Louisiana Lou Part 25

The prospector laughed and seized her foot. But, as he held it and picked up a sliver, a thought occurred to him. He got up and went to the fire, where he stooped to get a flaming brand.

At this moment, clear and joyous, although distant and faint, came a rollicking measure of song:

"My Louisiana! Louisiana Lou!"

The girl's brain failed to react to it. She gathered nothing from the sound except that there was some one coming. But Banker reared as though shot and whirled about to stare down the canyon. She could not see him and she was unable to turn.

Shaking as though stricken with an ague, the prospector stood. His face had gone chalk white under its dirty stubble of beard. He looked sick and even more unwholesome than usual. From his slack jaws poured a constant whining of words, unintelligible.

Down the canyon, slouching carelessly with the motion of his horse, appeared a man, riding toward them at a jog trot. Behind him jingled two pack horses, the first of which was half buried under the high bundle on his back, the second more lightly laden.

Banker stood, incapable of motion for a moment. Then, as though galvanized into action, he began to gabble his inevitable oaths, while he leaped hurriedly for his rifle. He grabbed it from under the tarpaulin, jerked the lever, flung it to his shoulder and fired.

With the shot, Solange, by a terrific effort, rolled over and raised her head. She caught a glimpse of a familiar figure and shrieked out with new-found strength.

"_Mon ami! A moi, mon ami!_"

Then she stifled a groan, for, with the shot, the figure sagged suddenly and dropped to the side of his horse, evidently hit. She heard the insane yell of triumph from the prospector and knew that he was dancing up and down and shouting:

"They all dies but old Jim! Old Jim don't die!"

She buried her face in her hands, wondering, even then, why she felt such a terrible pang, not of hope destroyed, but because the man had died.

It pa.s.sed like a flash for, on the instant, she heard another yell from Banker, and a yell, this time, of terror. At the same moment she was aware of thundering hoofs bearing down upon them and of a voice that shouted; a voice which was the sweetest music she had ever heard.

Dimly she was aware that Banker had dropped his rifle and scuttled like a scared rabbit into some place of shelter. Her whole attention was concentrated on those rattling, drumming hoofs. She looked up, tried to rise, but fell back with the pain of the effort stabbing her unheeded.

A horse was sliding to a stop, forefeet planted, snow and dirt flying from his hoofs. De Launay was leaping to the ground and the pack horses were galloping clumsily up. Then his arms were around her and she was lifted from the ground.

"What's the matter, Solange? What's happened? Where's the boys? And Banker, what's he doing shooting at me?"

His questions were pouring out upon her, but she could not answer them. She clung to him and sobbed.

"I thought he had killed you!"

His laugh was music.

"That old natural? He couldn't kill me. Saw him aim and ducked. Shot right over me. But what's happened to you?"

He ran a hand over her face and found it hot with fever.

"Why, you're sick! And your foot's bare. Here, tell me what has happened?"

She could only sob brokenly, her strength almost gone.

"That terrible old man! He did it. He's hiding--to shoot you."

De Launay's hand had run over her thick mane of hair and he felt her wince. He recognized the great b.u.mp on the skull.

"Death of a dog!" he swore in French. "_Mon amie_, is it this old devil who has injured you?"

She nodded and he began to look about him for Banker. But the prospector was not in sight, although his discarded rifle was on the ground. The lever was down where the prospector had jerked it preparatory to a second shot which he had been afraid to fire. The empty ejected sh.e.l.l lay on the snow near by.

De Launay turned back to Solange. He bent over her and carefully restored her stocking and shoe. Then he fetched water and bathed her head, gently gathering her hair together and binding it up under the bandeau which he found among her scattered belongings. She told him something of what had happened, ascribing the prospector's actions to insanity. But when De Launay asked about Sucatash and Dave she could do no more than tell him that the first had gone to the ranch to get snowshoes and dogs, and the latter had gone out yesterday and had not come back, though she had heard a single shot late in the afternoon.

De Launay listened with a frown. He was in a cold rage at Banker, but there were other things to do than try to find him. He set to work to gather up the wreckage of the tent and outfit. Then he rounded up the horses, leaving the burros and Banker's horse to stay where they were. Hastily he threw on the packs, making no pretense at neat packing.

"I'll have to get you out of this," he said. "With that lunatic bushwacking round there'll never be a moment of safety for you. You're sick and will have to have care. Can you ride?"

Solange tried to rise to her feet but was unable to stand.

"I'll have to carry you. I'll saddle your horse and lead him. The others will follow my animals. I'll get you to safety and then come back and look for Dave."

With infinite care he lifted her to his saddle, holding her while he mounted and gathered her limp form into his left arm. His horse fortunately was gentle, and stood. He was about to reach for the reins of her horse when something made her turn and look up the slope of the hill toward the overhanging, ledgelike rock above the camp.

"_Mon ami!_" she screamed. "_Gardez-vous!_"

What happened she was not able to exactly understand. Only she somehow realized that never had she understood the possibility of rapid motion before. Her own eyes had caught only a momentary glimpse of a head above the edge of the rock and the black muzzle of a six-shooter creeping into line with them.

Yet De Launay's movement was sure and accurate. His eyes seemed to sense direction, his hand made one sweep from holster to an arc across her body and the roar of the heavy weapon shattered her ears before she had fairly realized that she had cried out. She saw a spurt of dust where the head had appeared.

Then De Launay's spurs went home and the horse leaped into a run. The pack horses, jumping at the sound of the shot, flung up their heels, lurched to one side, circled and fell into a gallop in the rear.

Clattering and creaking, the whole cavalcade went thundering up the valley.

De Launay swore. "Missed, by all the devils! But I sure put dust in his eyes!"

He turned around and there, sure enough, was Banker, standing on the rock, pawing at his eyes. The shot had struck the edge of the rock just below his face and spattered fragments all over him.

De Launay laughed grimly as the groping figure shook a futile fist at him. Then Banker sat down and dug at his face industriously.

They had ridden another hundred yards when a yell echoed in the canyon.

He turned again and saw Banker leaping and shrieking on the rock, waving hands to the heavens and carrying on like a maniac.

"Gone plumb loco," said De Launay, contemptuously.

But, unknown to De Launay or mademoiselle, the high G.o.ds must have laughed in irony as old Jim Banker raved and flung his hands toward their Olympian fastness.

De Launay's shot, which had crushed the edge of the rock to powder, had exposed to the prospector the glittering gold of French Pete's lost Bonanza!

CHAPTER XVIII

TELLTALE BULLETS

De Launay headed up into the hills, making for the spot he and others familiar with the region knew as The Crater. Back about half a mile from the rim of Shoestring Canyon, which, itself, had originally been cut out of lava from extinct volcanoes of the range, rose a vast basalt peak, smooth and precipitous on the side toward the canyon. Its lower slopes had once been terraced down to the flat bench land which rimmed the canyon, but, unnumbered ages ago, the subterranean forces had burst their way through and formed a crater whose sides fell steeply away to the flats on three sides. The fourth was backed by the basalt cliff.