Where the Trail Divides | Page 6

crow,
echoing and re-echoing in the narrow space--bent over at last, touched
his bearded lips softly to the winsome, motionless brown face, climbed,
an irresistible catch in his breath, silently to the surface, sent one swift
glance sweeping the bare earth around him, and returned to the cabin.
Very carefully that sultry afternoon he cleaned his old hammer shotgun,
and, loading both barrels with buckshot, set it handy beside the door.
"Antelope," he explained laconically; but when likewise he overhauled
the revolver hanging at his hip, Margaret was not deceived. This done,
notwithstanding the fact that the sun still beat scorchingly hot thereon,
he returned to the doorstep, lit his pipe, drew his weather-stained
sombrero low over his face, through half-closed eyes inspected the
lower lands all about, impassively silent awaited the coming of the
inevitable. Of a sudden there was a touch on his shoulder, and,
involuntarily starting, he looked up, into the face of Margaret Rowland.
The woman sat down beside him, her hand on his knee.
"Don't keep it from me," she requested steadily. "You've seen
something."

In the brier bowl before his face the tobacco glowed more brightly as
Rowland drew hard.
"Tell me, please," repeated Margaret. "Are they here?"
The pipe left the man's mouth. The great bushy head nodded reluctant
corroboration.
"Yes," he said.
"You--saw them?"
Again the man's head spoke an affirmative. "It's perhaps as well, after
all, for you to know." One hand indicated the foot of the rise before
them. "They waylaid Mueller there."
"And you--"
"It was all over in a second." Puff, puff. "After all he--Margaret!"
"Don't mind me. I was thinking of baby. The hideous suggestion!"
"Margaret!" He held her tight, so tight he could feel the quiver of her
body against his, the involuntary catch of her breath. "Forgive me,
Margaret."
"You're not to blame. Perhaps--Oh, Sam, Sam, our baby!"
Hotter and hotter beat down the sun. Thicker and thicker above the
scorching earth vibrated the curling heat waves. The very breath of
prairie seemed dormant, stifled. Not the leaf of a sunflower stirred, or a
blade of grass. In the tiny patch of Indian corn each individual plant
drooped, almost like a sensate thing, beneath the rays, each broad leaf
contracted, like a roll of parchment, tight upon the parent stalk. In
sympathy the colour scheme of the whole lightened from the
appearance of the paler green under-surface. Though silently, yet as
plainly as had done Hans Mueller when fighting for life, they lifted the
single plea: "Water! Water! Give us drink!"

Silent now, the storm over, side by side sat the man and the woman;
like children awed by the sudden realisation of their helplessness, their
hands clasped in mute sympathy, mute understanding. Usually at this
time of day with nothing to do they slept; but neither thought of sleep
now. As passed the slow time and the sun sank lower and lower, came
the hour of supper; but likewise hunger passed them by. Something
very like fascination held them there on the doorstep, gazing out, out at
motionless impassive nature, at the seemingly innocent earth that
nevertheless concealed so certain a menace, at the patch of sod corn
again in cycle growing darker as the broad leaves unfolded in
preparation for the dew of evening. Out, out they looked, out, out--.
"Sam!"
"Yes."
"You saw, too?"
An answering pressure of the hand.
"The eyes of him, only the eyes--out there at the edge of the corn!"
"It's the third time, Margaret." Despite the man's effort his breath
tightened. "They're all about: a score at least--I don't know how many.
The tall grass there to the east is alive--"
"Sam! They're there again--the eyes! Oh, I'm afraid--Sam--baby!"
"Hush! Leave her where she is. Don't seem afraid. It's our only chance.
Let them make the first move." Again the hand pressure so tight that,
although she made no sound, the blood left the woman's fingers. "Tell
me you forgive me, Margaret; before anything happens. I'm a criminal
to have stayed here,--I see it now, a criminal!"
"Don't!"
"But I must. Tell me you forgive me. Tell me."
"I love you, Sam."

Again in the expanse of grass to the east there was motion; not in a
single spot but in a dozen places. No living being was visible, not a
sound broke the stillness of evening; simply here and there it stirred,
and became motionless, and stirred again.
"And--Margaret. If worst comes to worst they mustn't take either of us
alive. The last one--I can't say it. You understand."
"Yes, I understand. The last load--But maybe--"
"It's useless to deceive ourselves. They wouldn't come this way
if--Margaret, in God's name--"
"But baby, Sam!" Of a sudden she was struggling fiercely beneath the
grip that kept her back. "I must