Black Hills (S.D. and Wyo.) -- History -- 19th century -- Fiction; Frontier and pioneer life -- United States -- Fiction
So Lafond, after his first impulse to get away from the scene of his
deed had spent itself, jogged along unmolested toward Rapid. His brain
was working like lightning, but always on one line. He saw himself
alone, standing opposed to this huge black Bad-luck. Everything was
against him. But they couldn't get him down. He was
Man-who-speaks-Medicine, the Sioux; he was Lafond, the half-breed; he
was Black Mike, the pioneer. Let them come on! They thought they
could corner him. He would show them. One was gone. There remained
the other two. Lafond's mind saw red; he was set on murder. No
consideration of reason, probability, or common sense obtruded itself
athwart his plan. He could perceive one fact--that three men knew his
secret, of whom one was dead and the other two were living. Why Knapp
and Buckley should have told Durand; what they expected to gain by
going to Rapid; or what benefit the naturalist imagined could accrue to
him from his insinuating the state of affairs to the half-breed, the
latter did not inquire. He only knew that he wanted to catch Knapp's
buckboard before it had left the pine belt. Ambush would then be
easier. He lashed his horses unmercifully.
Rockerville told him the two men had passed through not half an hour
before, and wondered at the wildness of his eye.
That was well. They could not escape him now, for their wagon was
heavily loaded, and they were travelling leisurely, having no reason
for haste. Remembering appearances, he told Rockerville that it did
not much matter, he would not try to catch up; and then drove back
toward Copper Creek, only to make a detour by a wood road into the
Rapid trail again. As he approached the foothills, he could hear
occasionally the creak of a brake below him, by which he knew that he
was drawing near. He slowed up at once, for he knew of a short cut a
mile or so ahead, which the prospectors would not attempt because of
their heavy load, but by which he could come out ahead of his victims.
Then he would lie in wait. The short cut in question dipped steeply
down into the bed of a creek, and as steeply up on the other side;
while the main stage-road made a long horseshoe curve around the head
of the cañon. Lafond decided to drive rapidly down, to leave his team
in the creek bottom, and to climb on foot to the level of the main road
on the other side. In the meantime he drew as near to the other wagon
as he could without being seen. The minutes seemed to drag.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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