The Rainbow Trail by Zane Grey (best sales books of all time txt) 📗

Joe Lake drew up the blanket and shut from Shefford's fascinated gaze that spare form, that accusing knife, that face of strange, cruel power.

“Anybody been sent for?” asked Lake of Beal.

“Yes. An Indian boy went for the Piute. We'll send him to Stonebridge,” replied the Mormon.

“How soon do you expect any one here from Stonebridge?”

“To-morrow, mebbe by noon.”

“Meantime what's to be done with—this?”

“Elder Smith thinks the body should stay right here where it fell till they come from Stonebridge.”

“Waggoner was found here, then?”

“Right here.”

“Who found him?”

“Mother Smith. She came over early. An' the sight made her scream. The women all came runnin'. Mother Smith had to be put to bed.”

“Who found—Mary?”

“See here, Joe, I told you all I knowed once before,” replied the Mormon, testily.

“I've forgotten. Was sort of bewildered. Tell me again.... Who found—her?”

“The women folks. She laid right inside the door, in a dead faint. She hadn't undressed. There was blood on her hands an' a cut or scratch. The women fetched her to. But she wouldn't talk. Then Elder Smith come an' took her. They've got her locked up.”

Then Joe led Shefford away from the cabin farther on into the village. When they were halted by the somber, grieving women it was Joe who did the talking. They passed the school-house, and here Shefford quickened his step. He could scarcely bear the feeling that rushed over him. And the Mormon gripped his arm as if he understood.

“Shefford, which one of these younger women do you reckon your best friend? Ruth?” asked Lake, earnestly.

“Ruth, by all means. Just lately I haven't seen her often. But we've been close friends. I think she'd do much for me.”

“Maybe there'll be a chance to find out. Maybe we'll need Ruth. Let's have a word with her. I haven't seen her out among the women.”

They stopped at the door of Ruth's cabin. It was closed. When Joe knocked there came a sound of footsteps inside, a hand drew aside the window-blind, and presently the door opened. Ruth stood there, dressed in somber hue. She was a pretty, slender, blue-eyed, brown-haired young woman.

Shefford imagined from her pallor and the set look of shock upon her face, that the tragedy had affected her more powerfully than it had the other women. When he remembered that she had been more friendly with Fay Larkin than any other neighbor, he made sure he was right in his conjecture.

“Come in,” was Ruth's greeting.

“No. We just wanted to say a word. I noticed you've not been out. Do you know—all about it?”

She gave them a strange glance.

“Any of the women folks been in?” added Joe.

“Hester ran over. She told me through the window. Then I barred my door to keep the other women out.”

“What for?” asked Joe, curiously.

“Please come in,” she said, in reply.

They entered, and she closed the door after them. The change that came over her then was the loosing of restraint.

“Joe—what will they do with Mary?” she queried, tensely.

The Mormon studied her with dark, speculative eyes. “Hang her!” he rejoined in brutal harshness.

“O Mother of Saints!” she cried, and her hands went up.

“You're sorry for Mary, then?” asked Joe, bluntly.

“My heart is breaking for her.”

“Well, so's Shefford's,” said the Mormon, huskily. “And mine's kind of damn shaky.”

Ruth glided to Shefford with a woman's swift softness.

“You've been my good—my best friend. You were hers, too. Oh, I know! ... Can't you do something for her?”

“I hope to God I can,” replied Shefford.

Then the three stood looking from one to the other, in a strong and subtly realizing moment drawn together.

“Ruth,” whispered Joe, hoarsely, and then he glanced fearfully around, at the window and door, as if listeners were there. It was certain that his dark face had paled. He tried to whisper more, only to fail. Shefford divined the weight of Mormonism that burdened Joe Lake then. Joe was faithful to a love for Fay Larkin, noble in friendship to Shefford, desperate in a bitter strait with his own manliness, but the power of that creed by which he had been raised struck his lips mute. For to speak on meant to be false to that creed. Already in his heart he had decided, yet he could not voice the thing.

“Ruth”—Shefford took up the Mormon's unfinished whisper—“if we plan to save her—if we need you—will you help?”

Ruth turned white, but an instant and splendid fire shone in her eyes.

“Try me,” she whispered back. “I'll change places with her—so you can get her away. They can't do much to me.”

Shefford wrung her hands. Joe licked his lips and found his voice: “We'll come back later.” Then he led the way out and Shefford followed. They were silent all the way back to camp.

Nas Ta Bega sat in repose where they had left him, a thoughtful, somber figure. Shefford went directly to the Indian, and Joe tarried at the camp-fire, where he raked out some red embers and put one upon the bowl of his pipe. He puffed clouds of white smoke, then found a seat beside the others.

“Shefford, go ahead. Talk. It'll take a deal of talk. I'll listen. Then I'll talk. It'll be Nas Ta Bega who makes the plan out of it all.”

Shefford launched himself so swiftly that he scarcely talked coherently. But he made clear the points that he must save Fay, get her away from the village, let her lead him to Surprise Valley, rescue Lassiter and Jane Withersteen, and take them all out of the country.

Joe Lake dubiously shook his head. Manifestly the Surprise Valley part of the situation presented a new and serious obstacle. It changed the whole thing. To try to take the three out by way of Kayenta and Durango was not to be thought of, for reasons he briefly stated. The Red Lake trail was the only one left, and if that were taken the chances were against Shefford. It was five days over sand to Red Lake—impossible to hide a trail—and even with a day's start Shefford could not escape the hard-riding men who would come from Stonebridge. Besides, after reaching Red Lake, there were days and days of desert-travel needful to avoid