The Plow-Woman Part 56

CHAPTER x.x.xVII

THE FLIGHT TO MURPHY'S THROAT

For all that the way was hard, rough with stones and choked by a tangle of rank growth, the three in the coulee made fast progress over the first two miles. Charley led. After him came Marylyn, to whom the loathed split in the plain was become a place of refuge. In the rear, covering her sister against possible attack, followed Dallas.

As they went, now running, now falling into a quick walk, then running again, nettles stung their ankles; gooseberry branches tore their swinging hands; willows lashed their faces. But terror calloused, and they knew no hurts. Marylyn stepped on something soft and moving--she only increased her pace. On, on, they sped, stumbling blindly, gasping with open mouth--yet persevering.

The strain told first on the younger girl. So far, her strength had been unnatural--born of the terror that made her unconscious of any wound. It did not long endure. Before three miles had been travelled, as she sank in a shallow pool to wet her lips, it utterly failed her. She could not rise, and pleaded faintly for rest.

"Just a minute, Dallas, please--I can't go--my side hurts."

Dallas helped her through a hindering weave of pond-weeds and lilies, and laid her upon some marsh-gra.s.s beyond. Meanwhile, Charley stole back a short distance. But the respite was brief, for he returned straightway and twitched at their dresses, when the elder girl lifted the younger to her feet, whispering encouragement.

"Try again, honey. You got your breath. Try again."

Once more they pressed forward. The lightning had ceased. With a last grumble, and a scatter of drops, the clouds were pulling apart. Here and there a few stars shone. These thinned the darkness considerably, and, at a point where the coulee shallowed, Dallas was able dimly to see the toiling shapes ahead. Marylyn was wavering.

"s.p.u.n.ky little sister!" urged the elder girl. Lifting the rifle to her left shoulder, she came alongside to give the support of an arm.

"Where's the cartridge belt?" she whispered.

"Heavy,"--panted the other--"dropped it."

And now despite Dallas' aid, Marylyn straggled weakly. Another mile, and with scarcely a sigh of warning, she sank again, exhausted.

"Charley," called Dallas. The Squaw joined them. "You take one arm--that's it." She took the other. Thus they proceeded.

Marylyn was almost a dead weight. When the channel was clogged with rocks, she could not put one jaded foot before the other, and was fairly dragged. On clear sandy stretches she did better. Complete collapse was near, however; her head was swinging upon her breast; she prattled brokenly.

Finally Dallas stopped. "Hide--hide," she counselled between breaths, "a dark place----"

Ignoring the advice, the outcast thrust his bow and arrows into her hands; then squatting before Marylyn, he seized her wrist, drew her, limp and half-dead, upon his back, and staggered on.

"Hold to Charley, dear," begged Dallas. "He's carrying you pick-a-back."

The younger girl murmured gratefully, and locked her hands beneath The Squaw's chin. This left his arms free to part a path through the thickets of burweed and plantain that choked the defile, and, for fully a half-hour, he kept a good jog. But, well worn and hampered as he was, he began then to wobble.

Dallas gave him the weapons and received Marylyn upon her own shoulders.

Notwithstanding the long way, her vigour remained splendid. And when there came a tendency to lag, she fought it stoutly. Not until her limbs refused their service, did she drop down.

Under her wild rye made a cool, stiff couch. She reached through it and dug her fingers into the wet earth. Marylyn toppled over back and lay beside her, p.r.o.ne. Charley leaned on an elbow, breathing hard, watching----

When, far behind, down the shadowy crack through which they had come, sounded wild whoops.

They scrambled up, terror-stricken. Like hunted deer, they whipped away again, knowing that, in their wake, instead of the one man they had seen, was a horde!

Once more, though after brave effort, it was Marylyn who compelled a halt. Dallas strove to rouse her. "Try a little longer, honey. Come on, come on." But the other only sobbed hysterically, until Charley put his hand upon her mouth.

"Can't we crawl out?" demanded Dallas. "Quick, they'll pa.s.s."

The Squaw shook his head, coming close that she might see his answer.

"No use?"

He shook his head again and signed that their pursuers had horses.

It was a moment of supreme despair. She laid her arms upon her knees, her face upon her arms. Their puny human power had failed. Where else could they look for succour? Would Lounsbury or the troopers come--in time?

Then, tearfully, prayerfully, in this utmost need, she raised her eyes to the sky. "It's not for me," she faltered; "it's for Marylyn."

That upward glance was not in vain. In front of her, lifting their plume-like tops against the heavens, she saw the clump of burial trees.

Instantly she took heart, for her quick brain devised a plan--to hide in the cottonwoods!

But all three might not stay, for, however much the Sioux avoided the laden boughs, they would stop to search them if there were not those ahead to draw them past. And _one_ of those ahead must be a woman.

So she decided. Bending to her sister, she lifted her to a sitting position. "Honey," she said firmly, "you see the big trees there? The Indians are afraid of 'em--remember? They'll go by. We'll put you up on a limb, and you keep quiet. You'll be safe. We'll go on--for help."

"Yes--yes--Dallas, only--I can't walk."

"Charley!" The elder girl bade him a.s.sist. Without understanding fully, he obeyed. Together they carried Marylyn toward the cottonwoods, out of which several lank, grey bodies shifted into view and shot away. Dallas chose a tree that grew close to the steep bank. Here, in the narrow s.p.a.ce between trunk and rooty wall, she ordered Charley to get down on all fours. Then, taking Marylyn upon her shoulders as before, and steadying herself with both hands, she stood on The Squaw's back. Little by little, bracing with legs and arms, he raised his load. Marylyn was now below a thick branch. By reaching up, and summoning the remnant of her strength, she was able to clasp it, to put a foot over, to get astride.

"Lie down," continued Dallas; "they won't stop; don't speak."

Hurriedly, she and Charley resumed their way up the wolf-haunted bottom, over rocks, through puddles, into pigmy forests of cherry and plum. But now, careless of lost time, Dallas ran with backward looks and frequent haltings, giving strict heed to the whereabouts of those behind.

They had travelled a good distance when she judged that the savages were nearing the burial-place, that the time for her ruse was come. Letting the outcast go on, she paused for breath; then lifted her voice--and sent back through the night, a long, inviting call.

Down the wind came instant answer; a great howl of glee. And as if her presence ahead was unexpected, as if it tempted to a better speed, a jargon of cries swelled hideously, and drew on.

"She's safe!" shouted Dallas, exultantly; "Charley, she's safe!"

Another yowl from a score of throats.

And now began a race.

From the start it was unequal, and the gain on the side of the pursuers.

For the biting poison that had made the Indians bold to the point of open defiance was now stirring them into fleeter going. They kept up a constant jabbering. They broke into short, puffy whoops. And gradually, but surely, the rods decreased between quarry and pack.

The sweat dreening from their faces, The Squaw and Dallas strained forward. But now of the two, one could scarcely keep a walk. Her strength was ebbing to the final drop.

"Charley--Charley--I'm tired!"

The outcast stumbled back to help her.