Ranching For Sylvia Volume-554 - Harold Bindloss (best black authors TXT) 📗

Volume 554 Chapter 29 (The Escape) Pg 224

George Got Up The Next Morning Feeling Cramped And Sore After His

Journey, And Carefully Looked About.  The Building Had Solid Walls Of

Sod; Such Rude Stalls As It Had Been Fitted With Had Been Removed,

Perhaps For The Sake Of The Lumber.  He Could Not Reach The Door

Without Alarming His Jailer, Who Had Taken Up His Quarters Behind The

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Board Partition; And There Was Only One Small Window, Placed High Up

And Intended Mainly For Ventilation.  The Window Was Very Dusty, But It

Opened And George Could See Out By Standing Up, Though The Aperture Was

Not Large Enough To Squeeze Through.

 

Outside Stood Some Timbers Which Had Once Formed Part Of A Shack, And A

Few Strands Of Fence Wire, Trailing From Tottering Posts, Ran Into The

Grass.  The Place Appeared To Have Been A Farm, Whose Owner Had, No

Doubt, Abandoned It After Finding The Soil Too Light, Or After Losing A

Crop By Frost; But George Was More Curious To Discover If There Were

Any Other Homesteads In The Vicinity.  His View Was Restricted, But

There Was No Sign Of Life On The Quarter-Circle It Commanded.  A Flat,

Grassy Waste, Broken Only By A Few Clumps Of Brush, Ran Back To The

Horizon, And By The Cold Blue Of The Sky And The Drift Of A Few Light

Clouds Floating Before The Prevalent Westerly Wind, He Knew He Was

Looking North.  This Was The Way He Must Take If He Could Escape, But

There Was No House In Which He Could Seek Refuge, And Scarcely Any

Cover.  It Was Clear That He Must Obtain A Good Start Before He Was

Missed.  He Had An Idea That He Would Escape, Though He Admitted That

It Was More Optimistic Than Rational.

 

Then He Turned With A Start, To See His Jailer Standing Beside Him,

Grinning.  The Man Had A Hard, Determined Face.

 

"Guess You Can't Get Out That Way; And It Wouldn't Be Much Use,

Anyhow," He Drawled.  "The Country's Pretty Open; It Would Take You A

Mighty Long While To Get Out Of Sight."

 

"That's How It Struck Me," George Confessed With An Air Of Good-Humored

Resignation.  "Do You Mean To Keep Me Here Any Time?"

 

"Until The Trial," The Other Answered, Standing A Little Away From Him

With His Hand Thrust Suggestively Into A Pocket.  "We'll Be Glad To Get

Rid Of You When It's Finished, But You Certainly Can't Get Away Before

We Let You Go."

 

George Cast A Glance Of Keen But Unobtrusive Scrutiny At The Man.  They

Were, He Thought, About Equal In Physical Strength; The Other's

Superiority Consisted In His Being Armed, And George Had No Doubt That

He Was Proficient With His Weapons.  He Had Seen A Rifle Carried Into

The Building, The Man's Hand Was Now Resting On A Pistol, And There Was

A Light Ax Outside.  It Looked As If An Attempt To Escape Would Be

Attended With A Serious Risk, And George Realized That He Must Wait

Until Chance Or Some Slackening Of Vigilance On His Custodians' Part

Equalized Matters.

 

He Was Given Breakfast, And Afterward Told That He Could Go Out And

Split Some Wood, Which He Was Glad To Do.  There Was A Pile Of Branches

And A Few Rotten Boards That Had Once Formed Part Of The Shack, And He

Set To Work To Break Them Up, While The Rustler Sat And Smoked In The

Doorway.  The Man Ran No Risk In Doing So; There Was Not A Bush Within

A Quarter Of A Mile, And George Knew That A Bullet Would Speedily Cut

Short His Flight.  He Could See Nothing That Promised A Secure Hiding

Place All The Way To The Skyline, And He Thought That The Plain Ran On

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Nothing, However; And, Creeping On Cautiously, With Tingling Nerves And

An Intolerable Feeling Of Suspense, He Drew Level With The Doorway.  It

Was Hard To Refrain From Leaping Out, But This Might Make Some Noise.

Crossing The Threshold With Careful Movements, He Made For The Spot

Where He Had Cut The Wood.  He Struck Something That Rattled, But He

Found The Ax And The Feel Of It Sent A Thrill Through Him.  It Was

Light Enough To Be Carried Easily; And He Did Not Mean To Be Recaptured.

 

For Some Minutes He Moved Straight On, Hurting His Feet On The Stronger

Grass Stalks; And Then, Sitting Down, He Hastily Put On His Boots.

After That He Broke Into A Steady Run, Which He Meant To Keep Up As

Long As Possible.  He Was Now Anxious That The Threatened Storm Should

Not Break, Because If The Rustlers Had Gone To Sleep, The Longer They

Remained So The Better.  He Failed To Understand How He Had Escaped;

Perhaps His Guards Had Been Lulled Into False Security By His Tranquil

Demeanor; Perhaps They Had Trusted To Each Other; Or One, Rendered

Listless By The Tension In The Air, Had Relaxed His Watchfulness For A

Few Moments.  This, However, Did Not Matter.  George Was Free; And He

Only Wished That He Had Some Idea As To Where He Was Heading.  He

Wanted To Place A Long Distance Between Him And The Stable By Morning.

 

Dripping With Perspiration, Breathing Hard, He Kept Up A Steady Pace

For, So He Thought, An Hour, After Which He Walked A Mile Or Two, And

Then Broke Into A Run Again.  The Grass Was Short; He Struck No Brush,

And The Ax Did Not Encumber Him.  He Imagined That Dawn Must Be Getting

Near When A Dazzling Flash Swept The Prairie And There Was A Long

Reverberatory Rumbling Overhead.  He Was Almost Blinded And Bewildered,

Doubly Uncertain Where He Was Going; And Then A Great Stream Of White

Fire Fell From The Zenith.  The Thunder That Followed Was Deafening,

And For The Next Few Minutes Blaze Succeeded Blaze, And There Was A

Constant Crashing And Rumbling Overhead.  After That Came A Rush Of

Chilly Wind And The Air Was Filled With Falling Water.

 

A Hot, Steamy Smell Rose About Him; But George, Who Had Been Walking

Again, Began To Run.  He Must Use Every Exertion, For If He Were Right

In Concluding That He Had Been Detained On American Soil, His Pursuers

Would Follow Him North, And When Daylight Came A Mounted Man's View

Would Command A Wide Sweep Of Level Prairie.  The Storm Passed Away,

Muttering, Into The Distance; The Rain Ceased, And The Air Was Fresh

And Cool Until The Sun Sprang Up.  It Was On His Right Hand, He Thought

He Had Kept His Line; But He Stopped To Consider On The Edge Of A

Ravine.  The Sides Of The Hollow Were Clothed With Tall, Wet Grass And

Brush; It Would Offer Good Cover, But He Could Hardly Avoid Leaving A

Track If He Followed It, And His Pursuers Would Search Such Spots.  It

Seemed Wiser To Push On Across The Plain.

 

Descending Through The Thinnest Brush He Could Find, He Stopped For A

Drink From The Creek At The Bottom, And Then Went On As Fast As

Possible.  He Was Becoming Conscious Of A Pain In His Left Side; One

Foot Felt Sore; And As The Sun Got Hotter A Longing To Lie Down A While

Grew Steadily Stronger.  Still, He Could See Nothing But Short, Gray

Grass Ahead; He Must Hold On; There Might Be Bluffs Or Broken Country

Beyond The Skyline.

Beyond It, As Little Broken.  When He Had Cut Some Wood, He Turned Back

Toward The Door, And The Man Regarded Him With A Meaning Smile.

 

"Come In, If You Want; But Leave The Ax Right There," He Said.

 

He Moved Back A Few Paces, Out Of Reach Of A Sudden Spring, As George

Entered, And The Latter Realized That He Did Not Mean To Be Taken By

Surprise.  During The Afternoon, Another Man Arrived On Horseback With

Some Provisions And Remained Until George Went To Sleep.  The Following

Morning, The Stranger Had Disappeared, But He Came Again Once Or Twice,

And This Was All That Broke The Monotony Of The Next Few Days.  George,

However, Was Beginning To Feel The Strain; His Nerves Were Getting Raw,

The Constant Watchfulness Was Wearing Him.  The Trial Would Now Be

Beginning, And It Was Time The Binders Were Driven Into His Grain; The

Oats Would Be Ripe, And His Neighbors Would Pick Up All The Ontario

Hands Who Reached The Settlement.  Another Day Passed, And He Was

Feeling Desperate When The Relief Watcher Arrived In The Afternoon.

Listening With Strained Attention, He Heard The Men Talking Outside.

Only A Few Words Reached Him, But One Was "Adjourned," And It Filled

Him With Fresh Determination.  If He Could Escape, It Might Not Be Too

Late.

 

It Was An Oppressive Afternoon; The Fresh Northwest Breeze Had Dropped,

The Sky Was Clouded, The Air Hot And Heavy.  Both Men Remained About

The Building, But George Sat Quietly On The Earth Floor, Smoking And

Waiting For Night.  A Few Large Drops Of Rain Fell, Splashing Upon Roof

And Grass While He Ate His Supper, But It Stopped, And The Evening Was

Marked By A Deep Stillness.  He Felt Listless And Disinclined To Move;

His Guards, To Judge By Their Voices, For They Were Playing Cards

Outside, Were Languidly Irritable.

 

Dusk Came And A Thick Obscurity, Unlike The Usual Clearness Of The

Summer Nights, Shut In The Lonely Building.  It Was Intensely Dark In

The Stable; George Could Not See The Relief Man's Horse, Though He

Could Now And Then Hear It Move.  Voices Rose At Intervals From Beyond

The Partition, But They Ceased At Last And Only An Occasional Crackle

Of The Dry Grass That Served For Seats And Bedding Told That One At

Least Of The Rustlers Was Keeping Watch.  George Felt His Limbs Quiver

While He Waited, And He Was Conscious Of An Unpleasant Tension On His

Nerves.  There Was Thunder Brewing, And He Thought The Storm Might

Offer Him An Opportunity For Getting Out.

 

At Length It Struck Him That The Silence Was Unusually Deep.  Rising To

His Feet He Moved About.  There Was No Challenge; And By Way Of Further

Experiment, He Kicked His Tin Plate So That It Rattled.  Still Nobody

Called To Him, Though The Horse Made A Little Noise In Moving.  George

Sat Down And Took Off His Boots While His Heart Throbbed Painfully.  It

Looked As If His Guards Had Gone To Sleep.  He Moved A Few Yards,

Stopped To Listen, And Went