the breath of all.
CHAPTER XXXI.
WHY IT WAS DONE.
The yellow reflection of the candle lit up a group of wondering faces that were turned upon the mother, who stood in the middle of the room. Her countenance was pale, for she had passed through a great deal during the last half-hour, to say nothing of that which preceded it.
Before any one could frame the questions in his mind, she explains:
“I am not sure I have done right, but Jennie’s departure was with my consent. She and I talked it over and discussed it in all its bearings, so far as we could see them, and she finally persuaded me that it was the right thing for her to do.”
She paused, as if expecting some comment, but even Fred was silent; and still standing, with the candle held aloft, he kept his wondering gaze upon his parent.
“In the first place, Jennie convinced me that Monteith would only go to his own death by venturing out; at any rate, it would so result if he did not receive the signal from Mr. Vesey.”
As she paused the amazed Sterry asked:
“But why did she think I would venture unless I got the sign from Vesey?”
“Because you told her so. You were so confident, when she expressed her misgivings, that you said you would wait a few minutes after 10 o’clock and then try it, even if no signal appeared.”
“You are correct; I _did_ tell her that.”
“I consented to her plan on condition that if Mr. Vesey signalled you should go and she should stay; if he did not do so, she was to venture alone.”
“Why didn’t she consult with me?” asked Sterry; “I could have given her some suggestions.”
“Ah, what a question, Mont!” said Fred Whitney, with a smile, as he comprehended the plan; “we know what suggestions you would have given her.”
“True enough; she never would have made the attempt,” he responded.
“And,” said Mrs. Whitney, “your friend has not called to you.”
“Which reminds me,” exclaimed Sterry, stepping to the rear window and peering out. But everything in the direction of the stables was as dark and silent as the tomb.
“So you see that if you had followed the directions of Mr. Vesey,” continued Mrs. Whitney, “no messenger would have left this place for the camp of the stockmen.”
“I recall how closely she questioned me as to my idea of the course to take to reach the spot. I wanted to gain her confidence and told her everything, never suspecting that she entertained any such wild scheme.”
“For which you cannot be blamed,” remarked her brother; “but I don’t understand how she expected to slip off unobserved.”
“Nor do I,” added Sterry, with a meaning glance at Capt. Asbury.
“I assure you I am innocent of complicity in the matter, for I would have opposed as strongly as any of you.”
“It was that single difficulty which puzzled her,” said the mother, “but Providence opened the way. While she stood trembling, with her cloak wrapped about her, Capt. Asbury called Monteith. I whispered to her ‘Now!’ and drew back the door. She stepped through, and was gone before any one, excepting myself, suspected anything.”
“But what reason can she have for believing Vesey will favour her plan?” asked Sterry, feeling an admiration for the daring young woman. “He will be as much amazed as any one.”
“The rustlers have notified us to leave the building, but have not said that they have a preference of one door over the other. If she finds herself confronted by strangers, she can easily explain who she is and say that her mother will soon join her. Can there be any objection to such a course, or is she likely to suffer on that account?”
Who could reply unfavourably to this question? The rustlers would simply conduct her to a place of safety, there to await the coming of her parent. Failure could bring no embarrassment to Jennie Whitney.
“The great difficulty, after all,” remarked Capt. Asbury, “as it occurs to me, is that if your estimable daughter presents herself before Mr. Duke Vesey, he will refuse his help. What reason can she give that will induce him to aid her to pass beyond the camp?”
“I can think of none, but Jennie is hopeful that if she can see him alone he will permit her to do as she wishes.”
“Does she contemplate walking the half-dozen miles or so to the camp of the cattlemen?” asked Sterry, in dismay.
“O, no; she expects to ride Mr. Sterry’s mare.”
“But–but–” stammered Monteith.
“She thought of all that,” smiled the mother; “she took her saddle with her.”
“Well, I’ll be hanged if this isn’t a little ahead of anything of which I ever heard or read!” was the only comment Monteith Sterry could make, as the full scheme unrolled before him.
“Jennie may fail,” continued the proud parent, “but if she does, her situation and that of all of us will be no worse than before. If she fails, then you, too, Mr. Sterry, would have failed and lost your life without helping us.”
“I am not prepared to admit that, but my part in the business seems to have passed beyond discussion.”
Mrs. Whitney was about to continue her words when she ceased and faintly asked for a glass of water. Fred set down the candle and sprang to her help ahead of anyone, holding the glass, which was instantly brought, to her lips.
The poor woman had undergone great trials, as will be admitted, during the past few days. The excitement had sustained her until now something in the nature of a reaction came. Helping her to a chair, Fred affectionately fanned her, and did what he could to make her rally.
He was thus engaged when a second knock startled all. Capt. Asbury wheeled and demanded:
“Who’s there?”
“Duke Vesey, under a flag of truce.”
No name could have astonished the cattlemen more. This was the man whom Sterry had expected to meet, and in whose care it was supposed Jennie Whitney had placed herself.
Instead of that, he was asking admittance.
“Your flag will be respected,” said Capt. Asbury, drawing back the bolts of the door, which was next swung inward a few inches.
The rustler stepped within, saying:
“I have been sent by Capt. Inman to inquire the meaning of the absence of Fred Whitney, who was sent here a considerable time ago.”
“_That_ is the cause of the delay,” replied the captain, pointing to where the young rancher was doing his utmost to revive his mother.
The captain thought himself justified in turning the incident to account.
“She may not live more than half an hour. I suppose, under the circumstances, you folks won’t vote to hang her son on his return, though it would be in keeping with your style of business.”
“No; we leave that work to such as shoot down men before their homes, as was done last night. I didn’t expect anything like this,” he added more gently; “I will go back and report. I was told to bring the ladies, and as I can’t take the elder just now, I suppose it’s best to leave both till I learn what Capt. Inman wishes.”
Monteith Sterry caught a significant glance of Vesey, while speaking, but was utterly unable to interpret it. He, however, removed to that side of the room, so as to place himself near him. Still the rustler made no other sign. Too many eyes were upon him.
One of Capt. Asbury’s most noticeable points was his ability to “catch on” to a situation like the present. He saw the look given by the visitor, and translated it as meaning that he wished to make some communication to the other.
“Sterry,” said the captain in his most rasping manner, “this is the fellow you were so tender on last night, and I suppose he will reciprocate when he gets a chance to draw a bead on you. I will leave to you the happiness of escorting him through the door, for the pleasure would quite overwhelm me.”
“I am willing to act the gentleman at any time,” replied Sterry, quickly seizing the opportunity of bringing himself near enough to hear what Vesey said without any one else noting it. As he was passing out the rustler remarked, in a quick undertone:
“I did my best, old fellow, but it won’t work; they suspect something, and wouldn’t let me go near the stable after dark. Sorry, but it’s no use.”
“But I thank you all the same,” guardedly responded Sterry.
CHAPTER XXXII.
THE HOSTAGE.
Despite the alarm caused by the sudden illness of Mrs. Whitney, it was quickly apparent that nothing serious was the matter with her.
She had succumbed temporarily to the intense strain to which she had been subjected, and, under the considerate attention shown her, speedily rallied, declaring herself, within five minutes after the departure of Vesey, as well as ever.
“No one can rejoice more than I,” observed Capt. Asbury; “and, since it is so trifling, you will not misunderstand me when I say that your illness seems to have been providential.”
Fred and the rest looked inquiringly at the leader.
“The man who was here has gone back with the report of what he saw, and I think my words will cause him to represent the case–well,” added the captain, with a smile, “as it appeared at that moment. That will secure further delay.”
“But what can it all amount to?” asked Fred in turn; “they may give you a half-hour or so, but that does not count.”
“If your estimable mother could manage to–ah–look desperately ill when the messenger returns, why, it might help matters.”
But the good woman shook her head. Appreciating the gravity of the situation, she could not be a party to such a deception, even though beneficent results might follow.
“He saw me as I was, and thus he must see me when he comes again. My conscience would not permit it otherwise.”
“You are right, Mrs. Whitney, and I beg your pardon,” replied the captain.
Meanwhile, Monteith Sterry was thinking hard. Begging the indulgence of the others, he drew Capt. Asbury aside.
“I have decided upon an attempt,” said he abruptly, “which you must not forbid, even though your judgment may condemn it.”
“What is it?”
“I am going to try to get away.”
“How?” was the surprised question; “what chance have you of succeeding, when every side of the house is watched?”
“Vesey told me, just as he was leaving, that he was not allowed to take his place as guard at the stables, which explains why he failed to give me the signal.”
“He is unaware of what Miss Whitney has done?”
“I do not know of a surety, for he made no reference to it, but you heard his remark, which indicates that he is ignorant.”
“Sterry,” said the captain impressively, “the only friend you have among the rustlers is that same Vesey, and I place less faith in him than you do; yet you propose this wild scheme, without even the doubtful help of that man, and still expect me to approve it.”
“You put it truthfully; I will only say that in the darkness I hope to be taken for one of them.”
“And if you are?”
“I will work my way beyond the lines, and then make for the camp of the stockmen.”
“On foot or horseback?”
“I can hardly expect to obtain a horse, but let me once gain the chance, and I will show some sprinting.”
“You ignore the services of Miss Whitney?”
“It was a brave and characteristic deed, but a woman acts from intuition rather than reason. There is not a shadow of hope that she will accomplish anything.”
“In my judgment, the prospect is as favourable for her as for you.”
“Well,” replied Sterry, “I rather expected you to talk that way, so your condemnation is discounted. I intend to pass out of the rear door within the next three minutes; I wish you to hold it, ready to open in the event of my deciding on a hasty return. If such return does not follow in the course of a quarter of an hour, you may conclude that I won’t be back.”
“I have already concluded that,” was the significant comment.
The candle diffused enough illumination to show the anxious faces turned toward the couple as they walked back from the corner to which they had withdrawn for their brief consultation.
In the fewest words possible the captain explained the decision of the young man. He frankly stated that he did not believe there was any hope of success, but Sterry was firm in his resolution, and he would not interpose his authority. Fred Whitney was about to protest, but the expression of his friend’s face showed that it would be useless, and he forebore.
Mont peered through the window, near the rear door, and, so far as he could judge, everything was favourable. Then he faced about, smiled, and without a word waved his friends good-by.
The door was drawn inward just enough to permit the passage of his body, and the next instant he had vanished.
Capt. Asbury sprang to the window and looked after him, but quick as he was, the time was sufficient for the youth to disappear as completely as though he were a dozen miles distant.
“If I may be allowed,” said the captain, in his most suave manner, “I would suggest, Mr. Whitney, that you assist your mother to her apartment up stairs. She is in need of rest, and can obtain it there much better than here.”
The good woman glanced suspiciously at the man, half doubting the disinterestedness of his counsel, but he looked so grave and solicitous that she was sure she did him injustice. While she was hesitating, Fred added:
“It is good advice, mother; you can lie down, and when it is necessary I will call you. Come, please.”
She could not decline, and the stalwart son, who seemed to have forgotten all about his wounded arm, almost carried her up the short stairs and to her room. He was so familiar with the interior that he needed no light, and deposited her as gently as an infant on the bed, kissed her an affectionate good-night, and promised to listen and come to her on hearing the slightest movement in her apartment.
“How does she seem to be?” asked Capt. Asbury, as Fred came down the stairs.
“As well as ever; but the little rest will be grateful. She has had enough to try the strongest person within the last few days.”
“True indeed. I presume Vesey will soon be back with some ugly message from Inman and Cadmus, but we have delayed matters so long that I’m hopeful of keeping it up a while longer. Suppose, when this enterprising rustler shows himself, you allow me to do the talking, Fred. There is a good deal, you know, in the way you put things.”
“I understand,” replied the other, with a smile. “It will come, perhaps, more appropriately from you than me.”
It was apparent from the manner of the captain that he felt considerable hope of success through the efforts of Miss Whitney or Sterry, or both. Time was the great factor. It would seem that three or four hours ought to bring the cattlemen, if either of the messengers succeeded in getting through the lines. While there was little doubt of the ability of the besieged being able to stand off their assailants for a much longer time, yet there was every reason to strain to the utmost the fortunate delay already secured.
A conflict was certain to result in a number of deaths to each side. Not only that, but it would intensify the bitterness already prevailing through many portions of Wyoming and Montana between the cowmen and rustlers, and postpone and increase the difficulty of the adjustment of the quarrel.
A full half-hour passed, during which the captain kept his place at the rear door, ready to admit Sterry should he make a dash for it. He did not appear, and when the fastenings of the structure were returned to their place the leader’s heart was more hopeful than ever. He had just made a remark to that effect when a knocking was heard again on the front door, accompanied by Duke Vesey’s announcement that it was himself who claimed admission.
The captain drew back the fastenings and the rustler stepped inside, his face showing great agitation.
“This is a fine state of things,” he said, addressing young Whitney, Hawkridge and the captain.
“To what do you refer?” asked Whitney.
“You sent Mont Sterry out awhile ago, and the rustlers have caught him; he’s in their hands and will be shot at daybreak. Capt. Inman sent me to you with that message, and to say that the fight will open in a few minutes. You can’t play your tricks any longer on us.”
It was apparent that Duke Vesey was in a rage over the mishap that had befallen his friend.
Capt. Asbury quietly placed himself between the fellow and the door by which he had entered.
“What is the meaning of that?” demanded the rustler, turning his head; “I’m here under a flag of truce.”
“Where is it? You haven’t shown any, and you can’t. I shall hold you as a hostage for the safety of Mont Sterry; whatever harm is visited upon _him_ shall descend upon _your_ head!”
CHAPTER XXXIII.
THE PRISONER.
It may be said that Monteith Sterry’s main hope for the success of his perilous scheme lay in its boldness.
It was not to be supposed that the rustlers, surrounding the besieged on every hand, would forget the probability of just such an attempt as he made. The stockmen could not expect to slip away one by one, or in a body; nor was there anything to tempt such an effort, even if it offered a fair prospect of success; for, of necessity, they would have to depart on foot, and with the coming of daylight their situation would be worse than now, with a strong shelter above and around them.
But it was known among the defenders that two of their number were doomed, if they fell into the hands of the rustlers. It was probable, therefore, that one or both of these individuals would try to get away.
Whether or not the leaders held any distrust of Vesey cannot be known; but his little scheme for befriending Monteith Sterry was nipped in the bud by his being retained at the front of the building, where, as has been shown, he acted as the bearer of messages between Inman and Capt. Asbury.
There were men closely watching the building from the moment darkness closed over the scene. Had Sterry attempted to steal along the side of the house and then dodge away, he would have been detected and halted at once. On the contrary, he moved with his usual gait in a diagonal direction toward the stables. His object was to learn the likeliest method of leaving the place.
He had perhaps walked fifty feet, when some one advanced from the gloom and called, in an undertone:
“Halloo, who is that?”
“It’s I, Smith; who are you?”
The name, of course, was a venture, but it was not uncommon, as the reader knows, and more likely to be right than any other. The best of it was, it seemed to satisfy the other, who, without announcing his own, asked:
“What are you doing?”
“I’ve been looking around to see what I could learn.”
“Anything new?”
“No, not as far as I can discover; they seem to have a light burning in there, but are waiting for us.”
“I wonder they didn’t give you a shot; Vesey says they are desperate, and he brought back word that they would shoot the first of us seen prowling about the place. I wonder you didn’t catch it.”
“I took good care. When do you suppose the fight will open?”
“Pretty soon; I s’pose you are as tired of this dallying as the rest of us.”
“Well, it strikes me as best to wait until sure everything is ready.”
Sterry was anxious to end this pointless conversation, for the stranger had approached quite near and peered into his face, as though not free from suspicion. The darkness was deep, but on the other side of the ridge a small fire was burning, from fragments brought from the stables. Of this the adventurer meant to keep clear at all hazards. More than one rustler knew him intimately, and it might be that he to whom he was talking was an old acquaintance and enemy.
How Sterry longed for the presence of Vesey!
In a natural manner he sauntered up the ridge, as if his intention was to return to the camp-fire, that being the course most likely to dissipate any misgiving on the part of the other.
The latter made no response, and Sterry kept on, thinking:
“I’m rid of him, any way, and ought to have less trouble with others that may wish to ask questions.”
But, glancing over his shoulder, he was startled to observe that the man, instead of moving off, as he had supposed, was standing motionless in the gloom, as if studying him.
“By gracious!” concluded the youth, “he must have noticed my voice, for, not knowing Smith, how could I imitate it?”
The situation would have made any one uneasy, but he did not hasten nor retard his footsteps until he reached the top of the ridge, and was able to observe the camp-fire clearly.
It was small, as has been said, but five or six figures were lolling about it, smoking, talking, and passing the dismal hours as inclination prompted. Other forms were moving hither and thither, some of them quite close to where Sterry had halted, though none paid him any attention.
The young man was looking for an opening by which he could make his way beyond the lines without attracting attention. The best prospect seemed to be the stretch of prairie extending from the front of the house toward the Big Horn Mountains.
“No one appears to be on the lookout there–“
At that instant each arm was tightly gripped, and the man with whom he had exchanged words but a few minutes before said:
“Mr. Smith, please go with us to the fire; my friend here is Smith, and he is the only one in our party with that name; maybe you are his double.”
It was useless to resist, and Sterry replied:
“You know there are several Smiths in this country, and I ought to have the privilege of wearing the name without objection.”
“We’ll soon see,” replied the first captor.
Within the next minute Sterry was marched in front of the camp-fire, where the full glare fell upon his countenance.
Then a howl of exultation went up, for more than half of the rustlers in the group recognized him.
CHAPTER XXXIV.
OUT IN THE NIGHT.
Enough has been already told for the reader to understand the scheme which Jennie Whitney, with the help of her mother, attempted to carry out for the benefit of the besieged cattlemen.
With her cloak around her shoulders and her saddle supported on one arm, she passed quickly from the rear of her home to the stables, only a short distance away. She had been on the alert for the signal of Duke Vesey, and, seeing it not, was prepared to encounter some one else.
In this she was not disappointed, for at the moment of catching sight of the dark mass where the horses were sheltered the figure of a man loomed into view as though he had risen from the ground. She stopped short, and observed, dimly, the forms of two others just behind him.
“Halloo!” exclaimed the nearest, “how is this?”
With peculiar emotions the young lady recognized the voice of Larch Cadmus. She hoped this was a favourable omen, and was quick to turn it to account.
“Larch, is that you?” she asked, peering forward as if uncertain of his identity.
“I declare, it is Miss Jennie!” he exclaimed, coming forward; “how is it you are alone?”
“Mother did not wish to come with me,” replied the daughter, trying to avoid the necessity of direct deceit. “She will probably leave the house pretty soon.”
The fellow was plainly embarrassed, despite the protecting gloom which concealed his features. Jennie knew him to be one of her most ardent admirers, though she had never liked him. Her hopes were now based upon making use of his regard for her.
“You have come out, Jennie, I suppose,” said he, offering his hand, which she accepted, “so as not to be in the house when the–ah, trouble begins.”
“O, I know it will be dreadful; I want to go as far away as I can–do you blame me, Larch?”
“Not at all–not at all; and I hope, Jennie, you don’t blame me for all that your folks have suffered.”
“Why, Larch, why should I blame you?” asked the young lady, coming fearfully near a fiction in making the query, for she knew many good reasons for censuring him in her heart. “But how soon do you intend–that is, how soon do the rest of your folks intend to attack the cowmen?”
“We–that is, they–expected to do so long ago, but there have been all sorts of delays; it will come pretty soon now.”
“Where are you to place mother and me?”
“Over the ridge, yonder; you will be out of danger; you need fear nothing; why should you, for your mother will be with you and your brother will be with us, so that he can take no part in the fight.”
He made no reference to Mont Sterry, and she was too wise to let fall a hint of her anxiety concerning him.
“But, Larch, suppose, when you set fire to the house, as I heard your folks intended, our people rush out and attack you?”
“Do they intend to do that?” he asked.
“I am sure I don’t know; but you can see, if they do, the shooting will be going on all around mother and me.”
“You can pass farther out on the plain or take shelter in the stable, among the horses.”
“But that may be too late,” interposed Jennie, in well-feigned alarm.
“You can take refuge here now.”
“I can’t bear to stay in the stable, for the horses will become terrified when the shooting begins; they may break loose and prove more dangerous than the flying bullets.”
There was sense in this objection, and the rustler saw it. He was anxious to propitiate the young woman, whom he admired so ardently.
“Well, my dear, what would you like to do?”
“Now, Larch, you won’t laugh at me if I tell you,” she replied, in her most coquettish manner.
“Laugh at you!” he protested; “this is no time for laughing; it was a shame that those people should turn your house into a fort, when it could do them no good. Tell me what you want and it shall be done, if it is in my power.”
“Thanks! You are very kind, and I shall never forget this favour; I want to mount one of the best horses in the stable and ride out so far that I am sure to be beyond reach of danger.”
The proposition staggered the rustler–so much so that it did not occur to him, just then, that the daughter appeared a great deal more anxious to look after her own safety than her mother’s.
“You have a horse in the stable, haven’t you?”
“Yes, Jack is there, and he is a splendid fellow; he is the one I want.”
“But the saddle?”
“I have it with me; here it is; you and I will adjust it together.”
And the impulsive miss placed the saddle in his grasp before he knew it. She certainly was rushing things. It must be admitted, too, that she showed fine discretion. There was but one way of handling Mr. Larch Cadmus, and she was using that way.
He turned about and walked to the door of the stable.
“Jack is in the second stall,” she said, pausing at the entrance, “and his bridle is on the hook near his head.”
The gloom was impenetrable, but a couple of matches gave Cadmus all the light needed, and a minute later he brought forth the fine animal, who whinnied with pleasure at recognizing his mistress, despite the gloom.
Jennie gave what help she could in saddling and bridling him, the other two men standing a little way off in silence. She kept up an incessant chatter, repeating her thanks to Cadmus for his kindness, and binding him more completely captive every minute.
But the rustler was inclined to be thoughtful, for before the animal was ready he began to feel misgivings as to the prudence of what he was doing. There was something odd, too, about the young lady mounting her pony, riding alone out on the plain, and leaving her mother behind. Then, too, she had emerged from the rear instead of the front of the house, as he judged from her line of approach.
Could there be any ulterior purpose in all this? If she would only cease her chatting for a minute or two he might figure out the problem, but the trouble was, nothing could stop her. In fact he didn’t wish her to stop, for that voice was the most musical one to which he could listen, and he would have been glad had it sounded for hours in his ears.
He managed to drift dangerously near the truth.
“Can it be that she intends to ride away for help?” he reflected. “It has that look; but no, it is hardly that, for there isn’t any help within reach that I know of. She might find it in the course of a day or two, but this affair will be over before daylight–I beg pardon, what was it you said, Jennie?”
“Why, Larch, I’m tempted to pull your ears; you are a fine gallant; here I have been standing full ten seconds, waiting for you to help me on the horse, and you have paid me no attention.”
“It _was_ rude, my dear; I hope you will pardon me,” he replied, stepping quickly forward, “but I am very absent-minded to-night.”
“I will pardon you, of course, for you have been so good and nice that it would be ungrateful for me to be impatient.”
He took the Cinderella-like foot in his broad palm and cleverly assisted her in the saddle. While he helped to adjust the reins, her tongue rattled on harder than ever.
“How far, Larch, will it be necessary for me to ride so as to be sure–mind you, sure–of being out of the way when this awful business opens?”
“Well, I should say a hundred yards or so will be enough–“
“Mercy! do you think so? I ought to go two or three times as far as that; you won’t object, will you? and when the shooting _does_ begin, I can hurry Jack farther off.”
“Do as you think best; but it seems to me, Jennie, that you are forgetting your mother–“
“O, no; when Fred brings her out–maybe he has done so now–tell her the direction I have gone and she will understand. Which is the best course for me to take? I guess it don’t make any difference, so I will go this way.”
Through all this apparently aimless chatter, Miss Jennie Whitney was using her wits. She knew a long ride was before her, and everything would be ruined if she lost her way. There was no moon or stars to give guidance, and she therefore carefully took her bearings while the chance was hers.
“I suppose it’s all the same which course you follow, but I fear I am doing wrong in allowing you to ride off–“
“Now, don’t spoil everything by regretting the handsome way in which you have indulged my whim; I think I will ride over the ridge to the left–“
“Hold on, Jennie, until I can speak to Inman; he may object–“
“You can speak to him after I am gone; good-night, Larch, and many thanks again for your kindness.”
She rode off with her intelligent Jack on a walk until she was clear of the camp, when she touched him into an easy gallop.
Larch Cadmus stood looking into the gloom where she had vanished, almost before he comprehended her intention.
“Well, she’s a puzzle!” he exclaimed to his two companions, who came forward; “I don’t know what to make of her. What do you suppose she meant by that, boys?”
“It’s easy enough to see,” replied one of them, with a laugh; “she’s gone off after help.”
“Do you think so?” asked the startled Cadmus; “where can she get it?”
“She may bring back their hands.”
“There are only two of them,” said Larch, much relieved, “and they won’t amount to anything in the rumpus. You don’t imagine that she knows of any larger force anywhere in the neighbourhood?”
“She can’t know of any, for there ain’t any,” was the clincher of the rustler; “or, if there is, she can’t get it here in time to do Asbury and the rest any good.”
Cadmus was relieved by the words of his friend. Enough misgivings, however, remained to make him say:
“There are so many moving about that her departure don’t seem to be noticed; I’ll take it as a favour if you don’t mention it to any one, for now that she is gone I am sure I never should have allowed it.”
The couple gave the promise, though their belief was that nothing serious would follow.
Leaving the two to keep watch at the stables, Cadmus sauntered to where Inman was seated near the camp-fire, smoking a pipe. A little inquiry disclosed that neither the leader nor any of his companions had noticed the departure of the young lady.
It was some time after this that Duke Vesey brought the report of Mrs. Whitney’s illness as an explanation of her son’s delay in returning to the camp of the rustlers.
Exasperated, and suspecting a pretense, Inman consented to a brief postponement of the attack.
The next startling occurrence was the capture of Monteith Sterry while trying to steal through the lines. As we have shown, he was identified the instant he was brought into the reflection of the firelight, and such precautions were taken that escape by him was out of the question.
When their impatience could stand it no longer, Vesey was sent to Capt. Asbury with the message which he delivered. Instead of his returning with a reply, Fred Whitney came back, bringing the announcement that Vesey had entered the house without claiming the protection of a truce, and after telling what he was directed to tell about Monteith Sterry, Capt. Asbury had directed Whitney to notify Capt. Inman that he would retain Vesey as a hostage, guaranteeing that whatever harm was visited upon Sterry should descend upon the head of Vesey.
This message, as may be supposed, caused consternation for some minutes in the camp of the rustlers. The feeling was quickly succeeded by exasperation. Had Inman and Cadmus been given the opportunity, no doubt they could have made a good argument to prove that, inasmuch as Vesey had passed back and forth several times after his first announcement of a flag of truce, and its acceptance by the besieged cowmen, it was not required by the law of nations that he should proclaim the fact while continuing to act as messenger between the hostiles.
On the other hand, the truth remained that he had entered the house of the rancher with weapons in his hands and without any claim of immunity from harm.
The question was such a nice one, capable of so many finely-drawn theories, that it is useless to discuss it here. Whatever decision we might reach, we could not feel assured we were right.
The hard fact confronted the rustlers that one of their principal men was in the power of the cowmen and was held as a hostage for the safety of the detested Monteith Sterry, who had been warned that he would be shot on sight by any rustler who gained the chance.
The unexpected phase of the situation caused a long and angry discussion between Capt. Ira Inman and his leaders, to which, as may be supposed, Fred Whitney and Monteith Sterry paid close attention.
CHAPTER XXXV.
CONCLUSION.
“Now, Jack, do your best, for everything depends on you.”
Jennie Whitney looked around in the darkness and saw the glimmer of the rustlers’ camp-fire, fully two hundred yards to the rear, with the shadowy figures moving to and fro.
“They may change their minds,” she added, recalling the words of Larch Cadmus, “and decide to bring me back. Let them do it if they can!”
The intelligent pony acted as if he understood what was expected of him. With a light whinny at the pleasure he felt because of the opportunity of stretching out his beautiful limbs he broke into a swift canter, heading straight for the point where his rider believed the friendly camp was to be found.
She held the reins loose, knowing the danger of attempting to guide him where it was impossible to keep the points of the compass in mind. The way was smooth and even, although there is always danger in going at such speed in the night. She deemed the stake warranted it, however, and did not check the rapid pace.
Night on every hand and not a shining star overhead. If she could find the party of stockmen in time, so as to bring them back to her home, their strength would overawe the rustlers, and the whole difficulty could be arranged without the conflict which she looked upon with unspeakable dread.
“It will save him, too,” she added, hesitating to pronounce the name that was in her heart, which would have throbbed more painfully had she known that in a brief while he would be helpless in the power of the men eager for his life. “I am glad he did not venture out of the house, when his friend could have done him no good. What will he think of me on learning what I have done? He will say that I am rash and foolish, and perhaps I am; will he suspect that it was to save him that I undertook this errand, which, after all, is attended with no risk to me worth mentioning?”
These were pleasant musings, but the task before her was too serious and made too close demands on her mental and physical energies for her to indulge in them. The delightful reverie could be deferred to a more convenient season.
Jennie Whitney had lived long enough in the West to understand that in times like the present it is safer to depend on the instinct of one’s heart than upon one’s reason. It seemed now and then that Jack was following the wrong direction, but she was wise in not interfering.
The gloom was so deep that she could see barely a few paces beyond the pointed ears in front, but when the ground showed an abrupt rise she recalled the location and knew he had followed the exact course she desired.
She pulled slightly on the reins and he dropped to a walk. At the same moment something dark moved aside, the pony diverting his own steps to avoid it. She experienced a slight shock of fright, but recognized the object as one of the cattle probably belonging to their own herd. Others showed dimly here and there as the horse carefully picked his way forward.
“Halloo, who’s that?” called a gruff voice from the darkness, the hail proving more startling than the first surprise.
“It is I, Jennie Whitney,” replied the young lady, “and I am searching for help.”
“Well, I’ll be hanged! What’s up, Miss Jennie?”
It was Budd Hankinson who came forward on foot, his figure appearing of gigantic proportions in the gloom. He was more alarmed than she, as he had warrant for being, knowing, as he did, that some extraordinary cause must have brought the girl to this place alone at that hour of the night.
She quickly told her story, explaining that Fred was held a prisoner by the rustlers, else he would have hastened back to secure the assistance for which she was looking.
“You’re a brave girl,” said the honest fellow, as he laid his hand on the reins of the pony; “there are mighty few that would have done what you’ve done to-night.”
“Never mind about that, Budd, but tell me what to do.”
“Why, you mustn’t do anything; I’ll do the rest.”
“No, you may help me, but what is it to be?”
“Luck’s running your way, Jennie; the stockmen have moved their camp since Fred left this morning.”
“Mercy! I thought I had only two or three miles farther to go.”
“Their camp isn’t more’n half a mile off, right over the swell yonder; we’ll be there in a jiffy.”
“And you will go with me?”
“Wal, I reckon; what sort of a chap do you take me for?”
“Where is Weber?”
“Three miles to the south, which is in t’other direction; we won’t have time to look him up, and it wouldn’t do any good if we did. We made a change of grazing grounds, as I s’pose Fred told you, but some of the cattle strayed off here and I was looking ’em up when I heard your pony.”
“Where’s your horse?”
“Not far; wait here and I’ll be right back.”
He was gone but a few minutes, when he returned in the saddle.
“It won’t do to go too fast,” he explained, moving forward with his animal on a walk, “but we can keep beside each other.”
Riding thus carefully, he questioned her about the stirring incidents at the house, and she gave him the particulars. The sagacious fellow had seen before this how matters stood between her and Monteith Sterry, and he knew her anxiety, but his good taste prevented any reference to it further than to say:
“I hope Mont will be too wise to try to slip out of the house, for if he does he’s sure to be grabbed up by them, and they won’t give him a chance for his life.”
“Do you think he will make the attempt, Budd?”
“No, now that he knows you have started, for you’ve got a mighty sight better chance to succeed than he could have. Of course he has too much sense for anything of the kind.”
It was well that neither of them suspected the truth.
“There they are!”
They had reached the top of the elevation, and saw before them the twinkling lights of several camp-fires. The stockmen, fully understanding the nature of the work they had undertaken, conducted themselves like a force invading a hostile country. Regular sentinels were stationed, to prevent the insidious approach of an enemy.
The couple rode down the hill, and, as they expected, were challenged on the edge of the camp. Inasmuch as Budd had visited the men during the day and formed numerous acquaintances, he had little difficulty in making himself known. All, excepting the guards, had retired for the night, but the visitor was conducted to the place where Maj. Sitgraves was asleep, Jennie remaining on the outskirts with one of the sentinels, who treated her with all courtesy.
Maj. Sitgraves was a brave man, who had only to hear the story brought to him by the honest cowboy to understand the urgency of the case. It was now near midnight, and the attack at the ranch was liable to be made at any moment. The stockmen could not reach the scene of danger too soon.
Almost instantly the camp was astir. It looked as if the men had received orders to attack a force of Indians, whose location was just made known to them, and, in point of fact, the situation was somewhat similar, for a brisk fight appeared inevitable. Three rustlers whom the major was particularly anxious to arrest were Ira Inman, Larch Cadmus and Duke Vesey, and he especially wanted the first two. They were with the party not far off, and, aside from the call for help of the imperilled stockmen, the prospect of capturing those fellows was sufficient warrant for a prompt movement.
Within half an hour after Jennie Whitney’s meeting with Budd Hankinson the party of half a hundred were galloping westward, she riding at the head, with Maj. Sitgraves and Budd, who acted as guide to the expedition.
Hope arose with every rod advanced, for if fighting had begun the reports of the guns would be heard, but the listening ears failed to catch the first hostile sound from the Whitney ranch. By and by a point was reached which would have shown them the flash of the guns, but the gloom remained impenetrable.
The twinkling camp-fire, at the base of the ridge, gave just the guidance needed, and, with Budd Hankinson’s intimate knowledge of the country, enabled the force to tell exactly where they were.
Maj. Sitgraves decided to defer his attack until daylight, unless the safety of the beleaguered cattlemen should force him to assault sooner. In the darkness, with the open country around, and the excellent animals at the command of the rustlers, most of them would escape upon learning the strength of the assailants. At the earliest dawn the stockmen could be so placed that, as the commander believed, nearly if not quite all of the law-breakers would be corralled.
Accordingly, a halt was made while yet a considerable way off, and Budd Hankinson went forward on foot to reconnoitre. Upon his report must depend the action of the stockmen.
The fellow was gone more than three-quarters of an hour, and when he came back he brought astounding news.
Not a solitary rustler was to be found anywhere near the ranch.
Hardly able to credit the fact, Budd picked his way to the building, knocked, and was admitted. There the amazing truth was made known. Capt. Ira Inman and all his men had been gone for an hour, and were probably miles distant at that moment.
The detention of Duke Vesey as a hostage for the safety of Monteith Sterry proved the key to the whole situation. When Inman learned how he had been outwitted he was enraged to the point of ordering an attack at once, with the resolve to give mercy to no one. He even threatened to visit his fury upon Fred Whitney, who had shown such punctilious regard for his parole, for it would seem that under the circumstances he would have been warranted in staying behind with his friends.
But before taking so rash a step, the cooler judgment of the leader came to his rescue–He placed a high value on Duke Vesey, who had been associated with him in several dangerous enterprises, and he knew that any harm done to Sterry would recoil on him, just as the grim Capt. Asbury had threatened.
After prolonged discussion with Cadmus and others, it was decided to offer to exchange Sterry for Vesey. The proposition was accepted, and the exchange faithfully made, though considerable more delay was involved.
But while it was under way Inman learned of Jennie Whitney’s flight toward the Big Horn Mountains. Keener of wit than Larch Cadmus, he suspected the truth at once, though he knew nothing of the proximity of the stockmen.
Before making the attack and attempt to burn the building he sent out two of his best mounted men in the direction taken by her, to investigate. They did so with such skill that neither Budd Hankinson nor any of the stockmen suspected them. They returned with news of the approach of a body too powerful for them to think of combating. They therefore fled in the darkness, the promptness of the leaders probably hastened by the knowledge that they were the parties for whom the stockmen were looking.
And so ended the campaign. The situation had been critical for a long time, and there were moments, time and again, when the most trifling incident intervened to avert a fearful conflict between men of the same race and blood; but all had now passed, and it may be said that not so much as a hostile shot had been exchanged.
The main events of the troubles in Wyoming between the cowmen and rustlers are too well remembered to require recital at our hands. The expedition referred to in another place left Cheyenne in April for Nolan’s Ranch, a hundred or more miles distant. Within the following month, the Sixth U.S. Cavalry brought all of them back to Cheyenne as prisoners of war, thus saving them from extermination at the hands of the indignant rustlers, who had them hemmed in on all sides.
Fred Whitney sold out his ranch, near the headwaters of Powder River, and moved eastward. He was not actuated by fear, for it will be conceded that he proved his courage, but he desired to take his loved mother and sister away from the sorrowful memories that must always cling to the place.
It will not surprise the reader to learn, further, that Monteith Sterry found it quite convenient to make his home in the same neighborhood with the Whitneys, and it was but a short time after this removal eastward that a most pleasing incident occurred in the lives of the young man and Miss Whitney, of the nature of which we are sure the reader does not need to be told.