Desert Dust Part 40

The great army rose for flight, lifting like a blanket. Gradually the earth appeared in glimpses beneath their floating array, so that whereas our plot of higher ground was still invested, stooping low and scanning we could see beyond us by the extent of a narrow thinning belt capped with the heavier white.

"There!" she whispered, pointing. "Look! There they are!"

Feet, legs, moving of themselves, cut off at the knees by the fog layer, distant not more than short rifle range: that was what had been revealed.

A peculiar, absurd spectacle of a score or two of amputated limbs now resurrected and blindly in quest of bodies.

"The Mormons!" I faltered.

"No! Leggins! Moccasins! They are Indians. We must leave right away before they see us."

With our stuff she ran, I ran, for the mules. We worked rapidly, bridling and saddling while the fog rose with measured steadiness.

"Hurry!" she bade.

The whole desert was a golden haze when having packed we climbed aboard--she more spry than I, so that she led again.

As we urged outward the legs, behind, had taken to themselves thighs. But the mist briefly eddied down upon us; our mules' hoofs made no sound appreciable, on the scantily moistened soil; we lost the legs, and the voices, and pressing the pace I rode beside her.

"Where?" I inquired.

"As far as we can while the fog hangs. Then we must hide in the first good place. If they don't strike our trail we'll be all right."

The fog lingered in patches. From patch to patch we threaded, with many a glance over shoulder. But time was traveling faster. I marked her searching about nervously. Blue had already appeared above, the sun found us again and again, and the fog remnants went spinning and coiling, in last ghostly dance like that of frenzied wraiths.

Now we came to a rough outcrop of red sandstone, looming ruddily on our right. She quickly swerved for it.

"The best chance. I see nothing else," she muttered. "We can tie the mules under cover, and wait. We'll surely be spied if we keep on."

"Couldn't we risk it?"

"No. We've not start enough."

In a moment we had gained the refuge. The sculptured rock ma.s.ses, detached one from another, several jutting ten feet up, received us. We tied the mules short, in a nook at the rear; and we ourselves crawled on, farther in, until we lay snug amidst the shadowing b.u.t.tresses, with the desert vista opening before us.

The fog wraiths were very few; the sun blazed more vehemently and wiped them out, so that through the marvelously clear air the expanse of lone, weird country stood forth clean cut. No moving object could escape notice in this watchful void. And we had been just in time. The slight knoll had been left not a mile to the southwest. I heard My Lady catch breath, felt her hand find mine as we lay almost touching. Rounding the knoll there appeared a file of mounted figures; by their robes and blankets, their tufted lances and gaudy shields, yes, by the very way they sat their painted ponies, Indians unmistakably.

"They must have been camped near us all night." And she shuddered. "Now if they only don't cross our trail. We mustn't move."

They came on at a canter, riding bravely, glancing right and left--a score of them headed by a scarlet-blanketed man upon a spotted horse. So transparent was the air, washed by the fog and vivified by the sun, that I could decipher the color pattern of his shield emblazonry: a checkerboard of red and black.

"A war party. Sioux, I think," she said. "Don't they carry scalps on that first lance? They've been raiding the stage line. Do you see any squaws?"

"No," I hazarded, with beating heart. "All warriors, I should guess."

"All warriors. But squaws would be worse."

On they cantered, until their paint stripes and daubs were hideously plain; we might note every detail of their savage muster. They were paralleling our outward course; indeed, seemed to be diverging from our ambush and making more to the west. And I had hopes that, after all, we were safe. Then her hand clutched mine firmly. A wolf had leaped from covert in the path of the file; loped eastward across the desert, and instantly, with a whoop that echoed upon us like the crack of doom, a young fellow darted from the line in gay pursuit.

My Lady drew quick breath, with despairing exclamation.

"That is cruel, cruel! They might have ridden past; but now--look!"

The stripling warrior (he appeared to be scarcely more than a boy) hammered in chase, stringing his bow and plucking arrow. The wolf cast eye over plunging shoulder, and lengthened. Away they tore, while the file slackened, to watch. Our trail of flight bore right athwart the wolf's projected route. There was just the remote chance that the lad would overrun it, in his eagerness; and for that intervening moment of grace we stared, fascinated, hand clasping hand.

"He's found it! He's found it!" she announced, in a little wail.

In mid-career the boy had checked his pony so shortly that the four hoofs ploughed the sand. He wheeled on a pivot and rode back for a few yards, scanning the ground, letting the wolf go. The stillness that had settled while we gazed and the file of warriors, reining, gazed, gripped and fairly hurt. I cursed the youth. Would to G.o.d he had stayed at home--G.o.d grant that mangy wolf died by trap or poison. Our one chance made the sport of an accidental view-halloo, when all the wide desert was open.

The youth had halted again, leaning from his saddle pad. He raised, he flung up glad hand and commenced to ride in circles, around and around and around. The band galloped to him.

"Yes, he has found it," she said. "Now they will come."

"What shall we do?" I asked her.

And she answered, releasing my hand.

"I don't know. But we must wait. We can stand them off for a while, I suppose----"

"I'll do my best, with the revolver," I promised.

"Yes," she murmured. "But after that----?"

I had no reply. This contingency--we two facing Indians--was outside my calculations.

The Indians had grouped; several had dismounted, peering closely at our trail, reading it, timing it, accurately estimating it. They had no difficulty, for the hoof prints were hardly dried of the fog moisture. The others sat idly, searching the horizons with their eyes, but at confident ease. In the wide expanse this rock fortress of ours seemed to me to summon imperatively, challenging them. They surely must know. Yet there they delayed, torturing us, playing blind, emulating cat and mouse; but of course they were reasoning and making certain.

Now the dismounted warriors vaulted ahorse; at a gesture from the chief two men rode aside, farther to the east, seeking other sign. They found none, and to his shrill hail they returned.

There was another command. The company had strung bows, stripped their rifles of the buckskin sheaths, had dropped robe and blanket about their loins; they spread out to right and left in close skirmish order; they advanced three scouts, one on the trail, one on either flank; and in a broadened front they followed with a discipline, an earnestness, a precision of purpose and a deadly antic.i.p.ation that drowned every fleeting hope.

This was unbearable: to lie here awaiting an inevitable end.

"Shall we make a break for it?" I proposed. "Ride and fight? We might reach the train, or a stage station. Quick!"

In my wild desire for action I half arose. Her hand restrained me.

"It would be madness, Mr. Beeson. We'd stand no show at all in the open; not on these poor mules." She murmured to herself. "Yes, they're Sioux.

That's not so bad. Were they Cheyennes--dog-soldiers---- Let me think. I must talk with them."

"But they're coming," I rasped. "They're getting in range. We've the gun, and twenty cartridges. Maybe if I kill the chief----"

She spoke, positive, under breath.

"Don't shoot! Don't! They know we're here--know it perfectly well. I shall talk with them."

"You? How? Why? Can you persuade them? Would they let us go?"

"I'll do what I can. I have a few words of Sioux; and there's the sign language. See," she said. "They've discovered our mules. They know we're only two."