Part 48 (1/2)

Sandy's camp preparations were simple, but much more elaborate than if the night had been clear. Then he would have made his fire, boiled coffee, spread his bed, and gone to sleep beneath the stars; but because of the ominous storm cloud he constructed a lean-to by driving two forked stakes and joining them with a crosspiece. From these he slanted two poles to the ground, and on the poles laid a tarp, las.h.i.+ng it in place. The mouth of the lean-to faced away from the cloud bank.

In addition it had the partial shelter of cottonwoods in full leaf. In this lean-to be collected his outfit. Next he made a fire and cooked supper. Afterward he smoked, squatting in the mouth of his shelter, staring silently at the dying embers, listening to the rising wind sighing above him sweeping across the bare gra.s.slands, but scarcely fanning the coals in his protected camp.

He felt no loneliness whatever. Solitary camps and the love of them were his by right of inheritance. He neither required nor desired companions.h.i.+p. Fire, food, tobacco, and solitude satisfied his inmost soul. This was the life he loved. The fact that he was a fugitive from the law did not trouble him at all; it merely gave an added zest to the situation. Just once he chuckled grimly as he recalled the faces of Gla.s.s and Pugh when he had whirled on them, gun in hand. Gla.s.s had interpreted his intentions very correctly; he would have shot either or both on the slightest provocation. He was of the breed of the wolf, accustomed from childhood to deadly weapons, brought up in tradition of their use, and, like many outlaws who have bulked large in the history of the West, young enough to act on impulse without counting the ultimate cost.

As his little fire burned down he stepped out and regarded the darkened heavens. A heavy drop of rain struck his face and a flash of lightning ripped the black curtain, outlining bare banks, trees, and grazing horses for a brief instant. Sandy shrugged his shoulders philosophically. His shelter was good enough. He unrolled his bed, and, by the simple process of removing moccasins and gun belt, was ready to retire. He got into his blankets, taking his gun with him, and rolled them around him, leaving his face exposed until the last.

”Now, darn you rain!” he muttered. With which ”now-I-lay-me” he drew the blanket completely over his head as a protection against mosquitoes, and, heedless of the smothering effect of it, which would have been unsupportable to a city youth, was asleep in ten seconds.

He slept for, perhaps, an hour. At the end of that time he suddenly became wide awake. He could not have told what had aroused him, but he was sure something had. He threw back the smothering blanket from his head and lay listening.

Overhead the wind threshed the tops of the trees, and roared hollowly as it rebounded from the farther side of the gulch. Rain, driven by the wind, slashed through the foliage and pattered against his primitive shelter. Thunder rolled in an endless fusillade, punctuated by flashes of lightning. But Sandy, without considering the matter, was quite sure that none of these things had awakened him. In a momentary lull of the storm, as he lay with his ear close to the ground, he thought he could hear the sound of hoofs coming up the draw, along the hard-beaten cattle trail.

It was barely possible that some wandering stock, drifting with the storm, were seeking the shelter of it; but it was more likely that range stock would have found cover to suit them before dark, and would stay in it till morning. Now, there is a difference between the tread of ridden and riderless animals, and Sandy thought that he had heard the former. Also, they were coming as he had come.

His route led from the settlements back to the hills where there was n.o.body and nothing. There was no road, no trail. Few people went there, not even Indians, and they not until the fall hunt, after the first snow. Therefore, it was suspicious that, on such a night, a rider or riders should be in his vicinity. His mind leaped to the conclusion that Gla.s.s had been released, had secured the services of somebody who knew the country, and had somehow made a good guess at the location of his first night's camp, for which they were now searching in the darkness, hoping that the remains of his fire would betray him.

As he reached this conclusion, Sandy rolled out of his blankets, buckled his belt around his lean waist, slipped on his moccasins, and stepped out into the darkness.

Not a red spark showed where his fire had been, and Sandy smiled grimly. He would do all the surprising himself. He did not intend to be taken. Once more he heard the sound of hoofs, nearer. They seemed to approach a few yards, then to stop. He heard the sound of a breath blown from a horse's nostrils.

The storm, which had lulled momentarily, began again. The wind hit the draw viciously, with spatters of rain. Other sounds were indistinguishable. Sandy, crouching low to get any advancing object against what sky line there was, made out the shape of a mounted man.

Horse and man stood like an equestrian statue, barely distinguishable, though but a few yards away.

The rider disappeared from the saddle. Sandy heard his feet cras.h.i.+ng in the low bushes, heard him stumble and swear.

”Ought to be about here,” words came faintly to Sandy's ears. ”If ever I try to find ... on a night like this....”

”Looking for me, sure,” thought Sandy. ”Maybe it's Gla.s.s; maybe it isn't. Wonder how many there are. Anyway, I'll fix this one.”

Soft-footed as a great cat, he crept toward the voice. The man loomed in front of him; his back was turned. Sandy rose soundlessly behind him. With a sudden vicious sweep his left arm shot across the stranger's left shoulder and around his throat. His right hand shoved the muzzle of his gun beneath the man's right ear.

”Don't move or let one yip out of you!” he hissed tensely.

After one convulsive start the stranger stood motionless. ”Nary move nor yip,” he whispered confidentially into the night. ”And if that gun's a light pull, be mighty careful of the trigger!”

”Talk and talk quiet,” said Sandy. ”How many are there of you?”

”Be mighty careful of that gun if you're seein' double that way!” the stranger admonished again nervously. ”Was you expectin' twins or somethin'?”

”You alone?”

”Yep.”

”What's your name?”

”Smith.”

”What you doing here?”

”Lookin' for the spring to camp by.”