The Trail Horde Part 27

CHAPTER XXII

THE WHITE WASTE

Warden and Singleton had been in Willets on the day the storm broke.

They had ridden into town early, and when they saw the low-flying clouds sweeping down from the north Singleton grinned maliciously, with a significance that Warden could not mistake.

"Warden, it's goin' to storm," he said.

Warden glanced at the other, understandingly.

"Looks a whole lot like it, Singleton. And we can be more comfortable at the Two Diamond than in town."

"Right," grinned Singleton. "An' we'd better hit the breeze right now, for she's comin' fast."

As they mounted their horses in front of the building that contained Warden's office, the latter looked sharply at Singleton.

"Givens and Link ought to be busy by now. You say your men reported that the Circle L men stocked Number One line camp yesterday?"

"She's stocked!" laughed Singleton; "Tulerosa an' Denver brought word.

An' the herd was on the big level north of the camp. They'll head straight for that break because they'll hit it before they hit the basin. An' Givens an' Link will send 'em through, to h.e.l.l--an' then some. An' them d.a.m.n fools, Davies an' Harris, is layin' in the back room of the Wolf, paralyzed by that forty-rod that Big Jim Lafflin has been slippin' over the bar to 'em. They won't know they're alive until this time tomorrow, an' then they'll be so scared that they'll just keep right on hittin' the forty-rod for fair! I reckon we've got Lawler goin', now, the d.a.m.n maverick!"

Warden and Singleton rode fast, but the storm caught them. Midway on the ten-mile stretch of plain between Willets and the Two Diamond they turned their backs to the white smother and sent their horses racing headlong away from the storm.

"She's a humdinger!" yelled Singleton to Warden as the wind shrieked and howled about them. "If Givens an' Link git them cattle started they'll drift clear into Mexico. Three thousand! I reckon that'll set the d.a.m.n fool back some!"

The two men had only five miles to ride when the storm struck, and Singleton was experienced. And yet when they rode into the Two Diamond stable and dismounted, both men were breathless and tired; their legs and arms stiff with cold and their faces raw and blue from the bitter wind that had swirled around them.

"Another five miles of that an' we wouldn't be as active as we are now!"

said Singleton, grimly. "She's got a worse bite than any wind I ever seen!"

Warden's hands were so cold he could not remove the saddle from his horse. A Two Diamond man performed that service for him, and for Singleton. While Warden and Singleton were stamping their feet in an effort to restore circulation, the Two Diamond man called to them from the far end of the stable:

"You run into Miss Della?"

Warden wheeled toward the man. "What do you mean, Lefty? What about Miss Della? Isn't she at the ranchhouse?"

"She rode away about three hours ago--on that big roan of hers. Went to town, most likely. She didn't say. I reckoned that if she _had_ gone to town, you'd have run into her."

Warden ran stiffly to the ranchhouse, where he came upon Aunt Hannah in the kitchen.

"Where's Della?" he demanded, excitedly.

The woman looked at Warden in mild surprise.

"Why, didn't she come with you, Mr. Warden? She told me she intended to." And then her face blanched at the wild excitement Warden betrayed.

"She isn't with you--you didn't meet her? Oh, she'll be frozen to death in this terrible storm!"

"d.a.m.n you!" cursed Warden, gripping the woman's arm until she cried out in pain; "didn't I tell you not to let her go alone--anywhere?"

He released the woman and plunged out, running blindly back to the stable. He collided with Singleton at the stable door. His face was ghastly, his eyes bulging.

"Della's gone, Singleton!" he gasped. "She went to town. For G.o.d's sake, get those saddles on again! We've got to go back!"

"Warden, it can't be done," said Singleton in a low voice; "you'd freeze to death before you went a mile. There ain't any man can face that storm an' live. Man," he added when Warden made a violent gesture of impatience; "use your reason. We've just come five miles, with the wind at our backs--an' we're half froze. Lefty just told me that Miss Della left about three hours ago. If that's the case she's likely in town, snug an' warm, somewheres. We'd ought to have nosed around a little before we left, but we didn't, an' mebbe she rode right by your place, thinkin' to stop in on the way back. You left early, you know. Anyway, Warden, if she's in town she'll stay there till the storm is over--snug an' warm. And if she didn't go to town there wouldn't be no use lookin'

for her. Why, man, look out there! you can't see your hand before you!"

Warden raged insanely, stalking back and forth through the stable; and finally to the ranchhouse again, where he bitterly arraigned Aunt Hannah. But in the end he stayed in the ranchhouse, close beside a window, out of which he watched until the night came to shut off his view of the great, white world.

Over at the Circle L ranchhouse were other anxious watchers--men whose steady eyes held a haunting gleam of worry, and whose rugged faces grew grim and long as the days pa.s.sed and the storm did not abate. From their bunkhouse they watched, day and night, for the end; their horses ready, heavy clothing at hand for a plunge into the white waste that stretched on all sides of them. Had they known which way Lawler had gone when he left the Circle L they would have searched for him despite the frigid danger that gripped the world. But Lawler had gone, leaving no word; and there was nothing the men could do.

Through a window in the Circle L ranchhouse anxious eyes peered also--those of a gray-haired woman with a kindly, gentle face into which, as the long days pa.s.sed, came lines that had not been there before. And yet in the watching eyes was a gleam of hope--of calm confidence in the big son who was somewhere in the white waste--a conviction that he was safe, that he would survive and return to her.

CHAPTER XXIII

A WOMAN'S WILES

From the ceiling of the cabin Lawler had suspended a spare blanket. It hung between the two tiers of bunks, thus providing a certain privacy for both Miss Wharton and Lawler.

Lawler had been scrupulously considerate, and with a delicacy that must have earned her applause--had she been serious-minded--he had sought to seem unaware or indifferent to the many inevitable intimacies forced upon them by the nature of their a.s.sociation.

He knew, however, that the girl was secretly laughing at him. Certain signs were convincing. On the first night of their enforced joint occupancy of the cabin, she had silently watched him tack the blanket to the ceiling; and though she had said nothing, he had noted a gleam in her eyes which had made him wonder if he should not have waited until _she_ suggested it.

At other times he felt her gaze upon him--her eyes always glowing with the suggestion of silent mirth. She seemed to be amused over the delicacy he exhibited--to be wondering at it. Whether she appreciated it or not he did not know, or care. For he had noted other things that had increased his contempt of her. She was betraying absolutely no perturbation over her enforced stay in the cabin with him. On the contrary, her manner gave him the impression that she was enjoying herself and not thinking of the future. She was contented with the present.

Moreover, he could not fail to be aware of her interest in him; for the many signs were infallible. Glances, the intonations of her voice, a way she had of standing close to him, of touching his hands or his shoulders--all was evidence of the guile he had detected in her, convincing him that she thought him desirable, and that she had decided to win him.

But vanity in Lawler had long since been ruthlessly overwhelmed by the serious business of life. He had never had time--in his later years--to yield to the fatuous imaginings of youth. He had lived a rough, hard life, in which values were computed by the rule of sheer worth--a life that had taught him that performance, and not appearances, must be the standard by which all men and women must ultimately be judged.

Lawler was not flattered by Della Wharton's feminine blandishments. He was grimly amused--when he was not disgusted; though he continued to treat her with the utmost courtesy and gentleness, trying to keep her from divining his emotions.

Also, he had tried to lessen the dread monotony that encompa.s.sed them.

There was nothing they could do. Beyond the mechanical tasks of eating, or of cooking and sleeping, of plunging outside to the water hole for water, or of caring for the horses and bringing wood for the fire, there was no diversion except that of talking. And, as the days dragged and the storm did not abate, even talking began to irk Lawler. There would be periods during which they would be silent, listening to the howling and moaning of the wind--hours at a stretch when the cold outside would seem to threaten, to tighten its constricting circle, when a great awe oppressed them; when it seemed that the whole world was s...o...b..und, and that it would keep piling over and around them and all life would be extinct.

It was on the morning of the tenth day that Lawler began to notice that the dread monotony and the white, ever-present menace were beginning to affect the girl. Her face was white and in her eyes was a haunting gleam of fear. He noted how she clasped her hands; how she nervously twined and untwined her fingers, and how she kept pushing her chair toward him, as though for protection.

A swift sympathy seized him; he laughed, lowly, reaching out a hand and laying it lightly on her shoulder as she started at the sound of his voice and drew a quick, startled breath.

"Oh!" she said; "will it never end?"

"It can't last much longer, Miss Wharton," he smiled. "It has held on longer, now, than it should at this season."

The sound of his voice rea.s.sured her--it was calm, quiet, confident.

Some color came back into her face, and she smiled.