Nan of Music Mountain, page 14
Shocked with new fear, Nan hesitated. If it was play, it was too realistic for the nerves even of a mountain girl. De Spain’s angry face and burning eyes photographed themselves on her memory from that moment. But whatever he meant, she had her part to do. She backed, with arms spread low at her sides, directly against her cousin. “You shan’t fight,” she cried at de Spain.
“Stand away from that man!” retorted de Spain sternly.
“You shan’t kill my cousin. What do you mean? What are you doing here? Leave us!”
“Get away, Nan, I tell you. I’ll finish him,” cried Morgan, puncturing every word with an oath.
She whirled and caught her cousin in her arms. “He will shoot us both if you fire. Take me away, Gale. You coward,” she exclaimed, whirling again with trembling tones on de Spain, “would you kill a woman?”
De Spain saw the danger was past. It needed hardly an instant to show him that Morgan had lost stomach for a fight. He talked wrathfully, but he made no motion to draw. “I see I’ve got to chase you into a fight,” said de Spain contemptuously, and starting gingerly to circle the hesitating cousin. Nan, in her excitement, ran directly toward the enemy, as if to cut off his movement.
“Don’t you dare put me in danger,” she cried, facing de Spain threateningly. “Don’t you dare fight my cousin here.”
“Stand away from me,” hammered de Spain, eying Morgan steadily.
“He is wounded now,” stormed Nan, so fast she could hardly frame the words. “You shan’t kill him. If you are a man, don’t shoot a wounded man and a woman. You shan’t shoot. Gale! protect yourself!” Whirling to face her cousin, she took the chance to back directly against de Spain. Both hands were spread open and partly behind her, the palms up, as if to check him. In the instant that she and de Spain were in contact he realized, rather than saw––for his eyes never released Morgan’s eyes––what she was frantically slipping to him––the loaded cartridge. It was done in a flash, and she was running from him again. Her warm fingers had swept across his own. She had returned to him, voluntarily, his slender chance for life. But in doing it she had challenged him to a new and overwhelming interest in life itself. And again, in front of her cousin, she was crying out anew against the shedding of blood.
“I came up here to fight a man. I don’t fight women,” muttered de Spain, maintaining the deceit and regarding both with an unpromising visage. Then to Morgan. “I’ll talk to you later. But you’ve got to fight or get away from here, both of you, in ten seconds.”
“Take me away, Gale,” cried Nan. “Leave him here––take me home! Take me home!”
She caught her cousin’s arm. “Stay right where you are,” shouted Morgan, pointing at de Spain, and following Nan as she pulled him along. “When I come back, I’ll give you what you’re looking for.”
“Bring your friends,” said de Spain tauntingly. “I’ll accommodate four more of you. Stop!” With one hand still on his revolver he pointed the way. “Go down that trail first, Morgan. Stay where you are, girl, till he gets down that hill. You won’t pot me over her shoulder for a while yet. Move!”
Morgan took the path sullenly, de Spain covering every step he took. Behind de Spain Nan stood waiting for her cousin to get beyond earshot. “What,” she whispered hurriedly to de Spain, “will you do?”
Covering Morgan, who could whirl on him at any turn in the descent, de Spain could not look at her in answering. “Looks pretty rocky, doesn’t it?”
“He will start the whole Gap as soon as he gets to his horse.”
He looked at the darkening sky. “They won’t be very active on the job before morning.”
Morgan was at a safe distance. De Spain turned to Nan. He tried to speak out to her, but she sternly smothered his every effort. Her cheeks were on fire, she breathed fast, her eyes burned.
“It looks,” muttered de Spain, “as if I should have to climb Music Mountain to make a get-away.”
“There is no good place to hide anywhere above here,” said Nan, regarding him intently.
“Why look so hard at me, then?” he asked. “If this is the last of it, I can take it here with our one lone cartridge.”
Her eyes were bent on him as if they would pierce him through. “If I save your life––” still breathing fast, she hesitated for words––“you won’t trick me––ever––will you?”
Steadily returning her appealing gaze, de Spain answered with deliberation. “Don’t ever give me a chance to trick you, Nan.”
“What do you mean?” she demanded, fear and distrust burning in her tone.
“My life,” he said slowly, “isn’t worth it.”
“You know––” He could see her resolute underlip, pink with fresh young blood, quiver with intensity of feeling as she faltered. “You know what every man says of every girl––foolish, trusting, easy to deceive––everything like that.”
“May God wither my tongue before ever it speaks to deceive you, Nan.”
“A while ago you frightened me so–––”
“Frightened you! Great God!” He stepped closer and looked straight down into her eyes. “If you had raised just one finger when I was bluffing that fellow, I’d have calmed down and eaten out of your little hand, by the hour!”
“There’s not a moment to lose,” she said swiftly. “Listen: a trail around this mountain leads out of the Gap, straight across the face of El Capitan.”
“I can make it.”
“Listen! It is terribly dangerous–––”
“Whatever it is it’s a concrete boulevard to a man in my fix.”
“It is half a mile––only inches wide in places––up and down––loose rock–––”
“Some trail!”
“If you slip it’s a thousand feet–––”
“A hundred would be more than plenty.”
“A good climber can do it––I have done it. I’d even go with you, if I could.”
“Why?”
She shook her head angrily at what he dared show in his eyes. “Oh, keep still, listen!”
“I know you’d go, Nan,” he declared unperturbed. “But believe me, I never would let you.”
“I can’t go, because to do any good I must meet you with a horse outside.”
He only looked silently at her, and she turned her eyes from his gaze. “See,” she said, taking him eagerly to the back of the ledge and pointing, “follow that trail, the one to the east––you can’t get lost; you can reach El Capitan before dark––it’s very close. Creep carefully across El Capitan on that narrow trail, and on the other side there is a wide one clear down to the road––oh, do be careful on El Capitan.”
“I’ll be careful.”
“I must watch my chance to get away from the corral with a horse. If I fail it will be because I am locked up at home, and you must hide and do the best you can. How much they will surmise of this, I don’t know.”
“Go now, this minute,” he said, restraining his words. “If you don’t come, I shall know why.”
She turned without speaking and, fearless as a chamois, ran down the rocks. De Spain, losing not a moment, hobbled rapidly up along the granite-walled passage that led the way to his chance for life.
* * *
CHAPTER XVI
A VENTURE IN THE DARK
Pushing his way hastily forward when he could make haste; crawling slowly on his hands and knees when held by opposing rock; feeling for narrow footholds among loose and treacherous fragments; flattening himself like a leech against the face of the precipice when the narrowing ledge left him only inches under foot; clinging with torn hands to every favoring crevice, and pausing when the peril was extreme for fresh strength, de Spain dragged his injured foot across the sheer face of El Capitan in the last shadows of the day’s failing light.
Half-way across, he stopped to look down. Far below lay the valley shrouded in night. Where he stood, stars, already bright, lighted the peaks. But nowhere in the depths could he see any sign of life. Spent by his effort, de Spain reached the rendezvous Nan had indicated, as nearly as the stars would tell him, by ten o’clock. He fell asleep in the aspen grove. Horsemen passing not a hundred yards away roused him.
He could not tell how many or who they were, but from the sounds he judged they were riding into the Gap. The moon was not yet up, so he knew it was not much after midnight. The ground was very cold, and he crawled farther on toward the road along which Nan had said he might look for her. It was only after a long and doubtful hour that he heard the muffled footfalls of a horse. He stood concealed among the smaller trees until he could distinguish the outlines of the animal, and his eye caught the figure of the rider.
De Spain stepped out of the trees, and, moving toward Nan, caught her hand and helped her to the ground.
She enjoined silence, and led the horse into the little grove. Stopping well within it, she stooped and began rearranging the mufflers on the hoofs.
“I’m afraid I’m too late,” she said. “How long have you been here?” She faced de Spain with one hand on the pony’s shoulder.
“How could you get here at all?” he asked, reaching clandestinely for her other hand.
“I got terribly frightened thinking of your trying El Capitan. Did you have any falls?”
“You see I’m here––I’ve even slept since. You! How could you get here at all with a horse?”
“If I’m only not too late,” she murmured, drawing her hand away.
“I’ve loads of time, it’s not one o’clock.”
“They are hiding on both trails outside watching for you––and the moon will be up––” She seemed very anxious. De Spain made light of her fears. “I’ll get past them––I’ve got to, Nan. Don’t give it a thought.”
“Every corner is watched,” she repeated anxiously.
“But I tell you I’ll dodge them, Nan.”
“They have rifles.”
“They won’t get a chance to use them on me.”
“I don’t know what you’ll think of me––” He heard the troubled note in her voice.
“What do you mean?”
She began to unbutton her jacket. Throwing back the revers she felt inside around her waist, unfastened after a moment and drew forth a leathern strap. She laid it in de Spain’s hands. “This is yours,” she said in a whisper.
He felt it questioningly, hurriedly, then with amazement. “Not a cartridge-belt!” he exclaimed.
“It’s your own.”
“Where––?” She made no answer. “Where did you get it, Nan?” he whispered hurriedly.
“Where you left it.”
“How?” She was silent. “When?”
“To-night.”
“Have you been to Calabasas and back to-night?”
“Everybody but Sassoon is in the chase,” she replied uneasily––as if not knowing what to say, or how to say it. “They said you should never leave the Gap alive––they are ready with traps everywhere. I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t bear––after what––you did for me to-night––to think of your being shot down like a dog, when you were only trying to get away.”
“I wouldn’t have had you take a ride like that for forty belts!”
“McAlpin showed it to me the last time I was at the stage barn, hanging where you left it.” He strapped the cartridges around him.
“You should never have taken that ride for it. But since you have––” He had drawn his revolver from his waistband. He broke it now and held it out. “Load it for me, Nan.”
“What do you mean?”
“Put four more cartridges in it yourself. Except for your cartridge, the gun is empty. When you do that you will know none of them ever will be used against your own except to protect my life. And if you have any among them whose life ought to come ahead of mine––name him, or them, now. Do as I tell you––load the gun.”
He took hold of her hands and, in spite of her refusals, made her do his will. He guided her hand to draw the cartridges, one after another, from his belt, and waited for her to slip them in the darkness into the empty cylinder, to close the breech, and hand the gun back.
“Now, Nan,” he said, “you know me. You may yet have doubts––they will all die. You will hear many stories about me––but you will say: ‘I put the cartridges in his revolver with my own hands, and I know he won’t abuse the means of defense I gave him myself.’ There can never be any real doubts or misunderstandings between us again, Nan, if you’ll forgive me for making a fool of myself when I met you at Tenison’s. I didn’t dream you were desperate about the way your uncle was playing; I pieced it all together afterward.” He waited for her to speak, but she remained silent.
“You have given me my life, my defense,” he continued, passing from a subject that he perceived was better left untouched. “Who is nearest and dearest to you at home?”
“My Uncle Duke.”
“Then I never will raise a hand against your Uncle Duke. And this man, to-night––this cousin––Gale? Nan, what is that man?”
“I hate him.”
“Thank God! So do I!”
“But he is a cousin.”
“Then I suppose he must be one of mine.”
“Unless he tries to kill you.”
“He won’t be very long in trying that. And now, what about yourself? What have you got to defend yourself against him, and against every other drunken man?”
She laid her own pistol without a word in de Spain’s hand. He felt it, opened, closed, and gave it back. “That’s a good defender––when it’s in reach. When it’s at home it’s a poor one.”
“It will never be at home again except when I am.”
“Shall I tell you a secret?”
“What is it?” asked Nan unsuspectingly.
“We are engaged to be married.” She sprang from him like a deer. “It’s a dead secret,” he said gravely; “nobody knows it yet––not even you.”
“You need never talk again like that if you want to be friends with me,” she said indignantly. “I hate it.”
“Hate it if you will; it’s so. And it began when you handed me that little bit of lead and brass on the mountain to-night, to defend your life and mine.”
“I’ll hate you if you persecute me the way Gale does. The moon is almost up. You must go.”
“What have you on your feet, Nan?”
“Moccasins.” He stooped down and felt one with his hand. She drew her foot hastily away. “What a girl to manage!” he exclaimed.
“I’m going home,” she said with decision.
“Don’t for a minute yet, Nan,” he pleaded. “Think how long it will be before I can ever see you again!”
“You may never see anybody again if you don’t realize your danger to-night. Can you ride with a hackamore?”
“Like a dream.”
“I didn’t dare bring anything else.”
“You haven’t told me,” he persisted, “how you got away at all.” They had walked out of the trees. He looked reluctantly to the east. “Tell me and I’ll go,” he promised.
“After I went up to my room I waited till the house was all quiet. Then I started for Calabasas. When I came back I got up to my room without being seen, and sat at the window a long time. I waited till all the men stopped riding past. Then I climbed through the window and down the kitchen roof, and let myself down to the ground. Some more men came past, and I hid on the porch and slipped over to the horse barns and found a hackamore, and went down to the corral and hunted around till I found this little pinto––she’s the best to ride bareback.”
“I could ride a razorback––why take all that trouble for me?”
“If you don’t start while you have a chance, you undo everything I have tried to do to avoid a fight.”
The wind, stirring softly, set the aspen leaves quivering. The stars, chilled in the thin, clear night air, hung diamond-like in the heavens and the eastern sky across the distant desert paled for the rising moon. The two standing at the horse’s head listened a moment together in the darkness. De Spain, leaning forward, said something in a low, laughing voice. Nan made no answer. Then, bending, he took her hand and, before she could release it, caught it up to his lips.
* * *
For a long time after he had gone she stood, listening for a shot––wondering, breathless at moments, whether de Spain could get past the waiting traps. The moon came up, and still lingering, torn with suspense, she watched a drift of fleecy clouds darken it. She scanned anxiously the wrinkled face of the desert which, with a woman’s craft, hides at night the accidents of age. It seemed to Nan as if she could overlook every foot of the motionless sea for miles before her; but she well knew how much it could conceal of ambush and death even when it professed so fairly to reveal all. Strain her ears as she would, the desert gave back no ripple of sound. No shot echoed from its sinister recesses––not even the clatter of retreating hoofs.
De Spain, true to all she had ever heard of his Indian-like stealth, had left her side unabashed and unafraid––living, laughing, paying bold court to her even when she stubbornly refused to be courted––and had made himself in the twinkling of an eye a part of the silence beyond––the silence of the night, the wind, the stars, the waste of sand, and of all the mystery that brooded upon it. She would have welcomed, in her keen suspense, a sound of some kind, some reminder that he yet lived and could yet laugh; none came.
When it seemed as if an hour must have passed Nan felt her way noiselessly home. She regained her room as she had left it, through her east window, and, throwing herself across her bed, fell into a heavy sleep.
* * *
Day was breaking when the night boss, standing in the doorway at the Calabasas barns, saw a horseman riding at a leisurely pace up the Thief River road. The barnman scrutinized the approaching stranger closely. There was something strange and something familiar in the outlines of the figure. But when the night-rider had dismounted in front of the barn door, turned his horse loose, and, limping stiffly, walked forward on foot, the man rubbed his eyes hard before he could believe them. Then he uttered an incredulous greeting and led Henry de Spain into the barn office.
