BOB BAINBRIDGE HAD STOPPED IN FRONT OF Mrs. Ford's cabin just long enough to pick up a hurriedly prepared grubstake and tie it on his saddle. The only thing he was conscious of was the fact that Dixie was in trouble and he must get there before the impending catastrophe took place. In spite of his insane anxiety, he was wise enough not to run his good horse down the first few miles. It was with difficulty that he restrained himself from making use of the cruel spurs until Star Face had warmed up. As it was, he made the old Spalding Mission on the Clearwater, a distance of ten miles, in an hour. Here he took time to give his horse a drink and stretch his own legs. From then on he gave Star Face all he could stand.
All that was left to him was a blind hope that something might happen to detain the Vigilantes and give him time. It was a slim chance indeed, since they had at least two hours start of him. Already night shades had gathered across his trail, but he gave his mount his head and trusted to him to keep the trail. Mile after mile passed under him, yet innumerable miles stretched ahead of him.
For the first time in his life he felt like praying. If she were murdered he would never forgive himself for not telling how she had saved his life, and so have saved hers. He'd always been a damned fool when it came to women. He had never understood them and never felt comfortable around any of them except Dixie. He knew now what she really meant to him. To the squeak of the saddle leather he cursed and prayed intermittently.
He shot down the steep incline of Thunder Mountain into the narrow trail, and turned almost south, beginning the gentle climb. The shebang was growing nearer. Half an hour later, rounding a curve, he came to a sudden stop. In consternation he stared ahead.
"God Almighty!" he groaned, "I'm too late! They've set fire to the place!"
The whole sky had suddenly become crimson over the spot where he knew the shebang lay. He was too far away to see the flames but he felt their piercing tongues at his heart.
Mercilessly he gave spurs to his tired mount. The horse shot forward obediently with what little speed was left in him. A few moments later he heard the patter of hoofs and he jerked his horse into the brush and waited. It was the victors returning.
"Halt!" he shouted' jumping into the road. "It's Bainbridge!" The men drew up. "What's happened at the shebang?" he demanded angrily. "I'm the captain of the Vigilantes! Who gave the order to wipe that shebang out?"
One of the men spoke up. "Why--I guess it was Beechy. We was only squarin' accounts fer you, Bainbridge."
"When I want anyone to square accounts for me I'll tell you about it! Did you see a girl there?"
"Didn't notice any. Good Lord! Was they a gal with them geezers?" queried the spokesman. "Any you fellers see a gal up there?"
"Nary a gal," someone answered. "Want us tuh trail back with yuh?"
"No! Hit the trail down the canyon. You've raised enough hell for one night!" Bob gave his horse the spurs and galloped madly away.
* * * *
As Dixie regained consciousness it was with a weird feeling that something dreadful had happened. John Lee was sitting by the bedside. Three Finger Smith was pacing the floor, while two of the gang were squatting on the floor. In a flash it all came back to her.
"Oh, John!" she cried, reaching for him, "thank heaven you're still alive!"
She wanted him to take her in his arms, but he only stared.
"Yes, gal," he answered coolly, "but it ain't Pokerface Bob's fault--nor yoahs!"
"What's that?" Three Finger Smith rasped savagely.
"I said it wasn't Pokerface Bob's fault that we're alive!"
Three Finger took two steps toward the bed. "No? Who said it was? I'll wipe that sidewinder out if it's the last thing I ever do!"
Dixie was trembling from head to foot. Their savage voices frightened her.
Three Finger turned to the two men on the floor. "Git the horses! The gal's all right now. We've got tuh git out o' hyar before they discover our trail! Hell! They ain't a damned saddle left but the one the gal's ridin'! A nice how-de-do, us havin' tuh ride tuh Oro Fino bareback!"
"Yes, but we're lucky, Smith, we got our hosses," John cut in. "If it hadn't been for Dixie leavin' the bars down we wouldn't had them."
The hurried departure was accomplished amid much cursing and swearing, especially over having to ride bareback. Old John refused Dixie's offer of her saddle. She ought to have to ride bareback after persuading him to let Pokerface Bob go when he had him in his clutches.
Dixie bore his taunting without remonstrance, for she somehow could not blame him for feeling as he did about the affair. Anyway, she didn't much care at the present time what happened. With her lost love had gone her heart and her hope.
Knowing the canyon trail, Three Finger Smith took the lead, with the two strange members of the gang at his heels. Then followed Dixie and old John Lee bringing up the rear. Their flight was fraught with danger at every step of the treacherous trail, but Dixie gave her paint horse his head, never giving any thought to it. Hours, it seemed, they kept climbing upward toward the hogback.
Cool dawn was close at hand when they finally reached the summit. A cool breeze with the scent of rain in it swept through the branches of the tall pines and blew the flaxen tresses recklessly across Dixie's forehead.
She was tired, but the men pushed relentlessly along the mountain side toward the main canyon trail. If the way had been treacherous on the other side it was worse here, for it seemed in the coming dawn there was no trail at all.
* * * *
When Bob Bainbridge arrived on the scene where the shebang had been he found only smoldering coals of ruin. Even the corral was burned. Wearily he dismounted and sat down on a log. His head was pounding and his legs ached. Softly, fervently, he cursed himself for a fool. If he hadn't been so self-conscious, such a blamed fool, he could have saved this. Now, even now, his Dixie might be a part of those charred ashes there.
After a moment the thought of the cabin in the brush came to him. Perhaps she had escaped to the cabin. Simultaneously with the thought he swung into the saddle and headed up the hidden canyon. He found the cabin in darkness. He drew up in front of the door, dismounted, and entered. He struck a match and looked for a candle, but it had been moved from the shelf. The room gave evidence of confusion. The blankets had been removed from the cot.
He began to take hope. Someone had been here recently. It never occurred to him that whoever had been there might be lurking in the brush watching him. For that matter, he didn't particularly care now. For the sake of his horse he decided that it would be foolish to leave tonight. Anyhow, he wanted to investigate what had happened when it was lighter.
He built a fire in the fireplace, then unsaddled his horse, bringing his saddle and blankets inside. He picketed Star Face and settled down for a few hours rest--not to sleep, but to think, upbraid himself for what had happened.
Already day was breaking in the east. He gazed about the place regretfully. Everything in the room reminded him of Dixie. Even the shadows pointed at him accusingly with every flicker of the flame.
* * * *
Within half a mile of the trail the fugitives stopped for conference. It would be decidedly unsafe for them to ride right into the beaten path without first investigating the danger. No one knew which direction the Vigilantes had taken when they heft the burning shebang. Accordingly, John Lee was chosen to ride ahead to reconnoiter for fresh tracks in the trail. He started immediately.
Dixie spoke up quickly. "I'll ride with John, and the rest of you can wait here until one of us returns."
"Oh, no yuh won't!" Three Finger Smith dashed up and seized her horse by the bits. "Yuh'll stay right here, gal, so's we knows the ol' man'll come back!"
"So, you don't trust us?" she shot back icily. "Let go the bits!"
"Not so's yuh'd notice it! Me an' the boys'll feel much more tuh home if yuh stays with us!"
Dixie was struggling under the smarting anger and humiliation. How she detested this murderer! She bit her trembling lips to keep from crying.
"Yuh don't need tuh look at me like that, gal. I aims only tuh be careful. Fact is, I loves yuh a heap an' I'd hate tuh lose yuh. How'd yuh like to be my woman?"
For a moment her eyes burned with hatred. "I loathe you, you slimy snake! Let go my horse!"
Her display of temper brought a chuckle from his ugly lips. "Spitfire, heh? That's the way I likes 'em. But maybe yuh got ambitions fer Plummer or Cleveland. Wal, a hell o' a lot o' good it'll do yuh!"
Her fury broke its bonds. With all the vehemence of blind anger she struck him a stinging blow across his wrist with her loaded quirt. He dropped the reins with a howl of pain. Instantly giving spurs to her horse she streaked down the mountain trail like a comet.
It had all happened so suddenly that it was a moment before the raging Three Finger could control himself to give chase. By that time she was so far ahead that pursuit would be futile.
Dixie rode straight for the beaten trail, swerved and followed it, heedless of any lurking danger that might beset her. She was surprised that Three Finger had not pursued her. But she was not deceived. She knew she had made a bitter enemy who would never let things ride as they were.
As her anger subsided she brought her horse to a canter. Seeing a spring beside the trail she stopped for her horse to drink.
"Not too much, Paint," she cautioned, forcing him away, "you've got to take me through to Oro Fino today."
A few minutes later the others overtook her.
"What's got intuh yuh, gal?" Lee demanded. "Ain't we got trouble enough without you goin' goose wild?"
"Oh, I just wanted to let Paint stretch out," she evaded.
Three Finger was black with rage but said nothing. She knew from his looks that she would hear of this incident again. The remainder of the trip was made in silence under the smoldering flame of enmity.
The men hurriedly bought some supplies at the post in Oro Fino, including new saddles and blankets. Not daring to camp there, they continued their journey. With the addition of new saddles and ample supplies, the men were in better humor. They figured it would take them three days to Elk City. They crossed the Clearwater a mile below town and worked their way over the hump toward Nez Perce.
With the passing of Oro Fino, Dixie felt the loneliness more than ever. Try as she might, she could not efface the feeling that the future held for her only a black whirlpool of misery.