He stared about him doubtfully, and his uncertainty was pitiful to behold. His eyes were only half open, as though the effort of sustaining their lids was too great for his failing powers. They wandered on over the scene, however, until they suddenly fixed themselves upon a spot where two figures were stretched upon the ground. One was lying upon its side with its knees drawn up as though asleep; the other was stretched upon its back, its arms flung out and its legs lying across the other’s body. The dead eyes were staring up at the darkened sky, glazed and motionless.
He stared down upon these figures for some time, and the sight seemed to put fresh strength into him; and at last, when he turned away, a pitiful attempt at triumph shone in his dull eyes, and a ghostly smile flitted about the corners of his sagging lips.
He had seen all he wanted to see. His work was done. James was dead. He knew death when he saw it, and he had seen it shining in those staring eyes. James had passed over the one-way trail, and his had been the hand that had sped him upon his journey.
Now he took a deep breath and stood swaying. Then he glanced with measuring eye at the foot-box at his feet. He changed his support, and, bending slowly, dragged a rawhide rope from inside it. The next moment he fell back upon the seat. But his work had only begun. For some time he fumbled with the rope, passing it about his body and the iron stanchions of the back of the seat, and after awhile had succeeded in knotting it securely. Then, after a moment of hard breathing, he reached out and untied the reins from the rail of the cart and gathered them into his hands. And as he did so his lips moved and his voice croaked brokenly.
“Come on, Gyp,” he mumbled hoarsely. “Come, gal. Hey––you, Pete. You, too––Maisie. Come on. Get on.”
It was the word his faithful friends had awaited.
Chilled and eager, they leapt at their bits, and the traces snapped taut. They were off; and in their eager rush the reins were almost torn from the driver’s numbing fingers. Again he spoke, and in his halting words was a world of affection and encouragement.
“Easy, children,” he said. “Easy, boys an’ gals. Ther’ sure ain’t no hurry now. They’re dead––all––dead. Dead as––mutton.”
He clawed full possession of the reins again. And in a moment the cart was speeding down the long gradient that was to bear them on the prairie world beyond.
The man was lolling forward, straining on the rope that held his helpless body to the seat, and his eyes closed wearily. The speed of the team, the direction, these things meant nothing to him now. The trail was well marked right in to Spawn City. There were no turnings. That was all that mattered. These children of his would faithfully keep on their way to the end. He knew these things without thinking, and the knowledge left him indifferent. His only concern now was the gold. It was in the cart, and it must reach Spawn City. To that his honor was pledged.