A Waif of the Mountains

“What difference does the spot make?”

“I want you to understand,” said the captain with assumed gravity, “that I didn’t interfere out of any regard for you.”

“What the mischief are you driving at?” demanded the puzzled guide.

“Under ordinary circumstances, I would have stood by and watched the flurry, only wishing that the best man might win. That means, of course, that you would have been the loser. But we need some one to guide us through the mountains; you haven’t done it yet; when your work is over you may go and live on wild Indians for all I care.”

Vose quickly regained his good nature. He returned his knife to its resting place, picked up his rifle, grasped the bridle rein and gently pulled.

“Come, Hercules; I don’t know whether they appreciate us or not; steady now!”

“What are you going to do with that horse in front of you?” asked the captain.

“Hang it! if I didn’t forget about him; back with you!” he commanded with a gesture, moving toward the animal, who showed the intelligence of his kind, by retrograding carefully until he reached the broad safe place so anxiously sought by the others. There he wheeled and trotted off, speedily disappearing from sight.

“Vose, you might have traded Hercules for him.”

“Not much! I wouldn’t give that mule for a drove of horses that have belonged to these mountain Injins.”

“What’s the matter with them? Aren’t they as good as ours?”

“They’re too good; you can’t tell what trick they’ll sarve you; I was once riding through these very mountains, on the back of a horse that I picked up–it isn’t necessary to say how–when his owner gave a signal and the critter was off like a thunderbolt. If I hadn’t slipped from his back at the risk of breaking my neck, he would have carried me right into a camp of hostiles and you would have been without your invaluable guide on this trip.”

“That is important information–if true–helloa! it is growing light off there in the east!”

“Yes,–day is breaking,” added Vose.

The captain looked at his watch and found the time considerably past five o’clock. They had been longer on the road than any one supposed, and the coming of morning was a vast relief to all.

The party were now grouped together, for the trail was broad and safe. Parson Brush asked, as he pointed almost directly ahead:

“Isn’t that a light off yonder?”

The guide gazed in that direction and replied:

“Yes, but it comes from a camp fire, which isn’t more than a half mile away.”

The men looked in one another’s faces and the captain asked in a guarded voice, as if afraid of being overheard:

“Whose fire is it?”

“There’s no saying with any sartinty, till we get closer, but I shouldn’t be ’sprised if it belong to the folks you’re looking for.”

The same thought had come to each. There was a compression of lips, a flashing of eyes and an expression of resolution that boded ill for him who was the cause of it all.

In the early morning at this elevation, the air was raw and chilling. The wind which blew fitfully brought an icy touch from the peaks of the snow-clad Sierras. The party had ridden nearly all night, with only comparatively slight pauses, so that the men would have welcomed a good long rest but for the startling discovery just made.

Over the eastern cliffs the sky was rapidly assuming a rosy tinge. Day was breaking and soon the wild region would be flooded with sunshine. Already the gigantic masses of stone and rock were assuming grotesque form in the receding gloom. The dismal night was at an end.

The twinkling light which had caught the eye of Felix Brush appeared to be directly ahead and near the trail which they were traveling. This fact strengthened the belief that the fire had been kindled by the fugitives. The illumination paled as the sun climbed the sky, until it was absorbed by the overwhelming radiance that was everywhere.

The pursuers felt well rewarded for the energy they had displayed in the face of discouragement and danger. Valuable ground had been gained, and even now when they had supposed they were fully a dozen miles behind the fugitives, it looked as if they had really caught up to them, or at least were within hailing distance.

Every eye was fixed on the point which held so intense an interest for them. As the day grew, a thin, wavy column of smoke was observed ascending from the camp fire, which was partly hidden among a growth of scrub cedars, some distance to the right of the trail, whither it must have been difficult for the couple to force their horses.

“That leftenant ought to have knowed better than to do that,” remarked Vose Adams, “his fire can be seen a long way off.”

“What else could they do?” asked the captain.

“The rocks give all the cover he needs.”

“But they could have no idea that we were so near,” suggested the parson.

“It isn’t that, but the leftenant had ’nough ’sperience with Injins on his way through here before to know he’s liable to run agin them at any time. I never dared to do a thing like that on my trips.”

“Let’s push on,” said the captain, who saw no reason for tarrying now that they had located the game.

The ground was so much more favorable that the animals were forced to a canter, though all were in need of rest. Little was said, and Captain Dawson spurred forward beside Adams, who as usual was leading.

Wade Ruggles and Parson Brush also rode abreast. They were far enough to the rear to exchange a few words without being overheard.

“From the way things look,” said Brush; “we shall have to leave everything with the captain and he isn’t likely to give us anything to do.”

“He’s mad clean through; I don’t b’leve he’ll wait to say a word, but the minute he can draw bead on the leftenant, he’ll let fly.”

“He is a fine marksman, but he may be in such a hurry that he’ll miss.”

“No fear of that; I wonder,” added Ruggles, startled by a new thought, “whether Vose has any idee of stickin’ in his oar.”

“Likely enough.”

“I must git a chance to warn him that we won’t stand any nonsense like that! The best that we’ll do is to promise him a chance for a crack after you and me miss.”

“That won’t be any chance at all,” grimly remarked the parson.

“Wal, it’s all he’ll have and he mustn’t forgit it. There’s some things I won’t stand and that’s one of ’em.”

“We can’t do anything now, but we may have a chance to notify him. If the opportunity comes to me, he shall not remain ignorant.”

They were now nearly opposite the camp and the two noticed with surprise that Adams and the captain were riding past it.

“What’s that fur?” asked the puzzled Ruggles.

“That’s to prevent them from fleeing toward Sacramento. When they find we are on the other side, they will have to turn back.”

This was apparently the purpose of the men in advance, for they did not draw rein until a hundred yards beyond the camp. Suddenly the two halted, and half-facing around, waited until Brush and Ruggles joined them. The explanation of the guide showed that his plan had been rightly interpreted by Parson Brush.

CHAPTER XX