The One-Way Trail Part 42

His eyes were on the horizon now. And it was his alert look that finally decided the doubting man. He swung his horse round, and rode for the river.

"So long," he called back. But there was no word of thanks. Neither had the other any response to his farewell.

Jim watched him till he disappeared, then he turned again to the rising gra.s.sland and watched for the coming of the hunters. And as he watched his thoughts reverted to the doctrine of the one-way trail.

Will was traveling it hard. For him there was certainly no turning back now.

But his horse had ceased grazing again, and once more stood with ears p.r.i.c.ked, gazing up the slope. Its master understood. This was no moment to consider abstract problems, however they might interest him.

Stern reality lay ahead of him, and he knew he was in for an unpleasant time. He linked his arm through his horse's reins, and, with head bent, trailed slowly up the incline, pausing and stooping to examine the hoof-prints of Will Henderson's horse, as though it were a trail he had just discovered, and was anxious to learn its meaning. He was thinking hard the while, and calculating his chances when the hunters should come up.

While he appeared to be studying the track so closely, he yet was watching the hill-crest ahead. He knew the men were rapidly approaching, for the rumble of galloping horses was quite distinct to his well-trained ears. He wanted his intentness to be at its closest when the gang first discovered him.

He had his wish. As the men topped the ridge he was on one knee studying a clearer imprint than usual. Doc Crombie and Smallbones, riding at the head of a party of five men, saw him, and the latter shouted his joy.

"Gee! we've got him! Say----" He broke off, staring hard at the kneeling figure. The outline was familiar. Suddenly Jim stood up, and the little man instantly recognized him. "Guess you lost that three-year-old 'driver,' Doc," he cried, his face alight with malice.

"Ther's our man, an'--it's Jim Thorpe. I thought I rec'nized him from the first, when he broke cover. This is bully!"

But the stern-faced doctor had no answer for him. His eyes were fixed on the man, who now stood calmly waiting for him to approach.

Experienced in such matters as he was, he looked for the threatening gun in Jim Thorpe's hand. There was none. On the contrary, the man seemed to be waiting for them in the friendliest spirit. There was his horse, too; why was he on foot? It struck him that the riddle wanted more reading than Smallbones had given it. He was not so sure he had yet lost that three-year-old "driver."

Jim made no change of position as they clattered up. Smallbones was ahead, with a gun leveled as he came.

"Hands up! Hands up, you dogone skunk, or I'll blow your roof off!" he cried fiercely.

But Jim only grinned. It was not a pleasant grin, either, for the hardware dealer's epithet infuriated him.

"Don't be a blamed fool, Smallbones," he said sharply. "You're rattled."

"Put your darned hands up, or----!"

But Doc Crombie knocked the little man's gun up.

"Say, push that back in its kennel," he cried, harshly. "You sure ain't safe with a gun."

Then, after seeing that his comrade obeyed him, and permitting himself a shadowy grin at the man's crestfallen air, he turned to Jim Thorpe.

"Wal?" he drawled questioningly.

"Thanks, Doc," said Jim, with a cheery smile. "I guess you saved my life. Smallbones shouldn't be out without his nurse." Then he glanced swiftly down at the track he had been examining. "Say, I've hit a trail right here. It goes on down to the river, an' I can't locate it further. I was just going back on it a piece. Guess you've come along in the same direction. See, here it is. A horse galloping h.e.l.l-for-leather. Guess it's not a lope. By the splashing of sand, I'd say he was racing." He looked fearlessly into the doctor's eyes, but his heart was beating hard with guilty consciousness. He was trying to estimate the man's possible att.i.tude.

"That's the trail we're on," the doctor said sharply. "Say, how long you been here?" he inquired, glancing at Jim's horse.

"Well, round about here, getting on for two hours."

"What are you out here for, anyway?"

Jim glanced from the doctor to Smallbones, and then on at the rest of the men. They were all cattlemen, none of them were villagers. He laughed suddenly.

"Say, is this an--er--inquisition?"

"Sure." The doctor's reply rapped out tartly.

"Well, that being the way of things, guess I'd best tell you first as last. You see, I got back to the village yesterday afternoon. As maybe you know, I've been out nearly two days on the trail. Well, late last night, Elia Marsham came to me with a yarn about a hollow in the hills, where he said he'd seen the rustlers at work. He told me how to find it, an'--well, I hit the trail. I hoped to head you, and get 'em myself, but," with a shrug, "I guess I was a fool some. My plug petered out two hours back, and I had to quit. You see he was stale at the start."

"An' this trail?" snapped the doctor.

"I was way back there down the river a goodish piece, getting a sleep by the bush, and easing my plug, when I woke up quick. Seemed to me I heard a gunshot. Maybe I was dreaming. Anyway I sat up and took notice, but didn't see a thing. So, after a while, I got dozing again.

Then my plug started to neigh, and kept whinnying. I got around then, guessing something was doing. So I started to chase up the river.

Then I found this trail. It's new, fresh done this morning, sure.

Guess it must have been some feller pa.s.sing that worried my horse. You say you're on this trail? Whose? It isn't--eh?" as the doctor nodded.

"Then come right on down to the river. We're losing time."

Jim turned to lead his horse away, but Smallbones laughed. There was no mistaking the derision, the challenge of that laugh. Jim turned again, and the look he favored the hardware dealer with was one that did not escape the doctor, who promptly interposed.

"If you're right an' he's wrong, you've got time in plenty to correct him later, Jim," he said, in his stern fashion. "Meanwhiles you'll keep your face closed, Smallbones, or--light right out." Then he turned back to Jim. "Ther' ain't a heap o' hurry now, boy, fer that feller. His horse was nigh done," he went on, glancing at the dejected creature Jim was leading. "Done jest about as bad as yours. An' his plug was the same color, and he was rigged out much as you are." Then his tone became doubly harsh. "Say, the feller we're chasin' was your build. He was so like you in cut, and his plug so like yours, that if I put it right here to the vote I'm guessin' you'd hang so quick you'd wonder how it was done. But then, you see, I've got two eyes, an' some elegant savvee, which some folks ain't blessed with," with an eye in Smallbones' direction. "An' I tell you right here ther's just the fact your plug is stone cold between you an' a rawhide rope. You jest couldn't be the man we're chasin' 'less you're capable o' miracles.

Get me? But I'm goin' to do some straight talk. Not more than ten minutes gone the feller we're after shot down one o' the boys back ther' over the rise. That boy was on a fast hoss, an' was close on that all-fired Dago's heels. Wal, he got it plenty, an' we're goin'

back to bury that honest citizen later. Meanwhiles, ten minutes gone that rustler got down here, an' as you say, made that river, an'

you--you didn't see him. Get me? You're jest goin' to show me wher'

you sat."

For a second Jim's heart seemed to stand still. He was not used to lying. However, he realized only too well how the least hesitation would surely hang him, and he promptly nodded his head.

"Sure I will. Come right along." And he led the way diagonally from the horseman's tracks, so as to strike the river obliquely.

It was a silent procession, and the air was charged with possible disaster. Jim walked ahead, his horse hanging back and being urged forward by no very gentle kicks from Smallbones.

And as he walked he thought hard. He was struggling to remember a likely spot. He dare not choose one where gra.s.s lay under foot. These men had eyes like hawks for a spot on such ground. There was only one underlay where their eyes could be fooled, and that was under the shelter of a pine tree, where the pine-needles prevented impress and yielded no trace of footsteps. Was there such a spot near by? He vaguely remembered a small cl.u.s.ter of such trees beside his track, but he couldn't remember how far away it lay. He knew he must take a big risk.

He did not hesitate, and, though slowly, he walked deliberately in a definite direction, winding in and out the bush. Then to his intense relief, after about five minutes' walking, he saw the trees he was looking for. Yes, they were right in his track, and he remembered now skirting them as he came along. But he was not yet clear of trouble by any means. What was the underlay like?

He avoided giving any sign of his destination. That was most important. And he was fearful lest he should be questioned. He knew the shrewdness of the redoubtable doctor, and he feared it. He was on his own track now, which showed plain enough in the gra.s.s. And as he came to the clump of pines he still kept on until he had practically pa.s.sed it. He did this purposely. It was necessary to satisfy himself that the ground under the trees was bare except for a thick carpet of pine-needles. Fortune was with him for once, and he suddenly turned and led his horse in among the trees. As he walked he disturbed the carpet as much as he could without attracting attention, and having come to a halt, he quickly turned his horse about the further to disturb the underlay. Then he flung himself into a sitting posture at the foot of one of the trees, at the same time deliberately raising a dust with his feet.

"This is the spot," he said, looking frankly up into the doctor's face. "I s'pose I must have been here somewhere around two hours. How far have we come? A matter of two hundred yards? Look out there. It's more or less a blank outlook of trees."

But Doc Crombie was studying the ground. Jim sprang up and began to move round his horse, feeling the cinchas of his saddle. He felt he could reasonably do this, and further disturb the underlay without exciting suspicion. It was a dreadful moment for him, for he noted that all eyes were closely scrutinizing the ground.

Suddenly the doctor fixed an eagle glance on his face. Jim met it. He believed it to be the final question. But the man gave him no satisfaction. He left him with the uncertainty as to whether he had wholly fooled him or not. His words were peremptory.

"We'll git back an' finish the hunt," he declared. Then, "Will that durned plug carry you now?"

Jim shrugged.

"Maybe at a walk."

"Wal, git right on."

Jim obeyed. It would have been madness to refuse. But his brain was desperately busy.

They rode back to the river bank at the point where the fugitive had taken to the water. Most of the men dismounted, and, with noses to the ground, they studied the tracks. Two or three moved along the bank vainly endeavoring to discover the man's further direction; and two of them rode across to the opposite side. But the banks told them nothing. Their quarry had obviously not crossed the water. A quarter of an hour was spent thus, Jim helping all he knew; then finally Doc Crombie called his men together.