Part 26 (2/2)
He stirred up the scattered ashes, and then pa.s.sed over and looked at the dead man.
”What do yer think, Sergeant?”
”They stopped here to eat, maybe five hours ago,” pus.h.i.+ng the ashes about with his toe. ”The fire has been out that long. Then they got into a quarrel--Connors and Dupont--for he was shot with a Colt '45'; no Indian ever did that. Then they struck out again with two led horses. I should say they were three or four hours ahead, travelling slow.”
”Good enough,” and Wa.s.son patted his arm. ”You 're a plainsman all right, 'Brick.' You kin sure read signs. Thet 's just 'bout the whole story, as I make it. Nuthin' fer us to do but s.n.a.t.c.h a bite an' go on.
Our hosses 're fresher 'n theirs. No sense our stoppin' to bury Connors; he ain't worth it, an' the birds 'll take care o' him. The outfit was still a headin' south--see!”
There could be no doubt of this, as the shelter of the sand ridge had preserved a plain trail, although a few yards beyond, the sweeping wind had already almost obliterated every sign of pa.s.sage. The four men ate heartily of their cold provender, discussing the situation in a few brief sentences. Wa.s.son argued that Dupont was heading for some Indian winter encampment, thinking to s.h.i.+ft responsibility for the crime upon the savages, thus permitting him to return once more to civilization, but Hamlin clung to his original theory of a hide-out upon Dupont's old cattle-range, and that a purpose other than the mere robbery of McDonald was in view. All alike, however, were convinced that the fugitives were seeking the wild bluffs of the Canadian River for concealment.
It was not yet dark when they again picked up the trail, rode around the dead body of Connors, and pushed forward into the maze of sand.
For an hour the advance was without incident, the scout in the lead not even dismounting, his keen eyes picking up the faint ”sign” unerringly.
Then darkness shut down, the lowering bank of clouds completely blotting the stars, although the white glisten of the sand under foot yielded a slight guidance. Up to this time there had been no deviation in direction, and now when the trail could be no longer distinguished, the little party decided on riding straight southward until they struck the Cimarron. An hour or two later the moon arose, hardly visible and yet brightening the cloud canopy, so that the riders could see each other and proceed more rapidly. Suddenly Wa.s.son lifted his hand, and turned his face up to the sky.
”Snow,” he announced soberly. ”Thought I felt it afore, and the wind 's changed.”
Hamlin turned in the saddle, feeling already the sharp sting of snow pellets on his face. Before he could even answer the air was full of whiteness, a fierce gust of wind hurling the flying particles against them. In another instant they were in the very heart of the storm, almost hurled forward by the force of the wind, and blinded by the icy deluge. The pelting of the hail startled the horses, and in spite of every effort of the riders, they drifted to the right, tails to the storm. The swift change was magical. The sharp particles of icy snow seemed to swirl upon them from every direction, sucking their very breath, bewildering them, robbing them of all sense of direction.
Within two minutes the men found it impossible to penetrate the wintry shroud except for a few feet ahead of them.
The Sergeant knew what it meant, for he had had experience of these plains storms before.
”Halt!” he cried, his voice barely audible in the blast. ”Close up, men; come here to me--lively now? That you, Wade? Wa.s.son; oh, all right, Sam. Here, pa.s.s that lariat back; now get a grip on it, every one of you, and hold to it for your lives. Let me take the lead, Sam; we 'll have to run by compa.s.s. Now then, are you ready?”
The lariat rope, tied to Hamlin's pommel, straightened out and was grasped desperately by the gloved hands of the men behind. The Sergeant, shading his eyes, half smothered in the blast, could see merely ill-defined shadows.
”All caught?”
The answers were inaudible.
”For the Lord's sake, speak up; answer now--Wa.s.son.”
”Here.”
”Wade.”
”Here.”
”Carroll.”
”Here.”
”Good; now come on after me.”
He drove his horse forward, head bent low over the compa.s.s, one arm flung up across his mouth to prevent inhaling the icy air. He felt the tug of the line; heard the labored breathing of the next horse behind, but saw nothing except that wall of swirling snow pellets hurled against him by a pitiless wind, fairly lacerating the flesh. It was freezing cold; already he felt numb, exhausted, heavy-eyed. The air seemed to penetrate his clothing, and p.r.i.c.k the skin as with a thousand needles. The thought came that if he remained in the saddle he would freeze stiff. Again he turned, and sent the voice of command down the struggling line:
”Dismount; wind the rope around your pommels. Sam. How far is it to the Cimarron?”
”More 'n twenty miles.”
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