The man-killers

by Dane Coolidge

They were weary and bedraggled but still leaning beside their saddle-horns to trace the line of horse-tracks through the mud; a band of four horsemen, shrouded to the chin in sluicing slickers but following grimly on their trail. Who they were they could not tell in the blinding rain, but as they gazed over their rampart they saw one essay the crossing and go down as if he had stepped into a well. The others shook out their ropes and rode to his rescue, dragging horse and man to the shore; and then in disgust they rode up to the low cliff-dwellings and took shelter from the fury of the storm. Hall glanced down at Allifair who stood clutching his hand and they turned back and entered their new home.

She had held out bravely but now she sank down, bereft of the last of her strength; and after he had made a fire Hall spread her bed beside it, for she was drenched and chilled to the bone. He boiled coffee over the fireplace and held a cupful to her lips, and after she had drunk she opened her eyes and lay gazing at the strange, tomblike dwelling. No light came in except through the low doorway, the fire cast strange shadows among the rafters; and yet somehow she felt a sweet contentment steal over her as she watched her lover by the fire. He was there, he would provide for her, and no one would ever find them—they were hidden away like twin eagles.

She fell into a deep sleep and when she awoke he was standing above her, smiling. Food was simmering on the fire but there was rain on his hat and he had brought in the breath of outdoors.

"They are looking for us," he said, and smiled again. "But they'll never find us—here."

"No, not here," she answered, and sat up quickly for he had laid a young turkey by the fire.

"Oh, did you shoot it?" she cried, and he stooped down and kissed her, then lifted her quickly to her feet.

"No, sweetheart," he laughed, "I didn't dare to shoot, but I drove it into my trap. And while you were asleep I took our horses up the chasm and hid them in a little lost valley. Now all we have to do is to keep out of sight and let the chase go by."

He drew her closer to him and she leaned against his breast, smiling softly as he told her of his love; and then they sat down to their first meal together while the storm swept by outside. Nothing mattered to them now, they were sheltered and warmed and fed and their dream had at last come true; and far into the night, though sleep made them nod, they sat up and talked of the past. Hall spoke of the time when he had seen her first, when he had crept to the Randolph's very door; and how she had saved him from Ewing and Cal when a word would have meant his death. And from there they drifted on through the maze of their wanderings; since she, like a culprit, had been sent to Arizona and he had followed on her trail. It was a tale of true love, in which neither had ever wavered; until now in the chamber of some ancient cliff-dweller they sat nodding by their fire.

They slept then at last and in the morning the bright sunshine shot a shaft of golden light through the door. All the great world without was awake and on the move but nature had demanded its toll—and when Hall roused up their broad cave was in the shadow and the sun had passed over the crags. He stepped softly to the rampart and looked down into the canyon, where the creek was still roaring in flood; and up and down its course, for he could view it for miles, he saw trailers, out cutting for sign. There was a fire in the fireplace when he came back from his watch, but after they had eaten he covered it with ashes lest the odor of the smoke betray them. They settled down in the broad court, watching their pursuers from the protecting darkness and talking tranquilly as the search went on; and when evening came on they leaned over the low wall and gazed down at the camp by Cold Spring.

More men had come in, until now there were ten of them, and the flame of their camp-fire illuminated the windows of the lower cliff-dwelling until they glowed like the port-holes of a fort. Even their voices could be heard above the rush of the flood, which had subsided to a tumbling stream. But seeing their pursuers below only added to their contentment and they found time to look up at the stars. It was a soft and balmy night and no lions were abroad to waken the echoes with their yells; all their world seemed at peace and yet now there fell a silence in which each followed out his own thoughts. The past was not enough, nor yet the tranquil present; but each must quest on into the future.