CHAPTER XIX

THE FINDING OF SUCATASH

De Launay came into the cabin the next morning with an armload of wood to find Solange sitting up in bed with the blankets clutched about her, staring at the unfamiliar surroundings. He smiled at her, and was delighted to be met with an answering, though somewhat puzzled smile.

"You are better?" he asked.

"Yes," she said. "And you--brought me here?"

He nodded and knelt to rebuild the fire. When it was crackling again he straightened up.

"I was afraid you were going to be ill. You had a bad shock."

Solange shuddered. "It is true. That evil old man! He hurt my head.

But I am all right again."

"You had better lie quiet for a day or two, just the same. You have had a bad blow. If you feel well enough, though, there is something I must do. Will you be all right if I leave you for a few hours?"

Her face darkened a little but she nodded. "If you must. You have been very kind, monsieur. You brought me here?"

Her eyes fell on her leather coat flung over the end of the bunk and she flushed, looking sideways at the man. He seemed impa.s.sive, unconscious, and her puzzled gaze wandered over his face and form. She noted striking differences in the tanned, lean face and the lithe body. The skin was clear and the eyes no longer red and swollen. He stood upright and moved with a swift, deft certainty far from his former slouch.

"You are changed," she commented.

"Some," he answered. "Fresh air and exercise have benefited me."

"That is true. Yet there seems to be another difference. You look purposeful, if I may say it."

"I?" he seemed to protest. "What purpose is there for me?"

"You must tell me that."

He went out into the other room and returned with broth for her. But she was hungry and the broth did not satisfy her. He brought in meat and bread, and she made a fairly hearty breakfast. It pleased De Launay to see her enjoying the food frankly, bringing her nearer to the earth which he, himself, inhabited.

"The only purpose I have," he said, while she ate, "is that of finding what has become of your escort. There's another matter, too, on which I am curious. Do you think you can get along all right if I leave food for you here and go down to the camp? I will be back before evening."

"You will be careful of that crazy old man?"

He laughed. "If I am not mistaken he thinks I am a ghost and is frightened out of seven years' growth," he said, easily. His voice changed subtly, became swiftly grim. "He may well be," he added, half to himself.

Breakfast over and the camp cleared up, De Launay took from his packs a second automatic, hanging the holster, a left-hand one, to the bunk.

He showed Solange how to operate the mechanism and found that she readily grasped the principle of it, though the squat, flat weapon was incongruous in her small hand. The rifle also he left within her reach.

Shortly he was mounted on his way out of the crater. He made good time through the down timber and, in about an hour and a half, was headed into the canyon. He searched carefully for traces of Dave but found none. The snow was over a foot deep and had drifted much deeper in many spots. Especially on the talus slopes at the bottom of the canyon had it gathered to a depth of several feet.

Finally he came to the site of the camp where he had rescued Solange from the mad prospector. Here he was surprised to find no trace of the man although the burros were sc.r.a.ping forlornly in the snow on the slopes trying to uncover forage. Camp equipment was scattered around, and a piece of tarpaulin covered a bundle of stuff. This was tucked away by a rock, but De Launay ran on it after some search.

He devoted his efforts to finding the sh.e.l.l from Banker's rifle which he had seen on the snow when he left the place. It was finally uncovered and he put it in his pocket. Then he left the place and headed down the canyon, searching for signs of the cow-puncher.

He found none, since Dave had not been in this direction. But De Launay pushed on until almost noon. He rode high on the slopes where the snow was shallower and where he could get an unrestricted view of the canyon.

He was about to give it up, however, and turn back when his horse stopped and p.r.i.c.ked his ears forward, raising its head. De Launay followed this indication and saw what he took to be a clump of sagebrush on the snow about half a mile away. He watched it and thought it moved.

Intent observation confirmed this impression and it was made a certainty when he saw the black patch waver upward, stagger forward and then fall again.

With an exclamation, De Launay spurred his horse recklessly down the slope toward the figure on the snow. He galloped up to it and flung himself to the ground beside it. The figure raised itself on arms from which the sleeves hung in tatters and turned a pale and ghastly face toward him.

It was Sucatash.

Battered and bruised, with an arm almost helpless and a leg as bad, the cow-puncher was dragging himself indomitably along while his failing strength held out. But he was almost at the end of his resources. Hunger and weakness, wounds and bruises, had done their work and he could have gone little farther.

De Launay raised his head and chafed his blue and frozen hands. The cow-puncher tried to grin.

"Glad to see you, old-timer," he croaked. "You're just about in time."

"What happened to you, man?"

"Don't know. Heard a horse nicker and then mine stumbled and pinned me. Got a bad fall and when I come to I was lying down the hill against some greasewood. Leg a'most busted and an arm as bad. Horse nowhere around. Got anything to drink? Snow ain't much for thirst."

De Launay had food and water and gave it to him. After eating ravenously for a moment he was stronger.

"Funny thing, that horse nickerin'. It was snowin' and I didn't see him. But, after I come to I tried to climb up where I was throwed. It was some job but I made it. There was my horse, half covered with snow. Some one had shot him."

"Shot him? And then left you to lie there?"

"Just about that. There wasn't no tracks. Snow had filled 'em. But I reckon that horse wasn't just shot by accident."

"It was not. And Dave's gone."

"Dave? What's that?"

"He's gone. Left the camp day before yesterday and never came back. I wasn't there."

"And madame? She all right?"

"She is--now. I found her yesterday morning with Banker, the prospector. He was trying to torture her into telling him where that mine is located. Hurt her pretty bad."

Sucatash lay silent for a moment. Then:

"Jumpin' snakes!" he said. "That fellow has got a lot comin' to him, ain't he?"

"He has," said De Launay, shortly. "More than you know."

Again the cow-puncher was silent for a s.p.a.ce.