The Cross Pull/Chapter 19
CHAPTER XIX
Having milled the horses to his satisfaction Flash came back to camp and sat down close to Moran, listening gravely while the men discussed the real purpose of their hunt.
Moran was no manhunter, as he had told Vermont. It was something which ordinarily held no appeal for him, this tracking down his fellowmen. But Moran loved this hundred mile stretch of wilderness, almost untouched by the hand of man, in which he had spent so many pleasant months in the past few years. It was for him the most beautiful land in creation, the wonder spot of the world. The fact that it had become the stronghold of murderers and thieves was in itself sufficient justification for his helping to stamp them out. Primarily, it was something more than that, something even deeper and stronger—his love for Betty, which had led him to commit himself to this course. Many times a day a wave of pure savagery possessed him as he thought of the fate which would have been hers but for Flash. At such times he was filled with a desire to crush and kill that matched the most ruthless strain in Flash. He reached out his hand and rested it on the dog’s head.
“Flash, old boy,” he said, “The gulf between us isn’t so very wide after all.”
Vermont smiled understandingly.
“Not so very,” he agreed. “Take them as a whole and men aren’t so bad—not much worse than dogs.”
“What was your particular reason for thinking your men were up in here?” Moran inquired. “Merely the rumors to that effect?”
“Not altogether,” said Vermont. “There’s an eastern man, a lawyer, who is leagued with them. He’s been suspected of planning and financing one or two escapes. It couldn’t be proved. He’s too smooth for that. His fees seem to be in the nature of a percentage rake-off on every crime. There’s no law to prevent his taking money to defend these men in the event of their being caught. Once or twice a year he takes a hunt—maybe he hunts the same way we are hunting bear. Anyway this is where he hunts. Take that along with all those rumors about the gang that’s holed up in here—well they sent me in to look for a man who is wanted on a federal charge, with instructions to investigate any others I could find.”
“Nash!” Moran exclaimed.
“Absolutely,” said Vermont. “That’s the man. Even if we’d find him prowling around up here we couldn’t touch him. Any man has the right to do that. I’ve never seen him—wouldn’t know him if I did. Would you?”
“I certainly would,” Moran stated. Many things were now quite clear to him. He had wondered how these men who had attacked the girl managed to live through the long winter and spring when the passes were blocked with snow. They could kill enough meat in the fall to last them through; it would freeze and keep; but they would need other things. These were marked men and they could not easily appear in the towns and buy supplies. They could go in and out themselves, revisiting old haunts when the hunt for them had died down. They might raid and rob and get back to the hills unseen; but they could not supply so large a number of men with food except through outside help. Nash’s connection with them pointed to the identity of this outside man, Brent. Moran recalled his frequent absences from home; the isolation of his cabin in the little blind basin from which a deep gorge led far back into the hills. A few trips with a pack train in the summer and fall would solve the problem of winter food. He explained this to Vermont.
“Very likely,” he returned. “What’s your idea of the best way to locate them?”
“Track them down with Flash,” said Moran.
“But he’s no trail hound,” Vermont objected. “Collies, shepherds and the wolf breeds won’t hold a trail.”
“That’s because they’re trained for other things,” Moran pointed out. “It’s harder to teach them to hold a trail than it is to train a hound whose natural inclination already leans that way; but it can be done.”
“But it will take a month to train him.” Vermont was not convinced.
“Not over two days,” Moran corrected. “Three at the outside. A hound wouldn’t do at all. You’ll need a silent trailer for this job, a dog broken to track at the end of a leash. One that will lead you up to them without a sound. His actions will tell us when we’re close to them—when he catches the body scent ahead. We can start breaking Flash on a friendly trail—yours.”
Vermont looked doubtful.
“I know considerable about dogs myself,” he said, “I don’t relish having that wolf turned loose on any trail of mine. That breed of a dog don’t know when to quit.”
“One more reason for keeping him in leash,” Moran explained. “When we overtake you he’ll see that there’s no resulting fight. He’ll soon learn that we’re not following a trail to kill whatever we find at the end of it. He’ll get the point after a few tryouts; learn that this tracking of men is only a friendly sport. Then we’ll have less trouble handling him when we finally put him on the trail we want.”
“It’s worth a trial,” Vermont decided. He was a man of action. “Let’s start right now,” he said. Moran shook his head.
“In the morning,” he returned. “I’m going to send him on an errand now and have him guard my horses to-night.”
Moran wrote a note on a leaf of his notebook, rolled it around the elkhide collar and fastened it with a pin. At the first sight of Moran’s notebook Flash was alert. He knew what this meant and with the knowledge came a wave of longing to be with the girl. He moved up to Moran and watched him excitedly.
“Go!” said Moran. “Go!” He waved his arm and Flash was off.
Then men watched him turn up a side valley, running at top speed.
“He’s an all around dog,” said Vermont.
Flash raced straight to the cabin, stopping but once, and that time only to assure himself that the horses were all there. He burst into the cabin with a rush and leaped joyously around the girl. Never since finding her had he been away from her for so long a time. Then too, there had been a certain strain attached to suddenly meeting so many men. During his outlawry he had been forced to avoid all men; of late he had avoided all but Betty and Moran. Even Kinney’s presence was distasteful. He could not drop back into old ways so completely in so short a time. He was glad to be away from them all and back home alone with her.
Betty read the note and held out her hand to Flash.
“Oh, I wish he hadn’t decided to go into this thing,” she said. “I’m afraid for him, Flash. I want him here with me. I miss him—miss him every living second he’s away. It’s all true, Flash, every word. I don’t mind confessing it so shamelessly to you. How is it all going to come out?”
When Kinney arrived Flash dropped down to look over the horses. He spent most of the night in the cabin but made frequent trips to make sure of the safety of the stock. Once they left, intending to cross out over the divide, but he drove them back. Half an hour before daylight Betty attached a note to his collar and sent him back to Moran.
“Take care of him, Flash. Bring him back to me. Go, boy! Take it to Moran. Go!” Flash departed swiftly. When he neared the other camp he was shy about approaching it. Even though he had been among them the day before these men might shoot. He circled uphill behind it and slipped down through the timber. Figures moved about in the gray dawn. A fire blazed up. He heard Moran’s voice and made a silent dash for him. The first they knew of his presence was when Moran stooped down to take the note. Each man greeted him warmly. It is almost an invariable rule that an indoor man of soft habits has little appreciation for the practical work of the staunch, half savage breeds of outdoor dogs while the outdoor man has a corresponding lack of interest in the parlor tricks of indoor dogs. There was not a man in the posse who did not envy Moran’s ownership of this great gray wolf dog.
Immediately after breakfast Flash was launched upon his new course of training. Vermont left camp half an hour ahead of Moran who spent the intervening time reinforcing the dog’s collar with a second strip of elkhide. He attached to this a heavy rawhide thong to serve as a leash. Flash did not relish this proceeding in the least, and submitted to it only because Moran willed it so. It brought memories of the tedious hours long ago when he had been chained to some one spot or other, unable to chase jacks or otherwise amuse himself.
Moran led him from camp, taking a course diagonal to the one Vermont had chosen. At first they traveled with considerable difficulty. Moran had fastened the thong to his heavy belt and Flash persistently refused to learn that he could not swing out to the side and pass on the opposite side of a tree. Moran, instead of following around, which appeared the more simple course, pulled Flash back each time to his own side of the tree. This was to teach him more quickly that they must both follow the same course. Flash quite often started off at a tangent to investigate anything which happened to interest him.
A snowshoe hare, whose coat was in the course of transition from the pure white of winter to the dark gray of summer and which was now splotched with maltese and white, leaped from his bed and darted away. Flash was after him with one leap which threw him flat at the end of his leash and jerked Moran to his knees, his back jarred by this lurch at his belt. Progress was slow and erratic for the first mile, much easier the second and from then on they proceeded without difficulty. Flash had learned that it was better for all concerned if he chose the same route as Moran.
Moran commenced circling when three miles from camp. Every few feet he stooped and examined the ground narrowly. He persisted in this course until it was impressed upon Flash that he was searching for something. His ears, eyes and nose informed him that there was nothing of interest in their immediate neighborhood so he was not much concerned. However, Moran’s behavior at last roused his own interest and he watched him curiously, wondering what this thing could be for which Moran sought so long.
They neared a low ridge, the prearranged spot where Moran was to find Vermont’s fresh trail. When within a hundred yards of the crest Flash caught the scent, and knew one of the men from camp had passed less than an hour before. He did not in any way connect this with the thing for which Moran still hunted. As they topped the ridge Moran pointed triumphantly at the plain print of a boot in the gravelly soil. Flash sniffed it critically but it told him nothing which he had not known for the past five minutes. Moran turned down the ridge on the tracks. They were of small consequence to Flash and it was some time before he fully realized that they interested Moran. Had they been those of a stranger he would have known this sooner, as his own quickened interest would have rendered him more alert. There seemed no good reason why Moran should trail this friend whom he had seen so recently. The one outstanding fact remained that whatever the reason, Moran was deliberately tracking him. Once sure of this Flash began to help, unconsciously at first, then with deliberate intent.
The trail was an easy one for a tracker of Moran’s ability but he lost it intentionally time after time. As he veered away from it and circled to pick it up, Flash moved back to it. At first he did this without thought that he was helping Moran, but each time he was lavishly praised. Later, he sensed that Moran required his help. He was not surprised that his master seemed to have difficulty in working out this trail. There is one bit of knowledge which comes to but few animals; only the grizzly and a few of the more intelligent dogs who have hunted with man or have been hunted by him seem to know that man follows a trail, not by scent, but by the sight of the tracks. All animals know that their back track is a source of menace and they watch it. When followed, many of them double and twist, exercising every ingenuity known to them to break their trail. Close study will prove conclusively that they have broken it to confuse the nose but not the eye. The grizzly and a few renegade dogs have the sagacity to cross territory which shows no tracks, working for invisibility without regard for scent when trailed by man.
There was no longer the slightest doubt that Moran was following this man. Flash bristled slightly. Only one possible reason occurred to him. Men who were apparently friends one moment sometimes fought the next. Moran had fought with Brent. Flash had seen many sudden quarrels spring up at the Bar T ranch. Even when these disputes had not culminated in a physical clash the voices had frequently been hoarse with anger—much as dogs are prone to snarl even if there is no resulting fight. Not that Flash retained any precise recollection of every such event but their cumulative effect had implanted the knowledge that even friends disagreed among themselves.
Moran showed no anger and this puzzled Flash. In spite of that the longer they followed the trail the more Flash’s distrust of the other man deepened. At last he caught the body scent and snarled. They found Vermont seated in the center of an open park and Flash bristled fiercely. Vermont hailed them joyously and Moran answered him in kind. There seemed to be no hostility between these two; but Flash’s doubt still persisted and he walked stiffly as they approached and never once took his eyes from the man they had tracked until Moran sat down a few feet away and rolled a cigarette. Then Flash relaxed and his indifference to Vermont returned.