Louisiana Lou Part 22

"Snowing up there," he said. "By'n by, it'll be snowin' down here.

Snow ain't so bad--but----"

"But what?"

"She drifts into this here canyon pretty bad. There ain't no road and down hereaways where these rocks make the goin' hard at the best of times, the drifts sure stack up bad."

"What is it that you mean, Monsieur Sucatash?"

"I mean that we ain't goin' to have no trouble gettin' in, mad'mo'selle, but we may have a fierce time gettin' out. In two days the drifts will be pilin' up on the divide and the trail on the other side, and in a coupla days more they'll be blockin' the canyon down this a way."

Solange shrugged her shoulders. "We have food," she answered. "At any rate, I am going on. I have promised that I would meet Monsieur de Launay in this canyon. I cannot keep him waiting."

Sucatash accepted her ultimatum without protest. But, after a momentary silence, he turned once more in his saddle.

"Say, mad'mo'selle," he said, "this here De Launay, now; he's sure enough your husband?"

"Of course."

"But he ain't noways a regular, honest-to-G.o.d husband, is he?"

"We are married," said Solange. "Is that not enough?"

"I reckon so. Still, there's Dave and me--we would sure admire to know how this feller stands with you."

Solange looked at him, and he found difficulty, as usual, in concentrating on what she said or on anything but the fathomless eyes.

Yet he comprehended that she was speaking, that she was smiling kindly, and yet that speech and smile were both destructive of his immature romance.

"He stands--not at all, monsieur, except as an instrument. But--that way--he and I are bound together forever."

It was in her eyes that Sucatash read meaning. Somewhere in their depths he found a knowledge denied even to her, perhaps. He heaved a profound sigh and turned to yell at Dave.

"Get a wiggle on, old-timer! You an' me are just hired hands on this pasear. _Madame de Launay_ will be gettin' hungry before we make camp."

Dave swung quickly around, catching the slight emphasis on the strange name. Over the backs of the pack horses his and his companion's eyes met. Then he turned back and jogged up the pace a trifle.

By five o'clock in the evening they had pa.s.sed the worst stages of the journey and were well up into the canyon. But the storm was worse than they had thought. Already occasional snowflakes were drifting down, and the chill was beginning to bite even through the warm fleece that lined mademoiselle's coat. The men decided to make camp.

They pitched Solange's tent in a sheltered spot not far above the stream. They themselves slept in the open under heavy tarps. Sucatash sighed again when, during that evening, Solange showed that she was no helpless creature of civilization but could fully perform her part of any tasks that were to be done. She cooked over a camp fire as though she had been born to it, and the food was better in consequence.

But Sucatash was uneasy. In the morning he consulted Dave and that young man shared his fears.

"It ain't goin' to be bad for several days," he said. "But when she drifts in earnest we all are liable to be stuck in here until spring.

I ain't aimin' to get anxious, Dave, but we ain't fixed to buck snow."

"She ain't goin' to turn back, so what can we do?" asked the other.

"This here De Launay will probably be up near the crater. Once we get her up there we ain't responsible. But there ain't no telling how soon the snow'll drift. I'm thinkin' one of us ought to mosey back to the ranch and bring in webs and dogs."

"He'd better get a-going, then," said Dave.

"You'd better stay with the lady and take her on. I hate to leave her alone with a feller like you, but I reckon she'll meet up with her husband by night and he can settle you if necessary. I'll pull my freight out o' here and git the snowshoes and a dog sled and team.

We'll maybe need a heap more grub than we've got if we hole up here too long."

"You're shoutin'," agreed Dave.

Mademoiselle, when the plan was broached to her, made no objection.

She was const.i.tutionally fearless where men were concerned, and the departure of Sucatash did not in the least alarm her. She also recognized the wisdom of taking precautions against their being snowed in.

Thus the party broke up in the morning. Sucatash, before departing, took his rifle and a full belt of ammunition and fastened it to the girl's saddle.

"If Dave gets gay," he said, with a grin, "just bust him where he looks biggest with this here 30-30."

After a.s.sisting in packing the horses, he mounted and rode down the canyon while Solange and Dave resumed their journey in the opposite direction.

Sucatash, as soon as he had pa.s.sed out of sight, quartered up the side of the canyon where sheep trails promised somewhat easier going than the irregular floor of the gulch. Thus he was enabled to get an occasional glimpse of them by looking backward whenever favorable ground exposed the valley. But he was soon past all hope of further vision, and when the distraction was removed settled down to make the best speed on his journey.

He gave no heed to anything but the route ahead of him and that was soon a task that engrossed him. It had been snowing some all night, and it was now slithering down in great flakes which made the air a gray mystery and the ground a vague and shadowy puzzle. Sucatash did not care to linger. Without the girl to care for he was one who would take chances, and he rushed his horse rapidly, slogging steadily along the trails, without attention to anything but the ribbon of beaten path immediately ahead of him.

There was every reason to believe that the hills were empty of all humankind except for their own party and De Launay, who was ahead and not behind them. Sucatash was entirely ignorant of the fact that, among the rocky terraces of the canyon, Jim Banker camped, after having followed their trail as long as the light would allow him to do so.

The prospector was up and on the move as soon as Sucatash. He and his burros were trudging along among the rocks, the old man muttering and talking to himself and shaking his head from side to side as one whose brain has been affected by years of solitude and unending search for gold. His eyes were never still, but swept the trail ahead of him or the slopes on either hand, back and forth, back and forth, restlessly and uneasily as though there were something here that he looked for and yet feared to see.

Far ahead of him and high on the slope he finally beheld Sucatash, riding alone and at a rapid trot along a sheep trail, his long, lean figure leaning forward, raised in his stirrups, and his hands on saddle horn. He was evidently riding in haste, for that gait and att.i.tude on the part of a cow hand means that he is in a hurry and has a long way to go.

The prospector hurriedly unslung a field gla.s.s and focused it on Sucatash. When he was sure of the man and of his route he grinned evilly.

"One of 'em right into my hands," he chuckled.

He then dismounted and ran to one of the burros. From the pack he dragged a roll of wire which he carried there for some purpose or other, probably for the construction of a short length of fence whenever he stopped long enough to make it desirable. He glanced up at the gray sky, noting the swirl of snowflakes which settled down like a cloud. A few moments ago they had almost ceased, enabling him to glimpse the rider at a distance and now they were providentially falling again. Luck was surely with him.

Above him, about fifty yards up the slope of the canyon wall, was a long bench, rather narrow and beaten flat by the pa.s.sage of countless sheep. Under it the hill sloped sharply, almost precipitously. It was as though made to order for his purpose.

He mounted his horse and spurred it around and quartering up the hill even as Sucatash wound in and out among the swales and depressions of the canyon wall, now coming into dim view and now vanishing behind a bend. Banker had plenty of time.

He reached the bench and hurriedly dismounted, to run to a scrubby cedar growing almost on the edge of the ledge. Round this, at no more than six inches above the ground, he twisted an end of the wire. Then he ran with the other end across the bench and snubbed it around a scrub oak growing on the slope. The branches of the little tree were thick, and the tough, p.r.i.c.kly leaves still hung to it in some quant.i.ty.

He dropped the wire and went out and led his horse back among the scrub oaks. He then stood up close to the tree, almost invisible against the tangled branches and dead leaves. In one hand he held the coil of wire snubbed about the roots of the scrub oak while the other was clutching the nose of his horse.

Finally out of the smother of snow Sucatash came driving, head bent and hat brim pulled down to avoid the snow. The road was easy enough and he thought of nothing but getting along with all the speed possible. He did not notice that his horse, when emerging onto the bench, broke its stride and threw up its head as though seeking something. Instead he sank his spurs and urged the beast on.

The horse broke into a lope on the level stretch in answer to the spur. They came sweeping down until opposite where the prospector crouched.

Banker released his hold on his horse's nose and tightened the pull on the wire at the same time. His horse neighed.

Shrilly and loud, Sucatash's mount answered. Head thrown high and turned to the side he half checked his stride at the call of his kind.

Startled, Sucatash also threw up his head and turned.

Then the wire clutched the forelegs of the horse and, with a crash, he went down. Sucatash went with him, and, catlike, strove to throw himself from the saddle. Unfortunately, he leaped on the outer side where the ledge fell away steeply.