The Long Dim TrailHooker, Forrestine C. (Forrestine Cooper)
General
The Long Dim Trail
Hooker, Forrestine C. (Forrestine Cooper)
Arizona -- Fiction; Cowboys -- Fiction; Ranch life -- Fiction; Western stories
At last he found it, dismounted and tied his horse. Then from the
underbrush Glendon dragged a rusty shovel and began to dig. The ground
was soft from recent rains, but he paused frequently to wipe the beads
of perspiration that mingled with the rain dashing into his eyes.
"I didn't put it so deep," he muttered, plying the shovel more rapidly.
"I wonder if some one else has found it!"
A rustling in the trees caused him to straighten up suddenly and with a
startled jump he glared about on all sides. The lightning showed only
the waving branches, the pouring rain and the wind-whipped bushes.
His tongue licked his lips. "God! I wish I had a drink! My nerve's all
shot to pieces!" He dug furiously. "It's lucky I caught old Paddy
burying this money. That gave me a chance to get the old fool out of the
way without suspicion. Even Alpaugh was in the dark about that. He's as
big a fool as the rest. Damn 'em. Why didn't they blow out
Three-fingered Jack's brains before they left him there!"
Still he dug, and the rain hammered down while the wind whistled and
screamed around him. The shovel struck a deep root of the tree.
Something brushed against Glendon's face. With a scream of fright he
dropped the shovel and ran to the snorting horse. Glendon's eyes staring
into the darkness pictured Paddy's sardonic face in the bushes, and back
of Paddy was old Doctor King, looking at him with infinite pity.
Glendon's arm went across his face as though shielding himself, and his
foot was thrust into the stirrup of his saddle. The horse moved a few
paces, then Glendon looked back, and jerked violently on the reins. He
lifted his fist and shook it at the gloom, shouting wildly, "Damn you!
You can't frighten me away! I'll have it in spite of you and Heaven and
Hell!"
He leaped from his saddle and grabbed the shovel, cursing as he resumed
his work until he found the canvass bags with the buried money. Unable
to cram the sacks into the saddle pouches, he tore off the strings of
the bags and poured the gold into the leather saddle pouches on either
side of the horse. Once more he mounted, but as he faced the trail to
the Circle Cross he shouted at the nickering shadows, "Damn you! I've
got it!" Then he rode on his way.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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