"And this happened yesterday! Oh, Alice! Alice!" The man's voice broke on the name, and glancing into his face, Bat saw that it glistened wet with the sweat of torture.
As they mounted he offered a word of advice and encouragement: "Dat better you ain' los' de, w'at you call, de guts. Mebbe-so you 'oman all right. We fin' um safe on som' ranch house."
The trail of the four horses was so plain that even Endicott found no difficulty in following it across the bench. Bat struck into a steady trot which was maintained till he pulled up sharply at a point where the trail dimmed to nothing upon the hard lava rock of the bad lands. The half-breed studied the ground: "De leetle hoss turn back," he announced, "Tex, she gon' on in. He los' de trail, now—he ain' kin pick it oop in here—he ain' Injun. He', w'at you call, goin' it blin'."
Unhesitatingly the old half-breed followed along a ridge and dropped off into a coulee. He rode slowly, now, with his eyes on the hard rocky ground. Several times he dismounted and Endicott's heart sank as he watched him search, sometimes upon hands and knees. But always the old man straightened up with a grunt of satisfaction and mounting proceeded confidently upon his course, although try as he would, Endicott could discern no slightest mark or scratch that would indicate that anyone had passed that way. "Are you really following a trail?" he asked, at length, as the Indian headed up a coulee whose wind-swept floor was almost solid rock.
The old man smiled: "Oui, A'm fol' de trail, all right. Two hoss, shod, mak' good trail for Injun. Eef dey swim een de wattaire lak de feesh, eef dey fly een de air lak de bird, Ol' Bat he no kin pick oop de trail—but, by Goss! Eef dey walk, or ron, or stan' still dey got to mak' de sign on de groun' an' me—A'm fin' dat out—" The words died in his throat as he jerked his horse to a stand. From behind a projecting shoulder of rock a man stepped directly into their path.
"Stick 'em up!" The command rang with a metallic hardness in the rock-walled coulee, and Bat's hands flew upward. From the rear Endicott saw that the man who barred the way was squat, bow-legged, and bearded, and that he held a gun in either hand. For one sickening instant he thought of Alice in the power of this man, and reckless of consequences, he forced his horse to the fore. "Damn you!" he cried leaning forward in the saddle, "where's my wife?"
Old Bat cried out a warning, and then stared in surprise at the man on the ground who was returning his guns to their holsters, and grinning as he did it.
"Damn me, where's your wife?" repeated the man, "ain't that a kind of a rough way, pardner, to ask a question of a stranger? Or mebbe you're jest na'chelly rough, an' can't help it." The metallic hardness was gone from the voice. Endicott noticed that a tuft of hair stuck through a hole in the crown of the man's hat, and that upon close inspection the bearded face had lost its look of villainy.
"But—my wife!" he persisted, "you brought her here! She——"
"Not me," interrupted the man, "I didn't bring her nowheres. An' besides she ain't here."