A Week in a Box Canyon

A WEEK IN A BOX CANYON. THE "IMPROVEMENT ERA" PRIZE STORY.

BT MALCOLM LTTTLE, STUDENT AT THE LELAND STANFORD UNIVERSITY, CALIFORNIA.

III.

I ate my breakfast and, when the breeze was up, got into the trough and paddled out. Rounding a turn, I found myself on a narrow sheet of water, bordered by a sandy beach a rod wide, back of which were the cliffs. I was cheered by a diffused radiance which made objects less obscure; and the air currents were stronger than in the open lake. A half hour I plied my hands vigorously, when I saw a flare of light ahead, coming through a horizontal slit on the left. The trough ran aground, and I was soon clamber- ing to the aperture. Cautiously, I looked out, but saw no sign of sentinels near the cave I crept into. I congratulated myself that I had been the first discoverer of the place, and that the secret was mine alone. I could not go to my old quarters until nightfall, and coiled down in a warm, cosy nook among the rocks, and slept for the hours I had walked during the night. When I awoke, the wind had changed, and I thought of the trough and my scheme for deluding the robbers. On a piece of newspaper from my wallet, in a scrawly hand, as if written in semi-darkness, I penciled the following: "It's all up with me. I'm trapped, but not out-done. If you still want me, come to the bottom of the lake; it'll be cool and quiet there. I hope your drinking-water will always be sweet."

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"Rather festive for a dying man," I thought; but, unsigned, I pinned the paper to the log, and shoved it off. As far as I could, with a long stick, I pushed the trough down the bay, saw it drift slowly out of sight over the shadowy lake. I smiled, and won- dered how the ruse would affect Burley and his men. The tables were turned in my favor. That night, I slept on my bed of boughs, and what a joyous night it was! During the day, by lying in the hot sun, I had dried my clothes and got summer-warmed all through. Next morning, before there was smoke from the chimney, I had my eyes on the cabin, expecting developments closely touching my future. Presently, a man came out, stretched languidly to get a little of the freshness into himself, and set about cutting wood for a fire. Another, with a pail, started to the cave, but in a moment reappeared, not with water, but with manifest excitement. He called to his companion, then roused Burley, and all three hur- ried back through the entrance. They were busily engaged a half hour or more and ran about gathering up sticks. I suspected the trough was not quite ashore, and they were wave-beating to bring it in. Finally they came out, Burley holding my note in his hand. In the light, they formed a knot, and eagerly read it. One fellow laughed loudly, and threw high his hat; the other, too, showed his appreciation of the joke; but Burley seemed to regard the matter more seriously, and with no outward signs of jubilance walked into the cabin. After breakfast, the men saddled their horses and together rode down the canyon, leaving no one to guard the cave, clear evi- dence they thought me out of harm's way; but, since the pack- animals were not taken, I inferred they would return in the evening. I now became more daring, resolved to ferret about with high glee during the day, and uncover as much of the inner workings of the gang as the contents of the cabin could be made to reveal. If

I were surprised inmy rummagings, again I could take to the lake and securely paddle to my private exit; if not, I would lay in abundant stores, and, when a favorable opportunity came, mount one of the horses, and make good my escape. An hour after Burley and his men had left, I crossed to the

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house. The door was unlocked, and immediately I took possession. There was my note tacked to the wall, with the added inscription: "God rest his soul." The grim humor of the sentence did not much dispose me to smile, realizing what might have been. The most valuable thing I found, however, was a map of the Den and surrounding country, with trails and watering places marked, and distances given. This would be of inestimable worth to me in finding my way out of the wilderness, and, on a piece of brown paper, I made an accurate draft from the original. Next, I unearthed Burley's pay-roll, and with it the place, nature of the work, and salary of each of his employees. To my astonishment, there were the names of several men, about Penunk, regarded as respectable citizens, among them the sheriff himself, whose duty it seemed to be to herd their neighbor's cattle towards the beaten

trails of the Den of thieves, whence they could be driven into the rough west country out of the reach of the owners. The marketable stock were put in the Box Canyon, their brands defaced, and, in the spring or fall, driven over the mountains and sold. By this nefarious traffic, vast sums had Having taken what accrued. supplies I thought necessary, about noon I withdrew to my own cave in the opposite cliff. At sunset, Burley returned alone. He appeared nervous, and, instead of going to the lake for water, took the bucket down to a spring in the meadow. The seepings from a dead man's body would have been unsavory to the utmost, and quite unfit for kitchen use; and a dead man's spirit, too, I thought, smiling, was gently tapping on the sounding-board of his imagination. When I watched him through the window, I had noted the twitching of his muscles through fear of nightly sounds; then what superstitious horrors would the unearthly creepings of the dead bring up? I

had heard of physical courage in men for whom the day had no terrors, but for whom the night was peopled by myriad eerie shapes to blanch the cheek and make the hand tremulous. Alone with the silent, echoing cliffs, the gentle washings of the lake, the ever- present knowledge that beneath its waters lay a face, white in the still shadows, a cold form, soulless but unshrouded, with the coming dusk might creep into his fancy imaginings far more dreadful than hissing lead or pursuing enemies. Interested, I

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ivatched him finish his work in the stable, and shut himself within the cabin. Under the starlight, I slipped from my cave. Fear and super- stitionwere my helpers; and, during the night, I determined to try the mettle of the man I dared not show my face to in the day. I tip-toed to the window. Burley sat by the table, his eyes and ears alert, his brows slightly raised, the wings of his nose opening fitfully; the same signs of agitation I had before noticed. There was something of wildness in his appearance. On the table lay his pistol, the handle of which his fingers tapped nervously. He seemed at the mercy of impression, over his expressive face passing momentarily apprehension and relief, as his imagination was active or quiescent.

A book lay before him. Now he bowed over it, seeming to read, but his eyes only stared at the print; his mind was in his ears. There came spells of pensiveness, when sight and hearing lost their quick perception ; then I wondered what his thoughts were on. On the lake, and the supposed dead wrapped in its dephts? on crimes more closely connected with his will, which my demise had stirred to memory? on the lonely, uncertain years yet to come? Aroused from these moods of inward-looking, he would pass his hand over his brows, as if to shut out a light that was painful, and ease the burden on the brain. I had determined to take a horse thg,t night, and, before morning, ride to the southern end of the valley, where, according to the map, there was an outlet; then, with so much the start, by following the south trail, safely reach Penunk, in spite of pursuit. But the horses were fastened not three rods from the house, and to get one out, 1 would have to lead it by the door. This I could not do without Burley's hearing. Would any disturbance bring him into darkness? The question was pertinent, vital; should I attempt to flee, and find him at my heels, his pistol

pumping balls into the night? a handful of stones, and walked to the mouth of I gathered

the cave. One after another, I threw them far into the lake. The reverberations echoed and reechoed, through the entrance. Again I stepped to the window, but shrank back with intuitive dread. Burley's countenance wore the pallor of death ; his cheeks were

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sunken, his lower jaw had dropped, giving to bis face an elongated cast, like one who has lain for days in the wrappings of the tomb; his eyes were cavernous with dark circles surrounding. Rigid, he sat staring at nothing, as if in the grasp of catalepsy. The ghastly figure sent a chill through me, until I saw the attack was temporary; then I was gratified, knowing the ranch was in my charge till morning. Next I untied the gray and urged him, dragging the hackamore- rope, past the cabin into the meadow. Slowly he fed off, while I remained at the window. The familiar sounds of horse's tramping seemed to restore the thief to his senses; but he made no stir from his chair. Now was my way clear; mount bare-back, and with my canteen and canvas-bag be off! I recaught the saddle pony, and was riding joyously out of the little cove, when I nearly ran square into an advancing party of horsemen. I had only time to slip to the ground, and take to the brush before they were upon me. They passed in the dark, and seeing the horse loose, took him along with them to the cabin. An hour I sat looking up at the gray cliffs and beyond at the stars; and though disheartened, I had to smile at the curious turn affairs had taken, of the trap unwittingly I had got myself into. By keeping to my concealment, I could live for months where I was, but I was quite tired of the novel Den and its more novel

occupants. Five days had passed since I lost my way, and followed Burley across the gulches to his hiding place, and now that same trail offered a way out, since from the map I knew of secret springs.

But I could not make the ascent in the dark. I bestirred myself with the thought of more eavesdropping, and cautiously crept back to the house, keeping well behind trees and shrubbery, lest my movements be detected. Within, the cow- boys were loudly talking, and I ventured to the window. There were four, including Burley, all playing cards, and, in the mean- while, telling over the experiences of the past few days, and laying plans for the immediate future. From the conversation, I gleaned that a squad of Burley's dependants had just made a big haul in the Sand Hills, and were then holding the stolen cattle, waiting fur- ther orders from the Den, The stranger present had come for these

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orders, and, meeting up with the other two, all had returned. They discussed the situation at some length, with comments on the quality and approximate value of the purloined stock, finally deciding that on the morrow all should go to assist in driving the herd to some ranch to the west, where the best would be blotch-branded and put in the Box Canyon. Burley would return to his headquarters the second night after his leaving. When the men prepared for bed, I too, crossed to my own pallet. Early next morning, the rangers were in their saddles. The cliffs gave back the rattle of their spur-chains, the slapping of their quirts, and their ringing voices, as they rode down the canyon and out of sight. Three horses, however, remained in the little pasture, among them Burley's black. Two hours later, I put a blanket on the black horse, fastening it well with a surcingle, mounted, and followed the men, staying close under the west bluffs. The animal knew the trail, and turned into the side ravine where it led, and climbed the steep mountain on to the plateau above. Here the tracks of the horsemen veered to the right, filing along a deep-beaten trail, while I guided to the left, setting a round pace towards the southeast. It was now ten o'clock, and seventy rugged miles lay between me and Penunk, which I must cover by nightfall. Inspired by something of the detective spirit, and much depending on the steady, rapid gait of the willing horse, I gave him the reins, and he started into an

easy gallop. At the foot of hills, he would break to a walk, patiently climb to the summit, down the other side in a racking trot, and,if beyond lay a level stretch, again take the faster

pace. One after another, high ridges loomed in the distance, then were under my feet, and, finally, fell away to the rear. Swales bacame gulches, with steeper hill-sides bordering, then grew ta canyons, hedged on either hand by beetling cliffs. From these I emerged on to plateaus, less elevated than the ones left behind, with still other gaps and dingy summits ahead. As farther I descended, hotter grew the sun, and the red rock gave back its glow with furnace heat. A tremor lay over the withering sage, and the pa'e, green cedars stood specter-like in the universal haze. With pained eyes I looked into the glare, and my hands, exposed, took on a sunburned hue. But with unabated energy the 'horse

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continued on the trail, the perspiration came out, and the dust rose, throwing over him a grimy coat of red. By three in the afternoon, we reached a spring, and rested. I

watered the horse, and, in the shade of the trees, he got a few bites of grass. I think we were equally tired, for bare-back

riding affords few comforts. In an hour we were again onward, and at nine galloped slowly into Penunk. I went direct to the home of the principal cattleman of the country, briefly related the incidents of the past week, and proffered the suggestion that, if a posse of reliable citizens could reach the Den by five the following evening, Burley could be taken. My knowledge of the sheriff's complicity saved us from the fatal blunder of attempting to secure his assistance. Before daylight next morning, six of us spurred northward out of the sleeping settlement, aiming to take the more direct, but less frequented, trail by which I had first entered the Box Canyon. We yet had three hours of sun, when, secluding our fagged animals amqng the cedars on the plateau east of the Den, I began piloting the way down the winding trail. A horseman had just pre- ceded us, his tracks still fresh in the sand; and the discovery made our descent more cautious. Once within the valley, we kept in concealment until after nightfall; then stealthily worked our way up the little cove, staying close under the cliffs. A light shone from the cabin, and I, going ahead to reconnoiter, found Burley alone. We had too much respect for his courage peremptorily to demand his surrender, knowing he could sustain a long siege and, with the least chance, do effective work with his gun. But we could approach him through his superstitious fears. This in mind, we divided up our forces; two to enter the cave and there wake the echoes, two to guard the door, and one detailed to each window. I was of the last. Noiselessly, we took our places. Burley was walking the floor, but stood at the first rumble from the cave, the muscles of his face showing signs of incipient agitation. Again came the echoes, low and plaintive as if from a distant voice. His hand went to his holster, and through his frame ran a perceptible tremor, which remained quivering in his hollow cheeks. I saw the ghastly

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pallor come into his face, the glazed stare into his eyes, and knew again he was in a spell of catalepsy. that Gently my companion tapped on the opposite pane, and moved close to the glass. The robber went rigid, as he gazed at the specter face framed in the darkness; the balls of his eyes stood from their sockets as though fast held by those peering up at him; he leaned forward, and fell his length on the floor. When again the sun shone into the Box Canyon, he was dead; and, in the evening, assisted by three of his companions, then under arrest, we performed the last rites of burial, leaving him forever sheltered beneath the entrance of the cave. THE END.

OUR OWN. "If I had known in the morning, How wearily all the day, The words unkind would trouble my mind I said, when you went away,

I had been more careful, darling,

Nor given you needless pain. But we vex our own with look and tone. We might never take back again. "For though in the quiet evening You may give me the kiss of peace, Yet it well might be that never for me The pain of the heart should cease. How many go forth at morning, Who never come home at night, And hearts have broken for harsh words spoken, That sorrow can ne'er set right.

"We have careful thought for the stranger, And smiles for the sometime guest; But oft for our own the bitter tone. Though we love our own the best. Ah, lips with the curve impatient, Ah, brow with the look of scorn, 'Twere a cruel fate were the night too late To undo the work of morn." — Margaret E. Sangster.