Part 39 (2/2)

They rode on with lowered heads, fine snow stinging their faces now and then, and though its touch was inexpressibly painful they were glad they retained the power of feeling. When that went, more serious trouble would begin. For a while a half moon shone down, and their black shadows sped on before them across the glittering plain, but by and by clouds drove up and the prairie grew dim. It changed to a stretch of soft grayish-blue, with the trail they followed running across it a narrow stretch of darker color. The light, however, was not wholly obscured; they could see a bluff stand out, a bank of shadow, a mile away. Once they saw the cheerful lights of a farm in the distance and a longing for warmth and the company of their fellow-creatures seized them, but this was a desire that must be subdued, and, leaving the beaten trail they pressed on into the waste. Save for the faint, doleful sound the wind made it was dauntingly silent and desolate. There was not a bush to break its gray surface, and the frost was intense. They bore it uncomplainingly for an hour or two, and then Stanton broke out:

”I'll have to get down or I'll lose my foot! I'll run a while beside my horse and then catch you up.”

Curtis nodded and trotted on, breasting the wind which, so far as he could judge from his sensations, was turning him into ice. He could hear Stanton behind him, but that was the only sound of life in the vast desolation. After a while the trooper came up at a gallop, and Curtis called to him sharply:

”Any better?”

”No feeling in my foot yet,” said Stanton. ”I'm anxious about it, but I couldn't drop too far behind you. We have no time to lose.”

”That's so,” Curtis answered. ”Glover will pull out from Jepson's long before morning. He won't rest much until he's a day's ride from the nearest post.”

They went on, and some time later the moon shone through again, flooding the plain with light. It was welcome because they were now entering the Sand Belt where scrub trees were scattered among little hills. Pus.h.i.+ng through it, they came to a taller ridge late at night, and Curtis drew bridle on its summit. A faint, warm gleam appeared on the snow about a mile away.

”Jepson's,” said Curtis. ”Looks as if he had some reason for sitting up quite a while after he ought to be in bed.”

Stanton glanced thoughtfully down the slope in front. It was smooth and unbroken, a long, gradual descent, and he knew the farm stood on the flat at its foot. A straggling poplar bluff grew close up to the back of the buildings, but there was nothing that would cover the approach of the police, and he had no doubt that a watch was being kept.

”It's a pity the moon's so bright,” he remarked. ”There's a cloud or two driving up, but I don't know that they'll cover it.”

”We can't wait. This is my notion--you'll turn back a piece and work down to the ravine that runs east behind the homestead. Stop when you can find cover and watch out well. I'll have to ride straight in.”

”You want to be careful. There'll be three of them in the place, counting Glover, and they're a tough crowd.”

Curtis smiled.

”Jepson has a pretty long head. He'll bluff, if he can, but he won't get himself into trouble for his partner. The thing's not serious enough for that.”

”Anyway, you want to keep your eye on them,” Stanton persisted.

”Glover'll sure make for the ravine if he breaks out.”

Turning his horse, he disappeared behind the ridge, while Curtis rode on toward the farm. Glancing up at the moon, he saw that the clouds were nearer it, though he could not be certain that they would obscure the light. This was unfortunate, because he knew that he and his horse would stand out sharply against the smooth expanse of snow. The light ahead grew brighter as he trotted on, urging his jaded mount in order to give the inmates of the homestead as short a warning as possible. Suddenly another patch of brightness appeared. It was a narrow streak at first, but it widened into an oblong and then went out. Somebody had opened the door of the homestead, and the next moment the first gleam faded and all was dark. Curtis was inclined to think this a mistake on Jepson's part, but he kept a very keen watch as the buildings grew into plainer shape against the shadowy bluff. He knew he must have been visible some minutes earlier.

At length he rode up to the little square house, which rose abruptly from the plain without fence or yard. It was dark and silent, and he was glad to remember that it had only one door, though there were one or two buildings close behind it. He was so numbed that it was difficult to dismount, but he got down clumsily and beat on the door for several minutes without getting an answer. This confirmed his suspicions, for he was convinced that Jepson had heard his vigorous knocking. Then the moonlight, which might have been useful now, died away, and the plain faded into obscurity. Curtis was making another attack on the door when a window above was flung up and a man leaned out, holding what looked suggestively like a rifle.

”Stand back from that door!” he cried. ”What in thunder do you want?”

”Drop your gun!” said Curtis. ”Come down right now and let me in!”

”I guess not! If you don't light out of this mighty quick, you'll get hurt!”

”Quit fooling, Jepson! You know who I am!”

”Seem to know your voice now,” said the other, leaning farther out. ”Why, it's Curtis!” He laid down the rifle and laughed. ”You were near getting plugged. Figured you were one of those blamed rustlers--the country's full of them--Barton back at the muskeg lost a steer last week. What I want to know is--why the police don't get after them? Guess it would be considerably more useful than walking round the stations with a quirt under your arm.”

The man was not talkative as a rule, and Curtis surmised that he wished to delay him.

”Come down!” he said sternly.

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