Voice of the Intangible, XXII

Voice of the Intangible r.v Al.P.KRT R. LYMAN Chapter XXII— A Track in the Sand Dent's heart was not broken by the big run. Six weeks of feed ami rest and care, made him the same invincible creature that kicked the Texas bull's horn spinning over the grease-woods, — the same powerful brute that carried Montana safely through the San Juan rapids at Rincone. And he was not too old to learn, or to appreciate the love young Rojer lavished upon him. He soon grew to regard Mike as a splendid fellow; and Mike, at Ben's suggestion, formed the habit of sleeping in the manger, and currying the favor of the brown horse. Young Rojer took pride in assuring himself that Mike and Dent were even firmer friends than Stripes and Bowse had been, for the little dog-worshiping Ben Rojer still lived in the stalwart man. who rode the brown horse to the envy of all who saw them. Flossy and lings ranked high as cow-horses, but Dent simply had no rival within a hundred miles of the four corners. Ben had admired Montana's skill with shooting-irons, and to make his own more useful and pleasant, he often shot off-hand with the rifle, or emptied his revolver into a stump as he rode Dent by on the lope. This practice brought him an accuracy and speed of which he felt a secret pride. "I must shoot straight and quick or not at all," he mused to himself, and kept his belt well stuffed with cartridges. The winter trip began on the nineteenth of January, with mild weather and no snow. As the outfit crossed the sand skirting the river, and took up the trail into the broken country towards the Ridge, Ben hardly knew whether he felt better or worse than he had felt on that same trail exactly a year before. To be sure, Jud had gone, and a menacing shape loomed up on the horizon of probabilities ; voting Rojer had a biting appreciation of those things. But they had come gradually, and his courage had "mounted with each new occasion." He was not yet alone ; he had the sharp-nosed dog and the brown horse, he hud the invincible "Chili con carne." the doubleaction Pintos and the hickory-hearted buckskin. Better, still, he had an undefined assurance that somehow it would come out all right. — that by some hook or crook it would all be for the best, if only

VOICE OF THE INTANGIBLE 301 he did his best, and kept his soul in tune with the whispering Voice of the hills. And yet in the sides of all this, like a festering thorn, hung those murderous weapons on which he had doted, and in the expert use of which he had taken pride in spite of himself. His assurance was not without a dark cloud of uncertainty, and while he clung to such comfort as it afforded, he still looked with dread to the hazy distance, where Soorowits had no doubt found a lair for his feline help-meet and her boisterous whelps. "Don't you got no scart uv dat blame Injun?" queried Juan the next morning. "Oh I guess we'll camp up in the rocks and be safe enough," answered Ben, feigning an unconcern which he did not feel at all. They did camp up among the rocks, making their first stop, in the Pagahrit region, in a sheltered cove far down towards the old crossing, and every evening they cut a sign all around it to make sure no one had discovered it during the day. After the third night in the sheltered cove, they moved late in the evening to Little Mountain, and camped in a dry basin high up among the rock-knolls ; always taking care to be quiet, and to use fire in such a way and time, that its smoke would not betray them by day, nor its glimmer by night. Buck's bell staid firmly gagged, and Mike never barked at his imagination as Bowse had done. Often in the still of the evening Ben would mount the knolls near camp, — look away into the wild, shadowy world all around, and hark with his ears of soul to sentiments borne on the wind, or traveling without wind through the quiet night. Once he saw a spark, but how near or how far, he made no guess ; nor did he make sure it was not a fire-fly from Lake Gulch. He did make sure from those sentiments of silence, that danger skulked behind the hills, for the hush or moaning of the darkness said plainly, "Beware ! Beware !" "Oh, I love these hills," he whispered, "I love the voices which have blessed' me here, — but a fiend is in ambush among them ; I feel his presence like a foul odor on the desert air." After the second night in the rock-knoll basin, when young Roier cut his sign along the fringe of sand looking for tracks, Mike stopped at a certain place with his sharp nose to the ground, and uttered. a low, threatening growl. That glass-eyed dog had never done the like before, and Ben swung down promptly to investigate. The sand lay so shallow on the rock, that the slight impress of a human foot might easily escape notice, and in this carefully chosen place, a mocassined foot had rested. It had gone both ways: in to discover the camp, and. out to plot against it.

302 [MPROVEMEN1 ERA "We're spotted," Ben mused with a creepy sensation, and looked up through the gloaming expecting to make out a black face glaring over rifle-sights from behind a rock. "We'll lay for 'em; yes siree!" he whispered with a vengeance, "we'll snip the two of 'cm when they come sneaking back between now and morning. It's the only thing to do." When Rido heard of the track, he thought the "snipping" plan a good one, and as the gloom of night thickened over their "spotted" camp, the horses were tied to a tree and Mike to a stone, and everything made ready like a trap to be sprung on the unsuspecting. The beds stretched in their usual places, with the appearance of being occupied, and the camp looked peaceful enough as the two cowboys, in a hush of chilly intensity, repaired to their ambuscade ; and settled themselves for the long or the short vigil and the bloody business at the end of it. Their position was a good one. They could not be approached nor seen from either side or behind, and a sturdy breastwork of ragged rocks stood up in front. Furthermore, the camp and the approach to it, lay in full sight and at close range. "I'll pick off the head one, and you take the next, "whispered young Rojer as the two rifles came into position. Juan gave his consent with a relish, and became a dark, still, fixture. Was he asleep? Never! To sing would have been madness, but there is no doubt that his being throbbed in its vigil to the unsleeping, undying beat of "Chile con carne y leche con pan." No sound disturbed the quiet darkness — no sound but from the restless horses around the cedar. The chilly winter air seized upon Ben's fingers and toes, and his limbs began to ache from being so long cramped and still. The hot pulse which boiled up at sight of the track, was no longer sufficient to keep him warm, or prevent the better ways of his wonted self. He harked for the Intangible. Into the heavy silence of night he turned his anxious ear, and cudgeled his mind to the effort. No force moved the machinery of his brain to lofty thought or new truth ; he felt only the hard spirit of revenge — he. heard no voice — he clung desperately to the frail fabric of his own cold-blooded, fallible, judgment. Fearful as he had been that Juan would fall asleep, and often as he had sounded the dark figure to ascertain whether the step and swing of the "Chili con carne" had begun to lag,< — he leaned his own tired head on the stock of his rifle, and lapsed into a profound doze. On his dreaming eye awoke the light of a cloudy winter morning, and staring blankly up and gape-mouthed at those clouds, lay Soorowits and Buhre. their greasy shirts smeared in various places with steaming blood. Ben himself stood over them, gun in hand, and a sickening chill of terror passed into his system like

VOICE OF THE INTANGIBLE 303 a blight. He had no glad exulting thought of victory or deliverance, he felt only a cold horror of the deed he had done, — he saw only the two still, dreadful things which lay doubled or sprawling where they had fallen under fire from his ambush. "Oh I did it ! I did it ! and I can never ! never ! forget it !" he sobbed in a convulsion of dismay. His sobbing, or his words, must have made a fearful break in the time of the "Chili con carne," for, half waking himself with the fuss he was making, he came back with a leap to the world of real things, when Juan's sinewey hand gripped his arm, and Tuan's voice in a loud whisper struck his ear, "What de hell ees it?" The intensity of a vivid climax had left Ben's brain in a state of keen activity. He grasped the situation with his waking breath, and reached a conclusion before Rido's question had time to expect an answer. He knew that from the Mexican point of view, there would be no course but to hug that ambush, — that in one way only could the invincible "Chili con carne" be moved from it. So with promptness and force, and lending to his words the terror he felt, "By George! Juan, it's the devil!" he declared in a hoarse whisper, "I saw 'im plain as day — we've got to get out of this in a rush." Ben was never given to joking or lying, and the simple Rido believed him implicitly, especially so when Ben admitted the existence of "el diablo," the only thing about which they had ever disagreed. No sooner did young Rojer mention the dreaded name, than Juan made a frog-leap over the breastworks, and stood ready to run. Ben's mind, still spurred to its noblest effort, recalled how the lash-ropes whistled in and out to the invincible greaser tune, and quick in the same undertone he gave command, "You pack up, and I'll stand guard." The best thing ever given before by Juan Rido to the diamond-hitch, was a snail to a hound when compared to the way saddles and packs flew into place by the magic Mexican touch. If the tune to which panniers and rope and canvas whirled, had been sung aloud, it would have been altogether too fast for comprehension. Young Rojer in his ambush, felt an assurance that time would not fail them, — that the rattle and uproar would not give them away. Being really free from the awful things of his dream, seemed like a privilege from Heaven to try again on a piece of work badly done. He believed the privilege too good in other respects to fail in length. It would be interesting to know just how many minutes Juan consumed in packing and saddling horses, before young Rojer