recollect it,” observed the captain; “after that it grows rougher and they will not be able to go so fast.”
“This must have been arranged several days ago, though it is only guesswork on our part. Of course she has taken considerable clothing with her.”
“I did not look into her room,” said the captain; “there’s no use; it is enough to know they made their preparations and started, accompanied by that dog Timon.”
No time was wasted. They knew they would encounter cold weather, for the autumn had fairly set in, and some portions of the trail carried them to an elevation where it was chilly in midsummer. Each took a thick blanket. The captain donned his military coat, with the empty sleeve pinned to the breast, caught up his saddle and trappings, his Winchester and revolver, and buckled the cartridge belt around his waist. Then he was ready. Neither of the others took coat or vest. The blanket flung around the shoulders was all that was likely to be needed, in addition to the heavy flannel shirt worn summer and winter.
Thus equipped, the three stood outside the cabin, with the moon high in the sky, a gentle wind sweeping up the cañon and loose masses of clouds drifting in front of the orb of night. Here and there a light twinkled from a shanty and the hum of voices sounded faintly in their ears. Further off, at the extreme end of the settlement, stood the Heavenly Bower, with the yellow rays streaming from its two windows. They could picture the group gathered there, as it had gathered night after night during the past years, full of jest and story, and with never a thought of the tragedy that had already begun.
“Shall we tell them?” asked Ruggles.
“No,” answered Brush; “some of them might wish to go with us.”
“And it might be well to take them,” suggested Captain Dawson.
“We are enough,” was the grim response of the parson.
Like so many phantoms, the men moved toward the further end of the settlement. Opposite the last shanty a man assumed form in the gloom. He had just emerged from his dwelling and stopped abruptly at sight of the trio of shadows gliding past.
“What’s up, pards?” he called.
“Nothing,” was the curt answer of the captain, who was leading and did not change his pace.
“You needn’t be so huffy about it,” growled the other, standing still and puffing his pipe until they vanished.
“That was Vose Adams,” remarked the captain over his shoulder; “he’ll tell the rest what he saw and it will be known to everybody in the morning.”
The little party was carefully descending the side of the cañon, with now and then a partial stumble, until they reached the bottom of the broad valley where the grass grew luxuriantly nearly the whole year. It was nutritious and succulent and afforded the best of pasturage for the few horses and mules belonging to the miners.
Captain Dawson and Lieutenant Russell had ridden up the trail, each mounted on a fine steed, which had brought them from Sacramento. When the saddles and bridles were removed, the animals were turned loose in the rich pasturage, which extended for miles over the bottom of the cañon. There, too, grazed the pony of Nellie Dawson, the horses of Ruggles and Bidwell and the three mules owned by Landlord Ortigies and Vose Adams. The latter were left to themselves, except when needed for the periodical journeys to Sacramento. The little drove constituted all the possessions of New Constantinople in that line. Consequently, if any more of the miners wished to join in the pursuit, they would have to do so on foot or on mule back,–a fact which was likely to deter most of them.
In the early days of the settlement, before the descent of that terrible blizzard, fully a dozen mules and horses were grazing in the gorge, subject to the call of their owners, who, however, did not expect to need them, unless they decided to remove to some other site. But one morning every hoof had vanished and was never seen again. The prints of moccasins, here and there in the soft earth, left no doubt of the cause of their disappearance. Perhaps this event had something to do with the permanence of New Constantinople, since the means of a comfortable departure with goods, chattels, tools and mining implements went off with the animals.
After that the miners made no further investments in quadrupeds, except to the extent of three or four mules, needed by Vose Adams, though he was forced to make one journey to Sacramento on foot. Thus matters stood until the addition of the horses. There was always danger of their being stolen, but as the weeks and months passed, without the occurrence of anything of that nature, the matter was forgotten.
The three men were so familiar with the surroundings that they made their way to the bottom of the cañon with as much readiness as if the sun were shining. Pausing beside the narrow, winding stream, which at that season was no more than a brook, they stood for several minutes peering here and there in the gloom, for the animals indispensable for a successful pursuit of the eloping ones.
“There’s no saying how long it will take to find them,” remarked the captain impatiently; “it may be they have been grazing a mile away.”
“Have you any signal which your animal understands?”
“Yes, but it is doubtful if he will obey it.”
Captain Dawson placed his fingers between his lips and emitted a peculiar tremulous whistle, repeating it three times with much distinctness. Then all stood silent and listening.
“He may be asleep. Once he was prompt to obey me, but he has been turned loose so long that there is little likelihood of his heeding it.”
“Try it again and a little stronger,” suggested Ruggles.
The captain repeated the call until it seemed certain the animal must hear it, but all the same, the result was nothing.
It was exasperating for the hounds thus to be held in leash when the game was speeding from them, with the scent warm, but there was no help for it.
“We are wasting time,” said Dawson; “while you two go up the gorge, I will take the other direction; look sharp for the animals that are probably lying down; they are cunning and will not relish being disturbed; if you find them whistle, and I’ll do the same.”
They separated, the captain following one course and his friends the other.
“It’ll be a bad go,” remarked Ruggles, “if we don’t find the horses, for we won’t have any show against them on their animals.”
“Little indeed and yet it will not hold us back.”
“No, indeed!” replied Ruggles with a concentration of passion that made the words seem to hiss between his teeth.
Since the stream was so insignificant, Wade Ruggles leaped across and went up the cañon on the other side, his course being parallel with his friend’s. A hundred yards further and he made a discovery.
“Helloa, Brush, here they are!”
The parson bounded over the brook and hurried to his side, but a disappointment followed. The three mules having cropped their fill had lain down for the night but the horses were not in sight.
CHAPTER XVII
THE PURSUERS
The parson expressed his disappointment in vigorous language, when, instead of the horses, the hybrids proved to be the only animals near them.
“I am afraid this proves one thing,” he said.
“What is that?”
“I have had a dread all along that the Indians would run off the horses, but it seems to me that if they had done so, they would have taken the mules.”
“It strikes me as more likely that the leftenant took the horses, so as to prevent our follering him and the gal.”
“That sounds reasonable,” said the parson thoughtfully; “the plan is so simple that it must have occurred to him. The mules are too slow to be of any use to us, and it may be as well that we shall have to go afoot.”
“How do you figure that out?”
“They will conclude that, if we haven’t any horses, we won’t follow them; they will, therefore, take their time and travel so slow, that we’ll have the chance to swoop down on them when they are not expecting it.”
“I s’pose there’s what you call philosophy in that, but it doesn’t hit me very favorable. We’ll see what the cap thinks–helloa!”
Clearly and distinctly through the still air came the signal by which Captain Dawson was to announce his discovery of the animals. The call scattered all thoughts of making the journey on foot, and, wheeling about, the two started off at a rapid pace to join their friend. At the same moment the call sounded again, and they answered it to let it be known they understood the situation. In a brief time they came upon Captain Dawson impatiently awaiting them. There was no need for him to tell them he had been successful in his search, for he was standing beside the three horses, which were quickly saddled and bridled. A minute later the men vaulted upon their backs and the captain said crisply:
“Now we are off!”
Each seemed to be inspired by the spirit of adventure. They sat erect in the saddles, drew in a deep inhalation of the keen night air, and moved off with their horses on a brisk walk, which almost immediately became a canter. For a mile, the trail through Dead Man’s Gulch was nearly as hard and even as a country highway. The width of the cañon varied from a few rods to a quarter of a mile, with the mountain ridges on either hand towering far up into cloudland, the tallest peaks crowned with snow which the sun never dissolved.
The tiny stream wound like a silvery serpent through the stretch of green, succulent grass, narrowing gorge and obtruding rock and boulder. Now and then the path led across the water, which was so shallow that it only plashed about the fetlocks of the horses. Captain Dawson, in his impetuosity, kept a few paces in front of the other two, as if he were the leader. When the space increased too much he reined up his animal and waited until his friends joined him. They were grim, resolute and for most of the time had little to say to one another, though, as may be supposed, their thoughts were of anything but a pleasant nature.
So long as the moon held her place near the zenith, the cañon was suffused and flooded with its soft radiance, but the rifts of clouds drifting before its face rendered the light at times treacherous and uncertain. The horses had rested so long, and had had such extensive browsing on the rich pasturage, that they were in fine condition, and the gallop seemed more grateful to them than an ordinary walking gait. The air was cool and the fine trail, at this portion of the journey, made all the conditions favorable. After a time however, the ascent and descent would appear, the ground would become rough and the best the animals could do would be to walk.
When Parson Brush remarked that Lieutenant Russell had proved himself an idiot when he left these horses behind for his pursuers to use, the captain and Ruggles agreed with him.
“I don’t understand it,” said Brush; “he must have expected we would be hot after him, within the very hour we learned of what he had done, or can it be that he and she concluded we would say, ‘Depart in peace?’ If so, the young man shall have a terrible awakening.”
“It seems to me,” said Ruggles, “that it is more likely he believed that with the start he would gain, it didn’t matter whether we follered or not, feelin’ sure that he could keep out of reach and get to Sacramento so fur ahead of us, that he needn’t give us a thought.”
“I am not very familiar with the trail,” remarked the captain, “for, as you know, I have passed over it only twice; first, nearly five years ago, when I went to the war, and a few months since when I came back.”
“But you and Russell did not lose your way,” said the parson.
“That was because we did our traveling by day. We tried it once at night, but came within a hair of tumbling over a precipice a thousand feet deep. This will be easy enough, so long as we have the sun to help us.”
“You probably know as much about the trail as Wade and I, for neither of us has been over it often. Consequently, when we travel by night, we shall have to go it blind, or rather shall do so after awhile, since all is plain sailing now.”
“I ain’t so sure of that,” observed Ruggles doubtfully; “we must have come a mile already and ought to have made a turn by this time.”
Captain Dawson checked his horse and peered ahead.
“Can it be we are off the track? We have come nearer two miles than one–ah!”
Just then the moon emerged from the obscuring clouds and their field of vision so broadened that they saw themselves face to face with an impassable barrier. The cañon closed directly in front of them like an immense gate of stone. It was impossible to advance a hundred feet further.
“Well, I’m blessed if this isn’t a pretty situation!” exclaimed the captain.
“We have passed the opening, but we haven’t far to return, and you know that a bad beginning brings a good ending.”
“Humph! I would rather chance it on a good beginning.”
Ruggles was the first to wheel and strike his horse into a gallop, which he did with the remark that he knew where the right passage was located. His companions were almost beside him. The cañon was of that peculiar conformation that, while it terminated directly in front, it contained an abrupt angle between where the party had halted and the mining settlement. At that point it was so wide that the little stream, which might have served for a guide, was lost sight of. Had they followed the brook, they would not have gone astray. The only inconvenience was the slight delay, which in their restless mood tried their spirits to the utmost. Captain Dawson muttered to himself and urged his horse so angrily that he again placed himself in advance. His mood was no more savage than that of his companions, but he chafed at everything which caused delay, no matter how trifling, in the pursuit.
Fearing that he might go wrong, Ruggles spurred up beside him. The distance passed was less than any one expected it to be, when Ruggles called out:
“Here we are!”
The exclamation was caused by the hoofs of their horses plashing in the water. They seemed to share the impatience of their riders; “all we have to do now is to keep to the stream; obsarve its turn.”
Its course was almost at right angles to that which they had been following. The animals were cantering easily, when suddenly a deeper gloom than usual overspread the valley like a pall. This came from a heavy bank of clouds sweeping before the moon. The steeds were drawn down to a walk, but the obscurity was not dense enough to shut out the chasm-like opening, where the mountains seemed to part, riven by some terrific convulsion ages before. The enormous walls drew back the door as if to invite them to enter and press the pursuit of the couple that were fleeing from a just and righteous wrath.
The width of the cañon had now dwindled to a few yards, and the stream expanding and shallow, occupied so much of the space that the horses were continually splashing through it, but the rise and fall of the trail was so slight that the gallop might have continued with little danger of mishap.
The formation of the party was in “Indian file,” with Captain Dawson leading, Ruggles next and Brush bringing up the rear. All three animals were walking, for the light of the moon was variable and often faint, while the danger of a mis-step was ever present, and was likely to bring a fatal ending of the pursuit almost before it had fairly begun. Occasionally the gloom in the narrow gorge was so deep that they distinguished one another’s figures indistinctly, but the animals were left mostly to themselves. They seemed to know what was expected of them and showed no hesitation. It was impossible for them to go wrong, for it was much the same as if crossing a bridge, with its protecting barrier on either hand. The horse of the captain showed his self-confidence once or twice by a faint whinney and a break from the walk into a trot, but his rider checked him.
“Not yet; heaven knows that I am as anxious to push on as you, but we have already made one blunder and we can’t afford another; when the time comes that it is safe to trot you shall do so and perhaps run.”
“Hush!” called Brush from the rear; “I hear a curious sound.”
“What does it seem to be?”
“It is impossible to tell; let’s stop for a moment.”
As the three animals stood motionless, the strange noise was audible. It was a deep, hollow roar rapidly increasing in volume and intensity, and resembled the warning of a tornado or cyclone advancing through the forest. The animals, as is the case at such times, were nervous and frightened. They elevated their heads, pricked their ears, snuffed the air and the animal of the parson trembled with terror.
The three believed that something in the nature of a cyclone was approaching, or it might be a cloudburst several miles away, whose deluge had swollen the stream into a rushing torrent that would overwhelm them where they stood, caught inextricably in a trap.
The terrifying roar, however, was neither in front nor at the rear, but above them,–over their heads! From the first warning to the end was but a few seconds. The sound increased with appalling power and every eye was instinctively turned upward.
In the dim obscurity they saw a dark mass of rock, weighing hundreds of tons, descending like a prodigious meteor, hurled from the heavens. It had been loosened on the mountain crest a half mile above, and was plunging downward with inconceivable momentum. Striking some obstruction, it rebounded like a rubber ball against the opposite side of the gorge, then recoiled, still diving downward, oscillating like a pendulum from wall to wall, whirling with increasing speed until it crashed to the bottom of the gorge with a shock so terrific that the earth and mountain trembled.
