A Waif of the Mountains

THE PURSUERS

The parson expressed his disappointment in vigorous language, when, instead of the horses, the hybrids proved to be the only animals near them.

“I am afraid this proves one thing,” he said.

“What is that?”

“I have had a dread all along that the Indians would run off the horses, but it seems to me that if they had done so, they would have taken the mules.”

“It strikes me as more likely that the leftenant took the horses, so as to prevent our follering him and the gal.”

“That sounds reasonable,” said the parson thoughtfully; “the plan is so simple that it must have occurred to him. The mules are too slow to be of any use to us, and it may be as well that we shall have to go afoot.”

“How do you figure that out?”

“They will conclude that, if we haven’t any horses, we won’t follow them; they will, therefore, take their time and travel so slow, that we’ll have the chance to swoop down on them when they are not expecting it.”

“I s’pose there’s what you call philosophy in that, but it doesn’t hit me very favorable. We’ll see what the cap thinks–helloa!”

Clearly and distinctly through the still air came the signal by which Captain Dawson was to announce his discovery of the animals. The call scattered all thoughts of making the journey on foot, and, wheeling about, the two started off at a rapid pace to join their friend. At the same moment the call sounded again, and they answered it to let it be known they understood the situation. In a brief time they came upon Captain Dawson impatiently awaiting them. There was no need for him to tell them he had been successful in his search, for he was standing beside the three horses, which were quickly saddled and bridled. A minute later the men vaulted upon their backs and the captain said crisply:

“Now we are off!”

Each seemed to be inspired by the spirit of adventure. They sat erect in the saddles, drew in a deep inhalation of the keen night air, and moved off with their horses on a brisk walk, which almost immediately became a canter. For a mile, the trail through Dead Man’s Gulch was nearly as hard and even as a country highway. The width of the cañon varied from a few rods to a quarter of a mile, with the mountain ridges on either hand towering far up into cloudland, the tallest peaks crowned with snow which the sun never dissolved.

The tiny stream wound like a silvery serpent through the stretch of green, succulent grass, narrowing gorge and obtruding rock and boulder. Now and then the path led across the water, which was so shallow that it only plashed about the fetlocks of the horses. Captain Dawson, in his impetuosity, kept a few paces in front of the other two, as if he were the leader. When the space increased too much he reined up his animal and waited until his friends joined him. They were grim, resolute and for most of the time had little to say to one another, though, as may be supposed, their thoughts were of anything but a pleasant nature.

So long as the moon held her place near the zenith, the cañon was suffused and flooded with its soft radiance, but the rifts of clouds drifting before its face rendered the light at times treacherous and uncertain. The horses had rested so long, and had had such extensive browsing on the rich pasturage, that they were in fine condition, and the gallop seemed more grateful to them than an ordinary walking gait. The air was cool and the fine trail, at this portion of the journey, made all the conditions favorable. After a time however, the ascent and descent would appear, the ground would become rough and the best the animals could do would be to walk.

When Parson Brush remarked that Lieutenant Russell had proved himself an idiot when he left these horses behind for his pursuers to use, the captain and Ruggles agreed with him.

“I don’t understand it,” said Brush; “he must have expected we would be hot after him, within the very hour we learned of what he had done, or can it be that he and she concluded we would say, ‘Depart in peace?’ If so, the young man shall have a terrible awakening.”

“It seems to me,” said Ruggles, “that it is more likely he believed that with the start he would gain, it didn’t matter whether we follered or not, feelin’ sure that he could keep out of reach and get to Sacramento so fur ahead of us, that he needn’t give us a thought.”

“I am not very familiar with the trail,” remarked the captain, “for, as you know, I have passed over it only twice; first, nearly five years ago, when I went to the war, and a few months since when I came back.”

“But you and Russell did not lose your way,” said the parson.

“That was because we did our traveling by day. We tried it once at night, but came within a hair of tumbling over a precipice a thousand feet deep. This will be easy enough, so long as we have the sun to help us.”

“You probably know as much about the trail as Wade and I, for neither of us has been over it often. Consequently, when we travel by night, we shall have to go it blind, or rather shall do so after awhile, since all is plain sailing now.”

“I ain’t so sure of that,” observed Ruggles doubtfully; “we must have come a mile already and ought to have made a turn by this time.”

Captain Dawson checked his horse and peered ahead.

“Can it be we are off the track? We have come nearer two miles than one–ah!”

Just then the moon emerged from the obscuring clouds and their field of vision so broadened that they saw themselves face to face with an impassable barrier. The cañon closed directly in front of them like an immense gate of stone. It was impossible to advance a hundred feet further.

“Well, I’m blessed if this isn’t a pretty situation!” exclaimed the captain.

“We have passed the opening, but we haven’t far to return, and you know that a bad beginning brings a good ending.”

“Humph! I would rather chance it on a good beginning.”

Ruggles was the first to wheel and strike his horse into a gallop, which he did with the remark that he knew where the right passage was located. His companions were almost beside him. The cañon was of that peculiar conformation that, while it terminated directly in front, it contained an abrupt angle between where the party had halted and the mining settlement. At that point it was so wide that the little stream, which might have served for a guide, was lost sight of. Had they followed the brook, they would not have gone astray. The only inconvenience was the slight delay, which in their restless mood tried their spirits to the utmost. Captain Dawson muttered to himself and urged his horse so angrily that he again placed himself in advance. His mood was no more savage than that of his companions, but he chafed at everything which caused delay, no matter how trifling, in the pursuit.

Fearing that he might go wrong, Ruggles spurred up beside him. The distance passed was less than any one expected it to be, when Ruggles called out:

“Here we are!”

The exclamation was caused by the hoofs of their horses plashing in the water. They seemed to share the impatience of their riders; “all we have to do now is to keep to the stream; obsarve its turn.”

Its course was almost at right angles to that which they had been following. The animals were cantering easily, when suddenly a deeper gloom than usual overspread the valley like a pall. This came from a heavy bank of clouds sweeping before the moon. The steeds were drawn down to a walk, but the obscurity was not dense enough to shut out the chasm-like opening, where the mountains seemed to part, riven by some terrific convulsion ages before. The enormous walls drew back the door as if to invite them to enter and press the pursuit of the couple that were fleeing from a just and righteous wrath.

The width of the cañon had now dwindled to a few yards, and the stream expanding and shallow, occupied so much of the space that the horses were continually splashing through it, but the rise and fall of the trail was so slight that the gallop might have continued with little danger of mishap.

The formation of the party was in “Indian file,” with Captain Dawson leading, Ruggles next and Brush bringing up the rear. All three animals were walking, for the light of the moon was variable and often faint, while the danger of a mis-step was ever present, and was likely to bring a fatal ending of the pursuit almost before it had fairly begun. Occasionally the gloom in the narrow gorge was so deep that they distinguished one another’s figures indistinctly, but the animals were left mostly to themselves. They seemed to know what was expected of them and showed no hesitation. It was impossible for them to go wrong, for it was much the same as if crossing a bridge, with its protecting barrier on either hand. The horse of the captain showed his self-confidence once or twice by a faint whinney and a break from the walk into a trot, but his rider checked him.

“Not yet; heaven knows that I am as anxious to push on as you, but we have already made one blunder and we can’t afford another; when the time comes that it is safe to trot you shall do so and perhaps run.”

“Hush!” called Brush from the rear; “I hear a curious sound.”

“What does it seem to be?”

“It is impossible to tell; let’s stop for a moment.”

As the three animals stood motionless, the strange noise was audible. It was a deep, hollow roar rapidly increasing in volume and intensity, and resembled the warning of a tornado or cyclone advancing through the forest. The animals, as is the case at such times, were nervous and frightened. They elevated their heads, pricked their ears, snuffed the air and the animal of the parson trembled with terror.

The three believed that something in the nature of a cyclone was approaching, or it might be a cloudburst several miles away, whose deluge had swollen the stream into a rushing torrent that would overwhelm them where they stood, caught inextricably in a trap.

The terrifying roar, however, was neither in front nor at the rear, but above them,–over their heads! From the first warning to the end was but a few seconds. The sound increased with appalling power and every eye was instinctively turned upward.

In the dim obscurity they saw a dark mass of rock, weighing hundreds of tons, descending like a prodigious meteor, hurled from the heavens. It had been loosened on the mountain crest a half mile above, and was plunging downward with inconceivable momentum. Striking some obstruction, it rebounded like a rubber ball against the opposite side of the gorge, then recoiled, still diving downward, oscillating like a pendulum from wall to wall, whirling with increasing speed until it crashed to the bottom of the gorge with a shock so terrific that the earth and mountain trembled.

Landing in the stream, the water was flung like bird shot right and left, stinging the faces of the men fifty feet distant. They sat awed and silent until Ruggles spoke:

“Now if that stone had hit one of us on the head it would have hurt.”

“Probably it would,” replied the captain, who had difficulty in quieting his horse; “at any rate, I hope no more of them will fall till we are out of the way.”

“I wonder whether that could have been done on purpose,” remarked the parson.

“No,” said Ruggles; “the leftenant couldn’t know anything about our being purty near the right spot to catch it.”

“I alluded to Indians,–not to him.”