ELEVEN

  While Martha got out of the buggy and tied the horses to the hitchrack, Sally carefully gathered up her heavy bundle of ruffles and tried to get herself and the package out as gracefully as possible so that anyone looking on would not suspect its weight. Martha rushed around to see if she could assist her, but Sally held tight to the bundle.

  “You’d better let me carry it,” she said. “I hope nobody can tell from my face that I’m scared half to death some one will suspect I’m carrying about twenty pounds of the Sutton gold.” She spoke the last words in a whisper.

  Both girls looked up anxiously at the gray sky and Martha said in an awed voice, “We’ll have to hurry to get back home before dark.”

  “It shouldn’t take but a minute to get the thread,” Sally told her.

  “Suppose you get it while I ask if there’s any mail,” Martha suggested. “That’ll save a little time.”

  They started across the boardwalk toward the door of the building. Suddenly Sally gasped in surprise. She was looking up into the face of a tall handsome young man who was coming toward them.

  “Mr. Torrence,” she said, when he stopped before them.

  “This is an unexpected pleasure, Mrs. Stevens,” he returned, but the expression on his face belied his words.

  Martha nudged Sally gently while her dark eyes beamed for an instant upon Mr. Torrence, then turned modestly away.

  “Oh … Mr. Torrence, I want you to meet my friend Martha Sutton. She’s the girl I told you we were coming to visit here in the Canyon.”

  Mr. Torrence’s expression underwent a change. He said, extending his gloved hand, “This is indeed a pleasure, Miss Sutton,” and his eyes beamed into hers.

  Martha was studying him intently. She said, in some confusion, “Haven’t I seen you somewhere … before … Mr. Torrence?”

  “Perhaps we had a glimpse of each other when I visited here when I was a small boy. About seven, I believe I was. But you would have been too young to remember.”

  “You visited here in the canyon? Do you have relatives living here?”

  Torrence’s face darkened. “My grandmother lived here,” he said shortly, and to the surprise of both girls he bowed slightly and strode past them as though he suddenly remembered an important engagement.

  Martha and Sally looked at each other and Sally said: “Well … he certainly got a gleam in his eye for you, Martha. Then he acted as if we were both poison and ran away.”

  “He did act strangely,” Martha murmured, and without another word they went into the store.

  The post office occupied a small square at the front and to the right of the store. Sally started to ask Martha where the thread counter might be when a little old lady came up and squinted, then asked, “What kin I do fer ye, Miss?”

  “Some thread, please,” Sally answered, and followed the thin bent form toward the rear.

  Martha went over to the post office window. Just as she reached it, an incredibly tall and lean man turned away. His deep-set black eyes saw Martha and his wide thin mouth broke into a pleasant smile.

  “Why, Miss Martha,” he said, grasping her hand which she lifted at once and held toward him. “I haven’t seen you nor your father at the meeting house for several Sundays. Thought you might be away on a visit.” His voice had a soft, pleasant rumble. He lifted his black Stetson hat from his thick black hair, leaving his head bare as he stood before her.

  Martha laughed happily. “I’m so glad to see you again, Bible Jim. No, we haven’t been anywhere for a long time. Papa’s afraid to leave the house with the black-hoods raiding so many of the miners’ cabins.”

  Bible Jim’s mouth tightened in firm and righteous anger. “It’s a terrible thing, Miss Martha. I’ve been in the West for a number of years and have lived for a time in several different communities, but I’ve never heard of a gang of outlaws so hard to catch.” He moved his long solemn face sadly from side to side. “Folks around here ought to get right with God. ‘Seek ye first the Kingdom of God and his righteousness and all these things shall be added unto you.’”

  “But Papa is a good man,” she contended. “He reads the Bible every night … the one you sold him with his name on it. The miners the outlaws have killed were good men, too. You know that as well as I do.”

  “It’s not enough, my child, just to be good. ‘The Lord thy God is a jealous God.…’ Men should learn the first commandment and abide by it, and they must come to the House of God for inspiration. The trouble is, people around here set up the false idol of gold when they should remember, ‘Thou shalt have no other Gods before Me.’ They seek earthly riches when the Bible says, ‘It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter into the Kingdom of God’.”

  There was admiration in the girl’s face for the man’s profound wisdom voiced in his deep, solemn tones, but her face lost some of its bright happiness. “Yes, but everybody works to try to make money, Bible Jim,” she argued. “They’re not committing a sin to do that. There’s a lot in the Bible about good works, too. If anybody suffers it ought to be the outlaws … not the men who work for an honest living.”

  “I grant the crimes are terrible, hideous in the sight of God and man, Miss Martha. Every able-bodied man around here has tried to do his part tracking them down. I have personally led several posses. I’m afraid we’ve failed because we have been unable to cast out all fear and trust wholly in Him. Why don’t you bring your father to meeting next Sunday? I might be able to say a few comforting words to him.”

  “I know,” she murmured absently. “Papa always feels uplifted when he goes to church.” She became confused and fidgety. Removing her heavy gloves, she twisted her fingers, looking up into the long benevolent face of the man who had moved into Tola over a year ago for the purpose of selling Bibles and preaching in a deserted dance-hall which was called the Meeting House. There were few homes within a radius of twenty-five miles who did not possess one of Bible Jim’s leather-bound bibles with their names etched in gold dust.

  “I … don’t think we’ll be here next Sunday,” Martha finally confided. “We are moving to Denver … as soon as we can.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” he rumbled in his deep, sincere voice. “I hope you won’t let the evils of the city corrupt your pure young life, Miss Martha. There are many pitfalls of sin for the young in the city. Remember Sodom and Gomorrah.”

  “At least we won’t have the black-hoods after us there,” she said earnestly. “I do hope they’ll get up another posse right away and try to catch them. Something has happened that I’m sure will make Papa get up a posse … tomorrow morning.”

  “So?” he asked. “Perhaps I can persuade some of the men here in Tola to join him and try again.”

  “Would you?” she cried breathlessly. “I’ll tell him when I get back home.”

  Bible Jim glanced out the window to see the gray of twilight pressing close. “You’re going to have a dark ride back. You shouldn’t have come in so late … with so much terror abroad.”

  “We had to come,” she responded. “We … Mrs. Stevens and I … were making some new dresses for our trip and we ran out of thread. We wanted to wear them tomorrow, and …”

  Sally’s voice spoke behind her. “I’m ready to go. I had a time matching the thread. I’m afraid it isn’t as nice a color as the other. Have you gotten the mail?”

  Martha turned quickly. “Not yet. I met Bible Jim and we got to talking. Sally, I want you to meet Mr.…” She hesitated, then laughed in confusion.

  “Bible Jim,” he supplied, smiling gently down at Sally from his spindling height. “Some of the folks here call me their Sky-Pilot, but I like Bible Jim better, Mrs. Stevens, because that’s my business … Bibles.”

  Sally returned his smile and said, “There certainly seems to be a need of Bible around here right now.”

  “Martha was telling me you and she are engaged in the pleasant pastime of making new dresses,” Bible Jim went on, as Martha left them to go to the post office window.

  “Why … yes, we are. But under the circumstances it isn’t as pleasant as it might be,” Sally said.

  “News has gotten around here that your husband has met a tragic and untimely death, Mrs. Stevens,” he said in a funereal voice. “I offer my deepest sympathy. I presume it isn’t a pleasant task to make a mourning outfit.”

  “No … it isn’t,” Sally whispered as Martha returned from the window empty-handed. She offered her hand to the man and said, “I’m glad to have met you, Bible Jim,” then, “Come on, Martha, we must be going. It’s getting awfully dark outside.”

  Bible Jim frowned, the creases forming a vee between his eyes and continuing up to the edge of his black hair. “I don’t like for you young ladies to ride home alone. Perhaps I could persuade one of the men hereabouts to ride along with you.”

  Martha laughed gaily. “Now you’re not practising what you preach, Bible Jim. I’ve been thinking about what you said about casting out all fear. So, you see your sermons don’t have to be preached on Sunday to take effect.”

  Sally said, looking levelly into the man’s black eyes, “I have a gun, Mr.… Bible Jim, and I can shoot straight. We’ll get home all right … alone.”

  “May the Lord be with you,” he returned earnestly and held out his remarkably long thin hand first to Sally, then to Martha.

  “Good-by,” they said simultaneously, and went out the door.

  In the buggy with the horses going at a rapid pace, Martha said, “That man you introduced me to … Mr. Torrence … isn’t he the handsomest man you ever saw?”

  “He looks all right,” Sally answered shortly, “but he acted queerly. I … don’t trust him,” she ended slowly.

  “Why?” Martha asked, a note of surprise in her voice.

  “I … don’t know … exactly.”

  They were silent for a short while, then Martha said, “Isn’t Bible Jim the nicest man? I just love hearing him preach. I’ll bet if he ever caught up with that gang of thieves and murderers he’d have them all on their knees at the Meeting House. He travels all around selling Bibles and everybody buys one whether they believe in it or not, just because they like him so much. He has organized several posses to hunt down the black-hoods, too. He quit when two of the men in one of the posses got killed. He declared he wouldn’t be responsible for the violent death of another citizen. I told him I was pretty sure Papa’d organize some of the men tomorrow morning and try again and he said he’d send over some of the Tola men to join them.”

  “I hope they’ll succeed this time,” Sally said fervently from her dark corner of the buggy. “You’d better get the horses going faster. It’s getting darker by the second.”

  Martha flicked the black stallion lightly, then continued enthusiastically. “Bible Jim acted terribly sorry when I told him we were moving out of the canyon to Denver. He warned me of all the dangers of the wicked city.…”

  “Martha!” Sally cried. “You didn’t … tell him we were going? …” There was genuine alarm in her voice.

  “You don’t think Bible Jim? …”

  “Of course not,” Sally broke in, “but you shouldn’t have told anyone. He wouldn’t think anything of telling people you know in Tola you were leaving, and the news will get around … maybe to the black-hoods. You shouldn’t have done it.”

  “I never thought of that,” Martha admitted in a chastened voice. “I’m sorry … I just didn’t think.” Her fingers trembled when she reached out to take the buggy whip to touch the stallion’s flanks again. The team lurched forward at a gallop. Night was catching up with them. The trail was as silent as the grave with the dark green spruce pressing close to the narrow, snow-covered road, and the great white boulders stood out boldly against the background like fantastic corpulent ghosts.

  They rode silently, with Martha holding the reins in tight, nervous hands, guiding the horses over the dim, crooked trail.

  When they turned off the stage trail to go up to the Sutton cabin, Sally saw a bright light shining through the spruce clump on her left.

  “It looks as if Mr. Sutton had the door open,” she said. “He must have gotten the room too hot.”

  Martha looked quickly and exclaimed, “He … never does that! He’s so thin and cold-natured.”

  “Stop the horses,” Sally said hastily, laying her hand on Martha’s. “I’m going to get out here and see what’s going on. I’ll leave the ruffles here in the buggy. You wait.…”

  “Do you think … something’s wrong?” Martha asked through chattering teeth. Sally’s sudden fright had chilled her through.

  “I don’t know, but I’ve got my pistol. I’ll ease up to the house and see what’s going on.”

  In a few minutes she was running back down the path, calling to Martha:

  “Something terrible has happened. Your father is not there and the whole place has been torn up … ransacked. They’ve … come … at … last.”

  Martha climbed from the buggy, her body stiff with fright. Sally took the heavy bundle from the buggy seat with one arm and slipped the other around the younger girl’s slim waist, and together they went up the path.

  The team followed slowly and went on to the corral gate. The girls, their faces terror-stricken, went into the cabin where a big log still burned brightly in the fireplace, casting weird dancing shadows on the walls. Walking carefully on the loose boards after closing and barring the front door, Martha sank into a rocker and covered her face with her hands.

  Sally made the rounds of the windows, bolting them fast, then went to sit beside Martha. She said, “I’m thankful we took those ruffles with us. We’ve got to work all night now to finish those dresses. We have to get out of here tomorrow. I’ll go down to the Dawson cabin and tell them … what has happened. There’s nothing else we can do except get the gold out.”

  “But we don’t know where it is,” Martha wailed, tears streaming down her young face. “He never told me.”

  “We’ll get out with what we have,” Sally answered practically. “We’ve at least twenty pounds, and that’s quite a lot of money for you.”

  “For … me?” Martha asked piteously. “You … think they’ll kill my father?”

  Sally shook her head miserably. She stood up and said, “I’ll go tell Mr. Dawson. Bar the door when I go out. I’ll be right back.”

  With her pistol in her hand, she went out and down the dark rear trail leading to the back of the Dawson cabin.

  TWELVE

  There was utter silence and complete blackness inside the small opening into the mountain. The three men trapped by the sliding avalanche of snow and debris were too stunned by the suddenness of the tragedy and by their almost unbelievable escape from what had looked like certain death to do more than slump back on the rock floor while they sought to make a mental readjustment to the desperate situation into which they had been flung.

  As usual, it was Sam who recovered his speech first, and, characteristically, said with a pessimistic growl:

  “Whyn’t you leave me lay out there where I was at? Hell, it’d all be over now an’ I’d be flappin’ m’wings an’ listenin’ to harp music if you hadn’t drug me in here, fool like.”

  “Harp music hell!” Ezra snorted through the thick darkness. “You’d be shovelin’ coal fo’ the devil’s cook-stove if Pat hadn’ of drug you in here, and you know it.”

  “That wouldn’ be so bad neither.” Sam’s teeth chattered violently as he spoke. “A man’d be warm down in them regions. ’Tain’t no wuss bein’ b’iled in oil an’ turned over on a pitchfork than to freeze t’death in this here damn cold hole.”

  “Shut up, both of you,” Pat grated through set teeth. “We’re not dead yet. We’ve been in tight places before an’ always got out.”

  “But we ain’t never had no mountain a-settin’ on top of us afore. You reckon this here’s a b’ar’s cave, Pat? It’d make things jest right if a ol’ mama b’ar was to git mad at this introoshun we’re makin’ an’ come woofin’ out from ’er bed.”

  “Let ’er come,” Ezra put in sardonically. “I’ll skin ’er an’ git me a fur coat.” He paused, then added plaintively, “You reckon it is a b’ar cave, Pat?”

  “No,” Pat said shortly. He moved cautiously back from the blocked opening on his hands and knees. “You’d know it, too, if you weren’t so busy lookin’ on the dark side of things. The air in here is fresh … not musty like a cave.”

  Sam chuckled hollowly. “The dark side, sez you? What other side is there hereabouts? I don’t see no rays o’ light. But I reckon I got the livin’ daylights knocked outta me when that rock hit me and knocked me down.”

  “My guess is it’s an old mine tunnel,” Pat said, rising slowly from his crawling position and feeling upward with his hands. Thinking there was standing room, he stood up, swore volubly when the top of his head encountered unyielding rock. “Dug by somebody that more’n likely hired belly-crawlin’ Cousin Jacks to wiggle through it and get the gold out.” He fumbled in his pockets for a match, found one and struck it. The light burned clear and steady, illuming the jagged walls and roof, showing an opening which ran straight back into impenetrable darkness.

  “I shore wisht I’d of hung aroun’ and got some o’ that bacon Sam was fryin’ when we left this mawnin’,” Ezra grumbled.

  “Look there,” Pat called briskly. “This isn’t a natural cave. It’s been blasted out. A drift tunnel.” His match flickered and went out, leaving the darkness thicker than before.

  “Cain’t see it matters much,” Sam complained. “Freezin’ to death in a mine tunnel ain’t gonna be no more fun than dyin’ in a nat’ral cave.”

  “Didn’t you notice how the match burned?” Pat demanded angrily. “That proves the air isn’t fouled even with the opening shut off. There must be an air vent. A shaft down from the surface, I reckon.”