That Indian had come close, too close.
Healy’s bullet had struck the mechanism of the Sioux’s rifle, smashed into jagged lead, and ricocheted, ripping the Sioux wide open. Part of the breech had been smashed by the bullet and sent flying upward, ripping the Indian’s throat. It was a gruesome sight. No wonder Healy was sick.
King Mabry rode back down the hill and joined the little cavalcade. “We’ll move now,” he said, “while they’re getting up nerve to try again or deciding to run.” He led them out, moving fast, going over the edge of the hollow to the west and keeping the hill behind them, into the bottom beyond. He turned south with it, then circled west and back to the north. Riding hard for twenty minutes, they then slowed to a walk, then rode hard for ten minutes and walked the horses again.
Into the maze of ravines and low hills they rode, putting distance between themselves and the Indians.
It was almost dusk when they sighted the cabin and the corrals. There was a barn, too, but there was no smoke, and no evidence of life except a few horses in the corrals.
Bone weary and sagging in their saddles, they came down the slope at a walk. Nothing moved but the horses. All else was deserted and still. But it was a cabin. And here someone had lived. Their journey was almost at an end. Janice turned and looked back. She could scarcely remember Hat Creek, and the towns and theatres before that were vague and unreal in her mind. Yet it was late dusk, and they were riding up to a home. It was over now, all over.
IT wAs a strongly built log house near the junction of two small streams. Another creek flowed into one of these above the confluence. There was a wide grassy space around the house, but on the streams there were dark rows of trees, and near the house a few huge old cottonwoods and a pine. King Mabry’s hail brought no response from the house, and they rode on into the yard. The earth was hardpacked, and the barns-mere sheds-showed recent use. And there were the horses in the corrals. Swinging down, Mabry loosened his gun in its holster and went up on the porch. His moccasins only whispered on the boards.
All was dark and still. Lifting his fist, he hesitated an instant, listening. Then he rapped, and the sound was loud in the clear night air.
He rapped again and harder, and only then did he see the square of white at the edge of the door. It was so near the color of the whitewashed door as to be almost invisible.
Leaning forward and straining his eyes in the dim light, he tried to read. Then he risked a match.
Gone to Fort Custer. Rest, eat, leave wood in the box. No whisky in the house. No money, either. The whisky I drunk. The money I taken to buy more whisky.
WINDY STUART Mabry opened the door and stepped inside. He struck another match and, finding a candle, lighted it. The house was sparsely furnished, but there was fuel in the wood box and a fire laid on the hearth. The room in which he stood served as both living room and kitchen, and two curtained doorways led to small bedrooms, each containing two beds. Windy Stuart evidently often entertained travelers, and was prepared for them.
King Mabry put the candle down. He felt drained and whipped. His strength had been depleted by the loss of blood and the long rides. His wounds bothered him only because they itched, evidence that they were healing. The house was clean and comfortable. It was too bad they could not stay, but must move on at daybreak. Yet Fort Custer could not be far away, and once they were there, their troubles would be over.
“Come on in,” he called from the door. “I’ll stable the horses.” “Got ’em,” Healy replied.
“You take it easy.” Mabry lifted Maggie from her horse and helped her into the house. When he put her down on one of Windy Stuart’s beds, she looked up at him.
“I’m beat,” she said, “but I feel better.” He walked to the door, looking out into the night.
There was a good. field of fire except for those trees. Windy Stuart knew the danger of those trees, but probably hated to cut them down. I wouldn’t, either, he decided. Janice followed him to the door. “Don’t be so restless. We’re safe now,” she told dishm.
“I was thinking about Barker.” “Forget him. That’s over.” “No. He won’t give up that easy. Some folks never give up.gg*macr] “You’re so right,” Dodie said from within the house.
“Some don’t.” “But what can he do now?” Janice protested.
“His troubles really begin when we tell our story at Fort Custer, which looks like our first settlement. He may think we’re dead, but I don’t believe that. We left plenty of sign, and Barker struck me as a careful man. Besides, he has help now.” The moon was rising and the cottonwoods looked stark and bare in the vague light. The barn cast its shadow, and the bare white poles of the corral looked like skeleton bones in the moonlight. Out in the stable a horse stamped and blew.
Over the trees, somewhere in the meadow beyond the streams, a wolf howled. “You’re borrowing trouble, King. They’d be afraid to attempt anything now.” He did not argue, yet King Mabry had that old,” uneasy feeling. The woods out there were dark, but they did not feel empty, and the hunted man learns to trust his senses. On too many occasions they had saved his life. Inside it was warm and cheerful. Carefully he hung blankets over all the windows. Old Windy had been well provided for here, and evidently got along with the Crows, whose country this was. The Crows were friendly, anyway, and, like the Shoshones, were old rivals of the Sioux.
Soon a big fire blazed in the fireplace and Janice was busy preparing a meal while Dodie was setting places at the table. Tom Healy dug out his razor and shaved, combing his hair carefully. Somewhere among the things brought from the wagons he found a clean shirt. Not to be outdone, Mabry shaved. When he belted on his guns again, he went out through the back door and scouted around in the dark. It was quiet… too quiet.
How far away Fort Custer was, he had no idea. But Barker would know, for this was his old hunting ground. And Barker would know the lay of the land, so he could choose his own spot and time.
It was a quiet supper. Several attempts to start a conversation died at birth. King Mabry had his ears alert for sounds, and Tom Healy seemed sour and unhappy. Janice was curiously quiet, looking long at King from time to time. Only Dodie seemed gay. She laughed and chattered for a while, but then even she was silent.
After supper Mabry went outside and Janice followed him. Together they walked out under the big old cottonwoods. “King,” she said, “there must be no more killing. No more at all.” “A man does what he has to do.” “I couldn’t marry you if you did.” It was the old story, and it stirred a deep-seated irritation within him. As if he went hunting for men to kill.
“You’ve no right to say that, Janice. Who knows what will happen in the next few days? I don’t want to kill, but I have no desire to be killed, either.” “You can avoid it.” “Perhaps…. You’ve never tried to avoid a gun fight. You have no experience with which to judge a man like me.” “If you kill,” she protested, “you’re no better than they.” “What about the war? You told me your father was in it.
“That’s different.” “Is it? Because they carried flags? This is war, too, a war to see who will hold the West-those who come to build homes or those who come to grab and steal.” Janice shook her head. “It isn’t right, King. It just isn’t right.” Miserably he stared at the mountains. How could he make her understand? Or anyone who ,had not been through it? They tried to judge a wild, untamed country by the standards of elm-bordered streets and conventionbordered lives.
“What about the Indians? Should I have let them kill us? “They were Indians.” “But they’re men too. Often good men in their way.
The Indian is fighting for a way of life as good for them as our way is for us.” She was silent but he knew she was unconvinced.
She hated the gun he wore, hated the thought of what it had done, and even more of what it might do. In Virginia men who killed had been hung or sent to prison, and she could see no difference here.