He
wondered if Winters ' remedy of a mitten between the
teeth would work for him, too.
"That stupid pig's stubbornness kept him
goin' when he should have reported. Herndon's near out on his own feet, 'n
he'll work hisself silly tryin' to git that cussed fool out of his own
mess!"
For several moments then Ritchie forgot Winters and Herndon, being very much occupied with certain
sensations of his own. But, when he was free to slip his freshly dressed hand
back into hiding again, he saw that the dragoons were still working on Winters with snow.
"Man—?" The Apache tugged at
Ritchie's coat and pointed to the group of men who were rubbing. Ritchie
explained as best he could, and the boy nodded solemnly.
"Keep on with that snow," Herndon
advised Kristland who had taken over from Velasco. "Velasco—?"
The tough little scout arose in one lithe
movement.
"Star has carried double all day. Could
you take the roan —maybe after about three hours' rest?"
Velasco studied his own crude snow map.
"As long as I follow the canyon, it will be easy. After
I strike the plain— who knows?" He shrugged. "I have seen
drifts there that have grown like the mountains. However, what can one do but
try? The roan, si, it is the best except Star. I shall try, my frien'."
Herndon forced his own portion of the scanty
food into Velasco's hands, and perhaps in the package he fastened to the saddle
was his rations for the next day. Velasco, after a cheery look around their
fire and an almost flippant wave of the hand, rode his reluctant horse away
from the circle of dried grass, thudding off into the dark. It was clear and
cutting cold, and all but the finger tips of the searching-wind were cut off by
the natural walls around them. And they huddled together for warmth and for
something else that they did not put into words—the companionship of shared
misery.
Winters cried out now with the agony of
returning circulation, the tears tracking through the grime above his great
bush of beard. He pleaded with them to leave him alone, to stop, but they still
worked over him. Now it was necessary to go some distance for the snow they
must use.
Suddenly out of the blackness beyond the fire
rim came a sound which brought fear into the open, a raking scream as if from
the throat of a woman bound to the stake. Ritchie stumbled to his feet,
expecting to hear the patter of arrows or the roar of the Indians'
muzzle-loaders. But Tuttle only laughed.
"Old Man Lion missed him a kill 'n is
gonna tell the world 'bout it. Must be mighty thin huntin'
round these parts nowadays."
Ritchie stared into the shadows, and Tuttle
laughed again. ''Don't imagine things, son. He ain't a-slinkin' round out that
now—"
But Tuttle was wrong. Another shrill scream,
this time from the lungs of a fear-maddened horse, tore the air. What was left
of their mounts stampeded across the edge of the fire-lit circle, heading down canyon.
For one stunned moment they stayed still. But
a second pain-filled scream, cut off in mid-note, brought them into action.
Tuttle leaped for the fire, seized a piece of burning wood, and whirled it
around his head as he bounded out into the dark.
The flames darting out of the wood struck
answering green fire in the night. Across the broken body of Jessie, limbs
taut, jaws dripping and agape, was a hissing gray cat, its ears flattened to
the skull, a snarl lifting its lip from the fringe of fangs. For a single
second it faced the fire; then it was gone in a long arching bound which
carried it beyond the farthest reaches of their light. It was too late to
wondered if Winters ' remedy of a mitten between the
teeth would work for him, too.
"That stupid pig's stubbornness kept him
goin' when he should have reported. Herndon's near out on his own feet, 'n
he'll work hisself silly tryin' to git that cussed fool out of his own
mess!"
For several moments then Ritchie forgot Winters and Herndon, being very much occupied with certain
sensations of his own. But, when he was free to slip his freshly dressed hand
back into hiding again, he saw that the dragoons were still working on Winters with snow.
"Man—?" The Apache tugged at
Ritchie's coat and pointed to the group of men who were rubbing. Ritchie
explained as best he could, and the boy nodded solemnly.
"Keep on with that snow," Herndon
advised Kristland who had taken over from Velasco. "Velasco—?"
The tough little scout arose in one lithe
movement.
"Star has carried double all day. Could
you take the roan —maybe after about three hours' rest?"
Velasco studied his own crude snow map.
"As long as I follow the canyon, it will be easy. After
I strike the plain— who knows?" He shrugged. "I have seen
drifts there that have grown like the mountains. However, what can one do but
try? The roan, si, it is the best except Star. I shall try, my frien'."
Herndon forced his own portion of the scanty
food into Velasco's hands, and perhaps in the package he fastened to the saddle
was his rations for the next day. Velasco, after a cheery look around their
fire and an almost flippant wave of the hand, rode his reluctant horse away
from the circle of dried grass, thudding off into the dark. It was clear and
cutting cold, and all but the finger tips of the searching-wind were cut off by
the natural walls around them. And they huddled together for warmth and for
something else that they did not put into words—the companionship of shared
misery.
Winters cried out now with the agony of
returning circulation, the tears tracking through the grime above his great
bush of beard. He pleaded with them to leave him alone, to stop, but they still
worked over him. Now it was necessary to go some distance for the snow they
must use.
Suddenly out of the blackness beyond the fire
rim came a sound which brought fear into the open, a raking scream as if from
the throat of a woman bound to the stake. Ritchie stumbled to his feet,
expecting to hear the patter of arrows or the roar of the Indians'
muzzle-loaders. But Tuttle only laughed.
"Old Man Lion missed him a kill 'n is
gonna tell the world 'bout it. Must be mighty thin huntin'
round these parts nowadays."
Ritchie stared into the shadows, and Tuttle
laughed again. ''Don't imagine things, son. He ain't a-slinkin' round out that
now—"
But Tuttle was wrong. Another shrill scream,
this time from the lungs of a fear-maddened horse, tore the air. What was left
of their mounts stampeded across the edge of the fire-lit circle, heading down canyon.
For one stunned moment they stayed still. But
a second pain-filled scream, cut off in mid-note, brought them into action.
Tuttle leaped for the fire, seized a piece of burning wood, and whirled it
around his head as he bounded out into the dark.
The flames darting out of the wood struck
answering green fire in the night. Across the broken body of Jessie, limbs
taut, jaws dripping and agape, was a hissing gray cat, its ears flattened to
the skull, a snarl lifting its lip from the fringe of fangs. For a single
second it faced the fire; then it was gone in a long arching bound which
carried it beyond the farthest reaches of their light. It was too late to
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