Zane Grey Wilderness

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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."
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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."
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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."
Sterl and Slyter left the chief, to return to their camp. "He was hit below
the belt, Hazelton," said Slyter, "but never a word! I wonder what will happen
next?"
"All our troubles are not over, boss. Red would say, 'Wal, the wurst is yet to
come!' By the way, how is Eric Dann?"
"He'll be around in a few days. Good night. It has been a day. Never mind
guard duty while Krehl needs attention."
Friday loomed up in the dark.
"Has he been quiet, Friday?"
"All same imm like dead. But imm strong, like black fella. No die."
Sterl struck a match in the darkness of his tent, and lighted his candle.
Indeed Red looked like a corpse, but he was breathing and his heart beat
steadily. "If he only hangs on till tomorrow!" whispered Sterl, fervently, and
that was indeed a prayer. Sterl undressed, which was a luxury that had been
difficult of late; and when he was stretched out he felt as if he would never
move again. His last act was to reach for the candle and blow it out.
Stress of emotion, no doubt, had more to do with his prostration than the
sleepless night and strenuous day. He caught himself listening for Red's
breathing. But sleepy as he was, he could not arrive at the point of oblivion.
That speech of the cowboy's, when he delivered Beryl into her father's arms,
haunted Sterl. It meant, he deduced, that Red had withstood love and shame and
insult and humiliation and torture for willful and vain Beryl Dann; in the
face of opposition and antagonism he had killed Ormiston to save the girl. And
that had let Red out! Yet Red was tenderhearted to a fault, and never had
Sterl, in their twelve years of trail driving, seen him so terribly in love
before...Outworn nature conquered at last.
When Sterl awakened day had broken and the rain had ceased temporarily. In the
gloom he saw Red lying exactly as he had seen him hours ago. He crawled out of
bed to bend over his friend, and his acute sensibilities registered a stronger
heartbeat. But now pneumonia must be reckoned with--a disease likely to fasten [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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