THE DAY HAD BEEN LONG AND SULTRY, EVEN IN the mountains, and Dixie Lee had welcomed the quiet evening with its cool breeze sweeping down the canyon. The sun had dipped behind the craggy western mountain, while on the east the crags were tipped with yellow gold, an omen of fabulous wealth for which men were risking their lives. Gold, that was the emblem of happiness, the final goal of man's fondest dreams.
As she sat on a boulder beside the little creek that danced happily at her feet, Dixie Lee wondered if its ultimate possession would not be like an interest in the rainbow; if, after all, it was not an illusion. Even as she looked, the purple shadows of reality were fast consuming the crown of gold, and she understood. It was the property of God, only loaned to man to use, to pass along, and eventually to return to Him who gave it. The love she had found she felt was eternal--it was a sacred reality that would live and die with her.
It could not be sold or bartered, and yet the only love she could keep was her love that she had given away. Since the discovery of her love for Bob Bainbridge, the mountains, the creek, the stately pines, the flowers, had all joined in the great symphony of the heart, and she joined merrily in the song; the song that was unbroken except by the haranguing of old John, and the thought of the gang to which he belonged.
John Lee had regretted letting Bob Bainbridge go. He blamed his daughter for his foolhardy action. He was sure no good could come of it, and his taunts became more and more aggressive. Dixie bore it all with a smile, knowing that his evil predictions would never come true. Bob loved her and nothing could induce him to bring harm to them.
John Lee, sitting against the log house smoking his pipe, stood up and stretched lazily. He had not noticed Dixie until he arose.
"Hey, Dixie, gal!" he called sharply. "What about something tuh eat? With yuh-all out there moonin' about Pokerface Bob, yuh foahgets me."
"I'll be coming, John," she answered patiently.
John had Pokerface Bob on his mind as usual when Dixie came up.
"Ah shore don't know what yuh was thinkin' about actin' like that with Pokerface. We might just as well made five thousand dollars on his head as not. Besides, maybe Plummer'd let us go scotfree, and we would have gone to Elk City or Florence and went into business."
Inwardly she burned with indignation, but she knew if she crossed him it meant another caustic argument, so she ignored his remark.
"What do you want for supper, John?"
"Ah tell yuh, yuh can't trust him, gal. Don't never think he won't come back tuh get even foh bein, shot up. It's a nice mess yuh've got us in."
Dixie whirled about, facing him. Her face was flushed, and danger shot from those blue eyes.
"For goodness' sake, John Lee, what's the matter with you? What's done is done! For once you listened to a good impulse when you let him go. Weeks have passed and nothing has happened to any of us. If you'll take my word, you have nothing to fear. Besides, I wouldn't buy our freedom with the life of any man!"
With a replying grunt the old man threw down his pipe, started to speak, then picked it up again and began smoking furiously.
She hated to be continually quarreling with her father, for, in spite of his ugliness at times, she loved him. It frightened her when she realized she had begun to mistrust him. At first she had been convinced that he had been duped into the gang, but now, with his hatred for Bob, she began to wonder.
Supper was just ready when five rough riders stopped at the house. Four of the men she had never seen. The other she recognized, in spite of the beard, as Three Finger Smith. She had seen him only a few times before and she instinctively hated him. Tonight the ugly scar on his chin was more noticeable than usual, for no hair grew on it. He surveyed her with a smirky look in his eyes that told her what was in his ugly heart.
John invited them to supper, and while they ate, Three Finger began telling him the news. The Grimes caravan was going into the Boise Basin, where they had struck a bonanza. Three Finger and his men were heading for Elk City to meet Plummer, in the hope that they could trail the caravan into the Basin.
John forgot to eat in his excitement. Even Dixie thrilled with the thought of getting away from here and into the new gold diggings if they could escape the gang.
"Yuh know, John," Three Finger was saying, "the game's up hyar, with them damned Vigilantes on our tails. They's real dust out thar that we can git our hands on. This country's gittin' so's a man can't make a honest dollar no more."
"Shore sounds good to me, suh," John answered excitedly. "Ah reckon the boss won't have any objections." The gold lust was pounding in his veins.
Dixie could see it and knew that he would follow the others. Oh, if she could only get him out of their clutches! If Bob would come and help her! She realized that the crisis was close at hand where she would have to give up either her father or Bob. It seemed to her that John was getting more and more involved of his own choice, for he talked of wiping people out with as little concern as he would of currying his horse.
Her mind was in such a turmoil that she could scarcely finish the dishes. The thrill of a few moments ago had been short-lived when she read her father's reaction. She simply had to get away alone where she could figure it all out. The cabin in the brush had become her sanctuary, especially since it was there she had met and fallen in love with Bob. It was as though his spirit were there to commune with her.
The men were playing cards when she slipped away. A strange foreboding of catastrophe still persisted. She was sure John would want to trail with the bandits into the new gold field, but not with the purpose of staking a claim; that would mean work. These bandits wanted the dust, but they wanted someone else to sweat for it. These men knew that their days of activity were numbered, and they would go to any end to accumulate a hoard of stolen riches before the law could be established. Many lives would be lost before these highwaymen could be subdued.
She realized that she couldn't depend on John with any degree of certainty. Gradually she had seen him sink into the mire of iniquity until she knew he was helpless. "Only a few more jobs," he would say, "and we'll get out of the country tuh live like honest people." She knew the perverse workings of his mind, but she was helpless. The future loomed up like a black chasm before her, unless Bob came. It was one or the other.
She found herself strolling out by the horse corral, where her own paint horse was standing with his head over the bars. She patted him gently on the nose. Next to Bob she had come to love her horse best. As she murmured endearing words to her pony she felt the urge to ride up to the cabin in the brush before going to bed. She saddled quickly and quietly threw down the bars. She was just stooping to lift one of the bars after her when something crashed in the brush near by. Instantly she was motionless. Her horse pricked up his ears. She caught him by the nose to keep him from whinnying. There came no other sound. "I must be all nerves tonight," she told herself as she mounted, forgetting to put up the bars.
Turning her horse up the canyon trail she began humming softly to herself. Suddenly a shot punctured the silent night and the leaden bullet fanned dangerously near her face. Her paint horse leaped forward and she gave him his head. With the speed of lightning she entered the protecting timber.
Almost at the same moment a volley of shots rang out near the shebang and answering shots followed. In her terror, her only thought was to put as much distance between herself and danger as possible. Then the pounding of hoofs behind her told her that the horses had stampeded and were coming up the canyon. Instantly the memory of the forgotten bars flashed across her mind. She knew what the loss of the horses meant to the men in the shebang. Even though she hated them she remembered her father. She didn't want them shot down without a chance of escape.
She acted on the spur of the moment, realizing that she must keep ahead of the band and stop them in the canyon. It wasn't likely that the attackers would know anything about the hidden cove, and she trusted that they would be so occupied that they would not follow the horses immediately, even if they missed them.
Her horse was running smoothly up the trail. She wondered how he could see the fallen logs across the trail in time to clear them. On into the clearing in front of the cabin she flew. At the upper end where the timber began she stopped to head off the frightened horses.
The shooting stopped. Her heart seemed to stop beating. Whatever had happened was over. In a panic of fear she wondered if she was alone in the world. In that flashing moment she remembered old John's prediction. If her father was dead she would never forgive herself. The uncertainty of the outcome impelled her to action.
Regardless of danger she sped back toward the shebang. As she rode a new terror gripped her. The sky became suddenly red and she knew the building was in flames.
"Bob and the Vigilantes!" she cried out piteously, as the tears streamed down her cheeks.
Recklessly she rode almost to the corral. It too was aflame, but she strained her senses for some evidence of life. Her heart sank as only the shouldering flames of the charred debris of the shebang pierced the darkness.
It was all so terrible! So unexpected from him! She covered her face with her hands and the sobs shook her slight drooping shoulders. The sense of loneliness was oppressive as she turned back toward what was once her sanctuary, but now only a mockery of her fondest dreams.
Slowly she rode back the corral trail, unmindful of any lurking danger. Nothing mattered now. Her poor father was right after all, and she had given Bob Bainbridge her love and trusted him above anyone else in the world. She had known that the time was close at hand when she would have to choose between her father and the man she loved. Now she could choose neither. She would never forgive the man who had brought this catastrophe upon her.
At the dark lonely cabin in the brush she dismounted and leaned against her horse with her head on her elbow. The hushed loneliness was almost more than she could bear. Finally she straightened up, setting her lips tightly with determination. She had not made up her mind what she would do, only that she must stay here until daybreak before starting for Oro Fino. She dared not try the treacherous trail tonight.
She began mechanically to untie the saddle girth when from behind her came the curt command, "Hoist 'em up!"
At the sound of the unexpected voice she screamed; her knees gave way and she fell in a dead faint.