The Man of the Forest, Zane Grey [books to read for 13 year olds txt] 📗

just sticking

above the grass; and he saw deep tracks of game as well as

the slow-rising blades of bluebells where some soft-footed

beast had just trod. And he heard the melancholy notes of

birds, the twitter of grouse, the sough of the wind, the

light dropping of pine-cones, the near and distant bark of

squirrels, the deep gobble of a turkey close at hand and the

challenge from a rival far away, the cracking of twigs in

the thickets, the murmur of running water, the scream of an

eagle and the shrill cry of a hawk, and always the soft,

dull, steady pads of the hoofs of the horses.

 

The smells, too, were the sweet, stinging ones of spring,

warm and pleasant — the odor of the clean, fresh earth

cutting its way through that thick, strong fragrance of

pine, the smell of logs rotting in the sun, and of fresh new

grass and flowers along a brook of snow-water.

 

“I smell smoke,” said Dale, suddenly, as he reined in, and

turned for corroboration from his companion.

 

John sniffed the warm air.

 

“Wal, you’re more of an Injun than me,” he replied, shaking

his head.

 

They traveled on, and presently came out upon the rim of the

last slope. A long league of green slanted below them,

breaking up into straggling lines of trees and groves that

joined the cedars, and these in turn stretched on and down

in gray-black patches to the desert, that glittering and

bare, with streaks of somber hue, faded in the obscurity of

distance.

 

The village of Pine appeared to nestle in a curve of the

edge of the great forest, and the cabins looked like tiny

white dots set in green.

 

“Look there,” said Dale, pointing.

 

Some miles to the right a gray escarpment of rock cropped

out of the slope, forming a promontory; and from it a thin,

pale column of smoke curled upward to be lost from sight as

soon as it had no background of green.

 

“Thet’s your smoke, shore enough,” replied John,

thoughtfully. “Now, I jest wonder who’s campin’ there. No

water near or grass for hosses.”

 

“John, that point’s been used for smoke signals many a

time.”

 

“Was jest thinkin’ of thet same. Shall we ride around there

an’ take a peek?”

 

“No. But we’ll remember that. If Beasley’s got his deep

scheme goin’, he’ll have Snake Anson’s gang somewhere

close.”

 

“Roy said thet same. Wal, it’s some three hours till

sundown. The hosses keep up. I reckon I’m fooled, for we’ll

make Pine all right. But old Tom there, he’s tired or lazy.”

 

The big cougar was lying down, panting, and his half-shut

eyes were on Dale.

 

“Tom’s only lazy an’ fat. He could travel at this gait for a

week. But let’s rest a half-hour an’ watch that smoke before

movin’ on. We can make Pine before sundown.”

 

When travel had been resumed, half-way down the slope Dale’s

sharp eyes caught a broad track where shod horses had

passed, climbing in a long slant toward the promontory. He

dismounted to examine it, and John, coming up, proceeded

with alacrity to get off and do likewise. Dale made his

deductions, after which he stood in a brown study beside his

horse, waiting for John.

 

“Wal, what ‘d you make of these here tracks?” asked that

worthy.

 

“Some horses an’ a pony went along here yesterday, an’

to-day a single horse made, that fresh track.”

 

“Wal, Milt, for a hunter you ain’t so bad at hoss tracks,”

observed John, “But how many hosses went yesterday?”

 

“I couldn’t make out — several — maybe four or five.”

 

“Six hosses an’ a colt or little mustang, unshod, to be

strict-correct. Wal, supposin’ they did. What ‘s it mean to

us?”

 

“I don’t know as I’d thought anythin’ unusual, if it hadn’t

been for that smoke we saw off the rim, an’ then this here

fresh track made along to-day. Looks queer to me.”

 

“Wish Roy was here,” replied John, scratching his head.

“Milt, I’ve a hunch, if he was, he’d foller them tracks.”

 

“Maybe. But we haven’t time for that. We can backtrail them,

though, if they keep clear as they are here. An’ we’ll not

lose any time, either.”

 

That broad track led straight toward Pine, down to the edge

of the cedars, where, amid some jagged rocks, evidences

showed that men had camped there for days. Here it ended as

a broad trail. But from the north came the single fresh

track made that very day, and from the east, more in a line

with Pine, came two tracks made the day before. And these

were imprints of big and little hoofs. Manifestly these

interested John more than they did Dale, who had to wait for

his companion.

 

“Milt, it ain’t a colt’s — thet little track,” avowed John.

 

“Why not — an’ what if it isn’t?” queried Dale.

 

“Wal, it ain’t, because a colt always straggles back, an’

from one side to t’other. This little track keeps close to

the big one. An’, by George! it was made by a led mustang.”

 

John resembled Roy Beeman then with that leaping, intent

fire in his gray eyes. Dale’s reply was to spur his horse

into a trot and call sharply to the lagging cougar.

 

When they turned into the broad, blossom-bordered road that

was the only thoroughfare of Pine the sun was setting red

and gold behind the mountains. The horses were too tired for

any more than a walk. Natives of the village, catching sight

of Dale and Beeman, and the huge gray cat following like a

dog, called excitedly to one another. A group of men in

front of Turner’s gazed intently down the road, and soon

manifested signs of excitement. Dale and his comrade

dismounted in front of Widow Cass’s cottage. And Dale called

as he strode up the little path. Mrs. Cass came out. She was

white and shaking, but appeared calm. At sight of her John

Beeman drew a sharp breath.

 

“Wal, now —” he began, hoarsely, and left off.

 

“How’s Roy?” queried Dale.

 

“Lord knows I’m glad to see you, boys! Milt, you’re thin an’

strange-lookin’. Roy’s had a little setback. He got a shock

to-day an’ it throwed him off. Fever — an’ now he’s out of

his head. It won’t do no good for you to waste time seein’

him. Take my word for it he’s all right. But there’s others

as — For the land’s sakes, Milt Dale, you fetched thet

cougar back! Don’t let him near me!”

 

“Tom won’t hurt you, mother,” said Dale, as the cougar came

padding up the path. “You were sayin’ somethin’ — about

others. Is Miss Helen safe? Hurry!”

 

“Ride up to see her — an’ waste no more time here.”

 

Dale was quick in the saddle, followed by John, but the

horses had to be severely punished to force them even to a

trot. And that was a lagging trot, which now did not leave

Torn behind.

 

The ride up to Auchincloss’s ranch-house seemed endless to

Dale. Natives came out in the road to watch after he had

passed. Stern as Dale was in dominating his feelings, he

could not wholly subordinate his mounting joy to a waiting

terrible anticipation of catastrophe. But no matter what

awaited — nor what fateful events might hinge upon this

nameless circumstance about to be disclosed, the wonderful

and glorious fact of the present was that in a moment he

would see Helen Rayner.

 

There were saddled horses in the courtyard, but no riders. A

Mexican boy sat on the porch bench, in the seat where Dale

remembered he had encountered Al Auchincloss. The door of

the big sitting-room was open. The scent of flowers, the

murmur of bees, the pounding of hoofs came vaguely to Dale.

His eyes dimmed, so that the ground, when he slid out of his

saddle, seemed far below him. He stepped upon the porch. His

sight suddenly cleared. A tight fullness at his throat made

incoherent the words he said to the Mexican boy. But they

were understood, as the boy ran back around the house. Dale

knocked sharply and stepped over the threshold.

 

Outside, John, true to his habits, was thinking, even in

that moment of suspense, about the faithful, exhausted

horses. As he unsaddled them he talked: “Fer soft an’ fat

hosses, winterin’ high up, wal, you’ve done somethin’!”

 

Then Dale heard a voice in another room, a step, a creak of

the door. It opened. A woman in white appeared. He

recognized Helen. But instead of the rich brown bloom and

dark-eyed beauty so hauntingly limned on his memory, he saw

a white, beautiful face, strained and quivering in anguish,

and eyes that pierced his heart. He could not speak.

 

“Oh! my friend — you’ve come!” she whispered.

 

Dale put out a shaking hand. But she did not see it. She

clutched his shoulders, as if to feel whether or not he was

real, and then her arms went up round his neck.

 

“Oh, thank God! I knew you would come!” she said, and her

head sank to his shoulder.

 

Dale divined what he had suspected. Helen’s sister had been

carried off. Yet, while his quick mind grasped Helen’s

broken spirit — the unbalance that was reason for this

marvelous and glorious act — he did not take other meaning

of the embrace to himself. He just stood there, transported,

charged like a tree struck by lightning, making sure with

all his keen senses, so that he could feel forever, how she

was clinging round his neck, her face over his bursting

heart, her quivering form close pressed to his.

 

“It’s — Bo,” he said, unsteadily.

 

“She went riding yesterday — and — never — came — back!”

replied Helen, brokenly.

 

“I’ve seen her trail. She’s been taken into the woods. I’ll

find her. I’ll fetch her back,” he replied, rapidly.

 

With a shock she seemed to absorb his meaning. With another

shock she raised her face — leaned back a little to look at

him.

 

“You’ll find her — fetch her back?”

 

“Yes,” he answered, instantly.

 

With that ringing word it seemed to Dale she realized how

she was standing. He felt her shake as she dropped her arms

and stepped back, while the white anguish of her face was

flooded out by a wave of scarlet. But she was brave in her

confusion. Her eyes never fell, though they changed swiftly,

darkening with shame, amaze, and with feelings he could not

read.

 

“I’m almost — out of my head,” she faltered.

 

“No wonder. I saw that… . But now you must get

clear-headed. I’ve no time to lose.”

 

He led her to the door.

 

“John, it’s Bo that’s gone,” he called. “Since yesterday… .

Send the boy to get me a bag of meat an’ bread. You run

to the corral an’ get me a fresh horse. My old horse Ranger

if you can find him quick. An’ rustle.”

 

Without a word John leaped bareback on one of the horses he

had just unsaddled and spurred him across the courtyard.

 

Then the big cougar, seeing Helen, got up from where he lay

on the porch and came to her.

 

“Oh, it’s Tom!” cried Helen, and as he rubbed against her

knees she patted his head with trembling hand. “You big,

beautiful pet! Oh, how I remember! Oh, how Bo would love to

—”

 

“Where’s Carmichael?” interrupted Dale. “Out huntin’ Bo?”

 

“Yes. It was he who missed her first. He rode everywhere

yesterday. Last night when