Shute, he seen “em. He also seen Barkow.
He hunted Bruce down and shot him near that bare dome in your lower valley, and then he left Barkow and caught up with the girl and this strange hombre with her. Shute led their horses off and then got the girl while this hombre was huntin” the horses.” The explanation cleared up several points for Rafe. He stared thoughtfully around.
“You didn’t see “em leave here?” “Not us,” the lean-faced puncher said drily.
“None of us hired on for punchin” cows or ridin’ herd on women in blizzards. Come a storm, we hole up and set her out. We aim to keep on Join’ just that.” Rafe backed to the door and stepped out. The wind tore at his garments, and he backed away from the building. Within twenty feet, it was lost behind a curtain of blowing snow. He stumbled back to the house. More than ever, he was convinced that somehow Ann had escaped. Yet where to look? In this storm there was no direction, nothing. If she headed for town, she might make it. However, safety for her would more likely lie toward the mountains, for there she could improvise shelter and probably could last the storm out. Knowing the country, she would know how long such storms lasted. It was rarely more than three days.
He had little hope of finding Ann, yet he knew she would never return here. Seated in the ranch house, he coolly ate a hastily picked up meal and drank more coffee. Then he returned to his horse, which he had led to the stable. Mounting, he rode into the storm on the way to town …. Gene Baker and Pat Higley looked up when Rafe Caradec came in. Baker’s face paled when he saw that Rafe was alone.
“Did you find out?” he asked. “Was it Ann?” Briefly, Rafe explained, telling all he had learned and his own speculations as to what had happened.
“She must have got plumb away,” Higley agreed. “Shute would never take her away from his ranch in this storm. But where could she have gone?” Rafe explained his own theories on that. “She probably took it for granted he would think she would head for town,” he suggested, “so she may have taken to the mountains. After all, she would know that Shute would kill anybody who tried to stop him.” Gene Baker nodded miserably. “That’s right, and what can a body do?” “Wait,” Higley said.
“Just wait.” “I won’t wait,” Rafe said. “If she shows up here, hold her. Shoot Dan if you have too, drygulch him or anything. Get him out of the way.
I’m goin’ into the mountains. I can at least be lookin’, and .i might stumble onto some kind of a trail.” . .
Two hours later, shivering with cold, Rafe Caradec acknowledged how foolhardy he had been.
His black horse was walking steadily through a snow-covered avenue among the pines, weaving around fallen logs and clumps of brush. He had found nothing that resembled a trail, and twice he had crossed the stream. This, he knew, was also the direction that had been taken by the wounded Tex Brisco.
No track could last more than a minute in the whirling snow-filled world in which Rafe now rode. The wind howled and tore at his garments even here, within the partial shelter of the lodgepoles. Yet he rode on. Then he dismounted and walked ahead, resting the horse. It was growing worse in- stead of better, yet he pushed on, taking the line of least resistance, sure that this was what the fleeing Ann would have done. The icy wind ripped at his clothing, at times faced him like a solid, moving wall. The black stumbled wearily, and Rafe was suddenly contrite. The big horse had taken a brutal beating in these last few days, and even its great strength was weakening.
Squinting his eyes against the blowing snow, he stared ahead. He could see nothing, but he was aware that the wall of the mountain was on his left. Bearing in that direction, he came up to a thicker stand of trees and some scattered boulders. He rode on, alert for possible shelter for himself and his horse.
Almost an hour later, he found it, a dry, sandy place under the overhang of the cliff, sheltered from the wind and protected from the snow by the overhang and by the trees and brush that fronted it. Swinging down, Rafe led the horse into the shelter and hastily built a fire. From the underside of a log he got some bark, great sheets of it, and some fibrous, rotting wood. Then he broke some low branches on the trees, dead and dry. In a few minutes his fire was burning nicely. Then he stripped the saddle from the horse and rubbed him down with a handful of crushed bark. When that was done, he got out the nosebag and fed the horse some of the oats he had appropriated from Shute’s barn.
The next hour he occupied himself in gathering fuel. Luckily, there were a number of dead trees close by, debris left by some landslide from up the mountain. He settled down by the fire and made coffee. Dozing against the rock, he fed the blaze intermittently, his mind far away.
Somehow, sometime, he fell asleep.
Around the rocks the wind, moaning and whining, sought with icy fingers for a grasp at his shoulder, at his hands.
But the log burned well, and the big horse stood close, stamping in the sand and dozing beside the man on the ground.
Once, starting from his sleep, Rafe noticed that the log had burned until it was out of the fire, so he dragged it around and then laid another across it. Soon he was again asleep . . . .
He awakened suddenly. It was daylight, and the storm was still raging. His fire blazed among the charred embers of his logs, and he lifted his eyes. Six Indians faced him beyond the fire, and their rifles and bows covered him. Their faces were hard and unreadable.
Two stepped forward and jerked him to his feet, stripped his guns from him, and motioned for him to saddle his horse.
Numb with cold, he could scarcely realize what had happened to him. One of the Indians, wrapped in a worn red blanket, jabbered at the others and kept pointing to the horse, making threatening gestures. Yet when Rafe had the animal saddled, they motioned to him to mount. Two of the Indians rode up then, leading the horses of the others.
So this was the way it ended. He was a prisoner.
Uncomprehending, Rafe Caradec opened his eves to darkness. He sat up abruptly and stared around. Then, after a long minute, it came to him.
He was a prisoner in a village of the Oglala Sioux, and he had just awakened.
Two days before, they had brought him here, bound him hand and foot, and left him in the tepee he now occupied. Several times, squaws had entered the tepee and departed. They had given him food and water. It was night, and his wrists were swollen from the tightness of the bonds. It was warm in the tepee, for there was a fire, but smoke filled the skin wigwam and filtered but slowly out at the top. He had a feeling it was almost morning.
What had happened at Painted Rock? Where was Ann? And where was Tex Brisco? Had Dan Shute returned?
He was rolling over toward the entrance to catch a breath of fresh air when the flap was drawn back and a squaw came in. She caught him by the collar and dragged him back, but made no effort to molest him. He was more worried about the squaws than the braves, for they were given to torture. Suddenly, the flap was drawn back again and two people came in-a warrior and a squaw. She spoke rapidly in Sioux and then picked a brand from the fire. As it blazed up, she held it close to his face. He drew back, thinking she meant to sear his eyes.
Then, looking beyond the blaze, he saw that the squaw holding it was the Indian girl he had saved from Trigger Boyne!
With a burst of excited talk, she bent over him.
A knife slid under his bonds, and they were cut.
Chafing his ankles, he looked up. In the flare of the torchlight he could see the face of the Indian man. He spoke gutturally, but in fair English. “My daughter say you man help her,” he said.
“Yes,” Rafe replied. “The Sioux are not my enemies, nor am I theirs.” “Your name Caradec.” The Indian’s statement was flat, not to be contradicted.
“Yes.” Rafe stumbled to his feet, rubbing his wrists. “We know your horse, also the horses of the others.” “Others?” Rafe asked quickly. “There are others here?” “Yes, a girl who rode your horse, and a man who rode one of ours. The man is much better. He had been injured.” Ann and Tex! Rafe’s heart leaped.