Keith of the Border by Randall Parrish

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What would result when the man discovered his mistake? Such a discovery
could not be delayed long, although the girl was quick-witted, and would
surely realize that her personal safety depended upon keeping up the
deception to the last possible moment. Yet the discovery must finally
occur, and there was no guessing what form Hawley's rage would assume when
he found himself baffled, and all his plans for a fortune overturned.
Keith fully realized Hope's peril, and his own helplessness to serve her
in this emergency was agony. As they hurried back to the town, he briefly
reviewed these conclusions with Waite and Fairbain, all alike agreeing
there was nothing remaining for them to do except to take up the trail.
The fugitives had already gained too great an advantage to be overhauled,
but they might be traced to whatever point they were heading for. In spite
of the start being so far to the west, Keith was firmly convinced that
their destination would prove to be Carson City.

Procuring horses at the corral, their forces augmented by two volunteers--
both men of experience--Keith, Waite, Fairbain, and Neb departed without
delay, not even pausing to eat but taking the necessary food with them.
The sun had barely risen when they took up the trail, Keith, and a man
named Bristoe, slightly in advance, their keen eyes marking every slight
sign left for guidance across the bare plain. It was a comparatively easy
trail to follow, leading directly into the southwest, the pony tracks
cutting into the sod as though the reckless riders had bunched together,
their horses trotting rapidly. Evidently no attempt had been made at
concealment, and this served to convince the pursuers that Hawley still
believed his captive to be Miss Maclaire, and that her disappearance would
not be suspected until after nightfall. In that case the trail could not
be discovered before the following morning, and with such a start, pursuit
would be useless. Tireless, steadily, scarcely speaking except upon the
business in hand, the pursuers pressed forward at an easy trot, Keith, in
spite of intense anxiety, with the remembrance of old cavalry days to
guide him, insisting upon sparing the horses as much as possible. This was
to be a stern chase and a long one, and it was impossible to tell when
they could procure remounts. The constant swerving of the trail westward
seemed to shatter his earlier theory, and, brought him greater uneasiness.
Finally he spoke of it to the old plainsman beside him.

"What do you suppose those fellows are heading so far west for, Ben? They
are taking a big risk of running into hostiles."

"Oh, I don't know," returned the other gravely, lifting his eyes to the
far-off sky line. "I reckon from the news thet come in last night from
Hays, thar ain't no Injuns a rangin' thet way jist now. They're too blame
busy out on the Arickaree. Maybe them fellers heerd the same story, an'
thet's what makes 'em so bold."

"What story? I've heard nothing."

"Why, it's like this, Cap," drawling out the words, "leastways, thet's how
it come inter Sheridan; 'Sandy' Forsythe an' his outfit, mostly plainsmen,
started a while ago across Solomon River an' down Beaver Crick, headin'
fer Fort Wallace. Over on the Arickaree, the whole damned Injun outfit
jumped 'em. From all I heerd, thar must a bin nigh onto three thousan' o'
the varmints, droppin' on 'em all at oncet, hell-bent-fer-election, with
ol' Roman Nose a leadin' 'em. It was shore a good fight, fer the scouts
got onto an island an' stopped the bucks. Two of the fellers got through
to Wallace yist'day, an' a courier brought the news in ter Hays. The
Injuns had them boys cooped up thar fer eight days before them fellers got
out, an' I reckon it'll be two or three days more 'fore the nigger sogers
they sent out ter help ever git thar. So thar won't be no Injuns 'long
this route we're travellin', fer the whole kit an' caboodle are up thar
yit after 'Sandy.'"

"And you suppose Hawley knew about this?"

"Why not, Cap? He was hangin' 'round till after ten o'clock las' night,
an' it was all over town by then. 'Tain't likely he's got an outfit 'long
with him thet's lost any Injuns. I don't know whar they're bound, no mor'n
you do, but I reckon they're reasonably sure they've got a clar road."

They pulled up on the banks of a small stream to water their horses, and
ate hastily. The trail led directly across, and with only the slightest
possible delay they forded the shallow water, and mounted the opposite
bank. A hundred yards farther on, Bristoe reined up suddenly, pointing
down at the trail.

"One hoss left the bunch here," he declared positively. Keith swung
himself out of the saddle, and bent over to study the tracks. There was no
doubting the evidence--a single horse--the only one shod in the bunch--
with a rider on its back, judging from the deep imprint of the hoofs, had
swerved sharply to the left of the main body, heading directly into the
southeast. The plainsman ran forward for a hundred yards to assure himself
the man had not circled back; at that point the animal had been spurred
into a lope. Keith rejoined the others.

"Must have been about daylight they reached here," he said, picking up--
his dangling rein, and looking into the questioning faces about him. "The
fellow that rode out yonder alone was heading straight toward Carson City.
He is going for fresh horses, I figure it, and will rejoin the bunch some
place down on the Arkansas. The others intend to keep farther west, where
they won't be seen. What do you say, Ben?"

"Thet's the way it looms up ter me, Cap; most likely 'twas the boss
himself."

"Well, whoever it was, the girl is still with the others, and their trail
is the easiest to follow. We'll keep after them."

They pushed on hour after hour, as long as day-light lasted or they could
perceive the faintest trace to follow. Already half-convinced that he knew
the ultimate destination of the fugitives, Keith yet dare not venture on
pressing forward during the night, thus possibly losing the trail and
being compelled to retrace their steps. It was better to proceed slow and
sure. Besides, judging from the condition of their own horses, the pursued
would be compelled to halt somewhere to rest their stock also. Their trail
even revealed the fact that they were already travelling far less rapidly
than at first, although evidently making every effort to cover the
greatest possible distance before stopping. Just as the dusk shut in close
about them they rode down into the valley of Shawnee Fork, and discovered
signs of a recent camp at the edge of the stream. Here, apparently,
judging from the camp-fire ashes, and the trampled grass along the Fork,
the party must have halted for several hours. By lighting matches Keith
and Bristoe discerned where some among them had laid down to sleep, and,
through various signs, decided they must have again departed some five or
six hours previous, one of their horses limping as if lame. The tired
pursuers went into camp at the same spot, but without venturing to light
any fire, merely snatching a cold bite, and dropping off to sleep with
heads pillowed upon their saddles.

They were upon the trail again with the first dimness of the gray dawn,
wading the waters of the Fork, and striking forth across the dull level of
brown prairie and white alkali toward the Arkansas. They saw nothing all
day moving in that wide vista about them, but rode steadily, scarcely
exchanging a word, determined, grim, never swerving a yard from the faint
trail. The pursued were moving slower, hampered, no doubt, by their lame
horse, but were still well in advance. Moreover, the strain of the saddle
was already beginning to tell severely on Waite, weakened somewhat by
years, and the pursuers were compelled to halt oftener on his account. The
end of the second day found them approaching the broken land bordering the
Arkansas valley, and just before nightfall they picked up a lame horse,
evidently discarded by the party ahead.

By this time Keith had reached a definite decision as to his course. If
the fugitives received a fresh relay of horses down there somewhere, and
crossed the Arkansas, he felt positively sure as to their destination. But
it would be useless pushing on after them in the present shape of his
party--their horses worn out, and Waite reeling giddily in the saddle. If
Hawley's outfit crossed the upper ford, toward which they were evidently
heading, and struck through the sand hills, then they were making for the
refuge of that lone cabin on Salt Fork. Should this prove true, then it
was probable the gambler had not even yet discovered the identity of Hope,
for if he had, he would scarcely venture upon taking her there, knowing
that Keith would naturally suspect the spot. But Keith would not be likely
to personally take up the trail in search for Christie Maclaire. It must
have been Hawley then who had left the party and ridden east, and up to
that time he had not found out his mistake. Yet if he brought out the
fresh animals the chances were that Hope's identity would be revealed.
Bristoe, who had turned aside to examine the straying horse, came trotting
up.

"Belonged to their outfit all right, Cap," he reported, "carries the
double cross brand and that shebang is upon the Smoky; saddle galls still
bleeding."

Waite was now suffering so acutely they were obliged to halt before
gaining sight of the river, finding, fortunately, a water-hole fed by a
spring. As soon as the sick man could be made comfortable, Keith gave to
the others his conclusions, and listened to what they had to say. Bristoe
favored clinging to the trail even though they must travel slowly, but
Fairbain insisted that Waite must be taken to some town where he could be
given necessary care. Keith finally decided the matter.

"None can be more anxious to reach those fellows than I am," he declared,
"but I know that country out south, and we'll never get through to the
Salt Fork without fresh horses. Besides, as the doctor says, we've got to
take care of Waite. If we find things as I expect we'll ride for Carson
City, and re-outfit there. What's more, we won't lose much time--it's a
shorter ride from there to the cabin than from here."

By morning the General was able to sit his saddle again, and leaving him
with Neb to follow slowly, the others spurred forward, discovered an
outlet through the bluff into the valley, and crossed the Santa Fe Trail.
It was not easy to discover where those in advance had passed this point,
but they found evidence of a late camp in a little grove of cottonwoods
beside the river. There were traces of two trails leading to the spot, one
being that of the same five horses they had been following so long, the
other not so easily read, as it had been traversed in both directions, the
different hoof marks obliterating each other. Bristoe, creeping about on
hands and knees, studied the signs with the eyes of an Indian.

"You kin see the diff'rence yere whar the ground is soft, Cap," he said,
pointing to some tracks plainer than the others. "This yere hoss had a
rider, but the rest of 'em was led; thet's why they've bungled up ther
trail so. An' it wa'n't ther same bunch thet went back east what come from
thar--see thet split hoof! thar ain't no split hoof p'inting ther other
way--but yere is the mark of the critter thet puts her foot down so fur
outside thet we've been a trailin' from Sheridan, an' she's p'inting east,
an' being led. Now, let's see whar the bunch went from yere with thet
split hoof."

This was not so easily accomplished owing to the nature of the ground, but
at last the searchers stumbled onto tracks close in under the bank, and
one of these revealed the split hoof.

"That makes it clear, Ben," exclaimed Keith, decidedly, staring out across
the river at the white sandhills. "They have kept in the edge of the
water, making for the ford, which is yonder at the bend. They are out in
the sand desert by this time riding for the Salt Fork. Whoever he was, the
fellow brought them five horses, and the five old ones were taken east
again on the trail. The girl is still with the party, and we'll go into
Carson City and reoutfit."

Chapter XXXIV

Again at the Cabin

They were two weary days reaching Carson City, travelling along the open
trail yet meeting with no one, not even a mail coach passing them.
Evidently the Indians were so troublesome as to interrupt all traffic with
Santa Fe and the more western forts. The slowness of their progress was on
account of the General, whose condition became worse in spite of
Fairbain's assiduous attentions. With no medicine the doctor could do but
little to relieve the sufferings of the older man, although he declared
that his illness was not a serious one, and would yield quickly to proper
medical treatment. They constructed a rude travois from limbs of the
cottonwood, and securely strapped him thereon, one man leading the horse,
while the doctor tramped behind.

Keith, fretting more and more over this necessary delay, and now obsessed
with the thought that Hawley must have rejoined his party on the Arkansas
and gone south with them, finally broke away from the others and rode
ahead, to gather together the necessary horses and supplies in advance of
their arrival. He could not drive from his mind the remembrance of the
gambler's attempted familiarity with Hope, when he had her, as he then
supposed, safe in his power once before in that lonely cabin on the Salt
Fork. Now, angry with baffled ambition, and a victim of her trickery,
there was no guessing to what extremes the desperado might resort. The
possibilities of such a situation made the slightest delay in rescue an
agony almost unbearable. Reaching Carson City, and perfectly reckless as
to his own safety there from arrest, the plainsman lost no time in
perfecting arrangements for pushing forward. Horses and provisions were
procured, and he very fortunately discovered in town two cowboys belonging
to the "Bar X" outfit, their work there accomplished and about ready to
return to, the ranch on the Canadian, who gladly allied themselves with
his party, looking forward to the possibilities of a fight with keen
anticipation. Keith was more than ever delighted with adding these to his
outfit, when, on the final arrival of the others, the extra man brought
from Sheridan announced that he had had enough, and was going to remain
there. No efforts made revealed any knowledge of Hawley's presence in
Carson City; either he had not been there, or else his friends were very
carefully concealing the fact. The utter absence of any trace, however,
led Keith to believe that the gambler had gone elsewhere--probably to Fort
Larned--for his new outfit, and this belief left him more fully convinced
than ever of the fellow's efforts to conceal his trail.

The party escorting Waite reached the town in the evening, and in the
following gray dawn, the adventurers forded the river, and mounted on
fresh horses and fully equipped, headed forth into the sand hills. The
little company now consisted of Keith, Fairbain, who, in spite of his
rotundity of form had proven himself hard and fit, Neb, having charge of
the single pack-horse, the scout Bristoe, and the two cowboys of the "Bar
X," rough, wiry fellows, accustomed to exposure and peril. It was
emphatically a fighting outfit, and to be trusted in emergency.

They followed the cattle trail south toward the Salt Fork, as this course
would afford them a camp at the only water-hole in all that wide desert
lying between. With this certainty of water, they ventured to press their
animals to swifter pace, although the sand made travelling heavy, and the
trail itself was scarcely discernible. It was a hard, wearisome ride, hour
after hour through the same dull, dreary landscape of desolation, the hot,
remorseless sun beating down upon them, reflecting up into their blistered
faces from the hot surface of sand. There was scarcely a breath of air,
and the bodies of men and horses were bathed in perspiration. Not a cloud
hung in the blue sky; no wing of a bird broke the monotony of distance, no
living animal crept across the blazing surface of the desert. Occasionally
a distant mirage attracted the eye, making the dead reality even more
horrible by its semblance to water, yet never tempting them to stray
aside. After the first mile conversation ceased, the men riding grimly,
silently forward, intent only on covering all the distance possible. Late
that night they camped at the water-hole, sleeping as best they could,
scourged by the chill wind which swept over them and lashed grit into
exposed faces. With the first gray of dawn they swung stiffened forms into
the saddles and rode on, straight as the crow flies, for the Salt Fork.
They attained that stream at sundown, gray with sand dust, their faces
streaked from perspiration, feeling as though the sun rays had burned
their brains, with horses fairly reeling under them. According to Keith's
calculation this cattle-ford must be fully ten miles below where the cabin
sought was situated; two hours' rest, with water and food, would put both
horses and men again in condition, and the travelling was easier along the
banks of the Fork. With this in mind, cinches were loosened, the animals
turned out to graze, and the men, snatching a hasty bite, flung themselves
wearily on the ground.

All but Fairbain were asleep when Keith aroused them once more, a little
before nine, unable in his impatience to brook longer delay. Within ten
minutes horses were saddled, weapons looked to carefully, and the little
party began their advance through the darkness, moving cautiously over the
uneven ground, assisted greatly by the bright desert stars gleaming down
upon them from the cloudless sky overhead. The distance proved somewhat
less than had been anticipated, and Keith's watch was not yet at eleven,
when his eyes revealed the fact that they had reached the near vicinity of
the lonely island on which the cabin stood. Reining in his horse sharply,
he swung to the ground, the others instantly following his example,
realizing they had reached the end of the route. Hands instinctively
loosened revolvers in readiness for action, the younger of the "Bar X" men
whistling softly in an effort to appear unconcerned. Keith, with a
gesture, gathered them more closely about him.

"If Hawley is here himself," he said quietly, watching their faces in the
starlight, "he will certainly have a guard set, and there may be one
anyhow. We can't afford to take chances, for there will be five men, at
least, on the island, and possibly several more. If they are looking for
trouble they will naturally expect it to come from the north--consequently
we'll make our attack from the opposite direction, and creep in on them
under the shadow of the corral. The first thing I want to do is to locate
Miss Waite so she will be in no danger of getting hurt in the
_melee_. You boys hold your fire, until I let loose or give the
word. Now, Doctor, I want you and Neb to creep up this bank until you are
directly opposite the cabin--he'll know the spot--and lie there out of
sight until we begin the shooting. Then both sail in as fast as you can.
I'll take Bristoe and you two 'Bar X' men along with me, and when we turn
loose with our shooting irons you can all reckon the fight is on. Any of
you got questions to ask?"

No one said anything, the silence accented by the desert wind howling
mournfully in the branches of a near-by cottonwood.

"All right then, boys, don't get excited and go off half cocked; be easy
on your trigger fingers. Come along, you fellows who are travelling with
me."

The four crossed the stream, wading to their waists in the water, their
horses left bunched on the south bank, and finally crawled out into a
bunch of mesquite. As they crept along through the darkness, whatever
doubts Keith might have previously felt regarding the presence on the
island of the party sought, were dissipated by the unmistakable noise made
by numerous horses in the corral. Slowly, testing each step as they
advanced, so no sound should betray them, the four men reached the shelter
of the stockade. The older of the "Bar X" men lifted himself by his hands,
and peered cautiously over.

"Eight hosses in thar," he announced soberly; then turned to Keith. "Say,
Jack, what do you figure this shebang to be, anyhow? You don't reckon it's
old Sanchez's outfit, do yer?"

"Likely as not, Joe, though I never saw him around here."

Joe filled his cheek with tobacco, staring about through the darkness.

"Wall, if that ol' cuss is yere now we'uns is sure in fer a fight," he
commented positively.

They rounded the corral fence on hands and knees, crawled into a bunch of
bushes somewhat to the rear of the silent, desolate-appearing cabin, and
lay down flat behind a pile of saddles, from which position they could
plainly discern the rear door. There was no movement, no evidence anywhere
that a living soul was about the place. Keith could barely distinguish
that it was Bristoe lying next to him.

"Had their camp over there in the corner of the corral when I was here
before," he said in a whisper. "Where do you suppose they can be now?"

The wary scout lifted his head, sniffing into the darkness like a pointer
dog.

"West o' ther cabin thar, out o' ther wind, most likely. I smell tobacco."

Even as the words left his lips a man came sauntering slowly around the
eastern corner, his outlines barely visible, but the red glow of a pipe
bowl showing plainly. He stopped, directly facing them, yawning sleepily,
and then turned the other corner. Another moment, and they distinctly
heard a voice:

"Hustle up thar now, Manuel, an' turn out; it's your watch; wake up, damn
yer--maybe that'll bring yer ter life."

The remedy applied to the sleeper must have been efficacious, as, an
instant later, another figure slouched into view, the new arrival rubbing
his eyes with one hand, the other clutching a short-barrelled gun. From
the high peak of his hat it was evident this new guard was a Mexican. He
walked to the corner, glanced along the east side wall toward the front of
the cabin, and then, apparently satisfied the coast was clear, started
toward the stream, shuffling along within a foot of where Keith lay flat
on the ground. A moment later the men heard him splashing softly in the
water, and Keith rolled over, his lips at Bristoe's ear.

"Slip down there; Ben," he whispered, "and quiet that fellow. I'll find
out how many are on the west side. Do the job without any noise."

He waited until the scout had disappeared like a snake, not even a
rustling leaf telling of his passage, and then silently crept forward
himself, yet with less caution, until he was able to peer about the corner
of the cabin and dimly distinguish the blanketed forms of several men
lying close in against the side wall. They rested so nearly together it
was difficult to separate them in that darkness, stars giving the only
light, but he finally determined their number at five. Five; the Mexican
would make six, and there would surely be another guard posted out in the
front--seven. But there were eight horses down there in the corral. Then
the eighth man--Hawley, without doubt--must be in the cabin. At the
thought Keith's teeth clinched, and he had to struggle to control his
passion. But no; that would never do; he must discover first exactly where
the girl was located; after that they would attend to the curs. Before
creeping back to the others, he made quick examination along the rear of
the cabin, but could find no visible point of weakness. He tried to recall
from memory the nature of the lock on that back door, but could remember
nothing except an ordinary wooden latch. If he could insert a knife into
the crack that might very easily be dislodged. He drew his hunting knife
for the attempt, and, first glancing about, perceived a man creeping
toward him. It proved to be Bristoe.

"Fixed the greaser all right, cap, and I reckon he'll be quiet for an hour
or two. Look whar he slashed me; struck a pack o' playin' keerds, er I'd a
got my ticket." The front of his blouse was cut wide open, and Keith
thought he perceived a stain of blood.

"Pricked you as it was, didn't he?"

"Opened the skin. Thought the cuss had give up, an' got careless. What's
'round to the west?"

Keith's lips closed, his hand shutting hard on the knife.

"Five, and another out in front; that leaves the eighth man inside. Bring
our fellows up closer, and post them where they can cover those fellows
asleep, while I make an effort at breaking in here."

Bristoe crawled back like a snail, and confident the others would do their
part, Keith thrust his knife blade deep into the narrow crack, and began
probing after the latch. In spite of all caution this effort caused a
slight noise, and suddenly he started back, at the sound of a woman's
voice:

"What do you want? I am armed, and will fire through the door if you do
not go away!"

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