Читать книгу The Untamed Ben Ide - Zane Grey - Страница 10

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Ben and Nevada were intensely eager to see the trap Modoc spoke of with such assurance, but they were advised by the Indian to wait until a more favorable time. What little wind there was appeared to favor the horses. Toward late afternoon, however, it veered to the west and freshened a little. Whereupon Modoc took up an ax and some large nails, and bidding his comrades follow he set off on foot.

Modoc led them down out of the forest upon the lava. Like a tumultuous iron-crusted sea it waved and billowed before them, presenting a most sinister aspect. Once molten, it was now hard as steel, and broken into every conceivable manner of split, fissure, crack, cave, and cavern, colored in rusty drab lanes. Pine trees, saplings, and brush grew marvelously right out of the crevices, apparently without earth as sustenance and foundation for their roots. Many of the pines had lately died, and as many more were beginning to turn yellow at the tops, betraying starvation by thirst.

As the hunters with difficulty progressed westward, the violence of the lava stream gradually smoothed out, but the great blow-holes grew larger and more numerous. Ben peered into caves huge enough to hide a church. The whole stratum of lava appeared to be honeycombed into a labyrinthine maze of holes, passages, caves.

At length Modoc halted on the brushy tree-bordered rim of the largest depression Ben had seen. It was over an acre in extent, precipitous on three sides, and shelving very roughly on the fourth side. Deep and flat-floored, it formed a remarkable natural corral. Ben’s sharp eye was quick to note where a trail had been worn, narrow and sharp and steep at the rim, and gradually growing broader and easier of descent until it resembled a road. It led into a gigantic cavern.

“Geemanee!” ejaculated Nevada. “Made to order!”

“Modoc, the water’s down in that cave,” asserted Ben, eagerly, pointing.

“Big hole full water. No bottom. Ice all over,” replied the Indian.

“By golly! Nevada, we’re rich. Let’s go round to the head of that trail and have a look.”

Ben had heard from the Indian how the Modocs used to lie in ambush around this cave, watch at night for the wild horses to go down to drink, then run and block the narrow place where the trail led over the rim. How absurdly simple the trap! The moment Ben laid eyes upon the head of the trail he felt almost shame to be guilty of catching wild horses so easily. There were, however, two great difficulties. One was that only in rarely occurring, extremely dry seasons were the wild horses driven to this extremity. And secondly after they were trapped in the cave, to get them out safely was a hazardous and strenuous undertaking. That did not in the least daunt Ben; he had a way with horses, and as for Nevada, the cowboy was incomparable with a lasso.

Modoc shuffled away to begin chopping down saplings. When Ben had gazed his fill at that fascinating trap he drew Nevada away with him to help the Indian. They built a gate, so heavy that they had difficulty in carrying it to the objective point, where they partially hid it under brush. Two great boulders of lava, one on each side of the trail, attested to their use as anchors for trap-gates in the past.

“Doggone!” ejaculated Nevada, after heaving one of the boulders into better place. “Is this all the work we have to do? Shame to take the money!”

“The worst is to come,” replied Ben, in grim satisfaction.

“You mean gettin’ the hosses up out of there an’ movin’ them, after we do ketch them?” queried Nevada.

“I sure do. It’ll be the toughest job we ever tackled.”

Whereupon the cowboy subsided, and lost his enthusiasm in thoughtfulness. On the return to camp Modoc explained one of the methods adopted by the Indians for capturing the horses after they had been trapped. It was to let one or two out of the gate at a time and rope them. But Ben could not accept this plan as practical for him. The Indians wanted only a few horses, while he wanted many. It would take time to capture them.

“Well, let’s wait till we see how many we trap and how good they are,” decided Ben, finally.

“Reckon I figger same way,” replied Nevada. “I’ve an idee, though, an’ it’s pretty darn slick.”

They hurried through with their camp chores, and before daylight had failed they were snugly hidden on a high point of lava near the cave. Modoc had located the trail used by the horses coming in to drink, and had chosen the hiding place with keen regard to the direction of the wind.

Their plan was to take turns at sleeping and watching. Ben chose the early watch, and while his comrades rolled in their blankets he composed himself to a task full of infinite joy for him.

Night fell black. One by one stars appeared in the sky. A cool wind with a breath of snow came down from the lava heights. At intervals sounds of the wilderness broke the silence; and of these the honking of wild geese thrilled him most. They passed very high overhead, bound to the far north, late in their pilgrimage. From the flat country toward Mule Deer Lake the sharp staccato notes of coyotes pierced the loneliness. Then from a far ridge pealed down the wild mourn of a wolf. An owl hooted weirdly. Next Ben heard the slow, shuffling, scratching progress of a porcupine working across the lava near at hand. Then followed a swift silky rush of wild fowl flying low. The rustling of brush, the snapping of twigs, the rolling of bits of lava, the faint cracking of hoofs on hard substance acquainted Ben with the fact that deer were going down into the cave to drink. Also he caught the soft padded footsteps of a heavier animal.

These sounds of the wild were as familiar to Ben as the voices of his comrades. Yet he never tired of them. There was something about them which he could not understand. But love of them had always been in him. And this kind of a lonely vigil seemed full and all-satisfying.

Ben chose not to wake his comrades, except once to shake Nevada, who was blissfully snoring. He did not need sleep; he did not care to miss any of this night. It came to him, finally, that there was something extraordinarily more beautiful about it all—the velvet blue sky, the white stars, the silver forecast of the moon behind the black ridge, the night with its rare wild sounds, the peace of the wilderness, the glory of the solitude. And he divined that his love for Ina Blaine was responsible for this. At that hour he felt only exaltation. Unhappiness could not abide in him. The overmastering love that had grown so suddenly was something great in his heart, too splendid a privilege, too profound a gift ever to hurt him again. At such an hour, in such a place, he could feel the mystery and significance of his life.

The moon soared white and grand above the mountain and the black mantle that had obscured the billowy lava beds seemed lifted away. The soft night wind all but died away, and the wild sounds ceased. The majesty of utter solitude held full sway until Ben’s rapt abstraction broke to the crack of hard hoofs on hard rock. A suffocating excitement gripped Ben. The wild horses were coming to drink! Long past midnight it was. He waited a moment to revel in his strange joy before awakening his companions.

At a touch of hand Modoc raised himself cautiously and turned his head to one side. “Ugh!” he whispered.

Nevada was harder to awaken, and noisy when he did rouse himself. “My Gawd! I dreamed I roped California Red an’ gave him to Hettie an’ you shot me!”

“Quiet! you big cowpuncher!” said Ben, bending low over him. “The wild horses are coming.”

Instantly Nevada’s lax length stiffened, and he rolled over noiselessly. “Now you’re talkin’, pard,” he whispered. “Aha! I hear them. Steppin’ along right pert.”

“Wind good. No scare. We have luck. Catch lot,” whispered the Modoc.

Ben had not yet been able to get the exact direction from which the horses were coming, but he kept his gaze riveted on the gray depression where the trail ran. The sound of hoofs came faintly, then distinctly, and all but ceased—to begin again. Gradually the faint clip-clops, the sharp cracks, the clear rings augmented into a steady rhythm. Then as it ceased near at hand it seemed to move away to die in the distance. Ben knew this happened when the leaders halted and the others strung out behind gradually followed suit.

“Ugh! See ’em,” whispered Modoc.

Dark shadows began to form in the gray obscurity. Ben felt thrilling expectation and satisfaction. Who would not be a wild-horse hunter? He preferred his state to that of kings. Yet on the instant a pang pierced his joy. No chance of California Red being leader of this band! The great stallion was not to be caught in caves.

Nevada laid a clutching hand on Ben. “Look! way over heah!” he whispered.

Ben withdrew his gaze from the gray depression out of which the dark forms were coming, and looked down upon the moon-blanched lava. A noble black stallion stood shining in the moonlight. He had come around a huge abutment ahead of the string of horses Ben had been watching. Obviously he was the leader. He looked rough and wild. But evidently his halt was only the caution of leadership. He stood motionless until a string of horses filed from behind the lava bank and another column filed up out of the gray depression, then proceeded toward the cave and disappeared over the rim. Long lines of horses followed him, blacks and grays, spotted and light, to mass in a dark group at the head of the trail. Ben heard the rattling and cracking of pieces of lava, the uneasy tramp of many hoofs. He crouched there transfixed with the excitement of the moment. Nevada was whispering to himself. The Indian rose noiselessly to his feet.

“Get ready to run!” whispered Ben, also rising.

“Give them time,” said Nevada. “Nothin’ on their minds but a nice cold drink.”

It seemed long to Ben before the last of that black mass of horses melted over the rim. He waited in a tingling suspense until the crackling, rolling, rattling sounds became fused by distance, then gave the word to run. Ben was a swift runner and Nevada had long legs, but the Indian beat both of them to the rim and was dragging at the heavy gate when they arrived.

“All together,” whispered Ben, hoarsely, laying hold of the gate. “Now, heave.”

They staggered with the heavy burden to the wide crack in the rim. In a few more seconds the opening was covered, the huge rocks in place to hold the gate.

Then Ben stood up, wet with sweat, and stared speechlessly at the cool cowboy.

“Wal, Ben, how aboot my hunch now?” he drawled.

“Hunch?” echoed Ben.

“Shore. Aboot the change in our luck. Reckon you was so crazy you couldn’t see. But I figgered there was over a hundred haid of horses in that bunch. They’re trapped. They’re ours. Nothin’ to it but a little work. An’ what do we care for work?”

“Nevada—your hunch—must be straight,” panted Ben, sitting down and wiping his wet face. “My heavens! how easy! It’s too good to be true.”

“Nope. It’s good enough to be true. When we ketch California Red—then you can rave. This is all just in the day’s work for us.”

“Let’s get back—from the rim,” said Ben, rising to peer into the huge shadowy abyss. One side was black in gloom, the other silver in the moonlight. The wild horses did not yet know that they had been trapped. Hollow ring of hoofs came from the cavern. It seemed tremendously deep and large, magnified by the night.

“Wal, heah’s my idee,” began Nevada, very businesslike, when they had moved back from the rim. “It’s a big haul of wild hosses. They’ll be some fine ones, an’ a lot of good stock. It’ll cost money to save them, but nothin’ compared to what they’re worth. Send Modoc to Hammell for hay an’ grain, wire an’ rope an’ nails. We’ll need a couple wagon loads of stuff. We can pack in heah from the road. While Modoc is gone we’ll cut fence posts. We’ll build a big corral. We’ll feed them hosses, an’ when we’re ready we’ll let some up into the corral where we can ketch them. A few at a time, while the main bunch down there is gettin’ used to us. Huh?”

“It’s a grand idea, Nevada,” averred Ben. “If there are as many as you think we’ll be a month and more on the job.”

“Ben, you know a bunch of hosses at night is always deceivin’,” said Nevada, seriously. “Even a small bunch will have a lot of hosses. An’ that was an awful big bunch crowdin’ to go down the trail.”

“Nevada, you’re a comforting cuss,” returned Ben, happily. He breathed a long deep sigh. “By golly! Some day——”

“Ahuh!” drawled Nevada, interrupting. “Don’t you try to steal my hunch. Suppose we take another little snooze.”

“Not me!” exclaimed Ben, shortly. “Dawn is not far away. I’ll sit up.”

“Wal, it’s shore nice to be in love, but I got to sleep, an’ eat regular, too.”

Modoc, who had been standing to one side, suddenly uttered a low exclamation. Then he said: “More wild horse come.”

Instantly Ben and Nevada became silent statues.

“Shore as you’re born,” whispered the cowboy, in elation.

Ben was the last to hear the unmistakable dull thud and slow clip-clop of hoofs.

“Catch lot more,” announced the Indian.

“By golly! Ben, we shore can,” returned Nevada, now excited. “Listen. You see the bunch we’ve trapped are far down in the cave drinkin’, an’ waitin’ for their turn. They don’t know they’re ketched. Wal, we can raise the gate, stand it to one side, an’ hide close by. Some of the new hosses will go down shore.”

Ben felt the leap of temptation, but he found strength to deliberate, and attractive as the idea was he decided against it.

“We’ll let well enough alone,” he said. “A bird in the hand, you know. We might catch more. But we stand a chance to lose what we’ve got. Suppose the horses down there would start a stampede up that trail. We could never close the gate on them. It’s too risky.”

“Wal, second thought is best. I reckon you’re right,” returned Nevada, reluctantly. “An’ even if our luck held we might ketch too many to handle.”

It seemed to Ben that the moon would never go down and dawn never come. To and fro he strolled over the lava, under the pines, revolving thoughts new to him. Several times a trampling, snorting uproar came from the cave. The trap was an efficient affair, because in the upper part of the trail there was room for only one horse at a time. With the gate closed over the outlet the horses could not get started. Ben had an idea they would give up rather quickly for wild horses.

At length the moon went down and gradually the gray obscurity turned to black shadow. The darkest hour came and passed. Then a faint brightening in the east told of the approach of day. Soon the sky lightened and turned rose; the shadows paled and vanished; quickly then, it seemed, day was at hand.

Ben and his two companions crawled into a covert of brush and peeped over the rim of the cave. Nevada evidently got the first glimpse of the wild horses, for he gave Ben a tremendous punch that all but knocked both breath and sight out of him. It certainly was not because Ben discovered anything that he returned the punch with good measure. In another instant, however, he saw clearly. The white ash floor of the great hole was covered with wild horses, and toward the ascent where the trail started up horses were packed closely. A line of them narrowed up the trail clear to the top. They stood motionless, dejected, as if they knew their case was hopeless.

Ben drew back to relax and collect his wits. Nevada kept looking for a long time. When at length he did move back to confront Ben his face was alight with amaze and joy, and his disheveled black hair appeared to stand on end.

“By—golly!” he whispered, hoarsely. “Did you see that bunch of hosses?”

“I—sure did—but not very clear,” replied Ben, breathlessly.

“Pard, we’re rich!”

“Oh, now, Nevada, don’t you go off your head,” whispered Ben, hurriedly.

Modoc drew back to join his two comrades. His bronze face was wreathed in a smile seldom seen there.

“Lot horses all good,” he said.

“Ben, I’m knocked into a cocked hat,” whispered the cowboy. “There’s at least a hundred an’ fifty haid in that bunch. Reckon I never seen a finer lot of wild hosses.”

“Let’s peep again, then chase back to camp and get things started,” said Ben.

This time Ben took his fill gazing, and his sober conclusion was that Nevada had not exaggerated in the least. What a splendid catch! Ben could not locate the magnificent black stallion that had been the leader, but he saw enough individually fine horses to fulfill the most exacting hopes of a wild-horse hunter.

“Reckon they might just as well have a look at us,” said Nevada, and rising he exposed himself on the rim. Ben got up in time to see the horses break into a trampling, whistling, plunging uproar. They surged from one side to the other, plunged at the ascent, only to press closer into a dense mass. Many on the outside ran back into the dark cavern; some pounded at the steep iron walls; those on the trail were crowded off to admit of others. A cloud of white and red dust rose to hide them. Nevada called down to the captured horses, but in the din Ben could not distinguish what he said. Drawing the cowboy back, Ben led him in the steps of Modoc, who was hurrying toward camp.

They partook merrily of a hearty breakfast. Then after Modoc had been dispatched posthaste on the important mission, Ben and Nevada set to work in grim earnest on the long strenuous task.

During the day they often left off cutting poles and posts to walk around the rim of the cave, purposely showing themselves to the trapped horses. On each occasion a terrific mêlée ensued. The second day was like the first, and on the third the wild horses began to get used to their captors.

Modoc arrived eventually with all Ben’s pack horses heavily laden, and he announced the wagons would reach the end of the road late that day.

It took two whole days to pack the supply of hay, grain, rope, hardware, and other supplies up to the camp. By this time the wild horses had grown thin and gaunt, but not to the extent that Ben was concerned about them.

While Ben and his comrades were in sight on the rim the wild horses would not eat the hay thrown down to them, but when morning of the next day came it had all been consumed.

With these important initial steps of the plan wholly successful, Ben and his men were jubilant, and confident of the outcome. They built a large corral around the level space on the trail side of the cave, with high fences running to the gate. Then began the strenuous job of letting out a few of the horses at a time, roping them, and breaking them sufficiently to lead them across the miles of forest and sage to Ben’s pasture on Forlorn River.

Early and late they toiled, dexterous, patient, indefatigable. Horses were skinned, bruised, lamed during the laborsome process, but not one was seriously crippled. The hardest job of all was to drive the half-broken horses across to Ben’s pasture. Nevada managed four, while Ben and Modoc had about all they wanted with three each.

Once out of the corral, these horses plunged into a run, stretching the lassoes and dragging their captors at a breakneck pace. They ran until they gave out. Then the task was to pull them the remaining distance to the pasture. This drive took half a day. Then, after a rest, the men, mounting fresh horses, rode back to their camp.

Ben lost track of days. But he knew indeed that summer had come, for the days grew hot and hotter, and the drought correspondingly worse. The situation as regarded cattle and horses on the ranges became aggravated. If the fall rains failed this year all live stock in that section was doomed.