Part 52 (2/2)

Taking the reins from the ch.o.r.eman, he settled himself into the driving-seat, while the deposed charioteer clambered stiffly to the ground.

Minky was at the wheel nearest to his friend. The horses, under the master-hand, had suddenly become restive. Bill bent over, and the storekeeper craned up towards him.

”Ther' was two fellers. .h.i.t the trail this morning,” the gambler said, with a short laugh. ”I see 'em when I was with Zip--'fore daylight.”

”You--you best quit it,” said Minky in serious, anxious tones. ”We kin, maybe, hold the gold up against him here. It ain't too late. It ain't, sure.”

Bill's face suddenly darkened. All the lightness which the prospect before him had inspired suddenly left it. His words came so full of bitter hatred that the other was startled.

”Not for a million-dollar halo!” he cried, reaching out for his long whip.

With a dexterous swing he set it cracking over his horses' backs. The high-strung beasts plunged at their bits, and the leaders started to rear. Again he swung out his whip, and this time it flicked the plunging leaders. Instantly there was a rush of feet and a scrunch of wheels. The ”tugs” pulled taut, and the gush of eager nostrils hissed like steam upon the still air. There was a shout of farewell from the onlookers, and the gambler turned in his seat.

”So long, fellers,” he cried. ”I'm makin' Sp.a.w.n City by daylight to-morrer--sure.”

The next moment he was lost in a cloud of dust, as the horses raced down the hill.

CHAPTER x.x.x

ON THE Sp.a.w.n CITY TRAIL

Wild Bill's lean hands clawed the reins with muscles of steel. For the moment his six horses occupied his every thought. They were pulling with the madness of high-bred racehorses. The trail lay before them, their master sat behind. What more could they want, but that liberty to stretch their willing bodies?

Down the hill and along the wood-lined trail that ran parallel to the sluggish creek they raced. The dust rose under their feet, and the wheels of the cart left a fog behind them. It rose in swirling clouds as though to shut off all retreat. Presently the road narrowed to a mere track, and the dark woods closed in. But there was no slackening under the hand of the gambler. Nor had the horses any desire to slacken their headlong rush. The woods broke and gave to a low bush, and in a moment the track opened upon Scipio's claim.

Now, for the first time since the start as they swept across it, Bill permitted his gaze to wander from his charges. He looked away at the mouth of the tunnel Sandy had spent so much labor and such bitter cursing in the process of constructing; and a half-smile flitted across his hard face as he beheld the oozy debris, the idle tools, the winch and buckets. The sight seemed to afford him amus.e.m.e.nt. There was a softening, too, in his hard face. Maybe it was the result of his amus.e.m.e.nt. Maybe it was due to some thought of the little man with whom he was partners. But he seemed to freeze up again as the claim pa.s.sed, and the horses floundered over the heavy trail beside the black, oily swamp beyond. It was bad driving here, and he steadied the racing creatures down with voice and hand.

”Easy, Gipsy. Easy you, Pete. Now Maisie. So! Steady, boys. Easy!”

The harsh voice was hushed and gentle. He was speaking to creatures that were not merely horses to him, but something nearer, perhaps even dearer.

And the well-trained creatures responded at once, slowing to an easy trot, a pace which they kept until the ford of the creek was reached.

Here they dropped to a walk as they splashed their way through the turgid stream. But the moment the wheels of the cart topped the opposite bank, they once more resumed their headlong gait.

At once the gambler sat up. He straightened his lean body as a man who opens his lungs to breathe in deep draughts of fresh, bracing air. His narrow eyes stared out aside of him and beyond. His nostrils expanded, and his thin lips were tightly shut.

The camp was behind him. The trail, a hard, wide sand trail, lay ahead. The wide, wild world was about him on every hand, reminding him of days long gone by, reminding him that to-day his instincts were still the same. The same fiery, militant spirit that had driven him from one end of his country to the other still left him yearning for the ruthless battle of wild places and wilder men. The long months of inactivity, the long days of peace, the longer nights of his gambler's craft, were for the moment gone. He was setting out, as in the old days, surrounded by all in life he cared for, offering a challenge to all the world, ready to grapple with whatsoever the G.o.ds of war might choose to thrust in his way.

The man's spirits rose. The swift-flas.h.i.+ng eyes brightened. His body felt to be bursting with a ravis.h.i.+ng joy of life. His purpose was his own. The joy was his alone. He had found excuse for satisfying his own greedy l.u.s.t, a l.u.s.t for battle which no overwhelming odds could diminish. He was a savage. He knew it; he gloried in it. Peace to him was a wearisome burden of which at all times he was ready to rid himself. So he was born. So he had always lived. So, he knew, he would die.

The trail rose with the upland. It rose with that gradation which so wears down the ardor of almost any horse. But the creatures Wild Bill was driving were made of unusual mettle. Their courage was the courage of the man behind them. And only when his courage failed him would their spirit falter. They swept up the long stretch as though the effort were a pastime. With ears p.r.i.c.ked forward, nostrils gus.h.i.+ng, their veins standing out like whipcord through their satin coats, they moved as though every stride were an expression of the joy of living.

And the man's steel muscles were held at tension to keep their gait within the bounds of reason.

As they neared the hill-top he turned and glanced back over his shoulder. There lay the camp nestling on the far side of the creek.

There stood Minky's store, lording it over its lesser fellows with the arrogance of successful commerce. He could see a small patch of figures standing about its veranda, and he knew that many eyes were watching for a final sight of him at the moment when he should vanish over the hill.

They were friendly eyes, too, he knew. They were the eyes of men who wished him well. But he doubted if those good wishes were for his own sake. He knew he was not a man whom men loved. And he smiled grimly as he glanced down at the chest of gold in the body of the cart.

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