Steve tended to his horse and then entered the cabin, glancing at the long rifle which the old man had stood up against the cabin wall.
"That was a antique when they fought the Revolution," said Steve. "What's the idea? Are you afraid of Murken?"
"Afeard of Murken? That dub? I got no call to be afeard of him. And don't go slingin' mud at a gun that's dropped more Indians than you ever see. That's a Sharps .50 caliber and when I was younger I could shave a mosquito at two hundred yards with it.
"Naw, it ain't Murken I'm studyin'. Listen!"
Again Steve caught the faint pulsing of the mountain drums.
"Every night they get louder," said Hard Luck. "They say them redskins is plumb peaceful but you can't tell me—the only peaceful Indian I ever see had at least two bullets through his skull. Them drums talks and whispers and they ain't no white man knows what's hatchin' back up in them hills where nobody seldom ever goes. Indian magic! That's what's goin' on, and red magic means red doin's. I've fought 'em from Sonora to the Bad Lands and I know what I'm talkin' about."
"Your nerves is gettin' all euchered up," said Steve, diving into food set before him. "I kinda like to listen to them drums."
"Maybe you'd like to hear 'em when they was dancin' over yore scalp," answered Hard Luck gloomily. "Thar's a town about forty mile northwest of here whar them red devils comes to trade sometimes, 'steader goin' to Rifle Pass, and a fellow come through today from thar and says they must be some strange goin's on up in the Sunsets.
" 'How come?' says I.
" 'Why,' says he, 'them reservation Navajoes has been cartin' down greenbacks to buy their tobaccer and calico and the other day the storekeepers done found the stuff is all counterfeit. They done stopped sellin' to the Indians and sent for a Indian agent to come and investigate. Moreover,' says he, 'somebody is sellin' them redskins liquor too.' "
Hard Luck devoted his attention to eating for a few moments and then began again.
"How come them Indians gets any kind of money up in the mountains, much less counterfeit? Reckon they're makin' it theirselves? And who's slippin' them booze? One thing's shore, Hell's to pay when redskins git drunk and the first scalp they'll likely take is the feller's who sold them the booze."
"Yeah?" returned Steve absent-mindedly. His thoughts were elsewhere.
"Did you find the mine?" asked Hard Luck sarcastically.
"What mine?" The Texan stared at his host blankly.
Hard Luck grunted scornfully and pushed back his chair. After awhile silence fell over the cabin, to be broken presently by Steve's voice rising with dolorous enjoyment in the darkness:
"And he thought of his home, and his loved ones nigh,
"And the cowboys gathered to see him die!"
Hard Luck sat up in his bunk and cursed, and hurled a boot.
"For the love of mud, let a old man sleep, willya?"
As Steve drifted off into dreamland, his last thoughts were of gold, but it was not the lost ore of the Sunsets; it was the soft curly gold that framed the charming oval of a soft face. And still through the shimmery hazes of his dreams beat the sinister muttering of the Sunset drums.
3. THE GIRL'S STORY
Table of Contents
THE dew was still on the mountain grass when Steve rode up the long dim slopes to the glade where he had fought Edwards the day before. He sat down on a log and waited, doubting if she whom he sought would really come.
He sat motionless for nearly an hour, and then he heard a light sure step and she stood before him, framed in the young glow of the morning sun. The beauty of her took Steve's breath and he could only stand, hat in hand, and gape, seeking feebly for words. She came straight to him, smiling, and held out her hand. The touch of her slim firm fingers reassured him and he found his voice.
"Miss Farrel, I plumb forgot yesterday to ask you where you'd rather meet me at, or what time. I come here because I figured you'd remember—I mean, you'd think—aw heck!" he stumbled.
"Yes, that was forgetful of us. I decided that you'd naturally come to the place where you found me yesterday and I came early because—because I was afraid you'd come and not find me here and think I wasn't coming," she finished rather confusedly.
As she spoke her eyes ran approvingly over Steve, noting his six-foot build of lithe manhood and the deep tan of his whimsical face.
"I promised to tell you all I know," said she abruptly, twisting her fingers. She seemed paler and more worried than ever. Steve decided that she had reached the point where she was ready to turn to any man for help, stranger or not. Certainly some deep fear was preying on her.
"You know my name," she said, seating herself on the log and motioning him to sit beside her. "Mr. Murken is my mother's brother. My parents separated when I was very young and I've been living with an aunt in New York state. I'd never been west before, until my aunt died not long ago. Before she died she told me to go to her brother at Rifle Pass and not having anywhere else to go, I did so.
"I'd never seen my uncle and I found him very different from what I had expected. He didn't live at Rifle Pass then, but had moved up in these mountains. I came on up here with a guide and my uncle seemed very much enraged because I had come. He let me stay but I'm very unhappy because I know he don't want me. Yet, when I ask him to let me go, he refuses. He won't even let me go to Rifle Pass unless he is with me, and he won't let me go riding unless he's with me. He says he's afraid I'll run away, yet I know he doesn't love me or really want me here. He's not exactly unkind to me, but he isn't kind either.
"There are two men who stay up there most of the time: Edwards, the man you saw yesterday, and a large black-bearded man named Allison. That one, Allison, looks like a bandit or something, but he is very courteous to me. But Edwards—you saw what he did yesterday and he's forever trying to make love to me when my uncle isn't around. I'm afraid to tell my uncle about it, and I don't know whether he'd do anything, if I did tell him.
"The other two men stay in a smaller cabin a little distance from the one occupied by my uncle and myself, and they won't let me come anywhere near it. My uncle even threatened to whip me if I looked in the windows. I think they must have something hidden there. My uncle locks me in my cabin when they are all at work in the other cabin—whatever they're doing in there.
"Sometimes some Indians come down the western slopes from somewhere away back in the hills, and sometimes my uncle rides away with them. Once a week one of the men loads his saddle bags full of something and rides away to be gone two or three days.
"I don't understand it," she added almost tearfully. "I can't help but believe there's something crooked about it. I'm afraid of Edwards and only a little less afraid of my uncle. I want to get away."
Suddenly she seized his hands impulsively.
"You seem good and kind," she exclaimed. "Won't you help me? I'll pay you—"
"You'll what?" he said explosively.
She flushed.
"I beg your pardon. I should have known better than to make that remark. I know you'll help me just from the goodness of your heart."
Steve's face burned crimson. He fumbled with his hat.
"Sure I'll help you. If you want I'll ride up and get your things—"
She stared at him in amazement.
"I don't want you committing suicide on my account," said she. "You'd get shot if you went within sight of my uncle. No, this is what I want you to do. I've told you my uncle won't let me have a horse, and I certainly can't walk out of these mountains. Can you meet me here early tomorrow morning with an extra horse?"
"Sure I can. But how are you goin' to get your baggage away? Girls is usually got a lot of frills and things."
"I haven't. But anyway, I want to get out of this place if I have to leave my clothes, even, and ride out in a bathing suit. I'll stroll out of the cabin in the morning, casually, come down the gulch and meet you here."