Part 26 (2/2)

But the promise held good for a long time, the sun still s.h.i.+ning and the winds coming fresh and brisk along the crests and ridges. The trail wound about the slopes and steadily ascended. Vegetation ceased, and before them stretched the bare rocks. Harley knew very well now that only the suns.h.i.+ne saved them from grimness and desolation. The loneliness became oppressive. Even Sylvia was silent. It was the wilderness in reality as well as seeming; nowhere did they see a miner's hut or a hunter's cabin, only nature in her most savage form.

The little group of hors.e.m.e.n forgot to talk. The candidate's head was bowed and his brow bent. Clearly he was immersed in thought. Mr.

Heathcote, unused to such arduous journeys, leaned forward in his saddle in a state of semi-exhaustion. But Sylvia, although a girl, was accustomed to the mountains, and she showed few signs of fatigue. Harley said at last to the guide, ”A wild country, one of the wildest, I think, that I ever saw.”

”Yes, a wild country, and a bad 'un, too,” responded Jim. ”See off there to the left?”

He pointed to a maze of bare and rocky ridges, and when he saw that Harley's gaze was following his long forefinger, he continued:

”I say it's a bad 'un, because over there Red Perkins and his gang of horse-thieves, outlaws, and cut-throats used to have their hiding-place.

It's a tangled-up stretch o' mountain, so wild, so rocky, so full of caves that they could have hid there till jedgment-day from all Montana. Yes, that's where they used to hang out.”

”Used to?”

”Yes, 'cause I 'ain't heard much uv them fur some time. They came down in the valley and tried to stampede them new blooded horses from Kentucky on Sifton's ranch, but Sifton and his men was waitin', and when the smoke cleared off most uv the gang was wiped out. Red and two or three uv his fellers got away, but I 'ain't heard uv 'em since. Guess they've scattered.”

”Wisest thing they could do,” said Harley.

The guide made no answer, and they plodded on in silence until about two o'clock in the afternoon, when they stopped in a little cove to eat luncheon and refresh their horses.

It was the first grateful spot they had seen in hours. A brook fed by the snows above formed a pool in the hollow, and then, overflowing it, dropped down the mountain-wall. But in this sheltered nook and around the life-giving water green gra.s.s was growing, and there was a rim of goodly trees. The horses, when their riders dismounted, grazed eagerly, and the riders themselves lay upon the gra.s.s and ate with deep content.

Sylvia talked little. She seemed thoughtful, and, when neither of them was looking, she glanced now and then at Harley and ”King” Plummer. Had they noticed they would have seen a shade of sadness on her face. Mr.

Plummer did not speak, and it was because there was a growing anxiety in his mind. He was sorry now that they had let Sylvia come, and he silently called himself a weak fool.

”Shall we reach Crow's Wing by dark?” asked the candidate of the guide.

Jim had risen, and, standing at the edge of the cove, was gazing out over the rolling sea of mountains. Harley noticed a troubled look on his face.

”If things go right we kin,” he replied, ”but I ain't sh.o.r.e that things will go right.”

”What do you mean?”

”Do you see that brown spot down there in the southwest, just a-top the hills? Waal, it's a cloud, an' it's comin' this way. Clouds, you know, always hev somethin' in 'em.”

”That is to say we shall have rain,” said the candidate. ”Let it come.

We have been rained on too often to mind such a little thing--eh, Sylvia? You see, I take you at your word.”

The girl nodded.

”I don't think it'll be rain,” said the guide. ”We are so high up here that more 'n likely it'll be snow. An' when there's a snow-storm in the mountains you can't go climbin' along the side o' cliffs.”

The others, too, looked grave now. Perhaps, with the exception of ”King”

Plummer, they had not foreseen such a difficulty, but the guide came to their relief with more cheering words--after all, the cloud might not continue to grow, ”an' it ain't worth while to holler afore we're hit.”

This seemed sound philosophy to the others, and, dismissing their cares, they started again, much refreshed by their stop in the little cove. The road now grew rougher, the guide leading and the rest following in single-file, Sylvia just ahead of Harley. By-and-by their cares returned. Harley glanced towards the southwest and saw there the same cloud, but now much bigger, blacker, and more threatening. The suns.h.i.+ne was gone, and the wrinkled surface of the mountains was gray and sombre.

The air had grown cold, and down among the clefts there was a weird, moaning wind. Harley glanced at the guide, and noticed that his face was now decidedly anxious. But the correspondent said nothing. Part of his strength lay in his ability to wait, and he knew that the guide would speak in good time.

”Don't any of you be discouraged because of me,” said Sylvia; ”I'm not afraid of storms--even snowstorms. Am I not a good mountaineer, daddy?”

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