"They didn't go on," he argued. "Shore, they might 'a' gone back, but why come here when there's other drinkin' places? Wadin' up the stream would blind a trail completely. Worth a trial, hoss." They splashed steadily along the creek and the young man became more sanguine when he noticed a branch which would have been in their way hanging broken and dead. Then came the inevitable barrier in the shape of a waterfall, leaping over a rock ten feet high. But to the left of it was a level ledge of short turf, and on it, hoof-prints.
"Mebbe we got somethin'," Dave told his mount.
The way was narrow, zig-zagged a great deal, but ascended steadily; here and there, the stump of an obstructing tree showed it to be man-made. At the end of an hour's climb, through a break in the trees, the rider saw a spiral of smoke against the dark background of pines higher up. Though it did not seem to be far away, another hour passed before he got a second view of it, this time close at hand. From the shelter of a leafy bush he studied his surroundings.
The trail he had been following ended on a gently-sloping shelf, and at the back of this was a solidly-fashioned, two-storied timber building. The situation was well-chosen; at the sides and front, the ground had been cleared save for the stumps of the trees which had been used in the construction, while the rear was defended by the steep face of the mountain itself. Completely concealed by the enveloping curtain of pines, it was an ideal haven for broken men. There was no sign of life until a rider appeared from the far side of the clearing, got down, and went in. The light was still sufficient for Dave to recognize him; it was Javert.
"That seems to fix it," he muttered. "I've located Mister Mullins." Night came at length, bringing a patch of light from the cabin, and Dave could delay no longer. Leaving his pony, but taking his rope, he stole to the back of the house, and, flattened against the wall, stood listening. Presently a faint glow shone from one of the two upper windows, and he heard a gruff voice say :
"I'm lettin' you have the candle while you feed." A door slammed, followed by the heavy tread of boots on a board stair. Evidently there was a prisoner, but was it the one of whom he was in search? When he deemed the coast was clear, he began to whistle, very softly, "The Cowboy's Lament," about his fondness for which Mary Gray had more than once chaffed him. A moment, and from above his head, a whisper floated down :
"Is is you--Dave?"
"Shore thing," he replied, and executed a miniature war-dance, for not only was it the Widow's voice, but she had used his first name. "Are you tied up?"
"No, but I can't leave without my baby." When the signifiance of this had seeped in, he swore under his breath. "They ain't got him," he told her.
A deeply-breathed "Thank God!" reached him.
"Can yu grab my rope, make it fast to somethin', an' slide down?" he asked, and when she eagerly promised, added an afterthought, "Fetch that food along--we'll need it." He heard the window open and sent the loop of his rope spinning up to her; she caught and went to secure it. A few moments and she was back, but he would not let her descend until he had tested the lasso by throwing his own weight upon it. Anxiously he watched her scramble on to the sill.
"Grip tight an' come down slow--it ain't far," he warned.
Nevertheless, she arrived with a rush, and would have fallen had he not been there to steady her.
"My hands--they're on fire," she murmured. "Oh, I never was so glad to see anyone, but I knew--I hoped--you would find me. I think I can stand now." Slinking along in the shadow of the building, they made a dash across the open space, and reached the spot where the horse had been left; there was no sign of it.
"You haven't mistaken the place?" the Widow asked. "No, there's the branch I tied him to--though that warn't really necessary," Dave replied. "It ain't broke." They searched the surrounding brush without success, and then Dave said, "Well, we'd never get out o' this wilderness on foot; I'll have to take a chance o' swipin' a pony, I guess."
"Better guess again, Masters," a sarcastic voice advised. "A deppity-marshal ain't supposed to steal horses, an' besides, it can't be did." Dave whirled round, right hand on his gun, but could see no one. The voice continued :
"Six rifles are coverin' you this moment, an' we're all hopin' you'll be obstinate. Show him, fellas." On all sides the moonlight glinted on gun-barrels thrust through the foliage. Dave shrugged--resistance would be just suicide.
"The pot is yores," he said.
They closed in on him and one took charge of his weapon. All were masked, a circumstance which brought a sneer of contempt to the deputy's lips.
"Yu can take that rag off, Mullins," he said to the leader. "Though I admit it improves yore looks."
"Clever, ain't you?" the ruffian replied. "If I hadn't somethin' else for you, somethin' more interestin', I'd blow you four ways this minit," he threatened. "But--wait."
"Whatever the cost, it'll be worth it," Dave said defiantly.
"you've reached the limit a'ready," was Jake's reply. "Tie him up an' shove him in the wood-shed." The young man had another inspiration. "See here, I've had nothin' to eat since mornin'; I won't last no time at the torture-stake if I'm starvin'."
"Give him grub; he'll need to be good an' strong tomorrow. I'll 'tend to the woman." Dejected Mary Gray preceded him back to her prison. By the fitful light of the candle--which was still burning--he surveyed her with evil exultation.
"Now what do you think?"
"That you are as great a liar as scoundrel," she retorted, and for a moment her sombre eyes regarded him. "And that you have not long to live, Jake Mullins." The sinister prophecy, uttered in a low passionless tone, startled the bandit for the instant, but he threw off the eerie sensation with a coarse laugh.
"Then I'd best make the most o' my time," he gibed, and moved towards her.
Appalled at his expression, she shrank back, whereat he laughed again, delighting in the mental anguish he was inflicting. Cowering against the wall, faint with horror, she knew that her fate hung in the balance. Then greed of gold triumphed over a still baser appetite. Dave's rope was still hanging from the window. He drew it in and proceeded to secure her wrists and ankles. "Safe bind, safe find," he quoted. "When I've dealt with yore lover, you an' me'll have another li'l pow-wow." He extinguished the candle and went out, leaving her broken, despondent, her mind now obsessed by one fear only--what would he do to the man who had risked all to rescue her? Dave, reclining with his head on a pile of kindling, was wakened in the morning by the opening of his prison-door, and blinking in the sudden light, saw his gaoler of the night before regarding him with an expression of amused surprise. He noticed that the fellow was no longer masked. "Got rid o' yore toothache, I see."
"On'y troubles me after dark," the other grinned, and then, "If you knew what was comin' you wouldn't be so peart."
"Breakfast is comin', I hope," was the jaunty reply.
The gaoler reached a plate and steaming mug from behind the open door. "Shore, I brung it, bread, fried hawg'sbelly, an' corfy." The man slackened the rope on his wrists a little, and stood, gun in hand, regarding him with reluctant admiration.
"Women an' food shouldn't be kept waiting," Dave remarked oracularly, and proceeded to polish off the meal in quick time. This done, he rolled a cigarette, lighted it, leaned back, sent a perfect smoke-ring quivering on the still air, and resumed the conversation : "How come yo're tailin' after a fella like Jake--a crook, an' not smart at that? Lookit the mess he made o' the bank affair."
"Save yore breath, Masters; you might as well try to corrupt me." The interruption came from Mullins himself, but if he expected the prisoner to be abashed, he was mistaken.
"Which would be a shockin' waste o' time--yu can't corrupt anythin' that's rotten a'ready. Beautiful, here, tells me yo're anxious about my health. Well, it's fine an' dandy." The sallow face darkened and became more malevolent.