Wilderness Trek (1988) (25 page)

"But she did, Red. She did! She saw it all, believe me!"

"Aw, thet's too bad. But, pard, did you get it? Beryl had on only her nightgown. Thet hombre stole her from her bed. She didn't run off with him!"

"Yes, I savvied that, Red, and I never was any gladder in my life... But you're all shot up. Let me see!"

"They'd have to be a hell of a lot wuss than they air to croak me now. Let me tell you. When I ran down on Bedford he saw me comin', an' he was ready for me. I bored him, but damn if he didn't hit me heah in this shoulder. Ormiston was trying to get away with Beryl on the sorrel there when I run in on him. Beryl was fightin' him. But for her I'd shore have bored him before he got in thet first shot. It knocked me flat. Better look these bullet holes over an' tie them up. This one on my haid hurts like hell."

Examination disclosed in Red's head a groove that cut through the scalp, but had not touched the skull, and another in his left shoulder, high up. The bullet had lodged just under the skin on the far side. It would have to be cut out, but Sterl left that operation for camp, and bound his scarf tightly around the wound.

"We'd better leave the other one open," he said. "Hello, what's that?"

Red rose up to listen. "Fag end of a stampede, I'd say. Look out for Beryl. I'll wrangle the horses. Come, Friday."

The black ran off under the gums to get Duke, while Sterl drew King and the sorrel back away from the open. A bobbing line of cattle hove in sight down through the brush, loping along wearily.

"Wal, they might have started wild, but they're bein' chased now," said Red. "Get the rifles heah, pard, an' if it happens to be any of Ormiston's outfit, they'll never get nowhere."

On a front so wide that Sterl could just make out the far end, a herd of cattle came loping past, scattered and bawling, almost ready to drop.

"Coupla thousand haid, shore as you're born," said Red when they had passed. "Thet's sort of queer. I recognized that bull. Pard, thet was the bunch raided out of Dann's last night!"

"Might be."

"Heah comes some riders. Two! Thet's Larry's hoss. An' Rollie too. But Drake ain't with them."

From some hundred paces away the riders espied the bushranger swinging with horrible significance, and this brought them to a quick halt. Then they rode slowly up, their eyes gleaming, their lips tight.

"Beryl?" queried Larry, hopefully.

"She's up theah, on the seat, comin' out of a daid faint."

Larry slumped out of his saddle to sit down like a man whose legs were wobbly. Sterl did not like the look of either of the drovers.

"Where's Drake?"

"He wouldn't shoot barefaced from ambush," replied Larry, tragically. "Rol and I didn't know it though, till right at the last, he ran out, yelled at Anderson and Henley. They drew their revolvers and he shot them both off their horses. I--I killed Buckley. Herdman and Smith had begun to shoot. It was Herdman, I think, who hit Drake and did for him. Rol's horse was shot from under him. The mob rushed, ran us back into the brush. Herdman and Smith had to ride hard. But they got around them and headed off to the east. We couldn't chase them until the cattle had run by. Then it was too late."

"Ahuh. Too bad about Drake. Air you shore he was daid?"

"There was no doubt of that."

"It's orful tough, Larry. I reckon Sterl an' me feel for you. But the fact is, we got off lucky."

"Jack and--Bedford?"

"They beat Ormiston to hell pretty considerable."

"There's only one thing to do now," said Sterl. "Take Beryl back to camp pronto. You're all shot up, too. We've got to cross that infernal river before dark."

Stanley Dann, the Slyters, with Heald and Monkton, and one of Dann's drovers stood on the east bank, awaited their landing, visibly laboring under extreme excitement and fear.

"My--daughter?" asked Dann, almost voiceless.

"Safe," replied Sterl, not looking at him, and leaped to the ground. He waved his sombrero to Red and Larry. Then as they waded in, Sterl untied his lasso.

"Get your rope ready," he said to Rollie.

Sterl had been aware of Leslie's presence close beside him and a little behind. One she touched him with a timid hand, as though to see if he were really back in the flesh. They were all talking except Leslie. Finally she spoke in her deep contralto: "Sterl!... Sterl!"

Then he looked around and down upon her, meaning to be kind, trying to smile as he said: "Hello, kid!" but she instinctively-recoiled from his face. Sterl did not marvel at that. It had happened before to girls who, approached him after a hard job. But hover could he help it? Men had to kill other men! The wonder in him was that it made any-difference in his face and look.

Sterl turned to watch the swimming horses as they entered the current. Sorrel, and Leslie's other horses, hesitated but finally followed. "Rollie, go below me... Everybody get back so I can swing this rope."

Red and Larry were ten feet apart, heading evenly into the current. The lean noses came on abreast, and the shoulders of the riders rose into plain sight. The onlookers watched, tense and breathless, while the horses swept down with the current, at last to forge out of it, and come straight for the bank. A cheer of released emotions rent the air. Duke, as powerful as if he had not already performed miracles that day, waded out in King's tracks. To make sure, Sterl roped him and hauled lustily to help him pound up the bank. Rollie helped Larry. No one thought of Leslie's four horses, now making for shore.

Stanley Dann crowded close, his bearded jaw wobbling, his great arms outstretched. With one shaking hand, Red unfolded the dripping slicker over Beryl and let it fall away from her white face. If her eyes had not been wide open, she would have looked like a drowned girl.

Red lifted her and bent down to yield her to her father's eager arms.

"Dann, heah's yore girl--safe--an' sound," said Red, in a queer voice Sterl had never heard before. "An' thet lets me out!"

What did the fool cowboy mean by that speech, wondered Sterl? Red had settled some debt to himself, not to anyone else.

"Ormiston?" boomed the drover.

"Wal, the last we seen of thet bushranger, he was dancin'. Yep, dancin' on thin air!" And with that, passion appeared to have spent its forces as well as Red's strength. "Where the hell air--you--pard?" he went on, in a strangely altered tone. "I--cain't--see you... Aw, I--get it... Heah's where--I cash!"

His staring blue eyes, as blank as dead furnaces, told their own story. He swayed and fell into Sterl's arms.

Chapter
21

Larry helped Sterl carry Red across to Slyter's camp, and into their tent. For Sterl all this slow walk was fraught with icy panic. It might well be that Red had been more severely wounded than a superficial examination had shown. How like Red Krehl to have such a finish! The fool cowboy would have died at Beryl's feet, to give the vain beauty everlasting remorse and grief.

"Get hot water--Larry," he ordered. They undressed Red, rubbed him dry, forced whisky between his teeth. Then Sterl unbound the wounds, washed them thoroughly, ruthlessly cut open the one on his back, and extracted the heavy bullet. It had gone under his collarbone, to stop just beneath the surface. Sterl dressed the shoulder injury, bandaged it, and went on with steadying hands to that bullet groove in Red's scalp. Sterl could not be fearful over either wound. He had seen the cowboy laugh at scratches like this. But Sterl found evidence that Red had bled freely all during the ride back to the river. The water had washed him clean, but one of his boots was half full of diluted blood. There lay the danger!

Sterl took a long pull at the flask Larry offered. It burned the coldness out of his vitals. Then he rubbed himself thorougly and got into dry clothes.

"I'd feel all right, if only Red..." he choked over the hope. He went on. It was almost dark and the rain still fell steadily. Under Bill's shelter, a bright blaze gleamed with shining rays through the rain. Bill had steaming vessels upon the gridiron.

"Eat and drink, lad," said Slyter. "We have to go on, you know... How is Red?"

"Bad. Bled almost to death... But I hope--I--I believe he'll recover... How did the kid take the return of her horses?"

"Sterl, you wouldn't believe it--the way that girl cried over them... But it was a breakdown, after all this day's strain, and the tremendous relief of your return."

"Of course! Leslie is not one to crack easily."

"My son, I very much fear Leslie is in love with you."

"Slyter, I fear that, too," replied Sterl, ponderingly, a little bitterly. "I hope, though, that it isn't quite so bad as what happened to Beryl."

"My wife says it's good. We have trusted you, Hazelton."

"Thanks, my friend. That'll help some."

The return of Slyter's womenfolk put ark end to that intimate talk. Much to Sterl's relief. They threw off wet coats and stood before the fire, Leslie with her back turned and her head down.

"Leslie, how is Beryl?" asked Sterl.

"I don't know. She--she frightened me," replied the girl, strangely.

"How is your friend Red? He looked terribly the worse for this day's work," interrupted Mrs. Slyter.

Sterl briefly told them his hopes for Red, omitting his fears. But that sharp-eyed psychic, Leslie, did not believe him. When Sterl looked at her she averted her piercing gaze.

"Who shot him?" rang out Leslie, suddenly.

"Yes, you'll have to be told about it all, I suppose," returned Sterl, in sober thoughtfulness. "Bedford shot Red first in the shoulder--and then Ormiston nicked his head. Not serious wounds for a cowboy. But Red lost so much blood!"

"I heard Red say to Mr. Dann--that about Ormiston dancing on thin air. I know... But Bedford?"

Slyter interposed: "Leslie, wait until tomorrow. Sterl is worn to a frazzle."

Sterl wanted to get part of it over with and he bluntly told Leslie that Red had killed Bedford.

"What did you do?" queried this incorrigible young woman, unflinchingly.

"Well, I was there when it happened." That seemed to be all the satisfaction Sterl could accord the girl at the time.

"Thanks, Sterl. Please forgive my curiosity. But I must tell you that I asked Friday."

"Oh, no... Leslie!" exclaimed Sterl, taken aback.

"Yes. I asked him what happened to Ormiston. He said: 'Friday spearum. Red shootum. Me alonga Red hangum neck... Ormiston kick like hellum... Then imm die!'"

It was not so much Friday's graphic and raw words that shocked Sterl as the girl's betrayal of the element.

"Retribution!" added Mrs. Slyter, in a moment. "He stole Beryl from her bed. I'll never forgive myself for believing she ran off with him!"

"Neither will I, Mrs. Slyter," said Sterl, in poignant regret.

"I was afraid of it," put in the girl, frankly.

"Sterl, Dann will want to see you. Let us go now, before Les and Mum loosen up," suggested Slyter.

Glad to escape, though with a feeling for Leslie that he did not wish to analyze, Sterl accompanied the drover through the dark and rain. They found Dann at his table under a lighted shelter. Before him lay papers, watches, guns, money and money belts.

"Hazelton, do I need to thank you?" asked Dann, his rich voice thick.

"No, boss. All I pray for is Red's recovery."

"Please God, that wonderful cowboy lives! Slyter, our erstwhile partner had thousands of pounds, some of which I recognize as belonging to Woolcott and Hathaway and put aside for their heirs. I appropriated from Ormiston's money what I consider fair for my loss. Do you agree that the rest should go to the cowboys, and Larry, and Roland?"

"I do, most heartily," rang out Slyter.

"Not any for me, friends," interposed Sterl. "But I'll take it for Red. He deserves it. He uncovered this bushranger. He made our plan today, saved Beryl--and hanged Ormiston."

"Terrible, yet--yet... I'll want your story presently. I've heard that of Larry and Roland. Poor Drake! Too brave, too rash! You may not know that Drake was friendly with both Anderson and Henley. That may account--what a pity he had to find them unworthy--to see them seduced by a notorious bushranger--and kill them! Yet how magnificent!"

"Boss, if you don't mind, I'd like to have Ormiston's gun," said Sterl, restrainedly.

"You're welcome to it. Now for your story, Sterl."

Sterl told it as briefly as possible. Dann took the narrative as one who at last understood the villainy of evil men and the righteous and terrible wrath of hard avengers.

"I'm not one to rail at the dispensation of Providence," said the leader, at length. "How singularly fortunate we have been! I've a mind to let well enough alone, except to try to save the mob that rushed to its old grazing ground across the river."

"That can be done, Dann, as soon as the river drops. But I think you're wise not to attempt mustering the cattle that stampeded by us up there. Those two drovers will escape with one wagon and some of Ormiston's horses. Let them go, Dann. We have more cattle now than we can handle. And fewer drovers!"

"Righto, Hazelton. But I'll send Larry and four men up there tomorrow, to fetch back the other two wagons. Later, we'll gather in that mob which obligingly rushed back to us. They won't leave that fine grazing over there."