Part 4 (2/2)

It was with difficulty Trooper Payne pulled his horse up on the steep bank a minute later. A white haze was now sliding down the hollow between the two dark walls of trees, and something seemed to move in the midst of it while the ice rang about it. Then as the trooper pitched up his carbine there was a crash that was followed by a horrible floundering and silence again. Payne sat still s.h.i.+vering a little in his saddle until the snow that whirled about him blotted out all the birches, and a roaring blast came down.

He knew there was now nothing that he could do, The current had evidently sucked the fugitive under, and, dismounting, he groped his way up the slope, leading the horse by the bridle, and only swung himself into the saddle when he found the trail again. A carbine flashed in front of him, two dim figures went by at a gallop, and a third one flung an order over his shoulder as he pa.s.sed.

”Go back. The Sergeant's hurt and Shannon has got a bullet in him.”

Trooper Payne had surmised as much already, and went back as fast as he could ride, while the beat of hoofs grew fainter down the trail. Ten minutes later, he drew bridle close by a man who held a lantern, and saw Sergeant Stimson sitting very grim in face on the ground. It transpired later that his horse had fallen and thrown him, and it was several weeks before he rode again.

”You lost your man?” he said. ”Get down.”

Payne dismounted. ”Yes, sir, I fancy he is dead,” he said. ”He tried the river, and the ice wouldn't carry him. I saw him ride away from here just after the first shot, and fancied he fired at Shannon. Have you seen him, sir?”

The other trooper moved his lantern, and Payne gasped as he saw a third man stooping, with the white face of his comrade close by his feet.

Shannon appeared to recognize him, for his eyes moved a little and the gray lips fell apart. Then Payne turned his head aside while the other trooper nodded compa.s.sionately in answer to his questioning glance.

”I've sent one of the boys to Graham's for a wagon,” said the Sergeant.

”You saw the man who fired at him?”

”Yes, sir,” said Trooper Payne.

”You knew him?” and there was a ring in the Sergeant's voice.

”Yes, sir,” said the trooper. ”At least he was riding Winston's horse, and had on the old long coat of his.”

Sergeant Stimson nodded, and pointed to the weapon lying with blackened muzzle at his feet. ”And I think you could recognize that rifle?

There's F. Winston cut on the stock of it.”

Payne said nothing, for the trooper signed to him. ”I fancy Shannon wants to talk to you,” he said.

The lad knelt down, slipped one arm about his comrade's neck, and took the mittened hand in his own. Shannon smiled up at him feebly.

”Winston's horse, and his cap,” he said, and then stopped, gasping horribly.

”You will remember that, boys,” said the Sergeant.

Payne could say nothing. Trooper Shannon and he had ridden through icy blizzard and scorching heat together, and he felt his manhood melting as he looked down into his dimming eyes. There was a curious look in them which suggested a strenuous endeavor and an appeal, and the lips moved again.

”It was,” said Shannon, and moved his head a little on Payne's arm, apparently in an agony of effort.

Then the birches roared about them, and drowned the feeble utterance, while when the gust pa.s.sed all three, who had not heard what preceded it, caught only one word, ”Winston.”

Trooper Shannon's eyes closed, and his head fell back while the snow beat softly into his upturned face, and there was a very impressive silence intensified by the moaning of the wind, until the rattle of wheels came faintly down the trail.

CHAPTER V

MISS BARRINGTON COMES HOME

The long train was slackening speed and two whistles rang shrilly through the roar of wheels when Miss Barrington laid down the book with which she had beguiled her journey of fifteen hundred miles, and rose from her seat in a corner of the big first-cla.s.s car. The car was sumptuously upholstered and its decorations tasteful as well as lavish, but just then it held no other pa.s.senger, and Miss Barrington smiled curiously as she stood, swaying a little, in front of the mirror at one end of it, wrapping her furs about her. There was, however, a faint suggestion of regret in the smile, and the girl's eyes grew grave again, for the soft cus.h.i.+ons, dainty curtains, gleaming gold and nickel, and equable temperature formed a part of the sheltered life she was about to leave behind her, and there would, she knew, be a difference in the future. Still, she laughed again, as, drawing the little fur cap well down upon her broad white forehead, she nodded at her own reflection.

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