Keith of the Border by Randall Parrish

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Some way, these questions, thus surging upon him, became a call to live,
to fight, to unravel their mystery. The memory of that sweet-faced woman
who had bent above him when the fever began its mastery, appealed to him
now with the opportunity of service. He might be able to clear this, bring
to her the truth, save her from despair, and hand over to justice the
murderers of her husband. It was up to him alone to accomplish this--no
one else knew what he knew, suspected what he suspected. And there was but
one way--through escape. To remain there in weak surrender to fate could
have but one ending, and that swift and sudden. He had no doubt as to
"Black Bart's" purpose, or of his ability to use the "Red Light" outfit as
desired. The whole plan was clearly evident, and there would be no delay
in execution--all they were waiting for was night, and a lax guard. He
glanced about at the walls of the room, his eyes grown hard, his teeth
clenched.

"Neb," he said shortly, "I guess that was your outfit all right, but they
were not killed by Indians. They were run down by a gang from this town--
the same fellows who have put you and me in here. I don't know what they
were after--that's to be found out later,--but the fight you put up at the
camp spoiled their game for once, and led to your arrest. They failed to
get what was wanted in Carson, and so they trailed the party to the
Cimmaron Crossing. Then I got on their track, and fearing the result,
they've landed me also. Now they 'll get rid of us both as best they can.
These fellows won't want any trial--that would be liable to give the whole
trick away--but they have got to put us where we won't talk. There is an
easy way to do this, and that is by a lynching bee. Do you get my drift,
Neb?"

The whites of the negro's eyes were very much in evidence, his hands
gripping at the bench on which he sat.

"Fo' de Lawd, yes, Massa Jack, I sho' does. I corroborates de whole
thing."

"Then you are willing to take a chance with me?"

"Willin'! Why, Massa Jack, I'se overjoyed; I ain't gwine leave yer no mo'.
I'se sho' gwine ter be yo' nigger. What yo' gwine ter do?"

Keith ran his eyes over the walls, carefully noting every peculiarity.

"We'll remain here quietly just as long as it is daylight, Neb," he
replied finally, "but we'll try every board and every log to discover some
way out. Just the moment it grows dark enough to slip away without being
seen we've got to hit the prairie. Once south of the Arkansas we're safe,
but not until then. Have you made any effort to get out?"

The negro came over to him, and bent down.

"I was layin' on a board what I'd worked loose at one end," he whispered
hoarsely, "back ob de bench, but I couldn't jerk it out wid'out somethin'
ter pry it up wid."

"Where is it?"

"Right yere, Massa Jack."

It was a heavy twelve-inch plank, part of the flooring, and the second
from the side-wall. Keith managed to get a grip next to the black fingers,
and the two pressed it up far enough for the white man to run one arm
through the opening up to his shoulder and grope about below.

"There's a two-foot space there," he reported, as they let the board
settle silently down into position. "The back part of this building must
be set up on piles. I reckon we could pry that plank up with the bench,
Neb, but it's liable to make considerable racket. Let's hunt about first
for some other weak spot."

They crept across the floor, testing each separate board, but without
discovering a place where they could exert a leverage. The thick planks
were tightly spiked down. Nor did the walls offer any better
encouragement. Keith lifted himself to the grated window, getting a
glimpse of the world without, but finding the iron immovable, the screws
solidly imbedded in the outside wood. He dropped to the floor, feeling
baffled and discouraged.

"It will have to be the plank back of the bench, Neb," he announced
briefly, wiping the perspiration from his face. "Get down there, and work
it as loose as you can without making any noise, while I keep my ear to
the door and listen for any interruption."

They took turns at this labor, discovering a loose nail which gave an
opening purchase at the crack, thus enabling the insertion of a small
wooden block, and insuring space for a good finger grip when the right
time came. A sleepy Mexican brought in their dinner, and set it down on
the bench without a word, but on his return with supper, the marshal
accompanied him, and remained while they ate, talking to Keith, and
staring about the room. Fortunately, the single window was to the west,
and the last rays of the sun struck the opposite wall, leaving the space
behind the bench in deep shadow. Whatever might be the plans of "Black
Bart" and his cronies, Keith was soon convinced they were unknown to
Hicks, who had evidently been deceived into thinking that this last arrest
had created no excitement.

"That's why we picked yer up so early," he explained, genially. "Bart said
if we got to yer afore the boys woke up they'd never hear nuthin' 'bout
it, an' so thar wouldn't be no row. He didn't even think thar'd be enny
need o' keepin' a special guard ter-night, but I reckon I won't take no
such chance as that, an' I'll have a couple o' deputies prowlin' 'round
fer luck. When Carson does wake up, she's hell."

He left them tobacco and pipes, and went away evidently convinced that he
had performed his full duty. The two prisoners, puffing smoke-rings into
the air, heard the heavy clang of the iron bar falling into place across
the door, and sat looking into one another's faces through the deepening
twilight. In the mind of both blaik and white reposed the same thought.
The negro was first to break the silence.

"'Pears ter me, Massa Jack, like dis yere Bart pusson am mighty anxious
ter hab no suspicions raised."

"Anybody but Hicks would see that," acknowledged the other, the rings of
smoke circling his head, "but he hasn't any brains. It was pure nerve that
got him the job. Well, this is one time that 'Bart pusson' is going to
find an empty coop. We'll get out, Neb, just as soon as it gets dark
enough. Hicks isn't likely to put on his extra guard for an hour yet, and
the 'Red Light' bunch won't be fit for business much before midnight. By
that time we'll be in the sand hills, heading south, able to give them a
run for their money--we'll have horses, too, if we can find them."

The negro's eyes shone white.

"Fo' de Lawd's sake, Massa," he protested, "dat'd sho' be a hangin' job if
ebber dey cotched us."

Keith laughed, knocking out the ashes from his pipe.

"With an hour's start that will be the least of my troubles," he said,
quietly.

Chapter VI

The Escape

It was dark enough for their purpose in half an hour, the only gleam of
remaining color being the red glow of the negro's pipe, even the openings
in the iron grating being blotted from sight. Keith, staring in that
direction, failed to perceive any distant glimmer of star, and decided the
night must be cloudy, and that time for action had come. Guided by Neb's
pipe bowl, he touched the boy on the shoulder.

"Knock out your ashes, and shuffle about lively with your feet, while I
pry up the board."

In spite of his slenderness, Keith possessed unusual strength, yet no
exertion on his part served to start the loosened plank sufficiently for
their purpose. Ripping a strip from the bench he managed to pry the hole
somewhat larger, arranging the bench itself so as to afford the necessary
leverage, but even then his entire weight failed to either start the
spikes, or crack the plank. Some altercation began in the other room, the
sound of angry voices and shuffling feet being plainly audible. It was
clear to Keith that they must take the chance of a noise, and no better
time than this could be chosen.

"Here, Neb, take hold with me, and bear down--put your whole weight on it,
boy."

The two flung themselves upon the end of the bench leaping up and down so
as to add weight to power. Something had to give, either the stout wood of
their improvised lever or else the holding of the plank. For an instant it
seemed likely to be the former; then, with a shrill screech, the long
spikes yielded and the board suddenly gave. With shoulders inserted
beneath, the two men heaved it still higher, ramming the bench below so as
to leave the opening clear. This was now sufficiently ample for the
passage of a man's body, and Keith, lowering himself, discovered the earth
to be fully four feet below. The negro instantly joined him, and they
began creeping about in the darkness, seeking some way out. A rudely laid
foundation of limestone alone obstructed their path to the open air. This
had been laid in mortar, but of inferior quality, so that little
difficulty was experienced in detaching sufficient to obtain hand hold.
Working silently, not knowing what watchers might be already stationed
without, they succeeded in loosening enough of the rock to allow them to
crawl through, lying breathless in the open. Accustomed as they were to
the darkness, they could yet see little. They were upon the opposite side
from the town, with no gleam of lights visible, prairie and sky blending
together into spectral dimness, with no sound audible but the continued
quarrel in the front room of the jail. Keith crept along to the end of the
building from where he could perceive the lights of the town twinkling
dimly through the intense blackness. Evidently the regular evening
saturnalia had not yet begun, although there was already semblance of life
about the numerous saloons, and an occasional shout punctuated the
stillness. A dog howled in the distance, and the pounding of swift hoofs
along the trail told of fresh arrivals. An hour later and the single
street of Carson City would be alive with humanity, eager for any
excitement, ready for any wild orgy, if only once turned loose. That it
would be turned loose, and also directed, the man lying on his face in the
grass felt fully assured. He smiled grimly, wishing he might behold "Black
Bart's" face when he should discover the flight of his intended victims.
But there was no time to lose; every moment gained, added to their chance
of safety.

"Are those horses tied there by the blacksmith's shop?" he asked,
pointing.

The negro stared in the direction indicated, confused by the shadows
thrown by the dim lights.

"I reck'n dey am, Massa Jack; I done make out fo'."

"Then two of them must belong to us; come on, boy."

He ran forward, crouching behind every chance cover, and keeping well back
behind the line of shacks. A slight depression in the prairie helped
conceal their movements, and neither spoke until they were crouching
together beside the wall of the shop. Then Neb, teeth chattering, managed
to blurt forth:

"Fo' de Lawd's sake, yer don't actually mean ter steal dem hosses?"

Keith glanced about at the other's dim, black shadow.

"Sure not; just borrow 'em."

"But dat's a hangin' job in dis yere country, Massa Jack."

"Sure it is if they catch us. But we'd be strung up anyway, and we can't
be hung twice. Besides there is a chance for us with the ponies, and none
at all without. An hour's start in the saddle, Neb, and this bunch back
here will never even find our trail; I pledge you that. Come, boy, stay
close with me."

It was the quiet, confident voice of assured command, of one satisfied
with his plans, and the obedient negro, breathing hard, never dreamed of
opposition; all instincts of slavery held him to the dominion of this
white master. Keith leaned forward, staring at the string of deserted
ponies tied to the rail. Success depended on his choice, and he could
judge very little in that darkness. Men were straggling in along the
street to their right, on foot and horseback, and the saloon on the corner
was being well patronized. A glow of light streamed forth from its
windows, and there was the sound of many voices. But this narrow alley was
deserted, and black. The fugitive stepped boldly forward, afraid that
otherwise he might startle the ponies and thus create an alarm. Guided by
a horseman's instinct he swiftly ran his hands over the animals, and made
quick selection.

"Here, Neb, take this fellow; lead him quietly down the bank," and he
thrust the loosened rein into the black's hand.

An instant later he had chosen his own mount, and was silently moving in
the same direction, although the night there was so black that the
obedient negro had already entirely vanished. The slope of the land not
only helped cover their movements, but also rendered it easy for them to
find one another. Fully a hundred yards westward they met, where a gully
led directly down toward the river. There was no longer need for remaining
on foot, as they were a sufficient distance away from the little town to
feel no fear of being discovered, unless by some drunken straggler. At
Keith's command the negro climbed into his saddle. Both ponies were
restive, but not vicious, and after a plunge or two, to test their new
masters, came easily under control. Keith led the way, moving straight
down the gully, which gradually deepened, burying them in its black heart,
until it finally debouched onto the river sands. The riotous noises of the
drunken town died slowly away behind, the night silent and dark. The two
riders could scarcely distinguish one another as they drew rein at the
edge of the water. To the southward there gleamed a cluster of lights,
marking the position of the camp of regulars. Keith drove his horse deeper
into the stream, and headed northward, the negro following like a shadow.

There was a ford directly opposite the cantonment, and another, more
dangerous, and known to only a few, three miles farther up stream. Keeping
well within the water's edge, so as to thus completely obscure their
trail, yet not daring to venture deep for fear of striking quicksand, the
plainsman sent his pony struggling forward, until the dim outline of the
bank at his right rendered him confident that they had attained the proper
point for crossing. He had been that way only once before, and realized
the danger of attempting passage in such darkness, but urgent need drove
him forward.

"Follow me just as close as you can, boy," he said sternly, "and keep both
your feet out of the stirrups. If your horse goes down hang to is tail,
and let him swim out."

There was little enough to guide by, merely a single faint star peering
out from a rift of the clouds, but Keith's remembrance was that the ford
led straight out to the centre of the stream, and then veered slightly
toward the right. He knew the sand ridge was only used by horsemen, not
being wide enough for the safe passage of wagons, but the depth of the
water on either side was entirely problematical. He was taking a big
chance, yet dare not wait for daylight. Summoning all his nerve and
alertness, he urged his horse slowly forward, the intelligent animal
seemingly comprehending the situation, and feeling carefully for footing.
The actions of the animal gave the rider greater confidence, and he
loosened his grip on the rein, leaving the pony's instinct to control. The
latter fairly crept forward, testing the sand before resting any weight
upon the hoof, the negro's mount following closely. The water was
unusually high, and as they advanced it bore down against them in
considerable volume; then, as they veered to the right, they were
compelled to push directly against its weight in struggling toward shore.
The men could see nothing but this solid sheet of water rushing down
toward them from out the black void, and then vanishing below. Once
Keith's horse half fell, plunging nose under, yet gaining foothold again
before the rider had deserted his saddle. A dim blackness ahead already
revealed the nearness of the southern bank, when Neb's pony went down
suddenly, swept fairly off its legs by some fierce eddy in the stream.
Keith heard the negro's guttural cry, and caught a glimpse of him as the
two were sent whirling down. The coiled rope of the lariat, grasped in his
right hand, was hurled forth like a shot, but came back empty. Not another
sound reached him; his own horse went steadily on, feeling his way, until
he was nose against the bank, with water merely rippling about his ankles.
Keith driving feet again into the stirrups headed him down stream, wading
close in toward the shore, leaning forward over the pommel striving to see
through the gloom.

He had no doubt about Neb's pony making land, unless struck by some
driftwood, or borne to the centre of the stream by the shifting force of
the current. But if Neb had failed to retain his grip he might have been
sucked under by the surge of waters. A hundred yards below he found them,
dripping and weak from the struggle, yet otherwise unhurt. There were no
words spoken, but black and white hands clasped silently, and then Neb
crept back into the saddle, shivering in his wet clothes as the cool night
wind swept against him. Keeping close in toward shore, yet far enough out
so that the water would hide their trail, the fugitives toiled steadily up
stream, guided only by the black outline of the low bank upon their left.

Chapter VII

In the Sand Desert

Suddenly Keith halted, bringing his pony's head sharply about, so that the
two faced one another. The wind was rising, hurling clouds of sand into
their eyes, and the plainsman held one hand before his face.

"There's no need of keeping up a water trail any longer," he said quietly.
"By all the signs we're in for a sand storm by daylight, and that will
cover our tracks so the devil himself couldn't follow them. Got a water
bag on your saddle?"

"I reck'n dis am one, sah."

Keith felt of the object Neb held forth.

"Yes, and a big one, too; fill it and strap it on tight; we've got a long,
dry ride ahead."

"Whar' yo' propose goin', Massa Jack?"

"To the 'Bar X' on the Canadian. I've worked with that outfit. They'll
give us whatever we need, and ask no questions; I don't know of anything
in between. It's going to be a hard ride, boy, and mighty little to eat
except what I saved from supper."

"How far am it to dis yere 'Bar X'?"

"A hundred and fifty miles as the crow flies, and sand all the way, except
for the valley of Salt Fork. Come on now, and keep close, for it's easy to
get lost in these sand hills."

Keith had ridden that hundred and fifty miles of sandy desolation before,
but had never been called upon to make such a journey as this proved to
be. He knew there was little to fear from human enemies, for they were
riding far enough east of the Santa Fe trail to be out of the path of
raiding parties, while this desert country was shunned by Indian hunters.
It consisted of sand hill after sand hill, a drear waterless waste where
nothing grew, and amid the dread sameness of which a traveller could only
find passage by the guidance of stars at night or the blazing sun by day.
To the eye mile after mile appeared exactly alike, with nothing whatever
to distinguish either distance or direction--the same drifting ridges of
sand stretching forth in every direction, no summit higher than another,
no semblance of green shrubbery, or silver sheen of running water anywhere
to break the dull monotony--a vast sandy plain, devoid of life, extending
to the horizon, overhung by a barren sky.

They had covered ten miles of it by daybreak, their ponies travelling
heavily, fetlock deep, but could advance no further. With the first tint
of rose in the east the brooding storm burst upon them in wild desert
fury, the fierce wind buffeting them back, lashing their faces with sharp
grit until they were unable to bear the pain. The flying sand smote them
in clouds, driven with the speed of bullets. In vain they lay flat, urging
their ponies forward; the beasts, maddened and blinded by the merciless
lashing of the sand, refused to face the storm. Keith, all sense of
direction long since lost, rolled wearily from the saddle, burrowed under
the partial shelter of a sand dune, and called upon Neb to follow him.
With their hands and feet they made a slight wind-break, dragging the
struggling ponies into its protection, and burrowed themselves there, the
clouds of sand skurrying over them so thick as to obscure the sky, and
rapidly burying them altogether as though in a grave. Within an hour they
were compelled to dig themselves out, yet it proved partial escape from
the pitiless lashing. The wind howled like unloosed demons, and the air
grew cold, adding to the sting of the grit, when some sudden eddy hurled
it into their hiding place. To endeavor further travel would mean certain
death, for no one could have guided a course for a hundred feet through
the tempest, which seemed to suck the very breath away. To the fugitives
came this comfort--if they could not advance, then no one else could
follow, and the storm was completely blotting out their trail.

It was three o'clock before it died sufficiently down for them to venture
out. Even then the air remained full of sand, while constantly shifting
ridges made travel difficult. Only grim necessity--the suffering of the
ponies for water, and their own need for soon reaching the habitation of
man and acquiring food--drove them to the early venture. They must attain
the valley of the Salt Fork that night, or else perish in the desert--
there remained no other choice. Tying neckerchiefs over their horses'
eyes, and lying flat themselves, they succeeded in pressing slowly
forward, winding in and out among the shifting dunes, with only the wind
to guide them. It was an awful trail, the hoofs sinking deep in drifting
sand, the struggling ponies becoming so exhausted that their riders
finally dismounted, and staggered forward on foot, leading them stumbling
blindly after. Once the negro's horse dropped, and had to be lashed to its
feet again; once Keith's pony stumbled and fell on him, hurling him face
down into the sand, and he would have died there, lacking sufficient
strength to lift the dead weight, but for Neb's assistance. As it was he
went staggering blindly forward, bruised, and faint from hunger and
fatigue. Neither man spoke; they had no breath nor energy left to waste;
every ounce of strength needed to be conserved for the battle against
nature. They were fighting for life; fighting grimly, almost hopelessly,
and alone.

About them night finally closed in, black and starless, yet fortunately
with a gradual dying away of the storm. For an hour past they had been
struggling on, doubting their direction, wondering dully if they were not
lost and merely drifting about in a circle. They had debated this fiercely
once, the ponies standing dejectedly, tails to the storm, Neb arguing that
the wind still blew from the south, and Keith contending it had shifted
into the westward. The white man won his way, and they staggered on
uncertain, the negro grasping the first pony's tail to keep from being
separated from his companion. Some instinct of the plains must have guided
them, for at last they dragged themselves out from the desert, the
crunching sand under foot changing into rock, and then to short brittle
grass, at which the ponies nibbled eagerly. The slope led gradually
downward, the animals scenting water, and struggling to break away.
Swaying in their saddles, the riders let them go, and they never stopped
until belly deep in the stream, their noses buried. The men shivered in
their saddles, until, at last satisfied, the ponies consented to be forced
back up the bank, where they nibbled at the short tufts of herbage, but in
a manner expressive of weariness. Keith flung himself on the ground, every
muscle of his body aching, his exposed flesh still smarting from the hail
of sand through which they had passed.

He had not the slightest conception as to where they were, except he knew
this must be the Salt Fork. Utterly confused by the maze of shifting
dunes, through whose intricacies they had somehow found passage, the
blackness of the night yielded no clue as to their point of emergence. The
volume of water in the stream alone suggested that in their wanderings
they must have drifted to the eastward, and come out much lower down than
had been originally intended. If so, then they might be almost directly
south of Carson City, and in a section with which he was totally
unacquainted. One thing was, however, certain--they would be compelled to
wait for daylight to ascertain the truth, and decide upon their future
movements. There was another barren, sandy stretch of desolation lying
between this isolated valley and that of the Canadian, and their horses
would never stand to be pushed forward without both rest and food. As to
themselves--they had eaten their last crumb long since, but this was not
the first time both had known starvation.

Keith arose reluctantly, and removed the saddles from the animals,
hobbling them so they could graze at will. Neb was propped up beneath an
out-cropping of the bank, which partly protected him from the wind, a mere
hulk of a shadow. Keith could not tell whether he slept or not, but made
no effort to disturb him. A moment he stared vacantly about into the black
silence, and then lay down, pillowing his head upon a saddle. He found it
impossible to sleep, the chill of the wind causing him to turn and twist,
in vain search after comfort, while unappeased hunger gnawed incessantly.
His eyes ranged about over the dull gloom of the skies until they fell
again to the earth level, and then he suddenly sat up, half believing
himself in a dream--down the stream, how far away he could not judge,
there gleamed a steady, yellowish light. It was no flicker of a camp fire,
yet remained stationary. Surely no star could be so low and large; nor did
he recall any with that peculiarity of color. If such a miracle was
possible in the heart of that sandy desert he would have sworn it was a
lamp shining through a window. But he had never heard of any settler on
the Salt Fork, and almost laughed at the thought, believing for the
instant his brain played him some elfish trick. Yet that light was no
illusion; he rubbed his eyes, only to see it more clearly, convinced now
of its reality. He strode hastily across, and shook Neb into semi-
consciousness, dragging him bodily up the bank and pointing down stream.

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