The Man of the Forest by Zane Grey (read me like a book txt) 📗

“If it was a cougar—thet 'd scare him off,” said Anson.

“Shore, but it ain't a cougar,” replied Wilson. “Wait an' see!”

They all waited, listening with ears turned to different points, eyes roving everywhere, afraid of their very shadows. Once more the moan of wind, the mockery of brook, deep gurgle, laugh and babble, dominated the silence of the glen.

“Boss, let's shake this spooky hole,” whispered Moze.

The suggestion attracted Anson, and he pondered it while slowly shaking his head.

“We've only three hosses. An' mine 'll take ridin'—after them squalls,” replied the leader. “We've got packs, too. An' hell 'ain't nothin' on this place fer bein' dark.”

“No matter. Let's go. I'll walk an' lead the way,” said Moze, eagerly. “I got sharp eyes. You fellars can ride an' carry a pack. We'll git out of here an' come back in daylight fer the rest of the outfit.”

“Anson, I'm keen fer thet myself,” declared Shady Jones.

“Jim, what d'ye say to thet?” queried Anson. “Rustlin' out of this black hole?”

“Shore it's a grand idee,” agreed Wilson.

“Thet was a cougar,” avowed Anson, gathering courage as the silence remained unbroken. “But jest the same it was as tough on me as if it hed been a woman screamin' over a blade twistin' in her gizzards.”

“Snake, shore you seen a woman heah lately?” deliberately asked Wilson.

“Reckon I did. Thet kid,” replied Anson, dubiously.

“Wal, you seen her go crazy, didn't you?”

“Yes.”

“'An' she wasn't heah when you went huntin' fer her?”

“Correct.”

“Wal, if thet's so, what do you want to blab about cougars for?”

Wilson's argument seemed incontestable. Shady and Moze nodded gloomily and shifted restlessly from foot to foot. Anson dropped his head.

“No matter—if we only don't hear—” he began, suddenly to grow mute.

Right upon them, from some place, just out the circle of light, rose a scream, by reason of its proximity the most piercing and agonizing yet heard, simply petrifying the group until the peal passed. Anson's huge horse reared, and with a snort of terror lunged in tremendous leap, straight out. He struck Anson with thudding impact, knocking him over the rocks into the depression back of the camp-fire, and plunging after him. Wilson had made a flying leap just in time to avoid being struck, and he turned to see Anson go down. There came a crash, a groan, and then the strike and pound of hoofs as the horse struggled up. Apparently he had rolled over his master.

“Help, fellars!” yelled Wilson, quick to leap down over the little bank, and in the dim light to grasp the halter. The three men dragged the horse out and securely tied him close to a tree. That done, they peered down into the depression. Anson's form could just barely be distinguished in the gloom. He lay stretched out. Another groan escaped him.

“Shore I'm scared he's hurt,” said Wilson.

“Hoss rolled right on top of him. An' thet hoss's heavy,” declared Moze.

They got down and knelt beside their leader. In the darkness his face looked dull gray. His breathing was not right.

“Snake, old man, you ain't—hurt?” asked Wilson, with a tremor in his voice. Receiving no reply, he said to his comrades, “Lay hold an' we'll heft him up where we can see.”

The three men carefully lifted Anson up on the bank and laid him near the fire in the light. Anson was conscious. His face was ghastly. Blood showed on his lips.

Wilson knelt beside him. The other outlaws stood up, and with one dark gaze at one another damned Anson's chance of life. And on the instant rose that terrible distressing scream of acute agony—like that of a woman being dismembered. Shady Jones whispered something to Moze. Then they stood up, gazing down at their fallen leader.

“Tell me where you're hurt?” asked Wilson.

“He—smashed—my chest,” said Anson, in a broken, strangled whisper.

Wilson's deft hands opened the outlaw's shirt and felt of his chest.

“No. Shore your breast-bone ain't smashed,” replied Wilson, hopefully. And he began to run his hand around one side of Anson's body and then the other. Abruptly he stopped, averted his gaze, then slowly ran the hand all along that side. Anson's ribs had been broken and crushed in by the weight of the horse. He was bleeding at the mouth, and his slow, painful expulsions of breath brought a bloody froth, which showed that the broken bones had penetrated the lungs. An injury sooner or later fatal!

“Pard, you busted a rib or two,” said Wilson.

“Aw, Jim—it must be—wuss 'n thet!” he whispered. “I'm—in orful—pain. An' I can't—git any—breath.”

“Mebbe you'll be better,” said Wilson, with a cheerfulness his face belied.

Moze bent close over Anson, took a short scrutiny of that ghastly face, at the blood-stained lips, and the lean hands plucking at nothing. Then he jerked erect.

“Shady, he's goin' to cash. Let's clear out of this.”

“I'm yours pertickler previous,” replied Jones.

Both turned away. They untied the two horses and led them up to where the saddles lay. Swiftly the blankets went on, swiftly the saddles swung up, swiftly the cinches snapped. Anson lay gazing up at Wilson, comprehending this move. And Wilson stood strangely grim and silent, somehow detached coldly from that self of the past few hours.

“Shady, you grab some bread an' I'll pack a bunk of meat,” said Moze. Both men came near the fire, into the light, within ten feet of where the leader lay.

“Fellars—you ain't—slopin'?” he whispered, in husky amaze.

“Boss, we air thet same. We can't do you no good an' this hole ain't healthy,” replied Moze.

Shady Jones swung himself astride his horse, all about him sharp, eager, strung.

“Moze, I'll tote the grub an' you lead out of hyar, till we git past the wust timber,” he said.

“Aw, Moze—you wouldn't leave—Jim hyar—alone,” implored Anson.

“Jim can stay till he rots,” retorted Moze. “I've hed enough of this hole.”

“But, Moze—it ain't square—” panted Anson. “Jim wouldn't—leave me. I'd stick—by you.... I'll make it—all up to you.”

“Snake, you're goin' to cash,” sardonically returned Moze.

A current leaped all through Anson's stretched frame. His ghastly face blazed. That was the great and the terrible moment which for long had been