Part 40 (1/2)

The great army rose for flight, lifting like a blanket. Gradually the earth appeared in glimpses beneath their floating array, so that whereas our plot of higher ground was still invested, stooping low and scanning we could see beyond us by the extent of a narrow thinning belt capped with the heavier white.

”There!” she whispered, pointing. ”Look! There they are!”

Feet, legs, moving of themselves, cut off at the knees by the fog layer, distant not more than short rifle range: that was what had been revealed.

A peculiar, absurd spectacle of a score or two of amputated limbs now resurrected and blindly in quest of bodies.

”The Mormons!” I faltered.

”No! Leggins! Moccasins! They are Indians. We must leave right away before they see us.”

With our stuff she ran, I ran, for the mules. We worked rapidly, bridling and saddling while the fog rose with measured steadiness.

”Hurry!” she bade.

The whole desert was a golden haze when having packed we climbed aboard--she more spry than I, so that she led again.

As we urged outward the legs, behind, had taken to themselves thighs. But the mist briefly eddied down upon us; our mules' hoofs made no sound appreciable, on the scantily moistened soil; we lost the legs, and the voices, and pressing the pace I rode beside her.

”Where?” I inquired.

”As far as we can while the fog hangs. Then we must hide in the first good place. If they don't strike our trail we'll be all right.”

The fog lingered in patches. From patch to patch we threaded, with many a glance over shoulder. But time was traveling faster. I marked her searching about nervously. Blue had already appeared above, the sun found us again and again, and the fog remnants went spinning and coiling, in last ghostly dance like that of frenzied wraiths.

Now we came to a rough outcrop of red sandstone, looming ruddily on our right. She quickly swerved for it.

”The best chance. I see nothing else,” she muttered. ”We can tie the mules under cover, and wait. We'll surely be spied if we keep on.”

”Couldn't we risk it?”

”No. We've not start enough.”

In a moment we had gained the refuge. The sculptured rock ma.s.ses, detached one from another, several jutting ten feet up, received us. We tied the mules short, in a nook at the rear; and we ourselves crawled on, farther in, until we lay snug amidst the shadowing b.u.t.tresses, with the desert vista opening before us.

The fog wraiths were very few; the sun blazed more vehemently and wiped them out, so that through the marvelously clear air the expanse of lone, weird country stood forth clean cut. No moving object could escape notice in this watchful void. And we had been just in time. The slight knoll had been left not a mile to the southwest. I heard My Lady catch breath, felt her hand find mine as we lay almost touching. Rounding the knoll there appeared a file of mounted figures; by their robes and blankets, their tufted lances and gaudy s.h.i.+elds, yes, by the very way they sat their painted ponies, Indians unmistakably.

”They must have been camped near us all night.” And she shuddered. ”Now if they only don't cross our trail. We mustn't move.”

They came on at a canter, riding bravely, glancing right and left--a score of them headed by a scarlet-blanketed man upon a spotted horse. So transparent was the air, washed by the fog and vivified by the sun, that I could decipher the color pattern of his s.h.i.+eld emblazonry: a checkerboard of red and black.

”A war party. Sioux, I think,” she said. ”Don't they carry scalps on that first lance? They've been raiding the stage line. Do you see any squaws?”

”No,” I hazarded, with beating heart. ”All warriors, I should guess.”

”All warriors. But squaws would be worse.”

On they cantered, until their paint stripes and daubs were hideously plain; we might note every detail of their savage muster. They were paralleling our outward course; indeed, seemed to be diverging from our ambush and making more to the west. And I had hopes that, after all, we were safe. Then her hand clutched mine firmly. A wolf had leaped from covert in the path of the file; loped eastward across the desert, and instantly, with a whoop that echoed upon us like the crack of doom, a young fellow darted from the line in gay pursuit.

My Lady drew quick breath, with despairing exclamation.