Out Of The Depths Part 54

CHAPTER x.x.xIV

RECLAMATION

Even with the mutual a.s.sistance that they could give one another, and with the certain knowledge that the descent was possible, the rescuers had no easy task following the trail "broken" by Ashton. Their very numbers prevented them from going down as fast as he had gone. On the other hand, those on the upper part of the life-line could steady their companions over ledges and down the steeper crevices, while the leaders helped the ones who followed by hammering footholds in the rock and at the very worst places driving in picket-pins to hold the extra ropes brought down for the purpose.

Still, Deep Canon was Deep Canon--the ladder it offered was a ladder of t.i.tans. Many long hours of waiting pa.s.sed after the rescuing party disappeared among the shadows less than a third of the way down the steep-sloping precipices, before they came struggling upwards again into view of the anxious watchers on the brink. The sun had circled well over into the western sky.

There was yet a thousand feet for the rescuers to clamber, hauling and pushing up in their midst the heavy body of the injured engineer.

All during the first half of the ascent Blake had made the task as easy as he could by the strenuous exertion of the great strength still left in his arms and his sound leg. But at last the bandages that bound his broken leg had chafed in two on the rough ledges; and even his iron nerve had not long been able to withstand the torture of the twisting break.

He now dangled helpless in the sling by which they had secured him.

Half the time he was mercifully unconscious; the other half his jaw was set rigid and his lips were compressed to stifle his groans of agony. Whenever possible Ashton climbed beside him, striving to ease the roughness of the ascent.

A full hour before they reached the top, the thin-faced consumptive surgeon arrived from Stockchute with his splints and medical case.

Waited upon by Isobel and Genevieve, he was fully recovered from the exertion of his ride when at last the panting rescuers came toiling up to the brink.

Eager hands dragged the unconscious engineer to the top and carried him to where the surgeon sat waiting. A few of the watchers lingered to help the rescuers over the rim; then they, too, hurried away to see if Blake had survived that terrible ascent. For the last two hundred feet he had looked like a dead man. There was no cheering. Deep Canon had been conquered; but it was yet to be seen whether the victory had not been won at a disastrous cost.

The sheriff and his nine men sank down on the gra.s.sy slope, gasping, outspent. Ashton collapsed in their midst. He was more than outspent; he was utterly exhausted. The instant he had seen Blake lifted over the rim-rock, he had given way to the strain of his frightful exertions. When a man sent by Isobel came hurrying to the rescuers with water and coffee, Ashton was unable to move or speak. The man had to hold him up and pour the coffee down his throat.

One by one, the sheriff and the others staggered up and went to join the silent group about Blake. No one left that circle of watchers.

They were waiting for the result of the surgeon's efforts to resuscitate the unconscious man. It was a desperate fight. But the surgeon had won a place in the forefront of his profession before the white plague had driven him from New York to this health-giving wilderness. He knew all the latest, most wonderful methods of resuscitation. And he had for a.s.sistants two who loved and were loved by his patient.

When at last the announcement was made that the engineer had come out of his swoon and probably would live, the sheriff and all the members of the posse not employes of Knowles prepared to ride down to Plum Creek ranch for the night. The cowman ordered his men to go down with the party, to water the horses and bring back food and water for the camp. The surgeon had said that his patient could not be moved for many days.

But before the party rode off, each man, from the sheriff to the youngest of the punchers, came to where Ashton was still lying on the gra.s.s, and took his limp hand in theirs. They did not grip it, for the tattered glove and shredded bandages were wet with blood; nor did they put into speech what they thought of him. A gruff word or two of fellowship and parting was all they gave him. Yet he saw and knew that he had won his place among these reddest blooded of all red-blooded men.

When one of his fellow employes came to him, leading Rocket, he sought to summon strength enough to rise, but found that he could not even turn on his side. He had driven his body to superhuman efforts. He must now pay the price. At his request, he was lifted up on Rocket, but he could not hold up his head, much less his body. They laid him again on the gra.s.s, and told Knowles his condition, before they rode off.

The cowman fetched the surgeon, who felt the pulse of the exhausted man, gave him a pellet, and hastened back to Blake. In a few moments Ashton's feeble, racing pulse became calm and slow, the wild whirl of his thoughts lulled. He sank into profound slumber.

When he awoke the sun of another day was just clearing the great white peaks of the snowy range. He was outstretched on a soft bed of blankets spread over a thick layer of pine needles. Above his face sloped the roof of a small tent. He had been cared for--but there was no one watching at his bedside. He thought he understood, and smiled in bitter resignation.

When he moved, racking pains shot through his stiff muscles. Only the renewed life that surged through his veins enabled him to turn and twist and bend until the pains subsided to a dull aching and he was able to command his limbs. His hands were swathed fast in bandages. He tore them off with his teeth until the fingers were free enough for use. After much effort, he succeeded in forcing his swollen feet into his boots.

In the midst Yuki, the j.a.p cook, appeared before the low entrance of the tent and sank down on his knees to set a trayful of food beside the occupant. He hissed a pleasant, "Good morning, Mistah Lafe!" and was gone before Ashton could reply. The aroma of hot coffee and the savory smell of chicken broth forced Ashton to forget all else than that he was famished. Besides the coffee and broth, there was a nogg of eggs and thick cream slightly flavored with whiskey. He drank one liquid after the other with the greediness of a starving man; nor did he stop until he had drained the last drop of all three. He could have followed with a hearty meal of solids, but the fluids were enough to stimulate him to renewed energy.

He crept out of his tent and looked around. Up where they had carried Blake from the precipices stood a larger tent. Near it, under a low-growing pine, the surgeon lay rolled in a blanket, fast asleep.

Some distance away, in the other direction, Yuki and two of the ranch hands were building a stone fireplace. Beyond them were picketed three horses, the nearest of which was Rocket.

Ashton stood up and started rapidly towards the big rawboned horse.

Within a few yards, however, his pace slackened. He faltered and stopped to look back at the larger tent. After a pause, he turned about and slowly approached the tent.

As he drew near he heard a murmur of voices barely distinguishable above the booming of the canon. Again he faltered and stopped and stood hesitating. The open front of the tent faced at right angles to his line of approach. As he hesitated, he saw Isobel's head appear, veiled in the loose meshes of her chestnut hair. She looked about towards him, and drew back with a startled little cry.

He turned away to go to Rocket. A quick heavy step sounded behind him.

Knowles had sprung out of the tent and was striding to overtake the retreating man.

"Hold on, Lafe," he ordered. "Where you going?"

Ashton faced him with quiet resolution. His eyes were dark with misery, but his once lax mouth was strangely like Blake's in its firm full lines.

"There's only one thing for me to do, Mr. Knowles," he replied. "I am going away. Your daughter will understand why."

"How're you going?" asked the cowman, his face impa.s.sive.

"I traded with Miss--Miss Knowles for Rocket. Didn't she ever tell you?"

"Don't matter if she did. Rocket wasn't her hawss to trade."

"Then, unless my pony is up here, I shall walk down as far as the ranch," said Ashton. He added with bitter humiliation: "It's well I have learned about Rocket in time. I've done enough, without adding horse thief to the list. I would have started at once, but I could not leave until I had asked about Mr. Blake. I wished to thank him for all that he has done for me."

"All that he--!" echoed Knowles. "If you want to know, it was a mighty narrow squeak. But we pulled him through. He's awake now and says he's doing fine. He wants to talk to you."

"I should like very much to do as he wishes, Mr. Knowles, but I--cannot bear to--meet her. You may realize that it is hard enough at best."

"_Sho!_ If that's all," readily rea.s.sured the cowman, "I'll ask Chuckie to go out and hide in the bushes."

"But I could not allow that, you know."

"Then I figure you've got to come anyhow. Can't let you go off without saying good-by to him and Jenny."

"Jenny?" repeated Ashton.

"It's all in the family now," explained Knowles. "Tom has been telling us how he's got that irrigation project all figured out in his head.

He was saying what he and Jenny had planned to do for us even before Chuckie let out her secret. Come on and hear the rest."

"I fear I must ask you to excuse me, Mr. Knowles. I--"

"No, you don't," rejoined the cowman. "After what you've done you can't make me believe you're afraid of anything. You'll come and face it out before you go."

The misery in Ashton's eyes deepened, and his lips tightened.

"Very well. Since you put it that way, I shall do as you wish, sir."

When he followed Knowles around to the door of the tent, Isobel, who was hastily braiding her loose hair, drew back into the far corner and averted her face from him. But Genevieve met him with a radiant smile and motioned him to kneel down beside her husband.

Blake, with one thick arm crooked about his sleeping son, lay with his eyes closed. His big square face was drawn and pallid, but there was a smile lurking in the corners of his mouth. As Ashton knelt beside him he looked up and lifted his free hand.

"You wouldn't take it--down there," he said.

Ashton flushed. "You know why."

"You'll take it now," said Blake, with quiet confidence.