Chapter XXI THE END OF THE LONG TRAIL

 LIKE a hunted wolf, sore-distressed and savage, the defeated White Chief was hidden with two of his followers in the tangled depths of Mystery Grove. He had heard, with murder in his heart, the cowboys beating about the brush in search of him and his scattered band. Luckily for them, none came within range of his revolver. The noise of the conflict had died down, the search around him had ceased, and the sun was nearly up before they found the moment to dare to skulk out of their risky retreat and make the attempt to thread the willowy trail up Sage Creek, which Nixon had followed a few hours before with such high hopes of glorious revenge.   It was a dangerous gauntlet to run; but it was more dangerous to stay till day should come to light the recesses of the grove. At any rate, he chose to take chances of capture in the open. Luck seemed to favor him. No signs of his pursuers were to be seen. He was chuckling{234} savagely to himself in the thought that he would give them the slip and have his day yet, when a cowboy, or rather a cow-girl, as his second sharper glance told him, suddenly appeared just above him on the flat.   It was Alta Morgan. On returning from her brave ride to sound the warning, she had chosen the open way on the eastern side of the creek. The two saw and recognized each other simultaneously. Alta checked the scream of terror that leaped to her lips, and cut Eagle sharply with her quirt as she whirled his head to spring away from danger. She was so dazed she hardly knew which way to fly till Fred’s words flashed through her mind,—“If you sight danger, go to Uncle Dave’s.” Straight as an arrow she headed Eagle for the hills.   “Ha!” gloated the White Injun, spurring his horse after her, his fear of discovery and death completely swept aside by the wicked thought that now focused all his hate and energy. He would capture and carry off the proud little puss whose spite had caused all his trouble. A thousand devilish thoughts surged through his hate-fired brain as he spurred and lashed his struggling horse in his mad effort to overtake her.   It was a race for life. Eagle, seeming to sense it, strained every nerve to carry his mistress{235} out of her terrible danger; but the exhausting work he had already done that morning had unnerved his steely muscles, and for the life of him he could not keep Bud’s cayuse from gradually closing the gap between them.   They had gained the steeper hills. Both horses had to slacken speed as they raced up the slope.   “On, Eagle, on!” called the terror-dazed girl, leaning over his neck in eagerness and patting it nervously. The little horse responded to that caressing touch with a new burst of speed. Up the trail he flew, gaining somewhat on his pursuers.   But the brave little horse could not maintain his lead. The White Injun gradually drew closer and finally overtook the fleeing girl; then grabbing her reins, he brought Eagle to a standstill. Alta, in a frenzy of anger and fear, lashed the brute’s clutching hand and leering face; but he clung on in spite of the stinging whip until his two lagging bucks caught up.   “Grab her arms and tie ’em tight,” he commanded; “then bind her to the saddle.” The savages obeyed.   “Let me go, you beast!” screamed the girl.   “When I’m done with you.”   “Oh, you devil!” She struggled frantically to free herself from the torturing thongs, but{236} seeing that it was useless, she suddenly checked and held herself with queenly self-control.   “We’ll see who’s boss this time, my fine lady,” Bud mocked at her; “I told you once that it was dangerous business to play with fire. Come on.” He jerked Eagle’s reins as he spoke and headed hurriedly toward the south, making his trail through the cover of the scattering groves. The two Indians followed closely behind, nervously looking about from time to time for pursuers.   But there were no friends to dash to her rescue. Uncle Dave, however, keeping anxious watch that morning, had seen it all from the hills above them. The sight fired his old heart; but he was too far away to lift an arm in her defense. The best he could do was to keep general track of the trail they were taking, and when they finally disappeared beyond the canyon a mile or so to the south, he started out afoot to rouse the ranchers. Half-way down Sage Creek, he met Fred, on a fresh horse and leading old Buck, galloping toward his cabin.   “Have you seen Alta?” was his first anxious word.   “Yes, boy, that white Injun has captured her.”   “Captured her! My God! Which way did he go?{237}”   “To’rds the south, beyond the canyon.”   “The demon! He’ll murder her or worse. He must be stopped.” Fred turned his horse to dash away in the direction Uncle Dave had given.   “Hold on, boy, you’d better get help.”   “No, we mustn’t lose time; I’m going now.”   “Then I’ll go with you.” The old man climbed on to Buck as he spoke, and followed Fred’s wild lead. “Take it easy, boy,” he cautioned; “you’ll make better time.”   Fred checked his speed somewhat, but could not hold down his throbbing heart.   Bud Nixon, meanwhile, was pushing on as fast as he could with his helpless, worn-out captive to overtake the band of Indians then hurrying through the southeastern pass. It was not till about dusk that he caught up with them camped temporarily in a secluded side canyon.   The savages were in a flurry of excitement. News of the fight had already been brought by Flying Arrow and other stragglers. Squaws and papooses were running about crying and wailing despite the efforts of the bucks to hold down their noise. The appearance of Ankanamp with his white prisoner brought consternation to the camp.{238}   Alta was quickly lifted from her horse and carried into a tepee standing somewhat apart from the rest of the lodges. Her arms were untied, but she was left there closely guarded, at Bud’s order, by two squaws, while he and the other leaders held a council in Old Copperhead’s wigwam.   The Indians were in an ugly temper over their defeat, and naturally they laid the blame for it upon the one who had led them. Ankanamp was received, therefore, for the first time with sullen silence. He had staked too much on this last throw and had lost, bringing danger and terror to the tribe. This was enough to make the hot-headed braves ready to kill the White Chief.   Old Copperhead had already been put to the test to hold his followers from doing harm to Ankanamp as he appeared. And now he came bringing a white girl captive. Pursuit to the death would be sure to follow in the wake of that dastardly trick. The Indians all knew what that meant; but to their credit they held down their anger to listen to their chiefs. There was little time, however, for talk. A quick decision and action were demanded. Whether to flee or to make a stand and fight was the question; for they knew that the whites would soon trail them to this lair.{239}   The old chief counseled sending the squaws and papooses on that night, leaving the warriors to guard their retreat. Nixon urged an ambush.   “They are sure to follow us,” he said, “but we kin beat ’em back and get revenge.”   “Yes, cow-men follow all right,” said Flying Arrow; “they trail Injun night and day till they git white squaw. Why you bring white squaw here?” he demanded, turning savagely on Nixon.   “That’s my business,” retorted the bully.   “Make Injuns heap trouble,” said Old Copperhead.   “Why you bring white girl here?” again demanded Flying Arrow.   “She’s my squaw.”   “You lie!” hissed the Indian.   “Well, I’m going to make her mine.”   “What you do with Laughing Eyes?”   “None of your damned business!”   “You promise Indian girl to make her your squaw.”   “You lie!”   “No, you lie,—she tell me. Now you keep promise and let white squaw go. Then all well.” The young chief’s words were calm and clear.{240}   “What! marry an Injun? I’ll see you in hell first.”   “You no too proud to use Injun girl. Now you make Laughing Eyes your squaw, or me kill you!” A savage fire blazed in the young chief’s eyes. Bud cowered under his glance. The other Indians stood like statues watching them.   Then Old Copperhead said firmly: “Flying Arrow right. You marry Injun girl. Let white girl free. You do this. All well. You no do it. You die.”   “Well, have your way then,” said the cowardly cur, playing for time; “we’ll settle the job to-morrow.”   This promise made, the council turned again to the main issue, and soon decided on a plan of action. They were to follow their old chief’s advice. About midnight the squaws and papooses under his lead were to make a forced march, while the bucks stayed behind to guard the trail. The white girl was not to be harmed, but taken back in the morning to the mouth of the pass and set free.   All might have gone as planned, if Bud had not broken faith with the Indians. Flying Arrow, fearing treachery on his part, kept catlike watch of the White Chief’s movements.{241}   While all this was happening, Fred and Uncle Dave were cautiously following the trail of the Indians. The keen eyes of the old mountaineer brought them at last within sight of the hidden camp. But how to get into it and free the captive was the trying problem. All fires were out and all voices were hushed. To break into the camp openly would be madness; and they could expect no help for hours, when if fortune favored them it might come. For they had sent word back by a straggling rancher they had chanced to meet. It might be that the cowboys would find the uncertain trail; but their help at best would come late. Something must be done at once.   “If I could only find out whar they’re keepin’ the gal,” said Uncle Dave, “I’d risk passin’ the word to her; but it’s hard to tell. I’m goin’ to risk it anyway.”   “Let me go with you,” urged Fred.   “No; ’tain’t no use o’ both of us runnin’ into a trap. You kin help better by stayin’ here with the horses while I steal down among ’em and try to git the lay o’ things.” He handed Fred the reins, and picked his way cautiously through the darkness toward the quiet camp.   The mental torture that Alta was enduring throughout these long hours was terrible. Des{242}perate to do something, yet powerless; fearing death not half so much as the villain’s touch, she sat within the wigwam resolved to kill herself rather than suffer dishonor. A hundred plans of escape passed through her brain, but she dared not risk any of them. Dreading the worst, yet praying and hoping for deliverance, she held herself from doing anything desperate.   The night was advancing. The squaws that guarded her wigwam had ceased their chatter, and sat dozing outside; nothing was audible except the night noises.   Suddenly she felt a light tapping on the tent. Her heart almost stopped beating. Then a voice whispered her name. She could have leaped for joy, but fear held her quiet. She crept to the edge of the tent and whispered her answer, “Yes, I’m here.”   “Keep your courage, gal; we’ll save you.”   “Oh, you will, will you,” came the gruff voice of Bud Nixon, who with evil thought in his brain had also crept up to the girl’s tepee. “Take that, you sneaking devil!”   A revolver shot rang out. There was a groan and a heavy fall. The old mountaineer, struck in the back by the villain’s bullet, had pitched forward and fallen against the tent.{243}   The shot and Alta’s scream brought the Indians in a rush to the spot. When Flying Arrow discovered what the White Injun had done, he leaped like a panther at his throat and drove his knife into the murderer’s heart.   “You kill my friend, Long Beard; you wrong Laughing Eyes; you die, you die!”   Fred, desperate to do something to save Alta, and unable to stand the suspense, had flung fear aside and followed Uncle Dave into the camp. The shot and Alta’s cry brought him into the crowd in time to see the Indian strike down the brute. But his thoughts were all for Alta and Uncle Dave. Rushing to his old friend’s side with her, they raised his dying head and tried to call him back to consciousness.   “Oh, Uncle Dave!” she cried, “you must not die. Speak to me.”   His eyes opened. He came back enough to realize dimly what was happening.   “Don’t take it—too hard,” he said falteringly; “it’s only—the end—of the—long trail.”   The young chief was bending over his old friend with them.   “Long Beard, you know me. Flying Arrow—your papoose-boy long time ago.”   “Yes, yes,” he faltered, “I—know—you;—thank God, you’re here. You—save my{244} white boy and girl now. You promise?” The words came with great effort.   “Yes, me no let Injun hurt ’em—me take care of ’em.”   “There—I—feel—better. Now—we’ll camp—over—there—be quiet—Tobe—go to—sleep.”   His last words were scarcely audible. His weary head fell back, the gentle, gray eyes closed, and the old mountaineer rested in peace at the end of the long trail.   Fred and Alta sat for a few moments half dazed; then suddenly realizing that he had gone, Alta broke under the strain and sorrow into wild expressions of her grief.   “Oh, Fred!” she cried, “he’s dead—he’s given his life to save me. How can I ever bear to think what my troubles have cost him?”   “There, don’t blame yourself, dear,” said Fred, taking her in his arms. “It was a sweet sacrifice for him, Alta; he loved you.”   “I loved him, too,” she sobbed; “and I love you, for being so brave and good to me.”   “Alta, do you really mean it?” He drew her close to his throbbing heart.   “Mean it, Fred? why I have always loved you, only I never knew how much till now.{245}”   “Sweetheart!” he raised her troubled face to his. The rest was told in their sweet first kiss. Thoughts of danger and death were momentarily swept aside by the rush of joy that filled their hearts. Out of pain and suffering, their love had suddenly leaped into glad life. They had found each other. A new strength had come to their blended souls; and with it came a sweet comfort, as they sat there hand in hand through the stillness, keeping watch over their old friend, endeared to them now by memories that could never die.   The Indians did nothing to molest them, but made hurried preparations to steal away as they had planned. Silently the dusky forms glided here and there among the tepees; then group after group disappeared along the trail to the eastward until all were gone but Flying Arrow and half a dozen young braves.   When morning broke to light the scene, Bud Nixon still lay where he had fallen, and by his side the Indian girl whom he had wronged sat in silent sorrow.   “Come, sister,” said the young chief in gentle Indian tongue, “I’ll take care of you.” He raised her tenderly and led her away, while other Indians, lifting up her White Chief’s body, carried it along the canyon trail; an{246}other brave followed these, leading Ankanamp’s horse.   They buried him in a crevice among the lava rocks. Over this rough grave they piled stones and sticks to keep bird or beast from molesting it. His horse they killed and buried by him, that he might have something to carry him to the Happy Hunting Grounds. The sorrow-stricken girl begged to be killed too, but they forced her to leave with them.   This done, Flying Arrow returned to take a parting look at his old friend. He gazed in silence for a moment. Then turning to Fred and Alta he said,   “Now go, get friends, carry Long Beard home. Injun no hurt you any more. Good-by.”   “Good-by, brave!” responded Alta with feeling.   “Good-by,” said Fred, reaching out his hand; “we’ll not forget your kindness.”   The young chief took the proffered hand, turned quickly, sprang upon his horse and disappeared along the trail through the pines. He was hardly out of sight when hoof beats were heard down the canyon, and a few moments later Colonel Morgan with Cap Hanks, Dan, Jim, Pat and several other ranchers came upon the scene.{247}   The Colonel leaped from his horse to take his “little squirrel” in his arms, and to hold her there while they listened to Fred’s sad story.   Touched to tears, the group of rugged men stood in silence till Colonel Morgan said quietly, “Let’s make a litter, boys, and carry his body home.”   The next day a crowd of ranch folk from all over the valley gathered to pay their last humble tribute to the old mountaineer. They buried him on Sunset Cliff, just above his cabin. An elder made a few remarks, telling the story of the old man’s noble self-sacrifice, read the Shepherd Psalm, and offered a simple prayer. To mark the spot, a cairn of rough stones was piled above the grave.   After the crowd had dispersed, Fred and Alta lingered to cover the cairn and grave with autumn leaves. The sun was just setting when they finished their loving work and took the trail toward the Morgan ranch; for the Colonel would listen to no other plan than that Fred should stay there as long as he remained in the valley.   As they climbed the hill above the cabin, they turned to take a parting look. The old mountaineer’s home stood in the shadows, deserted, but the last rays of the sun lingered on the cliff,{248} the newly-made grave, and the sheltering pines above it.   “Isn’t that a beautiful spot in which to lay his dear old body to rest?” said Fred.   “Yes,” responded Alta, “I shall always feel better to think of him sleeping where the sunlight loves to linger.”   They stayed a few moments gazing in silence on the picture of light and peace. Then with hearts strangely lifted out of the gloom that had depressed them, they turned in the sunset afterglow to ride slowly home together.   {249}   THE END