University of Virginia Library

17. CHAPTER XVII.
CAITIFF BAFFLES OGRE.

Another rush of horses' feet behind us.

What?

Elder Sizzum!

And that pale, gray shadow of a man, whose
pony the Elder drags by the bridle, and lashes
cruelly forward, — who?

Mr. Clitheroe.

Sizzum rode straight up to Brent.

The two men faced each other, — the big,
hulking, bullying saint; the slight, graceful, self-possessed
gentile. Sizzum quailed a little when
he saw the other did not quail. He seemed to
change his intended form of address.

“Brother Clitheroe wants his daughter,” said
Sizzum.

“Yes, yes, gentlemen,” said Mr. Clitheroe in
feeble echo, “I want my daughter.”

Brent ignored the Mormon. He turned to
the father, and questioned eagerly.

“What is this, dear sir? Is Miss Ellen missing?
She is not here. Speak, sir! Tell us

at once how she was lost. We must be on
her track instantly. Wade, shift the saddles
to Fulano and Pumps, while I make up our
packs. Speak, sir! Speak!”

Brent's manner carried conviction, even to
Sizzum.

“I did not like to suspect you, gentlemen,”
said Mr. Clitheroe, “after our pleasant evening
and your kindness; but Brother Sizzum said it
could not be any one else.”

“Get the facts, Wade,” said Brent, “I cannot
trust myself to ask.”

Sizzum smiled a base, triumphant smile over
the agony of my friend.

“Tell us quick,” said I, taking Mr. Clitheroe
firmly by the arm, and fixing his eye.

“In the night, an hour or more after you
left us, I was waked up by two men creeping
into the wagon. They whispered they would
shoot, if I breathed. They passed behind the
curtain. My daughter had sunk on the floor,
tired out, poor child! without undressing. They
threw a blanket over her head, and stifled her
so that she could not utter a sound. They
tied me and gagged me. Then they dragged
her off. God forgive me, gentlemen, for suspecting
you of such brutality! I lay in the
wagon almost strangled to death until the teamster
came to put to the oxen for our journey.
That is all I know.”

“The two gamblers, murderers, have carried
her off,” said I; “but we 'll save her yet, please
God!”

“O,” said Sizzum, “ef them devils has got
her, that 's the end of her. I haint got no
more interest in her case. I believe I 'll go.
I 've wasted too much time now from the Lord's
business.”

He moved to go.

“What am I to do?” said Mr. Clitheroe.

Forlorn, bereaved, perplexed old man! Any
but a brute would have hesitated to strike him
another blow. Sizzum did not hesitate.

“You may go to the devil across lots, on
that runt pony of yourn, with your new friends,
for all I care. I 've had enough of your daughter's
airs, as if she was too good to be teched
by one of the Lord's chosen. But she 'll get
the Lord's vengeance now, because she would n't
see what was her place and privileges. And
you 're no better than a backslider. You 've
been grumblin' and settin' yourself up for somebody.
I would cuss you now with the wrath
to come if such a poor-spirited granny was wuth
cussin'.”

The base wretch lashed his horse and galloped
off.

Even his own people of the mail party looked
and muttered contempt.

Mr. Clitheroe seemed utterly stunned. Guide,
Faith, Daughter, all gone! What was he to do,
indeed!

“Never mind, Mr. Clitheroe,” said Brent, tenderly,
“I hope you have not lost a daughter.
I know you have gained a son, — yes, two of
them. Here, Jake Shamberlain!”

“Here, sir! Up to time! Ready to pull my
pound!”

“Wade and I are going after the lady. Do
you take this gentleman, and deliver him safe
and sound to Captain Ruby at Fort Laramie.
Tell Ruby to keep him till we come, and treat
him as he would General Scott. Drive our
mules and the mustangs to Laramie, and leave
them there. We trust the whole to you. There 's
no time to talk. Tell me what money you want
for the work, and I 'll pay you now in advance,
whatever you ask.”

“I 'll be switched round creation ef you do.
Not the first red! You think, bekase I 'm a
Mormon, as you call it, I haint got no nat'ral
feelin's. Why, boys, I 'd go with you myself
after the gal, and let Uncle Sam's mail lie there
and wait till every letter answered itself, ef I
had a kettrypid what could range with yourn.
No, no, Jake Shamberlain aint a hog, and his
mail boys aint of the pork kind. I 'll take keer
of the old gentleman, and put him through jest

'z if he was my own father, and wuth a million
slugs. And ef that aint talkin' fair, I dunno
what is.”

We both griped Jake Shamberlain's friendly
fist.

Mr. Clitheroe, weary with his morning's ride,
faint and sick after his bonds of the night, and
now crushed in spirit and utterly bewildered
with these sudden changes, was handed over to
his new protector.

The emancipating force had found him. He
was free of his Mormonism. His delusion had
discarded him. A rough and cruel termination
of his hopes! How would he bear this disappointment?
Would his heart break? Would
his mind break? his life break?

We could not check ourselves to think of
him. Our thoughts were galloping furiously on
in succor of the daughter, fallen on an evil
fate.

While this hasty talk had been going on, I had
shifted our saddles to Pumps and Fulano. Noble
fellows! they took in the calm excitement of my
mood. They grew eager as a greyhound when
he sees the hare break cover. They divined that
THEIR MOMENT HAD COME! Now their force was
to be pitted against brutality. Horse against
brute, — which would win? I dared not think
of the purpose of our going. Only, Begone!

Begone! was ringing in my ears, and a figure
I dared not see was before my eyes.

I was frenzied with excitement; but I held
myself steady as one holds his rifle when a buck
comes leaping out of the forest into the prairie,
where rifle and man have been waiting and trembling,
while the hounds' bay came nearer, nearer.
I drew strap and tied knot of our girths, and
doubled the knot. There must be no chafing of
saddles, no dismounting to girth up. That was
to be a gallop, I knew, where a man who fell to
the rear would be too late for the fight.

Brent, meantime, had rolled up a little stock
of provisions in each man's double blanket. We
were going we knew not how far. We must be
ready for work of many days. A moment's
calmness over our preparations now might save
desolate defeat or death hereafter. We lashed
our blankets with their contents on firmly by
the buckskin thongs which are attached to the
cantle of a California saddle, — the only saddle
for such work as we — horses and men — have
on the plains.

“Rifles?” said I.

“No. Knives and six-shooters are enough,”
said Brent, as cool as if our ride were an ornamental
promenade à cheval. “We cannot carry
weight or clumsy weapons on this journey.”

We mounted and were off, with a cheer from
Jake Shamberlain and his boys.

All this time, we had not noticed Armstrong.
As we struck off southward upon the trackless
prairie, that ghastly figure upon the gaunt white
horse was beside us.

“We 're bound on the same arrant,” whispered
he. “Only the savin 's yourn and the
killin 's mine.”

Did my hope awake, now that the lady I had
chosen for my sister was snatched from that
monstrous ogre of Mormonism?

Yes; for now instant, urgent action was possible.
We could do something. Gallop, gallop,
— that we could do.

God speed us! — and the caitiffs should only
have baffled the ogre, and the lady should be
saved.

If not saved, avenged!