the Rustlers Of West Fork (1951) (20 page)

When the fire was blazing brightly, Pamela got some water from the creek and started coffee. There was little left, but enough for twice more. Once more, after this.

Meanwhile, Hopalong got their blankets from their bedrolls and with some rawhide piggin' strings made three capes that could be thrown over their shoulders and drawn around their bodies, being laced through a half-dozen holes with the piggin' strings, and tied.

Working around through the thick dead grass on the banks of the stream, he found some on the bottom that was dry and untouched by snow. This he brought to the fire, and slipping off Dick Jordan's boots, he put some of the dry grass inside. "Help keep "em warm," he said. "That's an Injun trick."

"Sometimes I wonder where you picked up all you know, Hoppy," Jordan said. "You always come up with some kind o" trick."

"Keep my eyes open," Hopalong said, straight-faced. "We on the Bar 20 learned how to do that mighty young. That outfit o' yours never could see much further'n their noses. Not unless it was whisky," he added. "They could smell a barrel o'

Injun whisky tight far!"

Hopalong glanced at Pamela. Her lips were red and her cheeks flushed by bending over the fire.

He grinned at her. "You get prettier all the time," he said. "I think this cold weather is good for you."

She smiled. "I've been cooped up too long, Hoppy. I needed to get out. Although not like this."

"Don't worry about it." He shrugged off her obvious doubts. "We'll get through."

"What would we have done without you?" she wondered.

"I have been thinking of that as we rode along. It seems so strange, somehow, because I knew you when I was just a child, I thought you'd be older than you are.

Older-looking, anyway."

"In this country a man doesn't change much.

He goes on for years; then all of a sudden he cashes in his checks and that's it."

He nodded toward the peaks. "You know, in spite of the fact that I wish we were somewhere else, I never saw anything much more beautiful than old Whitewater Baldy there."

She followed his eyes toward the huge mass of granite that shouldered brutally against the dull gray sky, its mantle of white blazing like a lighted beacon. "It is beautiful," she agreed. "I wish we were seeing it together, Hoppy, and there was no trouble. That Dad wasn't crippled and we weren't having to go so fast. We could enjoy it then."

They started again within a matter of minutes, but Hopalong had uncovered more of the grass for the horses and they ate a little, and all three drank from the stream. Once mounted, each put on the blanket cape that Hopalong had made for them, drew the laces tight, and tied them. Moving on, they were warmer, but even in that short stop the snow had grown appreciably deeper.

All talking ceased. The horses were laboring heavily now, for they were on the switchback trail.

Here the first fall of snow in the higher peaks had frozen over and there was ice beneath the snow. Several times the horses slipped, and Hopalong stopped more often. They continued to climb, and as though inspired by the buckskin, the other horses plodded on gamely enough. Several times Hopalong stopped and walked for a short distance, as did Pamela, resting the horses. Before they could mount again they had to wipe the snow from the saddle. Yet now the snow was dry and not damp, as it had been on the lower levels of the mountains. A long wind sighed through the trees, and the snow picked up in a little flurry whose particles stung like grains of sand. The sky seemed lower now, and the peaks seemed huge. The wind stirred again, and this time it was followed by another gust.

Hopalong dug his chin behind the edge of the blanket and swore bitterly. The trail was bad enough, but if the wind started to blow, up here where the trees were sparse, they might wander away from it and tumble off a precipice without ever realizing they had gone astray.

The air thickened, and he could not tell how much was cloud and how much was snow. But the wind had an edge like a knife, and his fingers felt like stubs over which he had no control. Now they began to feel the cold in earnest. Before it had been nothing compared with this, forwiththe knifing wind there was the penetrating chill of the higher altitudes. Head bowed into the wind, the buckskin plodded wearily on. Several times the horse faltered, and finally Hopalong slid from the saddle into almost knee-deep snow. Keeping his arm through the bridle, he led the way, slog- ging wearily ahead, and under his feet the trail still climbed. Actually, they were probably only a few hundred feet higher. Yet the distance seemed enormous. Step by step he fought on, knowing that to stop could mean death. Once he slipped and went to his knees in the snow, and the buckskin stopped patiently while he got up. In a fog of cold and mental haze he realized they could not go on. If Dick Jordan was not almost frozen in his saddle it would be a wonder. And this last time Pamela had not dis- mounted.

But he did not stop. Bending his head forward, his eyes on the white snow beneath, he plodded on, his strides catching a strange rhythm of their own so that he became lost in a dull monotony of successive footsteps. The wind howled and he stumbled again, falling on his face in the snow. This time he got up more slowly, and his hands felt like clubs when he tried to brush the snow from them. He turned there, white with snow, and looked back. Through the falling and blown snow he could scarcely see Pamela or her horse, only the darker blob in the dense white around them.

Old Dick Jordan still sat his saddle, a grim mound of snow.

Turning, Hopalong started on now. Never before had he called on all his strength so much as now; never before had each step seemed an effort, each stride accomplished a victory. Whether his horse could have carried him he did not know, but he forgot to remount, slogging endlessly on and on. Then he fell again and struggled to get up. Something was wrong when he tried to rise, and his numbed brain fumbled with the problem. Then it came to him. His feet were higher than his head when he fell fiat, and that meant they had started downhill!

He scrambled to his feet, feeling a surge of victory within him, and started off swiftly, fighting his way down. Now it was an advantage to be moving: Every step took them farther downhill; every step took them closer to food, closer to shelter, and closer comhis face was grim under the mask of cold-to the guns of Avery Sparr.

Suddenly the clouds parted and he saw a star. With a shock he realized it must already be well into the early part of the night, and darkness had come on so gradually through the gray of the clouds that he had not realized. He walked on, only now his eyes were alert for some sort of shelter, not only for them, but for the horses as well. Finally he gave up. Sounding the snow with a branch broken from a tree, he led the way through the snow toward the root mass of an uptorn giant of the forest. The root mass made a wall ten feet high and almost fifteen feet broad, and at the base of this he pushed away some of the snow.

He had no ax, but the fallen tree itself offered what he needed It was long dead, and in the passage of time several of the limbs had been shattered. Gathering several pieces of a large limb, he brought them back. Ranging them side by side, he used them as a base for his fire. Then he built it with bark and leaves from the under side of the huge tree. Not until the fire was blazing did he go back to Pamela.

Carefully he lifted her from the saddle, feeling her heart beat and her breath warm against his cheek. She struggled to speak, and her eyes opened, and he carried her to the fire. Then he hurriedly stripped evergreen boughs and made a bed for the old man, and returned for him. As Hopalong carried him to the bed, the old man spoke. "Guess the Double y has it this time, boy. I'm all in.

"So'm I," Hopalong admitted, "but we're over the hump. We're goin' downhill."

Pamela sat up stiffly, but her eyes caught fire at the realization, and she struggled to rise and help him. But Hopalong knew his job and he worked swiftly. The fire was built larger than necessary, but partly because he knew what its psychological effect would be on the two people. Then he went a little way into the woods and cut two poles, which he brought back and thrust into the snow.

He placed a third across the top in the crotches at the ends, and with other limbs hurriedly built an evergreen lean-to that proved not only a windbreak but a fire reflector. Then he led the horses in behind this protection and carefully wiped them free of the snow and rubbed each horse down in turn. By the time he had finished-with this he was thoroughly warmed up.

Pamela was on her feet and melting snow for coffee. She smiled bravely at him, looking like nothing so much as a woebe- gone little girl, and he grinned, then laughed, and walked across to Dick. "Better sit up, old-timer," he said. "You'll enjoy the fire more."

"She feels mighty good, boy." Jordan extended his trembling hands toward the flames, then glanced up. "If I live through this I'll be good for twenty years more!"

"That goes for me too!" Hopalong said. "You better count that twenty years now. We've got the worst of it behind us."

"What if they're waitin' for us?"

"They will be. But maybe they won't be watchin' so good. They won't expect us to make it, an' if I know that kind of hombre, he's lazy an' don't like watchin' no trail in this weather. No, I think I'll have to hunt them up."

Pamela straightened up. "Oh, no, Hoppy!

Please don't!" He smiled at her, but his lips and eyes were hard. "Yeah, I'll hunt them up.

This trip over the mountain has got me mad!"

They rested and drank coffee, and Hopalong let his mind trail down the possibilities. He was sure that his guess was good insofar as their trail watching was concerned. It was still rough going down the canyon of the Silver, but they had made it this far.

There were mining camps, small ones, along this trail now. None of them would be safe.

They must at all costs push on, and the trail would be guarded carefully by Sparr's men. That much stood to reason. Having gone so far, Sparr was not the man to give up the ship. No, he would be even more dangerous now, not only desperate to save what he was losing, but vengeful because of the trouble Cassidy had already caused him.

From now on the danger of cold would still be great, but less, after a few miles, than the danger of men.

And these were men who would shoot on sight. In fact, it was Hopalong's guess that their orders would be just that. Putting himself in Sparr's place, he could understand how desperate the man must be, for he had worked months on this plan and had undoubtedly considered it in the bag, and then, at the last minute, Hoppy had stepped in and was defeating him. No, the trail would be guarded, and the man might easily have offered a bonus for their death. Desperate now, he would stop at nothing. Two hours they rested and waited, and then they remounted and started once more, carefully putting out their fire and taking with them only a small bundle of sticks in case another fire was necessary and dry wood not available. The snow let up for a little while, and taking his rifle from its scabbard Hopalong freed it of snow and checked the mechanism. He did the same for each of his pistols. One of them he thrust in his waistband close to the warmth of his body to keep it free of snow. There was no fire left in the horses now.

They plodded, with each step an effort, for the way had been long and hard. Then Cassidy spotted a cabin, but no trail of smoke lifted from the chimney. Pushing on, he saw two more cabins in the next mile. All were makeshift log huts thrown together by prospectors or miners.

The trail now was steadily downhill, and the trees were growing taller once more. Hopalong rode warily, his eyes searching the forest ahead for any tiny gleam of light.

And then, suddenly, he saw it: a lighted window!

Motioning the others to stop, he dismounted and went on ahead through the trees, and when he reached a place where he could see the trail to the cabin he saw there were fresh tracks in the snow. Walking back to Dick and Pamela, he said quietly, "These are some of "em, I'd bet my last dollar. I'm goin" in. By the look of things there are three there, but I think I can handle it."

His hands were tucked into the front of his coat, warming his fingers against his body.

He dared take no chances on their being numb now.

"Just wait," he told them. "I'll be back in a minute!" He turned and started down to the cabin.

Pamela stared after him, and Dick nodded at Hopalong. "There goes a real man!" he said. "I'd not like to be in that cabin now!"

"Dad," she protested, "can't we help him?"

"No," he said, "we can't. He knows what he's doin'. Better than anybody, he knows.

Just give him time. We would only mess things up for him. Now any bullet is an enemy bullet, and any man who lifts a weapon is an enemy.

We'd only get in his way, an' he won't want that."

Careful to allow no crunching on the path, Hopalong walked up to the window and peered through.

Three men sat at a table playing cards. All three were tough-looking and dangerous. Drawing his hand from his shirtfront, he stepped around in front of the cabin, and with his left hand he opened the door.

Three heads came up, three faces turned to look. Three startled, momentarily arrested men stared at the snow-covered figure standing in the open door. Beyond him was the night and the snow, the trees ghostly with their gathered shrouds, ghostly as this apparition from the night. He stepped in and the door closed behind him. As it closed he spoke.