Books: The Man of the Forest

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"It's -- Bo," he said, unsteadily.

"She went riding yesterday -- and -- never -- came -- back!"
replied Helen, brokenly.

"I've seen her trail. She's been taken into the woods. I'll
find her. I'll fetch her back," he replied, rapidly.

With a shock she seemed to absorb his meaning. With another
shock she raised her face -- leaned back a little to look at
him.

"You'll find her -- fetch her back?"

"Yes," he answered, instantly.

With that ringing word it seemed to Dale she realized how
she was standing. He felt her shake as she dropped her arms
and stepped back, while the white anguish of her face was
flooded out by a wave of scarlet. But she was brave in her
confusion. Her eyes never fell, though they changed swiftly,
darkening with shame, amaze, and with feelings he could not
read.

"I'm almost -- out of my head," she faltered.

"No wonder. I saw that. . . . But now you must get
clear-headed. I've no time to lose."

He led her to the door.

"John, it's Bo that's gone," he called. "Since yesterday. .
. . Send the boy to get me a bag of meat an' bread. You run
to the corral an' get me a fresh horse. My old horse Ranger
if you can find him quick. An' rustle."

Without a word John leaped bareback on one of the horses he
had just unsaddled and spurred him across the courtyard.

Then the big cougar, seeing Helen, got up from where he lay
on the porch and came to her.

"Oh, it's Tom!" cried Helen, and as he rubbed against her
knees she patted his head with trembling hand. "You big,
beautiful pet! Oh, how I remember! Oh, how Bo would love to
--"

"Where's Carmichael?" interrupted Dale. "Out huntin' Bo?"

"Yes. It was he who missed her first. He rode everywhere
yesterday. Last night when he came back he was wild. I've
not seen him to-day. He made all the other men but Hal and
Joe stay home on the ranch."

"Right. An' John must stay, too, declared Dale. "But it's
strange. Carmichael ought to have found the girl's tracks.
She was ridin' a pony?"

"Bo rode Sam. He's a little bronc, very strong and fast."

"I come across his tracks. How'd Carmichael miss them?"

"He didn't. He found them -- trailed them all along the
north range. That's where he forbade Bo to go. You see,
they're in love with each other. They've been at odds.
Neither will give in. Bo disobeyed him. There's hard ground
off the north range, so he said. He was able to follow her
tracks only so far."

"Were there any other tracks along with hers?"

"No."

"Miss Helen, I found them 'way southeast of Pine up on the
slope of the mountain. There were seven other horses makin'
that trail -- when we run across it. On the way down we
found a camp where men had waited. An' Bo's pony, led by a
rider on a big horse, come into that camp from the east --
maybe north a little. An' that tells the story."

"Riggs ran her down -- made off with her!" cried Helen,
passionately. "Oh, the villain! He had men in waiting.
That's Beasley's work. They were after me."

"It may not be just what you said, but that's close enough.
An' Bo's in a bad fix. You must face that an' try to bear up
under -- fears of the worst."

"My friend! You will save her!"

"I'll fetch her back, alive or dead."

"Dead! Oh, my God!" Helen cried, and closed her eyes an
instant, to open them burning black. "But Bo isn't dead. I
know that -- I feel it. She'll not die very easy. She's a
little savage. She has no fear. She'd fight like a tigress
for her life. She's strong. You remember how strong. She can
stand anything. Unless they murder her outright she'll live
-- a long time -- through any ordeal. . . . So I beg you, my
friend, don't lose an hour -- don't ever give up!"

Dale trembled under the clasp of her hands. Loosing his own
from her clinging hold, he stepped out on the porch At that
moment John appeared on Ranger, coming at a gallop.

"Nell, I'll never come back without her," said Dale. "I
reckon you can hope -- only be prepared. That's all. It's
hard. But these damned deals are common out here in the
West."

"Suppose Beasley comes -- here!" exclaimed Helen, and again
her hand went out toward him.

"If he does, you refuse to get off ," replied Dale. "But
don't let him or his greasers put a dirty hand on you.
Should he threaten force -- why, pack some clothes -- an'
your valuables -- an' go down to Mrs. Cass's. An' wait till
I come back!"

"Wait -- till you -- come back!" she faltered, slowly
turning white again. Her dark eyes dilated. "Milt -- you're
like Las Vegas. You'll kill Beasley!"

Dale heard his own laugh, very cold and strange, foreign to
his ears. A grim, deadly hate of Beasley vied with the
tenderness and pity he felt for this distressed girl. It was
a sore trial to see her leaning there against the door -- to
be compelled to leave her alone. Abruptly be stalked off the
porch. Tom followed him. The black horse whinnied his
recognition of Dale and snorted at sight of the cougar. Just
then the Mexican boy returned with a bag. Dale tied this,
with the small pack, behind the saddle.

"John, you stay here with Miss Helen," said Dale. "An' if
Carmichael comes back, keep him, too! An' to-night, if any
one rides into Pine from the way we come, you be sure to
spot him."

"I'll do thet, Milt," responded John.

Dale mounted, and, turning for a last word to Helen, he felt
the words of cheer halted on his lips as he saw her standing
white and broken-hearted, with her hands to her bosom. He
could not look twice.

"Come on there, you Tom," he called to the cougar. Reckon on
this track you'll pay me for all my trainin' of you"

"Oh, my friend!" came Helen's sad voice, almost a whisper to
his throbbing ears. "Heaven help you -- to save her! I --"

Then Ranger started and Dale heard no more. He could not
look back. His eyes were full of tears and his breast ached.
By a tremendous effort he shifted that emotion -- called on
all the spiritual energy of his being to the duty of this
grim task before him.

He did not ride down through the village, but skirted the
northern border, and worked round to the south, where,
coming to the trail he had made an hour past, he headed on
it, straight for the slope now darkening in the twilight.
The big cougar showed more willingness to return on this
trail than he had shown in the coming. Ranger was fresh and
wanted to go, but Dale held him in.

A cool wind blew down from the mountain with the coming of
night. Against the brightening stars Dale saw the promontory
lift its bold outline. It was miles away. It haunted him,
strangely calling. A night, and perhaps a day, separated him
from the gang that held Bo Rayner prisoner. Dale had no plan
as yet. He had only a motive as great as the love he bore
Helen Rayner.

Beasley's evil genius had planned this abduction. Riggs was
a tool, a cowardly knave dominated by a stronger will. Snake
Anson and his gang had lain in wait at that cedar camp; had
made that broad hoof track leading up the mountain. Beasley
had been there with them that very day. All this was as
assured to Dale as if he had seen the men.

But the matter of Dale's recovering the girl and doing it
speedily strung his mental strength to its highest pitch.
Many outlines of action flashed through his mind as he rode
on, peering keenly through the night, listening with
practised ears. All were rejected. And at the outset of
every new branching of thought he would gaze down at the
gray form of the cougar, long, graceful, heavy, as he padded
beside the horse. From the first thought of returning to
help Helen Rayner he had conceived an undefined idea of
possible value in the qualities of his pet. Tom had
performed wonderful feats of trailing, but he had never been
tried on men. Dale believed he could make him trail
anything, yet he had no proof of this. One fact stood out of
all Dale's conjectures, and it was that he had known men,
and brave men, to fear cougars.

Far up on the slope, in a little hollow where water ran and
there was a little grass for Ranger to pick, Dale haltered
him and made ready to spend the night. He was sparing with
his food, giving Tom more than he took himself. Curled close
up to Dale, the big cat went to sleep.

But Dale lay awake for long.

The night was still, with only a faint moan of wind on this
sheltered slope. Dale saw hope in the stars. He did not seem
to have promised himself or Helen that he could save her
sister, and then her property. He seemed to have stated
something unconsciously settled, outside of his thinking.
Strange how this certainty was not vague, yet irreconcilable
with any plans he created! Behind it, somehow nameless with
inconceivable power, surged all his wonderful knowledge of
forest, of trails, of scents, of night, of the nature of men
lying down to sleep in the dark, lonely woods, of the nature
of this great cat that lived its every action in accordance
with his will.

He grew sleepy, and gradually his mind stilled, with his
last conscious thought a portent that he would awaken to
accomplish his desperate task.

CHAPTER XX

Young Burt possessed the keenest eyes of any man in Snake
Anson's gang, for which reason he was given the post as
lookout from the lofty promontory. His instructions were to
keep sharp watch over the open slopes below and to report
any sight of a horse.

A cedar fire with green boughs on top of dead wood sent up a
long, pale column of smoke. This signal-fire had been kept
burning since sunrise.

The preceding night camp had been made on a level spot in
the cedars back of the promontory. But manifestly Anson did
not expect to remain there long. For, after breakfast, the
packs had been made up and the horses stood saddled and
bridled. They were restless and uneasy, tossing bits and
fighting flies. The sun, now half-way to meridian, was hot
and no breeze blew in that sheltered spot.

Shady Jones had ridden off early to fill the water-bags, and
had not yet returned. Anson, thinner and scalier and more
snakelike than ever, was dealing a greasy, dirty deck of
cards, his opponent being the square-shaped, black-visaged
Moze. In lieu of money the gamblers wagered with
cedar-berries, each of which berries represented a pipeful
of tobacco. Jim Wilson brooded under a cedar-tree, his
unshaven face a dirty dust-hue, a smoldering fire in his
light eyes, a sullen set to his jaw. Every little while he
would raise his eyes to glance at Riggs, and it seemed that
a quick glance was enough. Riggs paced to and fro in the
open, coatless and hatless, his black-broadcloth trousers
and embroidered vest dusty and torn. An enormous gun bumped
awkwardly in its sheath swinging below his hip. Riggs looked
perturbed. His face was sweating freely, yet it was far from
red in color. He did not appear to mind the sun or the
flies. His eyes were staring, dark, wild, shifting in gaze
from everything they encountered. But often that gaze shot
back to the captive girl sitting under a cedar some yards
from the man.

Bo Rayner's little, booted feet were tied together with one
end of a lasso and the other end trailed off over the
ground. Her hands were free. Her riding-habit was dusty and
disordered. Her eyes blazed defiantly out of a small, pale
face.

"Harve Riggs, I wouldn't be standing in those cheap boots of
yours for a million dollars," she said, sarcastically. Riggs
took no notice of her words.

"You pack that gun-sheath wrong end out. What have you got
the gun for, anyhow?" she added, tauntingly.

Snake Anson let out a hoarse laugh and Moze's black visage
opened in a huge grin. Jim Wilson seemed to drink in the
girl's words. Sullen and somber, he bent his lean head, very
still, as if listening.

"You'd better shut up," said Riggs, darkly.

"I will not shut up," declared Bo.

"Then I'll gag you," he threatened.

"Gag me! Why, you dirty, low-down, two-bit of a bluff!" she
exclaimed, hotly, "I'd like to see you try it. I'll tear
that long hair of yours right off your head."

Riggs advanced toward her with his hands clutching, as if
eager to throttle her. The girl leaned forward, her face
reddening, her eyes fierce.

"You damned little cat!" muttered Riggs, thickly. "I'll gag
you -- if you don't stop squallin'."

"Come on. I dare you to lay a hand on me. . . . Harve Riggs,
I'm not the least afraid of you. Can't you savvy that?
You're a liar, a four-flush, a sneak! Why, you're not fit to
wipe the feet of any of these outlaws."

Riggs took two long strides and bent over her, his teeth
protruding in a snarl, and he cuffed her hard on the side of
the head.

Bo's head jerked back with the force of the blow, but she
uttered no cry.

"Are you goin' to keep your jaw shut?" he demanded,
stridently, and a dark tide of blood surged up into his
neck.

"I should smile I'm not," retorted Bo, in cool, deliberate
anger of opposition. "You've roped me -- and you've struck
me! Now get a club -- stand off there -- out of my reach --
and beat me! Oh, if I only knew cuss words fit for you --
I'd call you them!"

Snake Anson had stopped playing cards, and was watching,
listening, with half-disgusted, half-amused expression on
his serpent-like face. Jim Wilson slowly rose to his feet.
If any one had observed him it would have been to note that
he now seemed singularly fascinated by this scene, yet all
the while absorbed in himself. Once he loosened the
neck-band of his blouse.

Riggs swung his arm more violently at the girl. But she
dodged.

"You dog!" she hissed. "Oh, if I only had a gun!"

Her face then, with its dead whiteness and the eyes of
flame, held a tragic, impelling beauty that stung Anson into
remonstrance.

"Aw, Riggs, don't beat up the kid," he protested. "Thet
won't do any good. Let her alone."

"But she's got to shut up," replied Riggs.

"How 'n hell air you goin' to shet her up? Mebbe if you get
out of her sight she'll be quiet. . . . How about thet,
girl?"

Anson gnawed his drooping mustache as he eyed Bo.

"Have I made any kick to you or your men yet?" she queried.

"It strikes me you 'ain't," replied Anson.

"You won't hear me make any so long as I'm treated decent,"
said Bo. "I don't know what you've got to do with Riggs. He
ran me down -- roped me -- dragged me to your camp. Now I've
a hunch you're waiting for Beasley."

"Girl, your hunch 's correct," said Anson.

"Well, do you know I'm the wrong girl?"

"What's thet? I reckon you're Nell Rayner, who got left all
old Auchincloss's property."

"No. I'm Bo Rayner. Nell is my sister. She owns the ranch.
Beasley wanted her."

Anson cursed deep and low. Under his sharp, bristling
eyebrows he bent cunning green eyes upon Riggs.

"Say, you! Is what this kid says so?"

"Yes. She's Nell Rayner's sister," replied Riggs, doggedly.

"A-huh! Wal, why in the hell did you drag her into my camp
an' off up here to signal Beasley? He ain't wantin' her. He
wants the girl who owns the ranch. Did you take one fer the
other -- same as thet day we was with you?"

"Guess I must have," replied Riggs, sullenly.

"But you knowed her from her sister afore you come to my
camp?"

Riggs shook his head. He was paler now and sweating more
freely. The dank hair hung wet over his forehead. His manner
was that of a man suddenly realizing he had gotten into a
tight place.

"Oh, he's a liar!" exclaimed Bo, with contemptuous ring in
her voice. "He comes from my country. He has known Nell and
me for years."

Snake Anson turned to look at Wilson.

"Jim, now hyar's a queer deal this feller has rung in on us.
I thought thet kid was pretty young. Don't you remember
Beasley told us Nell Rayner was a handsome woman?"

"Wal, pard Anson, if this heah gurl ain't handsome my eyes
have gone pore," drawled Wilson.

"A-huh! So your Texas chilvaree over the ladies is some
operatin'," retorted Anson, with fine sarcasm. "But thet
ain't tellin' me what you think?"

"Wal, I ain't tellin' you what I think yet. But I know thet
kid ain't Nell Rayner. For I've seen her."

Anson studied his right-hand man for a moment, then, taking
out his tobacco-pouch, he sat himself down upon a stone and
proceeded leisurely to roll a cigarette. He put it between
his thin lips and apparently forgot to light it. For a few
moments he gazed at the yellow ground and some scant
sage-brush. Riggs took to pacing up and down. Wilson leaned
as before against the cedar. The girl slowly recovered from
her excess of anger.

"Kid, see hyar," said Anson, addressing the girl; "if Riggs
knowed you wasn't Nell an' fetched you along anyhow -- what
'd he do thet fur?"

"He chased me -- caught me. Then he saw some one after us
and he hurried to your camp. He was afraid -- the cur!"

Riggs heard her reply, for he turned a malignant glance upon
her.

"Anson, I fetched her because I know Nell Rayner will give
up anythin' on earth for her," he said, in loud voice.

Anson pondered this statement with an air of considering its
apparent sincerity.

"Don't you believe him," declared Bo Rayner, bluntly. "He's
a liar. He's double-crossing Beasley and all of you."

Riggs raised a shaking hand to clench it at her. "Keep still
or it 'll be the worse for you."

"Riggs, shut up yourself," put in Anson, as he leisurely
rose. "Mebbe it 'ain't occurred to you thet she might have
some talk interestin' to me. An' I'm runnin' this hyar camp.
. . . Now, kid, talk up an' say what you like."

"I said he was double-crossing you all," replied the girl,
instantly. "Why, I'm surprised you'd be caught in his
company! My uncle Al and my sweetheart Carmichael and my
friend Dale -- they've all told me what Western men are,
even down to outlaws, robbers, cutthroat rascals like you.
And I know the West well enough now to be sure that
four-flush doesn't belong here and can't last here. He went
to Dodge City once and when he came back he made a bluff at
being a bad man. He was a swaggering, bragging, drinking
gun-fighter. He talked of the men he'd shot, of the fights
he'd had. He dressed like some of those gun-throwing
gamblers. . . . He was in love with my sister Nell. She
hated him. He followed us out West and he has hung on our
actions like a sneaking Indian. Why, Nell and I couldn't
even walk to the store in the village. He rode after me out
on the range -- chased me. . . . For that Carmichael called
Riggs's bluff down in Turner's saloon. Dared him to draw!
Cussed him every name on the range! Slapped and beat and
kicked him! Drove him out of Pine! . . . And now, whatever
he has said to Beasley or you, it's a dead sure bet he's
playing his own game. That's to get hold of Nell, and if not
her -- then me! . . . Oh, I'm out of breath -- and I'm out
of names to call him. If I talked forever -- I'd never be --
able to -- do him justice. But lend me -- a gun -- a
minute!"

Jim Wilson's quiet form vibrated with a start. Anson with
his admiring smile pulled his gun and, taking a couple of
steps forward, held it out butt first. She stretched eagerly
for it and he jerked it away.

"Hold on there!" yelled Riggs, in alarm.

"Damme, Jim, if she didn't mean bizness!" exclaimed the
outlaw.

"Wal, now -- see heah, Miss. Would you bore him -- if you
hed a gun?" inquired Wilson, with curious interest. There
was more of respect in his demeanor than admiration.

"No. I don't want his cowardly blood on my hands," replied
the girl. "But I'd make him dance -- I'd make him run."

"Shore you can handle a gun?"

She nodded her answer while her eyes flashed hate and her
resolute lips twitched.

Then Wilson made a singularly swift motion and his gun was
pitched butt first to within a foot of her hand. She
snatched it up, cocked it, aimed it, all before Anson could
move. But he yelled:

"Drop thet gun, you little devil!"

Riggs turned ghastly as the big blue gun lined on him. He
also yelled, but that yell was different from Anson's.

"Run or dance!" cried the girl.

The big gun boomed and leaped almost out of her hand. She
took both hands, and called derisively as she fired again.
The second bullet hit at Riggs's feet, scattering the dust
and fragments of stone all over him. He bounded here --
there -- then darted for the rocks. A third time the heavy
gun spoke and this bullet must have ticked Riggs, for he let
out a hoarse bawl and leaped sheer for the protection of a
rock.

"Plug him! Shoot off a leg!" yelled Snake Anson, whooping
and stamping, as Riggs got out of sight.

Jim Wilson watched the whole performance with the same
quietness that had characterized his manner toward the girl.
Then, as Riggs disappeared, Wilson stepped forward and took
the gun from the girl's trembling hands. She was whiter than
ever, but still resolute and defiant. Wilson took a glance
over in the direction Riggs had hidden and then proceeded to
reload the gun. Snake Anson's roar of laughter ceased rather
suddenly.

"Hyar, Jim, she might have held up the whole gang with thet
gun," he protested.

"I reckon she 'ain't nothin' ag'in' us," replied Wilson.

"A-huh! You know a lot about wimmen now, don't you? But thet
did my heart good. Jim, what 'n earth would you have did if
thet 'd been you instead of Riggs?"

The query seemed important and amazing. Wilson pondered.

"Shore I'd stood there -- stock-still -- an' never moved an
eye-winker."

"An' let her shoot!" ejaculated Anson, nodding his long
head. "Me, too!"

So these rough outlaws, inured to all the violence and
baseness of their dishonest calling, rose to the challenging
courage of a slip of a girl. She had the one thing they
respected -- nerve.

Just then a halloo, from the promontory brought Anson up
with a start. Muttering to himself, he strode out toward the
jagged rocks that hid the outlook. Moze shuffled his burly
form after Anson.

"Miss, it shore was grand -- thet performance of Mister
Gunman Riggs," remarked Jim Wilson, attentively studying the
girl.

"Much obliged to you for lending me your gun," she replied.
"I -- I hope I hit him -- a little."

"Wal, if you didn't sting him, then Jim Wilson knows nothin'
about lead."

"Jim Wilson? Are you the man -- the outlaw my uncle Al
knew?"

"Reckon I am, miss. Fer I knowed Al shore enough. What 'd he
say aboot me?"

"I remember once he was telling me about Snake Anson's gang.
He mentioned you. Said you were a real gun-fighter. And what
a shame it was you had to be an outlaw."

"Wal! An' so old Al spoke thet nice of me. . . . It's
tolerable likely I'll remember. An' now, miss, can I do
anythin' for you?"

Swift as a flash she looked at him.

"What do you mean?"

"Wal, shore I don't mean much, I'm sorry to say. Nothin' to
make you look like thet. . . . I hev to be an outlaw, shore
as you're born. But -- mebbe there's a difference in
outlaws."

She understood him and paid him the compliment not to voice
her sudden upflashing hope that he might be one to betray
his leader.

"Please take this rope off my feet. Let me walk a little.
Let me have a -- a little privacy. That fool watched every
move I made. I promise not to run away. And, oh! I'm
thirsty."

"Shore you've got sense." He freed her feet and helped her
get up. "There'll be some fresh water any minit now, if
you'll wait."

Then he turned his back and walked over to where Riggs sat
nursing a bullet-burn on his leg.

"Say, Riggs, I'm takin' the responsibility of loosin' the
girl for a little spell. She can't get away. An' there ain't
any sense in bein' mean."

Riggs made no reply, and went on rolling down his trousers
leg, lapped a fold over at the bottom and pulled on his
boot. Then he strode out toward the promontory. Half-way
there he encountered Anson tramping back.

"Beasley's comin' one way an' Shady's comin' another. We'll
be off this hot point of rock by noon," said the outlaw
leader.

Riggs went on to the promontory to look for himself.

"Where's the girl?" demanded Anson, in surprise, when he got
back to the camp.

"Wal, she's walkin' 'round between heah an' Pine," drawled
Wilson.

"Jim, you let her loose?"

"Shore I did. She's been hawg-tied all the time. An' she
said she'd not run off. I'd take thet girl's word even to a
sheep-thief."

"A-huh. So would I, for all of thet. But, Jim, somethin's
workin' in you. Ain't you sort of rememberin' a time when
you was young -- an' mebbe knowed pretty kids like this
one?"

"Wal, if I am it 'll shore turn out bad fer somebody."

Anson gave him a surprised stare and suddenly lost the
bantering tone.

"A-huh! So thet's how it's workin'," he replied, and flung
himself down in the shade.

Young Burt made his appearance then, wiping his sallow face.
His deep-set, hungry eyes, upon which his comrades set such
store, roved around the camp.

"Whar's the gurl?" he queried.

"Jim let her go out fer a stroll," replied Anson.

"I seen Jim was gittin' softy over her. Haw! Haw! Haw!"

But Snake Anson did not crack a smile. The atmosphere
appeared not to be congenial for jokes, a fact Burt rather
suddenly divined. Riggs and Moze returned from the
promontory, the latter reporting that Shady Jones was riding
up close. Then the girl walked slowly into sight and
approached to find a seat within ten yards of the group.
They waited in silence until the expected horseman rode up
with water-bottles slung on both sides of his saddle. His
advent was welcome. All the men were thirsty. Wilson took
water to the girl before drinking himself.

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