to the last man-第59章
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on Queen's bloody trail。
Black drops of blood on the stones and an irregular trail of footprints
proved to Jean that the gunman was hard hit。 Here he had fallen； or
knelt； or sat down； evidently to bind his wounds。 Jean found strips
of scarf； red and discarded。 And the blood drops failed to show on
more rocks。 In a deep forest of spruce； under silver…tipped spreading
branches； Queen had rested； perhaps slept。 Then laboring with dragging
steps； not improbably with a lame leg； he had gone on； up out of the
dark…green ravine to the open； dry； pine…tipped ridge。 Here he had
rested； perhaps waited to see if he were pursued。 From that point his
trail spoke an easy language for Jean's keen eye。 The gunman knew he
was pursued。 He had seen his enemy。 Therefore Jean proceeded with a
slow caution； never getting within revolver range of ambush； using all
his woodcraft to trail this man and yet save himself。 Queen traveled
slowly； either because he was wounded or else because he tried to ambush
his pursuer； and Jean accommodated his pace to that of Queen。 From noon
of that day they were never far apart； never out of hearing of a rifle shot。
The contrast of the beauty and peace and loneliness of the surroundings
to the nature of Queen's flight often obtruded its strange truth into
the somber turbulence of Jean's mind； into that fixed columnar idea
around which fleeting thoughts hovered and gathered like shadows。
Early frost had touched the heights with its magic wand。 And the forest
seemed a temple in which man might worship nature and life rather than
steal through the dells and under the arched aisles like a beast of prey。
The green…and…gold leaves of aspens quivered in the glades； maples in the
ravines fluttered their red…and…purple leaves。 The needle…matted carpet
under the pines vied with the long lanes of silvery grass； alike enticing
to the eye of man and beast。 Sunny rays of light； flecked with dust and
flying insects； slanted down from the overhanging brown…limbed；
green…massed foliage。 Roar of wind in the distant forest alternated
with soft breeze close at hand。 Small dove…gray squirrels ran all over
the woodland； very curious about Jean and his dog； rustling the twigs；
scratching the bark of trees； chattering and barking； frisky； saucy；
and bright…eyed。 A plaintive twitter of wild canaries came from the
region above the treetopsfirst voices of birds in their pilgrimage
toward the south。 Pine cones dropped with soft thuds。 The blue jays
followed these intruders in the forest； screeching their displeasure。
Like rain pattered the dropping seeds from the spruces。 A woody；
earthy； leafy fragrance； damp with the current of life； mingled with
a cool； dry； sweet smell of withered grass and rotting pines。
Solitude and lonesomeness； peace and rest； wild life and nature；
reigned there。 It was a golden…green region； enchanting to the gaze
of man。 An Indian would have walked there with his spirits。
And even as Jean felt all this elevating beauty and inscrutable spirit
his keen eye once more fastened upon the blood…red drops Queen had
again left on the gray moss and rock。 His wound had reopened。
Jean felt the thrill of the scenting panther。
The sun set； twilight gathered； night fell。 Jean crawled under a dense；
low…spreading spruce； ate some bread and meat； fed the dog； and lay down
to rest and sleep。 His thoughts burdened him； heavy and black as the
mantle of night。 A wolf mourned a hungry cry for a mate。 Shepp quivered
under Jean's hand。 That was the call which had lured him from the ranch。
The wolf blood in him yearned for the wild。 Jean tied the cowhide leash
to his wrist。 When this dark business was at an end Shepp could be free
to join the lonely mate mourning out there in the forest。 Then Jean slept。
Dawn broke cold； clear； frosty； with silvered grass sparkling； with a
soft； faint rustling of falling aspen leaves。 When the sun rose red
Jean was again on the trail of Queen。 By a frosty…ferned brook； where
water tinkled and ran clear as air and cold as ice； Jean quenched his
thirst； leaning on a stone that showed drops of blood。 Queen； too；
had to quench his thirst。 What good； what help； Jean wondered； could
the cold； sweet； granite water； so dear to woodsmen and wild creatures；
do this wounded； hunted rustler？ Why did he not wait in the open to
fight and face the death he had meted？ Where was that splendid and
terrible daring of the gunman？ Queen's love of life dragged him on
and on； hour by hour； through the pine groves and spruce woods； through
the oak swales and aspen glades； up and down the rocky gorges； around
the windfalls and over the rotting logs。
The time came when Queen tried no more ambush。 He gave up trying to
trap his pursuer by lying in wait。 He gave up trying to conceal his
tracks。 He grew stronger or； in desperation； increased his energy；
so that he redoubled his progress through the wilderness。 That；
at best； would count only a few miles a day。 And he began to circle
to the northwest； back toward the deep canyon where Blaisdell and Bill
Isbel had reached the end of their trails。 Queen had evidently left
his comrades； had lone…handed it in his last fight； but was now trying
to get back to them。 Somewhere in these wild； deep forest brakes the
rest of the Jorth faction had found a hiding place。 Jean let Queen
lead him there。
Ellen Jorth would be with them。 Jean had seen her。 It had been his
shot that killed Colter's horse。 And he had withheld further fire
because Colter had dragged the girl behind him； protecting his body
with hers。 Sooner or later Jean would come upon their camp。 She would
be there。 The thought of her dark beauty； wasted in wantonness upon
these rustlers； added a deadly rage to the blood lust and righteous
wrath of his vengeance。 Let her again flaunt her degradation in his
face and； by the God she had forsaken； he would kill her； and so end
the race of Jorths！
Another night fell； dark and cold； without starlight。 The wind moaned
in the forest。 Shepp was restless。 He sniffed the air。 There was a
step on his trail。 Again a mournful； eager； wild； and hungry wolf cry
broke the silence。 It was deep and low； like that of a baying hound；
but infinitely wilder。 Shepp strained to get away。 During the night；
while Jean slept； he managed to chew the cowhide leash apart and run off。
Next day no dog was needed to trail Queen。 Fog and low…drifting clouds
in the forest and a misty rain had put the rustler off his bearings。
He was lost； and showed that he realized it。 Strange how a matured man；
fighter of a hundred battles； steeped in bloodshed； and on his last
stand； should grow panic…stricken upon being lost！ So Jean Isbel read
the signs of the trail。
Queen circled and wandered through the foggy； dripping forest until he
headed down into a canyon。 It was one that notched the Rim and led down
and down； mile after mile into the Basin。 Not soon had Queen discovered
his mistake。 When he did do so； night overtook him。
The weather cleared before morning。 Red and bright the sun burst out
of the east to flood that low basin land with light。 Jean found that
Queen had traveled on and on； hoping； no doubt； to regain what he had
lost。 But in the darkness he had climbed to the manzanita slopes instead
of back up the canyon。 And here he had fought the hold of that strange
brush of Spanish name until he fell exhausted。
Surely Queen would make his stand and wait somewhere in this devilish
thicket for Jean to catch up with him。 Many and many a place Jean would
have chosen had he been in Queen's place。 Many a rock and dense thicket
Jean circled or approached with extreme care。 Manzanita grew in patches
that were impenetrable except for a small animal。 The brush was a few
feet high； seldom so high that Jean could not look over it； and of a
beautiful appearance； having glossy； small leaves； a golden berry； and
branches of dark…red color。 These branches were tough and unbendable。
Every bush； almost； had low branches that were dead； hard as steel；
sharp as thorns； as clutching as cactus。 Progress was possible only
by endless
