The Mountain DivideSpearman, Frank H. (Frank Hamilton)
General
The Mountain Divide
Spearman, Frank H. (Frank Hamilton)
Western stories
He realized, likewise, that he was in grave danger. The night was
before him. No train would be through before morning. He could not
reach his key by which he might have summoned aid instantly. For a
moment he lay thinking. Then taking off his hat he stuck his head
carefully forward; it was greeted at once by a bullet. The lesson was
obvious and next time he wanted to reconnoitre he stuck his hat
forward first on the muzzle of his gun, as he had often read of
frontiersmen doing, and, having drawn a shot, stuck his head out
afterward for a quick look. All that remained in the open was the team
and wagon, but this left the outlaws at a disadvantage, for if they
wanted to get their outfit and go on their way they must expose
themselves to Bucks's fire. While they might feel that one operator,
armed with a revolver he hardly knew how to use, was not a dangerous
foe, a Colt's, even in the hands of a boy who had thus far fired first
and aimed afterward, was not wholly to be despised. An accident might
happen even under such conditions, and the three men, knowing that
darkness would soon leave them free, waited in absolute silence.
Night fell very soon and the light of the stars, though leaving
objects visible upon the high ledge, left the earth in impenetrable
darkness. Strain his eyes as he would, Bucks could perceive nothing
below. He could hear, however, and one of the first sounds audible was
that of the wagon moving quietly away. It was a welcome sound, even
though he dared not hope his troublesome visitors would withdraw
without further mischief. His chief concern at this juncture was to
get safely, if he could, down the rocks and into the station to give
the alarm to the despatcher; for he made no doubt that the outlaws, on
their wagon trip west, would damage in any way they might be able
railroad supplies and property along their way.
Before Bucks had climbed down very far and after he had made one or
two startling missteps, he began to consider that it was one thing to
get up a rough arête in daylight and quite another to get down one in
the darkness. The heavy clouds moving down from the north had massed
above Point of Rocks, and he heard once in a while an ominous roll of
thunder, as he slipped and slid along and bruised his hands and feet
upon the rocks.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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