Prairie Flowers Part 18

Purdy nodded: "She's layin' up agin' the mouth of a coulee, 'bout two mile or so this side of Red Sand."

Long Bill removed his hat, scratched his head, and stared out over the river. Finally he spoke: "See her clost up?"

"Yup. Went right down to her."

Another pause, and with a vast show of indifference Long Bill asked: "Anyone in her?"

"No."

"Any tracks around--like anyone had be'n there?"

"Not none except what I made myself. Look a-here, Bill; what you so d.a.m.ned anxious to find that ferry fer? It would cost you more to haul it back upstream than what it would to build you a new one."

"Sure they wasn't no one there? No one could of got off her an' struck back in?"

"Not onless they could of flew," opined Purdy, "how'd she come to bust loose?"

Long Bill burst into a tirade of profanity that left him breathless.

"I'll tell you how come she bust loose," he roared, when he had sufficiently recovered to proceed, "that d.a.m.ned son of a--of a Texian stoled her--him an' the pilgrim's woman!"

"Texan!" cried Purdy, "d'ye mean Tex--Tex Benton?"

"Who the h.e.l.l d'ye s'pose I mean? Who else 'ud have the guts to steal the Red Front saloon, an' another man's woman, an' my ferry all the same day--an' git away with it? Who would?" The infuriated man fairly screamed the words, "Me--or you--not by a d.a.m.n sight! You claim to be a horse-thief--my Gawd, if that bird ever turned horse-thief, in a year's time horses would be extincter than what buffaloes is! They wouldn't be _none_ left fer _n.o.budy--nowheres_!"

It was some moments before Purdy succeeded in calming the man down to where he could give a fairly lucid account of the happenings in Timber City. He listened intently to Long Bill's narrative, and at the conclusion the ferryman produced his dodgers: "An' here's the rewards--a hundred fer Tex, an' a thousan' fer information about the woman."

Purdy read the hand-bill through twice. Then for several minutes he was silent. Finally, he turned to Long Bill. "Looks like me an' you had a purty good thing--if it's worked right," he said with a wink.

"Wha' d'ye mean?" asked the other with sudden interest.

"I mean," answered Purdy, "that I've got the woman."

"Got the woman!" he repeated, "where's Tex?"

Purdy frowned: "That's what I don't know. I hope he's drownded. He never landed where she did. They wasn't no tracks. That's the only thing that's botherin' me. I don't mind sayin' it right out, I ain't got no honin' to run up agin' him--I don't want none of his meat."

"Course he's drownded, if he never landed," cried Long Bill, and taking tremendous heart from the thought, he continued: "I hain't afraid of him, nohow--never was. I hain't so d.a.m.n glad he drownded neither. If I'd of run onto him, I'd of be'n a hundred dollars richer. I'd of brung him in--me!"

"You'd of played h.e.l.l!" sneered Purdy, "don't try to put yer brag over on me. I know what you'd do if you so much as seen the colour of his hide--an' so do you. Le's talk sense. If that there pilgrim offered a thousan' first off--he'll pay two thousan' to git his woman back--or five thousan'."

Long Bill's eyes glittered with greed: "Sure he will! Five thousan'--two thousan' five hundred apiece----"

Purdy fixed him with a chilling stare: "They wasn't nothin' mentioned about no even split," he reminded, "who's got the woman, you or me?"

Long Bill glared angrily: "You didn't know nothin' about the reward till I come along. An' who's got to do the d.i.c.kerin'? You don't dast to show up nowheres. You'd git nabbed. They's a reward out fer you."

Purdy shrugged: "When we git the five thousan', you git five hundred.

Take it or leave it. They's others can do the d.i.c.kerin'."

Long Bill growled and whined, but in the end he agreed, and Purdy continued: "You listen to me. We don't want no mistakes about this here.

I'll write a note to the pilgrim an' sign Tex's name to it, demandin'

five thousan' fer the return of the woman. You take the note to him, an'

tell him Tex is hidin' out in the bad lands, an' they ain't a show in the world to git the woman without he pays, because Tex will kill her sure as h.e.l.l if he goes to gittin' any posses out. Then you fetch him over here--this place is good as any--today a week, an' we'll give him his woman."

"What if he won't come? What if he thinks we're double-crossin' him?"

Purdy shrugged: "If he wants his woman bad enough, he'll come. It's his only chanct. An' here's another thing: Before you hit back acrost the river, you spread them bills around all the ranches an' on all the trails around here. They ain't no one else can horn in on the big reward 'cause I've got the woman, an' if the Texan should of got to sh.o.r.e, it's just as well to have everyone huntin' him."

"I ain't got no horse," objected the ferryman.

"Drift down the river till you come to a coulee with two rock pinnacles on the left hand side. Go up it till you come to a brush corral, there's two horses in there, an' a saddle an' bridle is cached in a mud crack on the west side. Saddle up one of 'em, an' be sure you put him back or Ca.s.s Grimshaw'll make coyote bait out of you."

As Purdy watched Long Bill disappear down the river, he rolled a cigarette: "If I c'n double-cross the pilgrim, I will," he muttered, "if I can't, back she goes to him. Five thousan' is a higher price than I'll pay fer luxeries like women. Anyhow there's McWhorter's gal left fer that. An' seein' there ain't no one else in on this but me, I'll just duck the hang-out, an' take her over to Cinnabar Joe's. Him an' his woman'll keep her safe--or he'll do time. Them's the only kind of friends that's worth a d.a.m.n--the ones you've got somethin' on." And having thus unburdened himself he proceeded leisurely toward the scrub.

Alice Endicott returned slowly to consciousness. Her first sensation was one of drowsy well-being. For some minutes she lay while her brain groped in a vague, listless way to find itself. She and Win were going West--there was a ranch for sale--and ... she suddenly realized that she was uncomfortable. Her shoulders and hips ached. Where was she? She felt cold. She tried to move and the effort caused her pain. She heard a sound nearby and opened her eyes. She closed them and opened them again.

She was lying upon the ground among trees and two horses stood a short distance away. The horses were saddled. She tried to raise a hand to her eyes and failed. Something was wrong. The recollections of the night burst upon her with the suddenness of a blow. The river--the lightning and drenching rain, the frantic bailing of the boat, the leap into the water with the Texan! Where was he now? She tried to sit up--and realized that her hands and feet were tied! Frantically she struggled to free her hands. Who had tied her? And why? The buckskin horse she recognized as the one she had ridden the night before. The Y Bar brand showed plainly upon his flank. But, where was she? And why was she tied?

Over and over the two questions repeated themselves in her brain. She struggled into a sitting posture and began to work at the knots. The tying had been hurriedly accomplished, and with the aid of a projecting limb stub the knot that secured her wrists was loosened and she freed her hands. It was but the work of a moment to loosen the hitch about her ankles and she a.s.sayed to rise. She sank back with a moan of pain. Every muscle in her body ached and she lay still while the blood with an exquisite torture of p.r.i.c.kling and tingling, began to circulate her numbed veins. Again she struggled to her feet and, supporting herself against a tree, stared wildly about her. n.o.body was in sight. Through the trees she caught the sparkle of water.

"The river!" she breathed. A wild idea flashed into her brain. If she could find a boat she could elude the horseman who had made her a prisoner. The numbness was gone from her limbs. She took a step and another, steadying herself by means of the tree-trunks. Finding that she could walk unaided she crossed an open s.p.a.ce, paused and glanced out over the flood with its rushing burden of drift. The thought terrified her--of being out there alone in a boat. Then came the thought of her unknown captor. Who was he? When would he return? And with the thought the terror of the water sank into insignificance beside the terror of the land. Reaching the edge of the bank she peered cautiously over.

There, just at the end of a clump of willows, a boat floated lazily at the end of its painter. She could see the oars in their locks, and a man's coat upon the back seat. She was about to descend the bank when the sound of voices sent her crouching behind a bush. Through the willows she could make out the forms of two men. Even as she looked one of the men rose and made his way toward the boat. At the edge of the willows he turned to speak to the other and the terrified girl gazed into the face of Long Bill Kearney! The other she could not see, but that he was her captor she had no doubt. She felt suddenly weak and sick with horror. Whoever the other was he was a confederate of Long Bill's and she knew how Long Bill must hate her on account of the treatment he had received a year ago at the hands of Win and the Texan. In all probability they had even now murdered the Texan--come upon him weak and exhausted from his struggle with the river and murdered him in cold blood and taken her prisoner.

Stifling a sob, she turned to fly. Her trembling knees would scarce support her weight as she crossed the open s.p.a.ce. Once in the timber she staggered toward the horses. Grasping the reins of the buckskin, she tried to lead him into the open, but he followed slowly with a curious shuffle. Her eyes flew to the hobbles, and kneeling swiftly she pulled at the thick straps that encircled his ankles. Her trembling fingers fumbled at the heavy buckles. Jerking frantically at the strap, she pushed and pulled in an endeavour to release the tongue from the hole.

Minutes seemed like hours as she worked. At length she succeeded in loosening a strap and set to work on the other. Fortunately the horse was thoroughly gentle, "woman broke," as Colston had said, and he stood motionless while she tugged and jerked at his ankles. After an interminable time the other strap yielded and, throwing the hobbles aside, Alice sprang erect, grasped the reins and started for the open, her throbbing brain obsessed by one idea, to ride, ride, ride!

Stumbling, tripping in her frantic haste she made her way through the scrub, the buckskin following close upon her heels. Only a few yards more and the open country stretched before her, ridge after rocky ridge as far as the eye could see. Redoubling her effort, she pushed on, tripped upon a fallen tree limb and crashed heavily to her knees. She struggled to her feet and as her eyes sought the open, stood rooted to the spot while the blood froze in her veins. Directly before her, legs wide apart, hands on hips, an evil grin on his lips, eyes leering into her own, stood Jack Purdy!

CHAPTER XVII

IN THE SCRUB

It seemed hours she stood thus, staring into those black, leering eyes.

Her damp garments struck a deadly chill to her very bones. Her knees trembled so that she shook visibly, as her thoughts flashed back to that night on the rim of the bench when this man had reached suddenly out and dragged her from her horse. Her plight would have been bad enough had she fallen into the hands of Long Bill Kearney--but Purdy!

At length the man spoke: "What's yer hurry? You sure wouldn't pull out an' leave, after me savin' you from the river, would you?"

"The river," she repeated, dully, and her own voice sounded strange--like a voice she had never heard. "Where--where's Tex?" The question was not addressed to Purdy, it was merely the groping effort of a numbed brain trying to piece together its sequence of events. She did not know she had asked it. His answer brought her keenly alive to the present. He laughed, harshly:

"He's drownded--fell out of the ferry, back there in the river--him an'

his horse both."

Alice did not know that the man was eyeing her keenly to detect refutation by word or look. She did not know that he was lying. The events of the night, to the moment of her plunge with the Texan into the river at the end of the lariat line, stood out in her brain with vivid distinctness. Purdy believed Tex to have drowned. She did not believe it, for she knew that if he had not reached sh.o.r.e, she could not possibly have reached sh.o.r.e. Her brain functioned rapidly. If Tex had survived he would surely come to her rescue. And, if Purdy believed him dead so much the better. She raised her hand and pa.s.sed it across her eyes:

"I remember," she said, slowly.

Again the man laughed: "Oh, you do, eh? I was only guessin'! I know'd if I asked you you'd lie about it--but I know now! An' it makes things a d.a.m.n sight easier fer me."