Hope Hathaway: A Story of Western Ranch LifeParker, Frances
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Hope Hathaway: A Story of Western Ranch Life
Parker, Frances
Ranch life -- Fiction; Western stories
Then slower, more stealthily, they crept around the two men who guarded
the road, and with less caution approached the corrals, the girl
meanwhile recovering her composure to a great degree, though her heart
still beat wildly. The night seemed a trifle lighter now to her
straining eyes. What if the moon should come out, revealing them to the
men waiting beyond the corrals? She grasped her rifle firmly, and her
heart beat quicker at the thought. The soft-voiced twin must have felt
the same fear, for he came close and whispered in her ear: "The corrals
ain't more'n a rod, right over there. We'd better make a run for that
bush there on this side of it, for the moon's comin' out--see!" He
pointed upward. A rift had come in the black cloud from which the moon
shone dimly, growing momentarily brighter. Before them the corral loomed
up like a great flat patch of darkness, and to one side of this dark
patch something taller stood in dim relief--a small clump of brush,
toward which the odd little scouting party ran in all haste. Safe within
its shelter, a fierce joy, savage in its intensity, filled the girl.
"Come on, Moon, come on in all your glory!" she whispered; then, as if
in answer to her command, it came in full splendor from behind its veil
of black. It might have been a signal. Back in the hills a coyote called
weirdly to its mate, but before the last wailing note had died away a
sharp report sounded on the still air, followed by the groans of a man
in mortal agony. Hope, upon her knees in the brush, clasped her hands to
her throat to stifle a cry.
"Now drive his damn'd sheep into the gulch!" commanded a gruff voice.
Following the pain, a fierce light came into the girl's eyes. Over
tightly closed teeth her lips parted dryly. Instinctively the breed boys
crept behind her, leaving her upon one knee before the heap of brush. A
man leaped into the corral among the stupid sheep, and as he leaped a
bullet passed through his hand.
"God, I'm killed!" he cried, as he sank limply out of sight among the
sheep. For a few moments not a sound came except the occasional bleating
of a lamb, then the gate of the corral, which was ajar, opened as by
some invisible hand, and the great body of animals crowded slowly toward
the entrance.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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