"Give 'em a cheer, boys," Jim cried, and the place rang with their shouts.
Petrie and Sir John galloped alongside the wagon, with Grouchy, Andy, Shorty, and Bill following as fast as they could run. Cheer after cheer sent back its echo, while Jim stood alone listening as he watched the swaying, rumbling cart raise its cloud of dust, through which he could barely see the men still running and hear the faint echoes of their cries of "Good-bye, Hal."
Like a symbol of broken hope, he stood, a solitary figure in the dreary, deserted place. His hands were still out-stretched towards the receding wagon. The deep-tinted, rose-colored rocks glowed more and more radiantly, until the blinding glare from the plains made Jim shield his eyes.
"There they go"—he strained forward closer to watch the wagon—"down into the ravine—out of sight—and out of my life forever."
As the dip in the land engulfed and shut out his last glimpse of the travellers, he dropped inert and clinched his arms over his head, while his heavy, dragging steps were the only sounds that broke the terrible stillness that had fallen over the yard. Almost mechanically he reached the bench and sank down upon it. Nat-u-ritch, from her hiding-place above, could hear the sobs that came from the crushed and broken man.
CHAPTER XXVII
Nat-u-ritch stole down from the loft and crept to where Jim had stood. Unconsciously she repeated the same picture of desolation he had made as he stretched out his arms and strained his eyes to see the wagon disappear down the ravine, which the Indian girl could now see far off, like an ant on a hill, as it crawled up the dun-colored mound. Like him, she folded her arms and stared ahead for a long time—even though the blinding light blurred and made the landscape a chaotic meeting of sky and earth.
But, unlike him, no sobs shook her tiny body; erect and resolute she stood, then turned and noiselessly came down behind the weeping man. In wondering pity she watched him, then crossed to the house and entered it. She quickly returned with the small revolver in her hand; but her soft-shod feet made no sound, and Jim, unconscious of her presence, still sat with his head on his knees. As she caught sight of the tiny moccasins the child had left lying on the bench, she wavered a moment, but she only paused to pick them up and press them against her wildly beating heart. She had but one thought—escape from the pain that gnawed and tormented her.
Without the boy, and with the look she feared she must face daily in Jim's eyes, she knew she could not endure life. There was no rebellion, only acceptance of her fate, as she crept close behind Jim, the moccasins covering the steel weapon. Worn out, Jim still remained with head bowed, a physical stupor of fatigue almost dulling his sorrow. Nat-u-ritch's quick ear heard the voices of the returning men, and she darted across to the corral and disappeared behind the barn. But even that did not arouse Jim.
Shorty, Andy, and Grouchy hurried after Bill, who was coming back to look after Jim. Shorty grasped Bill's arm, wheeled him about, and pointed in the direction the carriage had taken.