to the last man-第53节

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thirst；　leaning　on　a　stone　that　showed　drops　of　blood。　　Queen；　too；
had　to　quench　his　thirst。　　What　good；　what　help；　Jean　wondered；　could
the　cold；　sweet；　granite　water；　so　dear　to　woodsmen　and　wild　creatures；
do　this　wounded；　hunted　rustler？　　Why　did　he　not　wait　in　the　open　to
fight　and　face　the　death　he　had　meted？　　Where　was　that　splendid　and
terrible　daring　of　the　gunman？　　Queen's　love　of　life　dragged　him　on
and　on；　hour　by　hour；　through　the　pine　groves　and　spruce　woods；　through
the　oak　swales　and　aspen　glades；　up　and　down　the　rocky　gorges；　around
the　windfalls　and　over　the　rotting　logs。

The　time　came　when　Queen　tried　no　more　ambush。　　He　gave　up　trying　to
trap　his　pursuer　by　lying　in　wait。　　He　gave　up　trying　to　conceal　his
tracks。　　He　grew　stronger　or；　in　desperation；　increased　his　energy；
so　that　he　redoubled　his　progress　through　the　wilderness。　　That；
at　best；　would　count　only　a　few　miles　a　day。　　And　he　began　to　circle
to　the　northwest；　back　toward　the　deep　canyon　where　Blaisdell　and　Bill
Isbel　had　reached　the　end　of　their　trails。　　Queen　had　evidently　left
his　comrades；　had　lone…handed　it　in　his　last　fight；　but　was　now　trying
to　get　back　to　them。　　Somewhere　in　these　wild；　deep　forest　brakes　the
rest　of　the　Jorth　faction　had　found　a　hiding　place。　　Jean　let　Queen
lead　him　there。

Ellen　Jorth　would　be　with　them。　　Jean　had　seen　her。　　It　had　been　his
shot　that　killed　Colter's　horse。　　And　he　had　withheld　further　fire
because　Colter　had　dragged　the　girl　behind　him；　protecting　his　body
with　hers。　　Sooner　or　later　Jean　would　come　upon　their　camp。　　She　would
be　there。　　The　thought　of　her　dark　beauty；　wasted　in　wantonness　upon
these　rustlers；　added　a　deadly　rage　to　the　blood　lust　and　righteous
wrath　of　his　vengeance。　　Let　her　again　flaunt　her　degradation　in　his
face　and；　by　the　God　she　had　forsaken；　he　would　kill　her；　and　so　end
the　race　of　Jorths！

Another　night　fell；　dark　and　cold；　without　starlight。　　The　wind　moaned
in　the　forest。　　Shepp　was　restless。　　He　sniffed　the　air。　　There　was　a
step　on　his　trail。　　Again　a　mournful；　eager；　wild；　and　hungry　wolf　cry
broke　the　silence。　　It　was　deep　and　low；　like　that　of　a　baying　hound；
but　infinitely　wilder。　　Shepp　strained　to　get　away。　　During　the　night；
while　Jean　slept；　he　managed　to　chew　the　cowhide　leash　apart　and　run　off。

Next　day　no　dog　was　needed　to　trail　Queen。　　Fog　and　low…drifting　clouds
in　the　forest　and　a　misty　rain　had　put　the　rustler　off　his　bearings。
He　was　lost；　and　showed　that　he　realized　it。　　Strange　how　a　matured　man；
fighter　of　a　hundred　battles；　steeped　in　bloodshed；　and　on　his　last
stand；　should　grow　panic…stricken　upon　being　lost！　　So　Jean　Isbel　read
the　signs　of　the　trail。

Queen　circled　and　wandered　through　the　foggy；　dripping　forest　until　he
headed　down　into　a　canyon。　　It　was　one　that　notched　the　Rim　and　led　down
and　down；　mile　after　mile　into　the　Basin。　　Not　soon　had　Queen　discovered
his　mistake。　　When　he　did　do　so；　night　overtook　him。

The　weather　cleared　before　morning。　　Red　and　bright　the　sun　burst　out
of　the　east　to　flood　that　low　basin　land　with　light。　　Jean　found　that
Queen　had　traveled　on　and　on；　hoping；　no　doubt；　to　regain　what　he　had
lost。　　But　in　the　darkness　he　had　climbed　to　the　manzanita　slopes　instead
of　back　up　the　canyon。　　And　here　he　had　fought　the　hold　of　that　strange
brush　of　Spanish　name　until　he　fell　exhausted。

Surely　Queen　would　make　his　stand　and　wait　somewhere　in　this　devilish
thicket　for　Jean　to　catch　up　with　him。　　Many　and　many　a　place　Jean　would
have　chosen　had　he　been　in　Queen's　place。　　Many　a　rock　and　dense　thicket
Jean　circled　or　approached　with　extreme　care。　　Manzanita　grew　in　patches
that　were　impenetrable　except　for　a　small　animal。　　The　brush　was　a　few
feet　high；　seldom　so　high　that　Jean　could　not　look　over　it；　and　of　a
beautiful　appearance；　having　glossy；　small　leaves；　a　golden　berry；　and
branches　of　dark…red　color。　　These　branches　were　tough　and　unbendable。
Every　bush；　almost；　had　low　branches　that　were　dead；　hard　as　steel；
sharp　as　thorns；　as　clutching　as　cactus。　　Progress　was　possible　only
by　endless　detours　to　find　the　half…closed　aisles　between　patches；
or　else　by　crashing　through　with　main　strength　or　walking　right　over
the　tops。　　Jean　preferred　this　last　method；　not　because　it　was　the
easiest；　but　for　the　reason　that　he　could　see　ahead　so　much　farther。
So　he　literally　walked　across　the　tips　of　the　manzanita　brush。　　Often
he　fell　through　and　had　to　step　up　again；　many　a　branch　broke　with　him；
letting　him　down；　but　for　the　most　part　he　stepped　from　fork　to　fork；
on　branch　after　branch；　with　balance　of　an　Indian　and　the　patience　of
a　man　whose　purpose　was　sustaining　and　immutable。

On　that　south　slope　under　the　Rim　the　sun　beat　down　hot。　　There　was　no
breeze　to　temper　the　dry　air。　　And　before　midday　Jean　was　laboring；
wet　with　sweat；　parching　with　thirst；　dusty　and　hot　and　tiring。
It　amazed　him；　the　doggedness　and　tenacity　of　life　shown　by　this
wounded　rustler。　　The　time　came　when　under　the　burning　rays　of　the　sun
he　was　compelled　to　abandon　the　walk　across　the　tips　of　the　manzanita
bushes　and　take　to　the　winding；　open　threads　that　ran　between。　　It　would
have　been　poor　sight　indeed　that　could　not　have　followed　Queen's
labyrinthine　and　broken　passage　through　the　brush。　　Then　the　time
came　when　Jean　espied　Queen；　far　ahead　and　above；　crawling　like　a
black　bug　along　the　bright…green　slope。　　Sight　then　acted　upon　Jean
as　upon　a　hound　in　the　chase。　　But　he　governed　his　actions　if　he
could　not　govern　his　instincts。　　Slowly　but　surely　he　followed　the
dusty；　hot　trail；　and　never　a　patch　of　blood　failed　to　send　a　thrill
along　his　veins。

Queen；　headed　up　toward　the　Rim；　finally　vanished　from　sight。　　Had　he
fallen？　　Was　he　hiding？　　But　the　hour　disclosed　that　he　was　crawling。
Jean's　keen　eye　caught　the　slow　moving　of　the　brush　and　enabled　him
to　keep　just　so　close　to　the　rustler；　out　of　range　of　the　six…shooters
he　carried。　　And　so　all　the　interminable　hours　of　the　hot　afternoon
that　snail…pace　flight　and　pursuit　kept　on。

Halfway　up　the　Rim　the　growth　of　manzanita　gave　place　to　open；　yellow；
rocky　slope　dotted　with　cedars。　　Queen　took　to　a　slow…ascending　ridge
and　left　his　bloody　tracks　all　the　way　to　the　top；　where　in　the
gathering　darkness　the　weary　pursuer　lost　them。

Another　night　passed。　　Daylight　was　relentless　to　the　rustler。　　He　could
not　hide　his　trail。　　But　somehow　in　a　desperate　last　rally　of　strength
he　reached　a　point　on　the　heavily　timbered　ridge　that　Jean　recognized
as　being　near　the　scene　of　the　fight　in　the　canyon。　　Queen　was　nearing
the　rendezvous　of　the　rustlers。　　Jean　crossed　tracks　of　horses；　and　then
more　tracks　that　he　was　certain　had　been　made　days　past　by　his　own　party。
To　the　left　of　this　ridge　must　be　the　deep　canyon　that　had　frustrated
his　efforts　to　catch　up　with　the　rustlers　on　the　day　Blaisdell　lost　his
life；　and　probably　Bill　Isbel；　too。　　Something　warned　Jean　that　he　was　
nearing　the　end　of　the　trail；　and　an　unaccountable　sense　of　imminent
catastrophe　seemed　foreshadowed　by　vague　dreads　and　doubts　in　his
gloomy　mind。　　Jean　felt　the　need　of　rest；　of　food；　of　ease　from　the
strain　of　the　last　weeks。　　But　his　spirit　drove　him　implacably。

Queen's　rally　of　strength　ended　at　the　edge　of　an　open；　bald　ridge　that
was　bare　of　brush　or　grass　and　was　surrounded　by　a　line　of　forest　on
three　sides；　and　on　the　fourth　by　a　low　bluff　which　raised　its　gray
head　above　the　pines。　　Across　this　dusty　open　Queen　had　crawled；
leaving　unmistakable　signs　of　his　condition。　　Jean　took　long　survey
of　the　circle　of　trees　and　of　the　low；　rocky　eminence；　neither　of　which
he　liked。　　It　might　be　wiser　to　keep　to　cover；　Jean　thought；　and　work
around　to　where　Queen's　trail　entered　the　forest　again。　　But　he　was　
tired；　gloomy；　and　his　eternal　vigilance　was　failing。　　Nevertheless；
he　stilled　for　the　thousandth　time　that　bold　prompting　of　his　vengeance
and；　taking　to　the　edge　of　the　forest；　he　went　to　considerable　pains　to
circle　the　open　ground。　　And　suddenly　sight　of　a　man　sitting　back
against　a　tree　halted　Jean。

He　stared　to　make　sure　his　eyes　did　not　deceive　him。　　Many　times　stumps
and　snags　and　rocks　had　taken　on　strange　resemblance　to　a　standing　or
crouching　man。　　This　was　only　another　suggestive　blunder　of　the　mind
behind　his　eyeswhat　he　wanted　to　see　he　imagined　he　saw。　　Jean　glided
on　from　tree　to　tree　until　he　made　sure　that　this　sitting　image　indeed
was　that　of　a　man。　　He　sat　bolt　upright；　facing　back　across　the　open；
hands　resting　on　his　kneesand　closer　scrutiny　showed　Jean　that　he
held　a　gun　in　each　hand。

Queen！　　At　the　last　his　nerve　had　revived。　　He　could　not　crawl　any
farther；　he　could　never　escape；　so　with　the　courage　of　fatality　he
chose　the　open；　to　face　his　foe　and　die。　　Jean　had　a　thrill　of
admiration　for　the　rustler。　　Then　he　stalked　out　from　under　the
pines　and　strode　forward　with　his　rifle　ready。

A　watching　man　could　not　have　failed　to　espy　Jean。　　But　Queen　never
made　the　slightest　move。　　Moreover；　his　stiff；　unnatural　position
struck　Jean　so　singularly　that　he　halted　with　a　muttered　exclamation。
He　was　now　about　fifty　paces　from　Queen；　within　range　of　those　small　
guns。　　J