Where the Trail Divides | Page 9

Last of all, boldest of all, most foolhardy of all, as you
please, came the tiny delegation from the settlement of Sioux Falls.
Hungry, thirsty, footsore, all but panic-stricken, for with the actual
retreat apprehension had augmented with each slow mile, thanking the
Providence which had permitted them to arrive unmolested, a
sorry-looking band of refugees, they faced the old smoothbore cannon
before the big south gate and craved admittance. Out to them went
Colonel William Landor, colonel by courtesy, scion of many
generations of Landors, rancher at present, cattle king of the future. The
conversation that followed there with the east reddening in the morning
sun was very brief, very swift to the point.
"Who are you, friends?" The shrewd grey eyes were observing them
collectively, compellingly.
"My name is McPherson."
"Mine is Horton."
"Never mind the names," shortly. "I can learn them later."
"We're homesteaders." Again it was stubby, sandy-whiskered
McPherson who took the lead.
"From where?"
"Sioux Falls."
"Any news?"
Curt as the question came the answer, the tale of massacre now a day
old.
"And the rest of your settlement--where are they?"

McPherson told him.
"They all went, you say?"
For the first time the Scotchman hesitated. "All except one family," he
qualified.
"There was but one family there." Landor was not observing the
company collectively now. "You mean to tell me Sam Rowland did not
go?"
"Yes."
"That you--men here went off and left him and his wife and little girl
alone at this time?" The questioner's eyelids were closing ominously.
"You come here with that story and ask me to let you inside?"
McPherson was no coward. His short legs spread belligerently, his
shoulders squared.
"We're here," he announced laconically.
"I observe." Just a shade closer came the tightened eyelids. "Moreover,
strange to say, I'm glad to see you." He leaned forward involuntarily;
his breath came quick. "It gives me the opportunity, sir, to tell you to
your face that you're a damned coward." In spite of an obvious effort at
repression, the great veins of the speaker's throat swelled visibly. "A
damned coward, sir!"
"What! You call me--"
"Men! Gentlemen!"
"Don't worry." Swift as had come the burst of passion, Landor was
himself again; curt, all-seeing, self-sufficient, "There'll be no blood
shed." Early as it was, a crowd had collected now, and, as he had done
with the newcomers, he addressed them collectively, authoratively.
"When I fight it will not be with one who abandons a woman and a
child at a time like this.... God! it makes a man's blood boil. I've known

the Rowlands for ten years, long before the kid came." Cold as before
he had been flaming, he faced anew the travel-stained group. "Out of
my sight, every one of you, and thank your coward stars I'm not in
command here. If I were, not a man of you would ever get inside this
stockade--not if the Santees scalped you before my eyes."
For a second there was silence, inaction.
"But Rowland wouldn't come," protested a voice. "We tried--"
"Not a word. If you were too afraid of your skin to bring them in, there
are others who are not." Vital, magnetic, born leader of men, he turned
to the waiting spectators. "It may be too late now,--I'm afraid it is; but
if Sam Rowland is alive, I'm going to bring him here. Who's with me?
Who's willing to make the ride back to Sioux Falls?"
"Who?" It was another rancher, surnamed Crosby, hatchet-faced, slow
of speech, who spoke, "Ain't that question a bit superfluous, pard?
We're all with you--that is, as many as you want, I reckon. None of us
ain't cats, so we can't croak but once--and that might as well be now as
ten years from now."
"All right." Hardened frontiersman, Landor took the grammar and the
motive alike for granted. "Get your horses and report here. The first
twenty to return, go."
From out the group of newcomers one man emerged. It was
McPherson.
"Who'll lend me a horse?" he queried.
No man gave answer. Already the group had separated.
For a moment the Scotchman halted, grim-jawed, his legs an inverted
V; then silent as they, equally swiftly, he followed.
Very soon, almost unbelievably soon, they began to trickle back. Not in
ignorance of possibilities in store did they come. They had no delusions

concerning the red brother, these frontiersmen. Nor in the hot
adventurous blood of youth did they respond. One and all were
middle-aged men; many had families. All save Landor were strangers
to the man they went to seek. Yet at a moment's call they responded; as
they took it for granted others would respond were they in need. Had
they been conscious of the fact, the action was magnificent; but of it
they were