The Eye of Dread Part 22

"Good horse. Good horse. Good boy. Goldbug--go it! I know you're dying, but so am I. Keep it up a little while longer--Good boy."

The young man encouraged his horse, while half asleep from utter weariness and faint with hunger and thirst. The poor beast scrambled over the rocks up a steep trail that seemed to have been long unused, or indeed it might be no trail at all, but only a channel worn by fierce, narrow torrents during the rainy season, now sun-baked and dry.

The fall rains were late this year, and the yellow plains below furnished neither food nor drink for either man or beast. The herds of buffalo had long since wandered to fresher s.p.a.ces nearer the river beds. The young man's flask was empty, and it was twenty-seven hours since either he or his horse had tasted anything. Now they had reached the mountains he hoped to find water and game if he could only hold out a little longer. Up and still up the lean horse scrambled with nose to earth and quivering flanks, and the young man, leaning forward and clinging to his seat as he reeled like one drunken, still murmured words of encouragement. "Good boy--Goldbug, go it. Good horse, keep it up."

All at once the way opened out on a jutting crest and made a sharp turn to the right, and the horse paused on the verge so suddenly that his rider lost his hold and fell headlong over into a scrub oak that caught him and held him suspended in its tough and twisted branches above a chasm so deep that the buzzards sailed on widespread wings round and round in the blue air beneath him.

He lay there still and white as death, mercifully unconscious, while an eagle with a wild scream circled about and perched on a lightning-blasted tree far above and looked down on him.

For a moment the yellow horse swayed weakly on the brink, then feeling himself relieved of his burden, he stiffened himself to a last great effort and held on along the path which turned abruptly away from the edge of the cliff and broadened out among low bushes and stunted trees. Here again the horse paused and stretched his neck and bit off the tips of the dry twigs near him, then turned his head and whinnied to call his master, and p.r.i.c.ked his ears to listen; but he only heard the scream of the eagle overhead, and again he walked on, guided by an instinct as mysterious and unerring as the call of conscience to a human soul.

Good old beast! He had not much farther to go. Soon there was a sound of water in the air--a continuous roar, m.u.f.fled and deep. The path wound upward, then descended gradually until it led him to an open, gra.s.sy s.p.a.ce, bordered by green trees. Again he turned his head and gave his intelligent call. Why did not his master respond? Why did he linger behind when here was gra.s.s and water--surely water, for the smell of it was fresh and sweet. But it was well he called, for his friendly nicker fell on human ears.

A man of stalwart frame, well built and spare, hairy and grizzled, but ruddy with health, sat in a cabin hidden among the trees not forty paces away, and prepared his meal of roasting quail suspended over the fire in his chimney and potatoes baking in the ashes.

He lifted his head with a jerk, and swung the quail away from the heat, leaving it still suspended, and taking his rifle from its pegs stood for a moment in his door listening. For months he had not heard the sound of a human voice, nor the nicker of any horse other than his own. He called a word of greeting, "h.e.l.lo, stranger!" but receiving no response he ventured farther from his door.

Goldbug was eagerly grazing--too eagerly for his own good. The man recognized the signs of starvation and led him to a tree, where he brought him a little water in his own great tin dipper. Then he relieved him of saddle and bridle and left him tied while he hastily stowed a few hard-tack and a flask of whisky in his pocket, and taking a la.s.so over his arm, started up the trail on his own horse.

"Some poor guy has lost his way and gone over the cliff," he muttered.

The young man still lay as he had fallen, but now his eyes were open and staring at the sky. Had he not been too weak to move he would have gone down; as it was, he waited, not knowing if he were dead or in a dream, seeing only the blue above him, and hearing only the scream of the eagle.

"Lie still. Don't ye move. Don't ye stir a hair. I'll get ye. Still now--still."

The big man's voice came to him as out of a great chasm, scarcely heard for the roaring in his head, although he was quite near. His arms hung down and one leg swung free, but his body rested easily balanced in the branches. Presently he felt something fall lightly across his chest, slip down to his hand, and then crawl slowly up his arm to the shoulder, where it tightened and gripped. A vague hope awoke in him.

"Now, wait. I'll get ye; don't move. I'll have a noose around ye'r leg next,--so." The voice had grown clearer, and seemed nearer, but the young man could make no response with his parched throat.

"Now if I hurt ye a bit, try to stand it." The man carried the long loop of his la.s.so around the cliff and wound it securely around another scrub oak, and then began slowly and steadily to pull, until the young man moaned with pain,--to cry out was impossible.

"I'll have ye in a minute--I'll have ye--there! Catch at my hand. Poor boy, poor boy, ye can't. Hold on--just a little more--there!" Strong arms reached for him. Strong hands gripped his clothing and lifted him from the terrible chasm's edge.

"He's more dead than alive," said the big man, as he strove to pour a little whisky between the stranger's set teeth. "Well, I'll pack him home and do for him there."

He lifted his weight easily, and placing him on his horse, led the animal to the cabin where he laid him in his own bunk. There, with cool water, and whisky carefully administered, the big man restored him enough to know that he was conscious.

"There now, you'll come out of this all right. You've got a good body and a good head, young man,--lie by a little and I'll give ye some broth."

The man took a small stone jar from a shelf and putting in a little water, took the half-cooked quail from the fire, and putting it in the jar set it on the coals among the ashes, and covered it. From time to time he lifted the cover and stirred it about, sprinkling in a little corn meal, and when the steam began to rise with savory odor, he did not wait for it to be wholly done, but taking a very little of the broth in a tin cup, he cooled it and fed it to his patient drop by drop until the young man's eyes looked gratefully into his.

Then, while the young man dozed, he returned to his own uneaten meal, and dined on dried venison and roasted potatoes and salt. The big man was a good housekeeper. He washed his few utensils and swept the hearth with a broom worn almost to the handle. Then he removed the jar containing the quail and broth from the embers, and set it aside in reserve for his guest. Whenever the young man stirred he fed him again with the broth, until at last he seemed to sleep naturally.

Seeing his patient quietly sleeping, the big man went out to the starving horse and gave him another taste of water, and allowed him to graze a few minutes, then tied him again, and returned to the cabin.

He stood for a while looking down at the pallid face of the sleeping stranger, then he lighted his pipe and busied himself about the cabin, returning from time to time to study the young man's countenance. His pipe went out. He lighted it again and then sat down with his back to the stranger and smoked and gazed in the embers.

The expression of his face was peculiarly gentle as he gazed. Perhaps the thought of having rescued a human being worked on his spirit kindly, or what not, but something brought him a vision of a pale face with soft, dark hair waving back from the temples, and large gray eyes looking up into his. It came and was gone, and came again, even as he summoned it, and he smoked on. One watching him might have thought that it was his custom to smoke and gaze and dream thus.

At last he became aware that the stranger was trying to speak to him in husky whispers. He turned quickly.

"Feeling more fit, are you? Well, take another sup of broth. Can't let you eat anything solid for a bit, but you can have all of the broth now if you want it."

As he stooped over him the young man's fingers caught at his shirt sleeve and pulled him down to listen to his whispered words.

"Pull me out of this--quickly--quickly--there's a--party--down the--mountain--dying of thirst. Is this Higgins' Camp? I--I--tried to get there for--for help." He panted and could say no more.

The big man whistled softly. "Thought you'd get to Higgins' Camp?

You're sixty miles out of the way--or more,--twice that, way you've come. You took the wrong trail and you've gone forty miles one way when you should have gone as far on the other. I did it myself once, and never undid it."

The patient looked hungrily at the tin cup from which he had been taking the broth. "Can you give me a little more?"

"Yes, drink it all. It won't hurt ye."

"I've got to get up. They'll die." He struggled and succeeded in lifting himself to his elbow and with the effort he spoke more strongly. "May I have another taste of the whisky? I'm coming stronger now. I left them yesterday with all the food--only a bit--and a little water--not enough to keep them alive much longer.

Yesterday--G.o.d help them--was it yesterday--or days ago?"

The older man had a slow, meditative manner of speech as if he had long been in the way of speaking only to himself, unhurried, and at peace. "It's no use your trying to think that out, young man, and I can't tell you. Nor you won't be able to go for them in a while. No."

"I must. I must if I die. I don't care if I die--but they--I must go."

He tried again to raise himself, but fell back. Great drops stood out on his forehead and into his eyes crept a look of horror. "It's there!" he said, and pointed with his finger.

"What's there, man?"

"The eye. See! It's gone. Never mind, it's gone." He relaxed, and his face turned gray and his eyes closed for a moment, then he said again, "I must go to them."

"You can't go. You're delirious, man."

Then the stranger's lips twitched and he almost smiled. "Because I saw it? I saw it watching me. It often is, and it's not delirium. I can go. I am quite myself."

That half smile on the young man's face was rea.s.suring and appealing.

The big man could not resist it.

"See here, are you enough yourself to take care of yourself, if I leave you and go after them--whoever they are?"

"Yes, oh, yes."

"Will you be prudent--stay right here, eat very sparingly? Are they back on the plain? If so, there is a long ride ahead of me, but my horse is fresh. If they are not off the trail by which you came, I can reach them."

"I did not once leave the trail after--there was no other way I could take."

"Would they likely stay right where you left them?"

"They couldn't move if they tried. Oh, my G.o.d--if I were only myself again!"

"Never waste words wishing, young man. I'll get them. But you must give me your promise to wait here. Will you be prudent and wait?"

"Yes, yes."