The Forbidden Trail, Honoré Willsie [digital e reader TXT] 📗

Crazy Dutch gave an ugly laugh. "I'm likely to do that! What do you want of it?"

"If you won't let me take it, let me go through it. There is something in it I want."

"And what is that?" queried her husband.

"I don't know," replied Madam, very simply.

"You don't know?" roared Crazy Dutch.

"No, Otto, I don't know. The Yogis told me to come up and they told me that when I went through the papers I would recognize some that I wanted."

Von Minden turned appealingly to Roger and Ernest. "Have you any idea what she's talking about?"

Ernest shook his head.

"Wouldn't you like to go into the engine house to talk this over?" suggested Roger. "You'd have privacy there."

"Don't leave me alone with him," exclaimed Mrs. von Minden. "He's not safe."

"All right," said Roger. "I've searched him and now I'm going through his pack, and I shall confiscate any weapon I find."

"Don't you dare to give her my strong box," shouted Crazy Dutch.

"I'll put the box back where I find it," replied Roger. "Come on, Ern, begin."

It was a pitifully mean little pack, quite poverty stricken compared with Mrs. von Minden's. A woolen quilt and a Navajo, a coffee pot, frying pan and a small sack of sugar, a canteen, a flannel shirt and a pair of ragged socks, a gun, a small strong box, with a geological hammer, a barometer and a compass, comprised Peter's load.

Roger took the gun into the living tent and Ernest remade the pack. During the search, Mrs. von Minden had not spoken, though she eyed the work with keenest interest.

"Now," said Roger, "I will tell you both frankly that I don't care to have a family row carried on in this camp."

"I'm not trying to row, certainly," exclaimed von Minden. "It's all this woman."

"The woman is your wife, isn't she?" asked Ernest.

"In name only. I tell you I finished with women, years ago."

"But I haven't finished with you yet," commented his wife.

"What can you do to me?" sneered Crazy Dutch.

"I can do what They tell me. And They tell me to hang on to you like grim death until They bid me stop. I shall follow you and that strong box to the end of the earth, Otto!"

"But why! But why! You've always been glad enough to be rid of me before."

Mrs. von Minden, her pink sunbonnet pushed back to her shoulders, her eyes gleaming, took a menacing step toward her husband, and her voice rose hysterically.

"I know you! I know you! With your sneaking ways and your secret letters. I know that you're a dirty German spy. I know what that box holds. But what I want out of it is my marriage certificate and whatever else They tell me. I can't read German and They can. I can't throw fear into your black heart but They can. And if I told you the way They have interpreted some of your acts to me, you would crawl on your hands and knees to me."

Von Minden watched the woman with a stolid face. "Who are They?" he growled.

"They are the spirits of the dead. The great ones of the Universe are talking to me now, Otto von Minden! They directed me here. The hand of Fate is in it. Listen! You have not long to live, Otto. And all that you have lived for will be dust and ashes. All the work that you have done will be cast to the four winds of Heaven, while this man," pointing to Roger, "will found your empire for you. You have planted in intrigue and you will die in shame. Otto, let me go through the strong box."

"Clarissa," exclaimed Von Minden, with for the first time a note of pity in his voice, "you've gone crazy."

His wife smiled sardonically. "I'm going to see what is in the strong box, if I follow you to China," and with this she turned on her heel and disappeared into her tent. Nor did she come out again that night.

"Now, Mr. von Minden," said Roger sternly. "I tell you quite frankly, that you're not welcome here. If Miss Preble hadn't interceded for you, I'd hand you over to the authorities."

Crazy Dutch nodded affably. "You're quite right. I deserve it. But I've had a touch of the sun and for a moment I was out of my head. In this lonely country we must bear with each other."

"The way you bear with your wife, I suppose," suggested Ernest.

Von Minden looked half apprehensively over his shoulder at his wife's tent, then he said in a confidential whisper, "Now she is crazy and has been for years. Only she's crazy all the time so the only thing to do is to keep away from her. She was a very good, hard working woman, once."

"So I should judge from what she tells us," Roger's voice was grim. "It strikes us that you treated her as if she were a horse and not a woman. But that's not our business. Why did you come back here, Von Minden?"

"I came to apologize."

"Well, I accept the apology. Now you had better go on about your business and I'll get your wife back to Phœnix, some way."

Von Minden drew himself up. "I beg your pardon, Mr. Moore, I'm not in the habit of being spoken to in this manner. Apologize at once!"

Roger turned red. "Why you infernal little shrimp—" he began.

But Ernest interrupted. "Keep your temper, Rog. All this isn't worth seeing red for."

"Of course it isn't," said the little German briskly. "Now I'm planning to spend the evening with the Prebles and then I'll go on into the range. Peter, my dear, I'll give you a drink now. We were out in all this storm, gentlemen, but we don't mind them, Peter and I. There is a beauty about them, these passions of the desert. How are the Prebles?"

The two men started. "We were going up there," said Ernest. "Dick just went driving by at a gallop, without a word, toward Archer's Springs."

Von Minden scowled, started to speak, was silent, then said: "What do you think was the matter?"

"Let's go find out," urged Ernest.

The three men, Peter trailing at the rear, started hurriedly along the half obliterated trail toward the ranch.

The stillness after the day of warfare was heavenly. The violet of the sky had changed to the blue of larkspur, that now was shot with lacey streamers, rose pink from the setting sun. An oriole, balancing itself on Dick's line fence, poured forth a melody of transporting sweetness.

"O, by Jove!" exclaimed Roger suddenly, "look at Dick's alfalfa!"

The oriole fluttered away as they approached the fence. The field had not drifted badly. The draw to the north had prevented that. But the bright green shadow on the yellow sand of which Gustav had told them in the morning, was no more. A huge blight lay on the field with every tender plant blackened and dead.

"Poor old Dick!" groaned Ernest. Then he added plaintively, "But he's no tenderfoot. He knows desert storms. Why did he attempt it?"

"A storm like this, this time of year, is unheard of," said Von Minden. "Close to the mountain like this, Dick was choosing a good spot. See there are few drifts. Poor fellow!"

There were actual tears in Ernest's blue eyes as he looked at the blackened field. "Let's get to the girls," he urged.

At the corral gate they met Gustav.

"What's the trouble, Gustav?" cried Roger.

"Dick he vent to the field down to see how the alfalfa vas, then he came running like a mad man. He scolded Fräulein Charley like it vas her fault, then he ran to the corral, hitched up and vent."

"But didn't you try to stop him?" demanded Roger.

"Not Fräulein Charley. She just sat on the step and little Felicia on her lap and say nothing. But I vent to the corral to talk to Dick and he told me to go to hell. He vas a mad man, I tell you. Now I go milk."

Charley, at the sound of voices, came out to the steps. "Hello, Uncle Otto," she called. The men looked up at her. Her tanned cheeks were flushed, her fine square shoulders were tense. But her voice was gay:

"Have you and Mr. Moore had your duel?"

"It's postponed," replied Crazy Dutch.

Felicia scrambled past her sister and ran down to Roger: "Dick went away mad," she exclaimed. "He scolded Charley and me awful and made me cry. I hate to cry. It hurts my insides so."

Charley had joined them now. "Poor Dick!" she said. "That alfalfa field was dearer to him than any of you know. He'll cool down by the time he reaches Archer's and brings back more seed. Why can't you all stay to supper here?"

"It's too much trouble for you," protested Ernest, weakly.

"You can all help," said Charley. "Please all stay." Something in the eagerness of her low voice touched Roger as it did the other men.

"Of course, we're delighted to stay," he exclaimed, tossing Felicia to his shoulder. "Come along, chicken, we'll split some wood for sister."

"And me, I must wash myself," said Crazy Dutch, "and give Peter some hay."

"And me, I'll help get the supper," said Ernest.