Читать книгу The Fugitive Trail - Zane Grey - Страница 4

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IN a moment, while Trinity was being turned face up to the starlight, a desperate instinct to save herself overcame her fright. Slipping her hand in her coat pocket, she tried to turn the gun against her assailant.

“Say, boy, what were you up to?” came in a fierce whisper.

Trinity recognized it. She lost her rigidity, and as she sank back her sombrero came off exposing her face and curly hair. At sight of them her captor released her with a sharp expulsion of breath.

“Trinity!”

“Hello, Bruce,” she replied in a whisper. “You nearly—broke my neck.”

He bent down to peer at her in amazement. Then, remembering the proximity of the outlaws, he enjoined silence and pulling her to her feet, led her away, keeping the clump of bushes between them and the men. Once back in the timber he halted and faced her.

“Girl, what were you doing there?” he asked in a low voice.

“Same as you—I’ll bet,” she replied.

“You were spying on Barse?”

“Yes.”

“Well, you little fool! But you’ve got nerve, unless you’ve no idea what hard hombres these are.”

“I know. I wanted to find out if Barse was with them. So did you!”

“Wrong. I know he’s in with them.”

“Oh, Bruce, I feared it!”

“He needed a scare. If today wasn’t enough, I’ll give him another.”

“Today!” she whispered tragically. “You spilled blood on his account.”

“Who told you?”

“Hal saw it all.”

“Uh-huh. I might have figured that d—— rooster would be around. I had to do it, Trinity, or Barse would have been in trouble—Come.”

Bruce led her silently through the timber to the trail and then asked her where she had left her horse. Then he led on. When they reached the dead tree he said, “My horse smelled yours when he passed heah.”

“Come home with me,” she entreated.

“No. I’m going to sneak up on that outfit. I’ve a hunch they’re plotting some deal. If I can find out what it is I can spoil it.”

“Yes, Belton means to pull something,” replied Trinity, and told Bruce what little she had overheard.

“The bank tomorrow—not if I can help it.... But never mind, Trin. You go home now.”

“Bruce, you’re going to run risk again? Fight—and—and maybe be shot!” faltered Trinity, suddenly prey to unaccountable emotion. His nearness affected her. Catching hold of his sleeves, she gazed up at him. How dark and stern he was.

“Sure I might get shot,” he replied in harsh bitterness. “Anyone would think you weren’t a Texan. And a lot you’d care—”

“Hush! Don’t say it. Bruce Lockheart ...” Her voice trailed away while her hands slipped up to his shoulders. They were longing to go round his neck and she would be powerless to stop them unless he repulsed her. His strong fearlessness attracted her much more than Barse’s weakness ever had.

Bruce uttered a short hard laugh. “That’s like a woman. Now the damage is done—and your conscience hurts—you let on—”

“Let on, nothing!” she interrupted passionately, deeply hurt. “I never said I didn’t care, Bruce.”

“What about Barse?” he asked quietly.

“I don’t know. I’m so mixed up.” Suddenly she stood on her toes and kissed him. She left him standing there as motionless as the tree, and running back to her mustang she untied him and mounted to urge him into the trail.

“Trin!” called Bruce poignantly.

But she dared not go back then. What had she been about to do? She was shaking all over, hot and cold by turns, appalled by a realization that she must really love Bruce Lockheart. No matter what her regard was for Barse or how she felt responsibility to save him, the fact was clear now that she loved Bruce. Events of the last two days had clarified her mind. The difference between these brothers had come home to her. Barse was not even a shadow of Bruce. Another backslide from Barse would earn a sickening contempt. And another fine gesture on the part of Bruce would upset her equilibrium disastrously.

It required several miles of keeping her mustang at a walk or slow trot for Trinity to fight down her feelings and gain composure enough to put her faculties onto this by no means safe return trip. Fortunately, she met no riders. When she got to more open trail she put the mustang to a lope, halting now and then to listen and peer ahead.

Several miles below the ranch Trinity turned off the trail and, climbing out of the hollow, crossed a section of range to a road that eventually brought her home. It was late. She unsaddled Buckskin and went quietly indoors. The excitement had exhausted her and she went to sleep promptly.

Next day she went about her tasks deeply pondering the backlash of her sentiments. Try as she might, Trinity could not dismiss an insistent call of her heart. Loyalty, pity, and responsibility urged Barse’s claim on her, but these were not love.

Spencer and Hal had gone to town. Trinity dreaded their return for fear of hearing more disturbing news. To delay this she went down to the river, hid in her shady bower, and thought and thought. Something more was going to happen before she could change her definite stand, which intuitively she dreaded she would. It had to happen.

Early in the afternoon a clip-clop of trotting horses coming on the trail from downstream brought Trinity up, keenly curious and watchful. She peeped from her leafy covert. Presently four riders hove in sight. The leader was Belton. But he looked different. The others appeared strangers to Trinity. Before they passed out of sight her sharp eyes made the observation that the men were garbed alike in black sombreros, dark vests and shirts, and blue overalls. They rode horses Trinity had never seen. She would remember a horse, his build, his color, and his gait more surely than she would his rider.

“That’s peculiar,” muttered Trinity, as she watched them disappear. “Those were fine horses. Spirited and racy. Outlaws’ horses.... What can Belton be up to? It can’t be any good-and I’ve a hunch ...”

She pondered the matter. If Spencer had been home, she would have hurried to tell him. She had happened on something dark afoot and should do something about it. But what? She was inhibited by Barse’s connection with these men and by her fear for Bruce.

“Oh, if Bruce would only come along! ... Maybe he will. I’ll wait.”

Hardly an hour had elapsed when Trinity heard rhythmic, swift hoofbeats of shod horses coming on the trail from town. They were approaching fast. Then she saw them. Four horsemen in single file. Fleetly as the horses sped by, she recognized the dark bays and the garb of their riders. Masked! The riders were masked with red scarfs. Despite this, she knew the last rider—Belton. He kept looking back. Then they were gone and only the ringing hoofbeats proved to Trinity that she had actually seen the flight of outlaws who had surely committed a crime.

No sooner had the sound of hoofs died away downstream when she heard others coming from upstream. Almost at once she espied two horses abreast, with their riders fighting. Then one of them caught the bridle of the other horse and hauled back on it. Both horses pounded to a stop in the trail scarcely fifty feet from Trinity. She stifled a scream and then fell prey to terror. The aggressive rider was Bruce Lockheart, white with passion, his eyes burning. The other man, in spite of a red mask, was easy for Trinity to recognize as Barse.

“Leggo! What d’you—mean—runnin’ me down?” panted Barse hoarsely.

“You know damn well. Pile off!” replied Bruce, cold and grim, as he leaped from his saddle.

“No! ... What ’n ’ell for? I’m slopin’ with Belton. Cain’t you see that?”

Bruce snatched the red scarf off Barse’s face and threw it down. Barse was pale and sweating. Then Bruce jerked him violently out of the saddle.

“Barse, you’ve no guts for a job like this. Belton made a sucker out of you.... Then rode off an’ left you. What’s in that sack? The holdup money?”

“No. Just my share.”

“Barse, did you drop that black sombrero during the raid on the bank?”

“It was shot—off my haid. See heah!” And Barse stuck a shaking finger through a bullet hole. “But I picked it up again.”

“Ahuh. Narrow shave. Suppose it had hit you? Left you lying in front of the bank for all the town to see! Fine for Mother and Trinity!”

“Aw, shut up. I tell you I’m slopin’ with Belton. If he misses me he’ll come back.”

“That’s what you think. An’ if he does, I’ll kill him damn pronto.... Barse, it’s all over town that one of the Lockheart boys was in the holdup.”

“Yeah? All the more reason for me to slope. I cain’t see why on earth you stopped me.”

“No, you couldn’t,” returned Bruce, in contempt. “If I’d been able to find you this morning I’d have stopped you before.” And when Barse tried to mount his horse, Bruce knocked him down. “Maybe you can savvy that.... Simmons, who shot your sombrero off your head, swore he recognized one of the Lockhearts, but could not tell which one.”

“Aw, you needn’t worry about bein’ accused. They’ll never think you was in the bank holdup.”

“I’ll make them believe it,” said Bruce, grimly, as he snatched Barse’s sombrero and traded his for it. “Get out of that vest and shirt.”

“You cain’t—mean—” gasped Barse.

“Yes, I do.... Heah, take mine.... Pronto now or I’ll slug you again.” Bruce tore the garments off the dazed Barse and with lightning-swift action made the exchange. Then he leaped astride Barse’s horse. “Listen sharp. Take my horse. Go home by the back way. Don’t let Mother see you change those overalls. Hide them. Then go in town, as if you didn’t know what’s happened. Savvy?”

“Yes—but—Bruce ...” Barse choked out in agony.

“It’s for Trinity’s—sake and Mother’s,” rejoined Bruce unsteadily. “Trin loves you.... Marry her—and go straight. Try to be a man instead of a yellow dog! Rustle now.... Don’t ever let Trinity know.”

Bruce spurred the horse down the bank into the swift stream. It was shallow and easy to wade. Bruce did not look back until he was climbing out on the other side. His dark face flashed. Then he was gone into the brush.

Trinity came out of her stupefaction and tried to cry out to call Bruce back. She was unable to utter a sound. When she turned she saw Barse ride out of sight. Trinity sank to the grass, prostrated by conflicting tides of bewilderment and distress.

Amazement, grief, and passion claimed Trinity in turn, and the last abided with her even after she had gained an outward calm. The facts burned into her mind. Barse was a thief and a coward. Bruce had sacrificed himself for love of her and a mistaken sense of loyalty, blindly believing he could save Barse and her happiness.

Barse and the situation there at home would not yet stay before her consciousness longer than a moment. Bruce swayed her now. She asked herself a hundred questions and answered nearly all of them. Bruce had taken the stolen money because that had been the only thing to do. He would become an outlaw; he would fight if cornered in order to save his life; then he might fall to the use of that bank money. But never before!

Into Trinity’s dark boding thought flashed an inspiration. Before it was too late she would trail Bruce, find him, share his fugitive life, prevail upon him to take her to far-away Arizona, and there begin anew. “Marry Barse now?” she soliloquized, with passion. “Never! Not if he was the last man on earth!” Whatever she had felt for Bruce leaped into worship. This realization and her resolve changed every aspect of past and present. It exalted her. It beat down her distress, her conflict. It gave her something to do that was worthy of Bruce. There was almost an ecstasy in the adventure, the hardship, the peril that must be met in trailing Bruce Lockheart into the vast wilds of Texas.

Trinity put off reveling in that dream to address herself to the immediate present. A few stern moments of concentration sufficed to make her plan and to decide how best to go about it. She would wait to see what developments unfolded the next day or so, and then she would leave.

Sunset was coloring the rolling landscape when she returned to the ranch. Supper was soon ready, but the men did not come home. After the meal Trinity sat out on the porch, consumed with anxiety and speculation. About dark the Spencers drove in. They looked taciturn and had no word for Trinity. Later, when they had a belated supper, she went in.

“Dad—Hal, why so glum?” she asked.

“Bad news, lass,” replied Spencer.

“Trin, the bank was held up today by five bandits,” added Hal.

“That’s no especial bad news,” said Trinity.

“But this hits you, dear.”

“How so?” she asked, affecting surprise.

“One of the masked bandits had his hat shot off. He was recognized. It—it was Br—one of the Lockheart boys,” stammered Hal.

“Hal, you were going to say Bruce,” returned Trinity sharply.

“Yes.... I’m damn sorry I was.”

“I don’t believe it.”

“Nobody did at first. But we had to.”

“Because Barse was around right after the holdup in his old clothes. Those robbers had on new outfits. Blue overalls and black hats.”

“And Bruce?” queried Trinity tersely.

“He was the last of six riders running his horse hell-bent down the river trail. Some boys saw him. Also Mrs. Perry. She heard horses tearing by her house. When she looked she absolutely recognized Bruce. He hasn’t been seen since.”

Spencer shook his head sadly. “If it hadn’t been for that! ... It looks bad.”

“Hal, did you see Barse?”

“Yes. About an hour after the robbery. He had heard and he was upset.”

“What did he say?” asked Trinity, intensely curious.

“Well, naturally he blew off. Said he was sorry for his mother. But he wasn’t surprised. Those years with the buffalo hunters had ruined Bruce.”

“So—Barse said that!” ejaculated Trinity, hardly able to conceal her rage.

Mrs. Spencer heaved a deep sigh and interposed: “It was easy to see Bruce had changed. That hard, wild life on the ranges! He could never settle down. But a bandit? It’s a pity. He was a real Texas lad. Worth ten of that lazy Barse! Oh, this Texas since the war!”

“Mother, you’re right,” agreed Spencer regretfully. “But it’s a queer deal I cain’t savvy.”

“Trin, what do you think about it?” asked Hal, eyes keen and kindly upon her.

“I—I hardly know—yet. I’m shocked,” returned Trinity.

“Don’t take it too hard, lass,” said the rancher. “Bruce was almost a stranger to us. Heah so little time. But for the disgrace an’ grief it wouldn’t have been so bad for his mother.”

“Barse was her favorite,” rejoined Mrs. Spencer. “Case of mother love for the weaker son.”

“Wal, in thet case it’s better it was Bruce who turned out bad,” said Spencer.

“But, Dad, Bruce was a grand fellow,” expostulated Hal resentfully. “Barse is no damn good!”

“Oh, son, I wouldn’t say that,” put in his mother.

“I’m sorry, Trin,” added Hal, fire in his eyes as he gazed hard at Trinity. “But it’s true. Aw, it all makes me sick.”

“Hal, I like you the better for what you say,” replied Trinity soberly. And she hurriedly went to her room, fearing she might betray more than she thought wise.

Trinity began at once to pack her clothes in a bag, and her few treasures, and to get out her savings, which she had not counted for a long while. She was elated to find that she had several hundred dollars. It seemed a fortune. She had been working and saving for her marriage.

She heard Hal say: “Trin took it kind of cool. I wonder ...”

“The girl was flabbergasted,” replied his mother.

“No wonder. So was I.”

Spencer added in his deep voice: “Son, I’ll bet she never marries Barse now. Then your chance will come.”

“Never for me, Dad.”

Trinity saw in this another reason why she had to run away. Hal knew her and he suspected that all about this bank robbery was not as it seemed. When Trinity had gone, he would guess the truth. But Trinity did not care about that.

She turned out the light and went to bed. Sleep did not soon come. Before she succumbed to it she had conquered her emotions. She would leave Denison on the morrow, stopping the stagecoach at the crossroads near the Spencer ranch. She wanted intensely to see Barse, but if he did not present himself in the morning she would wait no longer.

Trinity slept so late that Mrs. Spencer had to call her. “Get up, you lazy girl! Barse is heah an’ wants to see you.”

“He can wait,” answered Trinity. By the time she had dressed she was ready for Barse Lockheart.

Mrs. Spencer said, “Mawnin’, Trin. Your friend is all spruced up like he was goin’ to a party. I’d think more of him if he’d been down in the mouth.”

“So would I, Mom.... I’ll see him before I have breakfast.” She went out. Barse was sitting on the porch. He had on his best suit and was clean shaven. Trinity was hardly prepared for his almost debonair manner. She remembered him as he had spoken his last broken words of shame or regret to Bruce. But Trinity had steeled herself for anything. The easiest way for her was to deceive him.

“Howdy, Barse. You’re up early—for you,” she greeted him brightly.

“You’ve heahed—about Bruce?” he asked hesitatingly, but he was hopeful. He had not expected to find her like this.

“Yes. Hal told me last night. I’m horribly disappointed in Bruce.”

“You can bet I was too,” replied Barse hurriedly, and the uneasy uncertainty left him.

“How’d your mother take it?”

“Ma hasn’t been told yet.”

“Oh! Are you going to keep it from her?”

“Long as I can.... Trin, this thing has jerked me up hard. Bruce had me fooled, same as he had you and everybody. His preaching and trying to reform me was all a blind. His shooting Henderson and that card sharp was all in line with his plan. It’d have worked, too, if he hadn’t been recognized.”

“Bruce seems to have had it all planned,” replied Trinity, gazing serenely at Barse.

“Trin, you—you won’t let this make any difference between us?”

“Why no, Barse, I certainly won’t.”

“That’s great, Trin, and mighty sweet of you. I reckon then we needn’t wait any longer?”

“Wait? For what?”

“Why—to be married,” he returned, swallowing hard. Despite his nerve, that was hard to get out.

“I suppose not, Barse,” she said in the same even voice. “Come over tonight and we’ll see.”

“Aw, Trin, that’s just great!”

“I’ve plenty to do and I haven’t had any breakfast yet.”

“I’ll go right home and be back tonight.”

“Good-by then, until—” Trinity left more unsaid and went in.

“Trinity, did you settle it with Barse?” inquired Mrs. Spencer, a little caustically.

“Yes, I settled it,” rejoined Trinity briefly.

“Well, I cain’t help saying that it’s a pity you settled on Barse Lockheart,” went on the older woman bitterly. “You—who had the pick of the young men! ... Take Hal, for instance. It’s beyond me how and why you chose Barse instead of my son. Hal is worth a dozen Barses.”

“He is, indeed. But it’s not a question of worth.”

“Then you love Barse so well you don’t care how worthless he is?”

“Love him! ... I despise Barse Lockheart.”

“Girl! Are you out of your haid?”

“You’ll think I am, Mother.”

“I certainly don’t savvy you. For Hal’s sake—and all of us—I’ll be glad when you’re gone.” Mrs. Spencer, usually kindly, spoke with a heat unusual for her.

“That—won’t be long!” Trinity broke down, and weeping bitterly went to her room. But she recovered quickly. Mrs. Spencer’s statement made the situation easier for her. Presently she went out to her breakfast.

“I’m sorry, Trin. Don’t mind what I said. You’ve been a good girl and we all love you. Too well, I reckon.” Mrs. Spencer spoke contritely.

“And I love you all. Don’t forget that,” answered Trinity.

“I’m going to town today,” returned Mrs. Spencer. “Want to go along?”

“No, indeed, I don’t.”

“Well, I don’t blame you. There’ll be a lot of gossip. And everybody will be curious about you.”

What with her tasks and state of mind, Trinity found the hours short. The stage usually left Denison about one o’clock and was due at the forks shortly afterward. She felt relief that she was alone. It was difficult for her to write the few words to her foster mother explaining her action. And she left that task until it was almost time to go. After eating a hurried lunch she went to her room and put on her best dress and bonnet. She realized she was forsaking the only home she had ever known, but such was her absorption in her adventure that she did not then feel any grief. She was in a hurry to go. Someone might come. Taking up her bag, Trinity went out. She was astounded to be confronted by Barse Lockheart.

“Hello, Trin! ... What’s this? All dressed up—and a bag!” he ejaculated.

“Barse, I’m going away for a little while,” she replied, and walked off the porch.

“What the hell!” he burst out, in consternation. “Going away?—Like hob you are!” And he blocked her path.

“I said I was taking a trip,” continued Trinity spiritedly. She felt the rise and spread of a hot wave in her breast. It would be dangerous to cross her at this time. Still she hoped to avoid a quarrel.

“And I said you are like hob!” he retorted, anger succeeding amazement. “It’s got a queer look—your going away without telling us.”

“I don’t care what it looks. I decided I wanted to go.”

“Trin, I’ll bet you decided more than that.” He had paled and the freckles stood out on his sallow face. His eyes were narrowing with an ugly look. “But I won’t let you go.”

“You won’t? Barse Lockheart, you can’t stop me,” she cried, losing her temper.

He tried to snatch the bag out of her hand, but Trinity held it and jerked away.

“You didn’t mean it!” he burst out.

“No!”

“You were going away on me?”

“Yes.”

“You never meant to marry me?”

“I meant to once—but never now!”

“What? ... Now! You double-crossing cat!”

“Sure I was double-crossing you.”

He slapped Trinity, and she returned the blow with stinging good measure.

“How in hell can I figure you?” he shouted, shamed and infuriated.

“Barse, let’s talk straight.... I was out on the river trail yesterday.”

“Yeah! And what of that?” he raged.

“I was hidden. I saw you and Bruce.”

“You couldn’t have been close to us. And I reckon you imagined a lot.”

“Such as what?” retorted Trinity, in scorn.

“Lord only knows. The fact was, Bruce tried to ring me in on his bank robber deal.”

“Just how did Bruce try that?”

“Why, trading horses with me—taking my sombrero and vest—”

“What for?” cut in Trinity bitingly.

“I—I reckon to disguise himself—to get away——”

“You liar!” Trinity’s voice rang out in passionate contempt. “Bruce took your horse, your clothes, your stolen money to save you—you thief! You let him shoulder your crime. You coward! You haven’t a spark of manhood in you.... Bruce had a delusion that I cared for you. He wanted to save you. He was noble—great. And I love him. I love him! ... I’m going to trail him—find him—share his life.... Go back to town and tell. Tell the truth. Ha! I bet you won’t. If I could prove it I’d tell them myself. Now get out of my way, you white-faced sneak! I’m going and I’m happy to see the last of you.”

Trinity saw Barse sink to a seat on the porch, his head bowed, his whole frame shaking. Then she wheeled and ran out to the lane; slowing to a swift walk, she made for the road. In that fiery outburst she had rid herself of congested feelings. She was the better for surrendering to fury. She was glad Barse had come.

It was a mile out to the road. By the time she had reached it she was herself again. She saw the stage coming. To get in it would be an ordeal, if any passengers knew her. Facing around, she took a last look at the ranch, at the home she was forsaking, at the cattle and horses along the river. “Good-by! Oh, good-by!” she murmured, as her eyes dimmed and her heart pounded.

Trinity had decided to go to Doan’s Post and listen for word of Bruce. To do this she had to spend the night at Ryson and catch the Red River stage in the morning.

The ride to Ryson was uneventful. Settling herself comfortably, Trinity watched the landscape roll by, feeling with each mile a slow detachment from the Spencers and all they had meant to her. Ahead was a new life, one of duty, honor, love; and she prayed with the utmost faith that she would find Bruce before he became hardened and drifted toward evil.

The range the stage traversed was rolling plain, criss-crossed by streams and fertile bottom land, with the levels beginning to give a green tinge to the waning gray. Cattle dotted the range; here and there a ranch house showed amid trees; farmers were plowing fields; the undulating country stretched away illimitably, in the dim hazy distance hinting of the reach and wild that was Texas.

Trinity at last fell asleep. She was awakened by the jar of the stage coming to a halt. They had arrived at Ryson, a wayside hamlet where the branch stage line ended. There was a tavern, with the inevitable saloon and lolling, bold-eyed cowboys. Trinity was glad to finish supper and hurry to her room and bar her door.

Strange surroundings and voices, and loud revelry from the tavern saloon, kept Trinity awake a long time. But she got to sleep at last and awoke refreshed and eager. She had always longed to travel, to see new places and faces, and to experience all of Texas.

The main-line stage arrived just as Trinity finished breakfast. It was a huge vehicle drawn by four horses. She hastened to pack her bag and make ready for the long day’s ride, at once thrilled and concerned by the prospect. The innkeeper got her transportation and carried out her bag, very kind and attentive.

“Are there many passengers?” asked Trinity.

“Always packed, miss,” he replied. “But you’ll get the best seat. Don’t mind the cowboys. They’re nice fellows.”

Trinity was the first one to get in. She felt shy to be the cynosure of many eyes. Several passengers followed. Evidently all had disembarked there for breakfast. Then she became tinglingly aware that four cowboys were throwing dice to see who could win a seat next to her. They were quite serious about it and their talk abashed her. Still she thought she had better take stock of them. They were typical Texas cowboys, young in years but old in range experience, tall, slim, round-limbed, three of them towheaded and blue-eyed, with darkly tanned faces. They wore heavy sombreros, high boots, and overalls. Trinity did not miss the fact that they all packed guns.

Presently the four piled into the coach from the side opposite Trinity. The one who carefully deposited his long length next to her removed his sombrero to disclose a keen, handsome face, with intent eyes and a smile which softened the stern features.

“Mawnin’, miss,” he said pleasantly. “I reckon I’d better introduce myself now than later. It’s a long day ahaid an’ we’re shore packed in heah.... I’m Lige Tanner from down Nueces way.”

He was so sincere and winning that Trinity felt impelled to reply in like spirit.

“Trinity! Wal, I’ve heahed thet name before. Somebody mentioned it to me. Shore is onusual an’ pretty.... These boys heah are my pards. We’re part of the Nueces cattle outfit rollin’ home from a tough drive to Dodge with three thousand haid of longhorns.”

“Three thousand head! Somehow I knew you were all trail drivers.”

“Aw, thet’s not so good,” replied one of the two who had pushed themselves into a seat opposite Trinity. “Cowboys haven’t the bad name common to trail drivers.”

“I never heard of a distinction,” said Trinity.

“Miss Spencer, it’s just thet us drivers have graduated into hard ridin’, drinkin’, an’ fightin’,” added Tanner.

“Couldn’t you be hard riders without the other?” asked Trinity, her eyes twinkling.

“Laws no, miss. When we reach the end of the three months’ drive up thet tumble Chisum Trail we gotta get drunk an’ blow off steam. Else we’d never forget the work an’ heat an’ flood—the Injuns an’ the rustlers.”

“It’s a pity. But some riders have to take cattle north. That’s what is saving Texas.”

“Heah thet, pards? There’s a girl for a trail driver’s wife!”

“No such luck,” responded Tanner ruefully. “Miss Spencer, may I ask where you’re bound for?”

“Doan’s Post is my first stop,” replied Trinity, awakening to possibilities for information and help.

“Now, boys, ain’t thet fine? Two whole days with Miss Spencer on this stage! Our luck’s shore in.... But if you’ll excuse me, what you mean—yore first stop?”

“I may have to ride all over Texas.”

“Indeed. Lucky you.... Sorta onusual for a young girl like you.... Tryin’ to find someone?”

“Yes,” sighed Trinity.

“Parents or relative?”

“No. I have neither.”

“You’re an orphan?” he queried incredulously, his blue eyes kindling.

“Yes. I was raised by kind people named Spencer.... When I was a child I was lost or deserted on the Trinity River. Spencer found me. Called me Trinity.”

“Say, now I remember!” he exclaimed, with great zest. “I’ve heahed of you. I know yore story.”

“You do! Texas is a small world, after all. Who told you?”

Tanner appeared to forget the others, he was so deeply stirred. “Best pard I ever had! Greatest hombre I ever knew! He saved my life down on the Colorado. Say, was he swift with a gun! ... I spent half a year huntin’ buffalo an’ fightin’ redskins with him. Then he took a trail drive with me. It ended only six months ago. An’ just before he left me he told me about Trinity.”

“Buffalo hunting—you said?” faltered Trinity, feeling the hot blood beat and swell along her veins.

“Yes. Thet was the job he liked best.... You must have knowed him.”

Trinity hesitated before replying. She had to know if news of the holdup had traveled on ahead of her; if Bruce’s name had been connected with it yet. She decided to take the chance.

“Was your friend’s name—B-Bruce Lockheart?”

“Wal, I should smile! An’ you’re thet Trinity? I shore am glad to meet you.... Boys, we didn’t meet up with a stranger. This girl is a friend of the best pard I ever had. You’ve heahed me talk of him. Bruce Lockheart?”

“Lige, I reckon we have. Many a time,” replied one of Tanner’s comrades.

“Specially when things was goin’ bad an’ you needed some humdinger of a hombre,” added another.

Trinity was powerless to resist the impulse that swayed her. “Bruce is my—my—friend.... We—we quarreled. He rode away. I am going to find him.”

“Bruce’s girl! Wal, if this ain’t the best ever!” shouted Tanner, and he gripped her hands. His eyes shone upon her. “I cain’t figger how Bruce could ever have rid away—from you. But he was a queer, proud fellow. Sort of touchy about his reputation.”

“Yes, he was.”

“Wal, Bruce could never hold out against you,” avowed Tanner cheerfully. “When did he leave?”

“Three days ago. Last Saturday.”

“You’ll ketch up with Bruce at Doan’s.”

“He was in a hurry. Suppose I miss him?”

“Thet’d be bad. When he takes to the trails you cain’t follow him.”

“Why not? I can ride, track a horse, make camp, take care of myself.”

“Wal, I don’t doubt thet. You shore look capable. But south and west of Doan’s it’s buffalo country for hundreds of miles. Too dangerous for a girl alone.”

“I make a good boy rider, Mr. Tanner.”

“Aw, you’re too pretty. You could never fool me.”

“I’ll bet I could.”

“Let’s hope you’ll not have to disguise yoreself. Why, thet’d be a downright shame. Wait till we get to Doan’s. Mebbe you won’t need to borrow more trouble.... Tell me about Bruce. Then I’ll tell you what I been through with him.”

The ensuing hours and day sped by for Trinity on the wings of story after story of wonderful adventure, related by a stanch admirer of Bruce Lockheart, and which in the simplest words made him a hero. How little had Trinity really known about the work and exploits of Bruce Lockheart. He was famous on the frontier. It was terrible to realize that soon he would become infamous. She must find him, at any risk, and take him far away from Texas.

They spent the night at a ranch house fifty miles south of Ryson. Next day they traveled beyond the ranch country into the real Texas wilds. Trinity saw her first herd of buffalo, a black dust-raising patch moving north on the horizon. The sight flushed her cheeks and brought a lump to her throat. The keen Tanner called her a buffalo hunter in the making. The endless purple plains fascinated Trinity. She gazed until her eyes ached.

Late in the day the cowboy pointed to a meandering line of green timber and groves of trees in the distance.

“Thet’s the ole Red River runnin’ there, Miss Trinity, an’ do I hate her? ... Shore glad we don’t have to cross her again this trip. Doan’s Post lays beyond the timber to the left. We’ll get in about dark.”

Darkness did settle down before Trinity could view Doan’s Post. But she saw campfires and clumps of horses and heard the bawling of cattle.

“There’s a trail herd in, miss,” said Tanner. “Haided north, of course. Doan’s will shore be interestin’ to you. Show whether you’re a tenderfoot or not. Ha! Ha!”

Soon yellow lights flared out of the gloom, disclosing a huge square edifice which was the trading post. The driver hauled up his two teams with a grand flourish.

“Doan’s Post! All out!” he called lustily.

A circle of Indians and cowboys sprang up as if by magic.

“Jim, look after Miss Trinity while I run in an’ see if Bruce is heah,” said Tanner, leaping out of the stage.

“Come, miss.... It’s a high step an’ I reckon you’re stiff from thet long ride,” spoke up the cowboy Jim, helping Trinity down. “There. Right this way.”

He led Trinity through a gauntlet of sloe-eyed Indians and bold smiling cowboys into the building. A huge colorful room, bright with yellow lights and an open fireplace, greeted her pleasantly. There were shelves and counters laden with merchandise, and from the rafters hung a multiplicity of utensils and tools. But Trinity’s eager glance sought among the men assembled there one dark face she yearned, yet dreaded to see.

Lige Tanner came quickly toward her, ahead of several men.

“Bruce left heah yesterday,” he said hurriedly and low. “An’ am I glad! You savvy, Trinity?”

His eyes were sharp, sympathetic, warning.

“Oh—yes. I savvy!” she whispered.

Then the others came abreast of Tanner. “I’m Tom Doan,” said the foremost, a stalwart bearded man, unmistakably curious. “So you’re Trinity Spencer?”

“Yes, Mr. Doan, I am.”

“Right glad to meet you, miss. I know yore folks. My wife will look after you. Supper’s about ready. But first let me introduce Captain Maggard, Texas Ranger. He rode in today on thet hurry call from Denison.”

Trinity steeled herself around a sinking heart. Tanner had warned her. The ill news had reached Doan’s Post.

“Good evenin’, Miss Spencer,” spoke up the tawny giant beside Doan. He had the uncompromising face of a Texas Ranger. She felt the flame of his eyes, but his manner was cool, courteous, gallant. “I’d shore have been pleased to meet you any time. But this is most opportune for me. I want to heah all about these holdups at Denison. I sent two of my Rangers on the trail of this Bruce Lockheart. What do you know about him?”