Part 42 (1/2)
”By staying; by not surrendering yourself--your honor, my honor. By saying that you'd rather stay with me, for life, for death, here, anywhere--after I've said that I'm not deaf, blind, dumb, ungrateful. I love you; I'd rather die for you than live without you.”
Such a glory glowed in her haggard face and shone from her br.i.m.m.i.n.g eyes.
”We will fight, we will fight!” she chanted. ”Now I shall not leave you.
Oh, my man! Had you kissed me last night we would have known this longer.
We have so little time.” She turned from my lips. ”Not now. They're coming. Fight first; and at the end, then kiss me, please, and we'll go together.”
The furious yells from that world outside vibrated among our rocks. The Sioux all were in motion, except the prostrate figure of the chief.
Straight onward they charged, at headlong gallop, to ride over us like a grotesquely tinted wave, and the dull drumming of their ponies' hoofs beat a diapason to the shrill clamor of their voices. It was enough to cow, but she spoke steadily.
”You must fire,” she said. ”Hurry! Fire once, maybe twice, to split them.
I don't think they'll rush us, yet.”
So I rose farther on my knees and fired once--and again, pointblank at them with the heavy Colt's. It worked a miracle. Every mother's son of them fell flat upon his pony; they all swooped to right and to left as if the bullets had cleaved them apart in the center; and while I gaped, wondering, they swept past at long range, half on either flank, pelting in bullet and near-spent arrow.
She forced me down.
”Low, low,” she warned. ”They'll circle. They hold their scalps dearly. We can only wait. That was three. You have fifteen shots left, for them; then, one for me, one for you. You understand?”
”I understand,” I replied. ”And if I'm disabled----?”
She answered quietly.
”It will be the same. One for you, one for me.”
The circle had been formed: a double circle, to move in two directions, scudding ring reversed within scudding ring, the bowmen outermost. Around and 'round and 'round they galloped, yelling, gibing, taunting, shooting so malignantly that the air was in a constant hum and swish. The lead whined and smacked, the shafts streaked and clattered----
”Are you sorry I shot the chief?” I asked. Amid the confusion my blood was coursing evenly, and I was not afraid. Of what avail was fear?
”I'm glad, glad,” she proclaimed. But with sudden movement she was gone, bending low, then crawling, then whisking from sight. Had she abandoned me, after all? Had she--no! G.o.d be thanked, here she came back, flushed and triumphant, a canteen in her hand.
”The mules might break,” she explained, short of breath. ”This canteen is full. We'll need it. The other mule is frantic. I couldn't touch her.”
At the moment I thought how wise and brave and beautiful she was! Mine for the hour, here--and after? Montoyo should never have her; not in life nor in death.
”You must stop some of those fiends from sneaking closer,” she counseled.
”See? They're trying us out.”
More and more frequently some one of the scurrying enemy veered sharply, tore in toward us, hanging upon the farther side of his horse; boldly jerked erect and shot, and with demi-volt of his mount was away, whooping.
I had been desperately saving the ammunition, to eke out this hour of mine with her. Every note from the revolver summoned the end a little nearer.
But we had our game to play; and after all, the end was certain. So under her prompting (she being partner, commander, everything), when the next painted ruffian--a burly fellow in drapery of flannel-fringed cotton s.h.i.+rt, with flaunting crimson ta.s.sels on his pony's mane--bore down, I guessed shrewdly, arose and let him have it.
She cried out, clapping her hands.
”Good! Good!”
The pony was sprawling and kicking; the rider had hurtled free, and went jumping and dodging like a jack-rabbit.