Keith had crossed at this point so frequently with cattle that, once having his bearings, the blackness of the night made very little difference. Nevertheless, in fear lest her pony might stumble over some irregularity, he gave his own rein to Neb, and went forward on foot, grasping firmly the tired animal's bit. It was a long stretch of sand and water extending from bank to bank, but the latter was shallow, the only danger being that of straying off from the more solid bottom into quicksand. With a towering cottonwood as guide, oddly misshapen and standing out gauntly against the slightly lighter sky, the plainsman led on unhesitatingly, until they began to climb the rather sharp uplift of the north bank. Here there was a plain trail, pounded into smoothness by the hoofs of cavalry horses ridden down to water, and at the summit they emerged within fifty yards of the stables.
The few lights visible, some stationary, with others dancing about like will-o'-the-wisps, revealed imperfectly the contour of various buildings, but Keith turned sharply to the right, anxious to slip past without being challenged by a sentry. Beyond the brow of the bluff other lights now became visible, flickering here and there, marking where a straggling town had sprung up under the protection of the post—a town garish enough in the daylight, composed mostly of shacks and tents, but now with its deficiencies mercifully concealed by the enveloping darkness. The trail, easily followed, led directly along its single street, but Keith circled the outskirts through a wilderness of tin-cans and heaps of other debris, until he halted his charges beside the black shadow of the only two-story edifice in the place. This was the Occidental, the hospitality of which he had frequently tested.
A light streamed from out the front windows, but, uncertain who might be harbored within, Keith tapped gently at the back door. It was not opened immediately, and when it was finally shoved aside the merest crack, no glow of light revealed the darkened interior. The voice which spoke, however, was amply sufficient to identify its owner.
“Is that ye agin, Murphy, a playin' av yer dirthy thricks?”
“No, Mrs. Murphy,” he hastened to explain, “this is Keith—Jack Keith, of the 'Bar X.'”
“The Lord deliver us!” was the instant exclamation, the door opening wide. “They do be afther tellin' me to-night av the throuble ye was in over at Carson, an' Oi t'ought maybe ye moight turn up this way. It was a nate thrick ye played on the loikes av 'em, Jack, but this is a dom poor place fer ye ter hide in. Bedad, there's a half-dozen in the parly now talkin' about it, wid a couple av officers from the fort. Is the nager wid ye?”
“Yes, but we have no intention of hiding here. I'd rather take my chance in the open. The fact is, Kate, we started off for the 'Bar X.'”
“Av course, ye did; Oi was shure av it.”
“But down on the Salt Fork we ran across a young girl whom Black Bart had inveigled down that way on a lie. We had a bit of a fight, and got her away from him. This is what brought us back here—to put the girl where she will be safe out of his clutches.”
The door was wide open now, and Mrs. Murphy outside, her interest at fever heat.