“If we get the gold out safely,” Martha replied with an earnestness and seriousness beyond her years, “we can buy more silk for dresses.”

  “Good girl,” Sally cried. “You’re growing up already.”

  When Mr. Sutton came in with a pouch of gold dust concealed beneath his heavy jacket, Sally had a trial ruffle ready to demonstrate. He eased the buckskin pouch out and opened it. Sally took a few pinches at a time and sifted them into the double ruffle, worked it smoothly across the bottom of a small portion of cloth. She then ran her needle along the ruffle to hold the dust firmly.

  Her finished product was a rounded, fat piping which looked as if a cord had been run through it.

  Martha exclaimed proudly, “It’s perfect!”

  Mr. Sutton looked on in amazement. Reaching in his pocket he took out his spectacles and examined Sally’s handiwork. He rolled the gold filled portion of the ruffle between his rough fingers and assured himself that it would not cut through. He then added his compliment to Martha’s:

  “It shore seems like it’ll work. Right smart idee you got there.”

  “If we can only get through to Pueblo,” Sally breathed earnestly. “With Pat guarding us, nothing can happen once we get on the train.”

  “And that note,” Martha reminded her gaily, “said that Pat would be here by dark. Isn’t it wonderful!” She had left her cutting to see the experiment and now fell to her knees before the blue material and began cutting.

  Sally’s fingers flew over the ruffles. Occasionally she went to the window and looked out to see the snowstorm increasing in intensity and returned to her work with a worried frown between her eyes. She hoped that Pat would come before it assumed blizzard proportions.

  When the first pouch of gold dust was emptied into the ruffles she was not surprised to see Mr. Sutton coming in with another.

  “My goodness,” she exclaimed, “these ruffles certainly hold a lot. I’ll bet I’ve got ten pounds in these already, and I’m only half finished. I believe we can each carry fifteen or twenty pounds, and that’s a lot of money, Mr. Sutton.”

  The old man seemed to have absorbed some of Sally’s and Martha’s enthusiasm. “I shore hope it’s goin’ to work, Miz Stevens,” he said soberly. “I wouldn’ never forgive myse’f if anything happened to you and Marthy.”

  “Now don’t you worry,” Sally laughed. “Just wait till Pat gets here and we tell him about it. He’s going to laugh himself sick. I doubt if he will approve it, but I’ll take care of that part of it.”

  Martha finished cutting the blue dress and laid it carefully aside while she busied herself with the red silk for her own dress.

  They worked busily all morning, taking time only to prepare a noonday meal, but shortly after that, when they resumed their sewing, Martha exclaimed:

  “We’re going to run out of thread, Sally. This extra sewing at the bottom of the ruffles has run us short.”

  “H-m-m,” said Sally, glancing at her second spool of blue thread. “You’re right. We’ll have to make a trip into Tola and get some more.”

  Martha was silently thoughtful for a moment, then said, “Papa won’t like us going in alone, but we’ll just have to.”

  “It’s only a few miles,” Sally said. “We’ll have to risk it.”

  Mr. Sutton had disappeared shortly after the midday dinner and as Sally and Martha were dressing warmly to go into Tola, they heard running feet on the rock path leading up to the cabin porch.

  Thinking this would be Pat, Sally hastily went to the door with a high flush of happiness on her face.

  A sudden pallor replaced the flush when she saw old man Sutton running and dragging a young Indian boy along with him. She could see that the boy was terribly frightened and that Mr. Sutton was in a high state of excitement. The boy kept pulling back, but the old man dragged him relentlessly toward the house with all his strength.

  “What has happened?” Sally cried.

  “This Injun,” panted Mr. Sutton, “he’s been tellin’ it around that he saw three men trapped in a slide. From what he says, one of ’em sounds like it might be Pat Stevens.”

  Sally caught and held fast to the door jamb while Martha rushed up to peer over her shoulder. “Bring … him … in,” she said in a smothered voice.

  The boy broke loose from Mr. Sutton’s relaxed grasp and started to run away, but the old man raced after him, grabbed his arm again and prodded him up the steps. Here, Sally got a grip on his other arm and together they dragged the frightened redskin inside.

  “Tell me about the men,” Sally coerced in a kindly tone. “Did you see the accident?”

  “Me ride ’long behind men. Saw horses killed. Men run in mountain.”

  “How did the men look?” Sally asked.

  The boy shook his head sullenly, his black eyes darting everywhere for a place of escape.

  “Open up thar,” Mr. Sutton demanded. “He kin talk plenty good when he wants to. He kin understand what you say, too.”

  “Was one of the men tall … with two guns strapped on … and a black hat?” She knew it would be futile to describe Pat’s clothing. It was too much like that of every other man in the high country.

  The boy nodded solemnly. “Two guns,” he said. “One man have fire hair.” He ran his fingers through his long coarse black hair and held it up on end. “Beeg man … fire hair … eye …” He held two fingers over one eye and stared at them with the other.

  “Ezra!” Sally gasped. “And did one have black whiskers?” She ran her hand over her chin.

  The boy nodded.

  Sally backed away from him and sank into a chair. Her face was very white. “Sam … and Ezra,” she said weakly. “They followed us up here … and got Pat into trouble.”

  Mr. Sutton began questioning the boy. “Where did you say this place is they got kivered up? Kin you take me to it?”

  “Uh,” the boy grunted, nodding vigorously. “In gulch. Men gone … happy huntin’ ground … gone. Men got guns.”

  “Oh God!” Sally moaned, while Martha stood over her with tears of sympathy.

  “Come on, boy,” Mr. Sutton said. “Now Marthy, you and Miz Stevens stay here. I’ll find out all ’bout it. Prob’ly ain’t Pat and them men you think they are a-tall.”

  “No!” Sally cried, springing up. “I’m going with you.”

  The snowstorm was lessening in intensity, but the wind was damp and bone-chilling. Mr. Sutton ordered the Indian lad to bring his pony to the corral while he saddled the two blacks for himself and Sally.

  As they started away, Sally showed the boy a coin and made him understand that it was to be his if he led them straight to the slide.

  The boy grinned perfect understanding and his eyes gleamed. He prodded his pony and led the way across the rough canyon floor which was strewn with boulders and matted with dead underbrush. There was no manmade path leading toward the lower shelf road, and progress was slow. Snow covered the ground and weighted the limbs of spruce and pine. Snow swirled in Sally’s face and eyes, but the iciness all around her seemed warm compared to the lump of ice weighting her heart. She thought of young Dock but she was too numb for pity. She was unable to censure Sam and Ezra for following Pat, and there was not even a spark of hope that they might be alive.

  After several miles, which seemed a hundred to Sally, they rode into a clearing where a rocky slope led upward toward the narrow ledge. The Indian boy galloped his pony toward the slope and up it, with Mr. Sutton following and Sally close behind him.

  On the shelf trail the boy led them on to the forks where Pat and Sam and Ezra had turned into the narrow gulch. The horses slowed their pace in the deep snow, and after a while the boy began pointing excitedly ahead to a point where the narrow way was piled with rocks and dirt and snow from the slide.

  Sally stared at the mountainous tomb and could not speak. The boy slid from his pony and raced up the slide to the top. Mr. Sutton yelled out:

  “Any sign of an openin’ up there?”

  The boy shook his head. “Men buried.”

  “Look around,” Mr. Sutton called out as he dismounted stiffly and started up the slide to join the boy.

  Sally watched the boy lower his head and yell, “Oo-woo-ooo-ooo,” turning his ear to listen.

  “Hear anything?” Mr. Sutton asked loudly.

  The boy shook his head slowly, then tumbled down the embankment.

  Sally called up: “Is there any sign they’re alive?”

  Descending, Mr. Sutton said, “I think this damned redskin is lyin’. He didn’ see nobody get caught in that slide. See … it come from away up, an’ anybody’d of had time to get away. He’s jest plain lyin’, tryin’ to make a leetle excitement.”

  “Do you really think so?” Sally asked.

  “I’m shore of it, Miz Stevens. I shouldn’ of listened to ’im in the fust place.”

  Sally felt warmth coming to her body. “I think you’re right, Mr. Sutton. I believe Pat would pull out somehow even if he had one foot in purgatory. Maybe,” she added after a moment’s thought, “the hooded men hired the Indian boy to tell that story.”

  They looked around for the boy, to question him further, but boy and pony had slipped away unnoticed through the gulch.

  Feeling greatly heartened, Sally swung into the saddle and followed Mr. Sutton on the perilous trail back toward the cabin.

  NINE

  The silence between the old man and the young woman grew ominous, or it seemed so to Sally. Mr. Sutton seemed far more worried than she had noticed at any time since her arrival at the Sutton home.

  While she had hung upon his heartening conclusions drawn at the slide, as a drowning person grasps a straw, it became clearer as they rode along that he had spoken them in an effort to dissipate her own heartache and terror.

  On the return trip the old man was not so quick to pick the path as the young Indian had been and they rode much slower, in spite of the fact that the snow had almost ceased falling.

  Upon reaching the rear entrance to one of the miners’ cabins which were scattered through the canyon, Mr. Sutton suddenly reined his horse in and said:

  “I’m gonna stop here and see Jeb Dawson ’bout gettin’ up a posse. I’m plumb shore that slide wasn’ caused natural. It was them black devils frum hell … prob’ly shootin’ at a place way up on the ridge, knowin’ it would start snow slidin’ an’ take ever’thing else ’long with it.” It was as if he held a bomb inside his own heart which exploded with a bang of words.

  Sally’s eyes widened in surprise. “But I thought … you said you didn’t believe Pat … and the others … were trapped.”

  “Waal, now, mebby they wasn’ trapped, Miz Stevens, but they’s somethin’ powerful funny ’bout the hull thing. Ain’t been no slides up that-a-way long as I kin recollec’.”

  “You mean you’re going to get a posse and try to catch the hooded men … again?”

  “We ain’t never quit tryin’ here in. Dusty Canyon,” Mr. Sutton replied with stolid pride.

  Sally narrowed her eyes and sent the old man a sharp look. “You’re sure you aren’t organizing a party to dig into the slide and bring out … bodies?”

  “We’ll do whatever the fellers think best,” Mr. Sutton parried.

  “You do believe they’re trapped,” Sally said evenly, “and you believe they’re all dead.”

  “Ain’t no doubt ’bout ’em bein’ dead if they was caught in the slide,” Mr. Sutton answered with averted eyes.

  With her horse impatiently stamping in the deep snow, Sally sat quietly thoughtful for a while. She knew she would have to keep a strict guard over herself henceforth in order to refrain from hysterical frenzy. She would have to go ahead on her own, not even thinking of having Pat’s guidance. Pat had shown her the way years ago. She could not fail him.

  In a choked voice she said, “If Pat and Sam and Ezra are … dead … Mr. Sutton, it’s up to us to carry on … do what … Pat and I started out to do … get you and Martha and the gold out. You’ll have to help us.”

  “’Tain’t much I kin do to help women sew,” he argued. “It ain’t goin’ to be easy to carry out that plan o’ yourn. Looks this-a-way tuh me. If you an’ Marthy try to git out by yourse’fs, ain’t no tellin’ what them black devils might try to do to you, and if I went ’long with you, they’d be shore tuh suspec’ we was takin’ the gold out.” He waggled his head slowly back and forth.

  Sally straightened her shoulders and lifted her head high. “Well, I’d better go on. Martha and I must go to Tola this afternoon to get thread to finish the dresses. We’ll work on them all night if we have to, so we can start for Pueblo on the stage tomorrow.”

  “You an’ Marthy goin’ to Tola … this evenin’?” he asked, surprised.

  “Yes. We haven’t nearly enough thread to finish up.” Sally spurred her horse forward. She did not look back, but could hear Mr. Sutton’s mare, Pansy, racing to catch up with her mate.

  It was only a short distance to the Sutton cabin, and he did not catch up with her until they drew up at the corral gate.

  Stiffly dismounting, Mr. Sutton went rapidly to Sally’s side as she, too, dismounted, stepping from the stirrups.

  “See here, Miz Stevens, we cain’t all go off an’ leave the cabin not guarded. If you and Marthy’re boun’ to go to Tola, I’ll have to wait till you get back to git the men o’ganized.”

  Sally considered his harassed old face, then in a calm voice she said, “You can’t possibly do much this afternoon. By the time you and your men reached the slide it would be too dark to … do any digging, and too dark to see the hooded men even if they were anywhere near there. I still believe my plan is best for you and Martha, and if you’ll hitch up the team to the buggy, Martha and I will start for Tola at once. We’ve no time to waste.”

  Mr. Sutton nodded his gray head slowly. His voice broke when he said, “Reckon you’re right. The men hereabouts ’ve been fightin’ the blackguards fer months. We ain’t smart ’nough to ketch ’em. Reckon our eyes are old an’ blinded by gold dust. I’ll hitch up and stay till you-all git back, then I’ll round up some o’ the men an’ we’ll try ag’in tomorry mornin’.” He turned his watery eyes away from Sally’s piercing blue ones and added, “Reckon thar ain’t no hurry … now … noways.”

  “No,” said Sally bravely, while her heart ached for the old man. “All we can do now is carry on … for Pat’s sake. I’ve got to get back home to Dock … and the Lazy Mare ranch … just as soon as possible. It’s all we’ve got left.”

  Mr. Sutton looked at her now. He said, gently, “You’re a brave woman, Miz Stevens. Braver than most.”

  Sally’s smile was pathetic, but she smiled and said, “Many women who were much braver than I could ever be came … out here … long before my time,” as the old man lifted the wooden latch of the corral gate and opened it for the horses to go through.

  Turning slowly, Sally went into the house.

  Martha, who was busily sewing ruffles for the red dress, looked up at her with agonized dark eyes. “What did you find out?” she asked breathlessly.

  Sally slumped into a chintz-covered bedroom chair and closed her eyes. In a strange monotone she told Martha all the details of the trip.

  When she finished, she heard the team stamping at the front, and said:

  “We’re going to take the ruffles with the gold in them with us. We’ll have to take small samples to match the material with thread. I don’t think we should leave the ruffles lying around here. So much has happened, I have a strange feeling the trouble has just begun.”

  “You mean … you think our time has come?” Martha asked in a strained, frightened voice.

  Sally was busily wrapping the gold-laden ruffles securely in papers. Looking about her, she saw the two buckskin pouches she had emptied. Picking them up, she stuffed them inside her jacket under her heavy coat.

  “Do you think … they’re coming here?” Martha persisted.

  “I wouldn’t say that,” Sally responded, keeping her voice as calm as possible, “but don’t you see … they’ve got Pat … and they know we’re friends of yours. If they should come and find these ruffles they’d be certain to get suspicious if they lifted even one of them, and if the hooded men ever got any idea of our plan it would be absolutely worthless.”

  “Then … it’s just a precautionary measure?” Martha asked anxiously, her big dark eyes looking trustingly into Sally’s sorrowful blue ones.

  “Come on,” Sally said hastily. “We’ve got to hurry. The team is waiting for us.” Taking a last look in her handbag to be sure there were small scraps of the red and blue material for matching the thread, Sally led the way out to the buggy.

  Mr. Sutton was patiently holding the team, his watery eyes looking at the foot of snow which had drifted into the driveway. When Martha and Sally were in the buggy with the sheepskin robe tucked warmly around them, he said:

  “Git back fast as you can, Marthy. I got some matters to settle, too.” He looked up at his daughter pleadingly.

  Martha took the reins in her gloved hand and said, “We’ll get back just as fast as possible, Papa, with all this snow on the ground. Thank goodness it has quit coming down.”

  As they drove the spirited team away, Martha took up the conversation where Sally had left off telling her about Pat and Sam and Ezra.

  “You say those two men … Sam and Ezra … just followed you and Pat up here?”

  Sally’s brow puckered in a frown. “I just can’t see how they got here so fast. I didn’t see them at the station at Hopewell Junction, and I looked for them, too. They always follow Pat when there’s trouble in sight. I might have known they’d get here somehow. For the last seven years or more, the three of them have teamed up when there were criminals to be caught.” In spite of herself, admiration for the swarthy-black Sam and one-eyed, redheaded Ezra crept into her voice. She sighed and her eyes filled with tears. “I suppose somebody else will have to take over the job of getting rid of the terrible characters who come West along with honest men.”