Bogged Down

: The Trail To Yesterday

Each day during the two weeks that her father had been at the Double R

Sheila had accompanied him on his rides of exploration. She had grown

tired of the continued companionship, and despite the novelty of the sight

she had become decidedly wearied of looking at the cowboys in their native

haunts. Not that they did not appeal to her, for on the contrary she had

found them picturesque and had admired their manliness, but she longed
o

ride out alone where she could brood over her secret. The possession of it

had taken the flavor out of the joys of this new life, had left it flat

and filled with bitter memories.



She had detected a change in her father--he seemed coarse, domineering,

entirely unlike his usual self. She attributed this change in him to the

country--it was hard and rough, and of course it was to be expected that

Langford--or any man, for that matter--taking an active interest in ranch

life, must reflect the spirit of the country.



She had developed a positive dislike for Duncan, which she took no trouble

to conceal. She had discovered that the suspicions she had formed of his

character during the first days of their acquaintance were quite

correct--he was selfish, narrow, and brutal. He had accompanied her and

her father on all their trips and his manner toward her had grown to be

one of easy familiarity. This was another reason why she wanted to ride

alone.



The day before she had spoken to Langford concerning the continued

presence of Duncan on their rides, and he had laughed at her, assuring her

that Duncan was not a "bad fellow," and though she had not taken issue

with him on this point she had decided that hereafter, in self protection,

she would discontinue her rides with her father as long as he was

accompanied by the former owner.



Determined to carry out this decision, she was this morning saddling her

pony at the corral gates when she observed Duncan standing near, watching

her.



"You might have let me throw that saddle on," he said.



She flushed, angered that he should have been watching her without making

his presence known. "I prefer to put the saddle on myself," she returned,

busying herself with it after taking a flashing glance at him.



He laughed, pulled out a package of tobacco and some paper, and proceeded

to roll a cigarette. When he had completed it he held a match to it and

puffed slowly.



"Cross this morning," he taunted.



There was no reply, though Duncan might have been warned by the dark red

in her cheeks. She continued to work with the saddle, lacing the latigo

strings and tightening the cinches.



"We're riding down to the box canyon on the other side of the basin this

morning," said Duncan. "We've got some strays penned up there. But your

dad won't be ready for half an hour yet. You're in something of a hurry,

it seems."



"You are going, I suppose?" questioned Sheila, pulling at the rear cinch,

the pony displaying a disinclination to allow it to be buckled.



"I reckon."



"I don't see," said Sheila, straightening and facing him, "why you have to

go with father everywhere."



Duncan flushed. "Your father's aiming to learn the business," he said.

"I'm showing him, telling him what I know about it. There's a chance that

I won't be with the Double R after the fall round-up, if a deal which I

have got on goes through."



"And I suppose you have a corner on all the knowledge of ranch life,"

suggested Sheila sarcastically.



He flushed darkly, but did not answer.



After Sheila had completed the tightening of the cinches she led the pony

beside the corral fence, mounted, and without looking at Duncan started to

ride away.



"Wait!" he shouted, and she drew the pony to a halt and sat in the saddle,

looking down at him with a contemptuous gaze as he stood in front of her.



"I thought you was going with your father?" he said.



"You are mistaken." She could not repress a smile over the expression of

disappointment on his face. But without giving him any further

satisfaction she urged her pony forward, leaving him standing beside the

corral gates watching her with a frown.



She smiled many times while riding toward the river, thinking of his

discomfiture, reveling in the thought that for once she had shown him that

she resented the attitude of familiarity which he had adopted toward her.



She sat erect in the saddle, experiencing a feeling of elation which

brought the color into her face and brightened her eyes. It was the first

time since her arrival at the Double R that she had been able to ride out

alone, and it was also the first time that she really appreciated the

vastness and beauty of the country. For the trail to the river, which she

had decided she would follow, led through a fertile country where the

bunch grass grew long and green, the barren stretches of alkali were

infrequent, and where the low wooded hills and the shallow gullies seemed

to hint at the mystery. Before long the depression which had made her life

miserable had fled and she was enjoying herself.



When she reached the river she crossed it at a shallow and urged her pony

up a sloping bank and out upon a grass plain that spread away like the

level of a great, green sea. Once into the plain, though, she discovered

that its promise of continuing green was a mere illusion, for the grass

grew here in bunches, the same as it grew on the Double R side of the

river. Yet though she was slightly disappointed she found many things to

interest her, and she lingered long over the odd rock formations that she

encountered and spent much time peering down into gullies and exploring

sand draws which seemed to be on every side.



About noon, when she became convinced that she had seen everything worth

seeing in that section of the country, she wheeled her pony and headed it

back toward the river. She reached it after a time and urged her beast

along its banks, searching for the shallow which she had crossed some time

before. A dim trail led along the river and she felt certain that if she

followed it long enough it would lead her to the crossing, but after

riding half an hour and encountering nothing but hills and rock cliffs she

began to doubt. But she rode on for another half hour and then, slightly

disturbed over her inability to find the shallow, she halted the pony and

looked about her.



The country was strange and unfamiliar and a sudden misgiving assailed

her. Had she lost her idea of direction? She looked up at the sun and saw

that it was slightly past the zenith on its downward path. She smiled. Of

course all she had to do was to follow the river and in time she would

come in sight of the Double R buildings. Certain that she had missed the

shallow because of her interest in other things, she urged her pony about

and cantered it slowly over the back trail. A little later, seeing an

arroyo which seemed to give promise of leading to the shallow she sought,

she descended it and found that it led to a flat and thence to the river.

The crossing seemed unfamiliar, and yet she supposed that one crossing

would do quite as well as another, and so she smiled and continued on

toward it.



There was a fringe of shrubbery at the edge of what appeared to have once

been a swamp, though now it was dry and made fairly good footing for her

pony. The animal acted strangely, however, when she tried to urge it

through the fringing shrubbery, and she was compelled to use her quirt

vigorously.



Once at the water's edge she halted the pony and viewed the crossing with

satisfaction. She decided that it was a much better crossing than the one

she had encountered on the trip out. It was very shallow, not over thirty

feet wide, she estimated, and through the clear water she could easily see

the hard, sandy bottom. It puzzled her slightly to observe that there were

no wagon tracks or hoof prints in the sand anywhere around her, as there

would be were the crossing used ever so little. It seemed to be an

isolated section of the country though, and perhaps the cattlemen used the

crossing little--there was even a chance that she was the first to

discover its existence. She must remember to ask someone about it when she

returned to the Double R.



She urged the pony gently with her booted heel and voice, but the little

animal would not budge. Impatient over its obstinacy, she again applied

the quirt vigorously. Stung to desperation the pony stood erect for an

instant, pawing the air frantically with its fore hoofs, and then, as the

quirt continued to lash its flanks, it lunged forward, snorting in

apparent fright, made two or three eccentric leaps, splashing water high

over Sheila's head, and then came to a sudden stop in the middle of the

stream.



Sheila nibbled at her lips in vexation. Again, convinced that the pony was

merely exhibiting obstinacy, she applied the quirt to its flanks. The

animal floundered and struggled, but did not move out of its tracks.



Evidently something had gone wrong. Sheila peered over the pony's mane

into the water, which was still clear in spite of the pony's struggling,

and sat suddenly erect, stifling cry of amazement. The pony was mired

fast! Its legs, to a point just above the knees, had disappeared into the

river bottom!



As she straightened, a chilling fear clutching at her heart, she felt the

cold water of the river splashing against her booted legs. And now

knowledge came to her in a sudden, sickening flood. She had ridden her

pony fairly into a bed of quicksand!



For some minutes she sat motionless in the saddle, stunned and nerveless.

She saw now why there were no tracks or hoof prints leading down into the

crossing. She remembered now that Duncan had warned her of the presence of

quicksand in the river, but the chance of her riding into any of it had

seemed to be so remote that she had paid very little attention to Duncan's

warning. Much as she disliked the man she would have given much to have

him close at hand now. If he had only followed her!



She was surprised at her coolness. She realized that the situation was

precarious, for though she had never before experienced a quicksand, she

had read much of them in books, and knew that the pony was hopelessly

mired. But it seemed that there could be no immediate danger, for the

river bottom looked smooth and hard; it was grayish-black, and she was so

certain that the footing was good that she pulled her feet out of the

stirrups, swung around, and stepped down into the water.



She had stepped lightly, bearing only a little of her weight on the foot

while holding to the saddle, but the foot sank instantly into the sand and

the water darkened around it. She tried again in another spot, putting a

little more weight on her foot this time. She went in almost to the knee

and was surprised to find that she had to exert some little strength to

pull the foot out, there was so great a suction.



With the discovery that she was really in a dangerous predicament came a

mental panic which threatened to take the form of hysteria. She held

tightly to the pommel of the saddle, shutting her eyes on the desolate

world around her, battling against the great fear that rose within her and

choked her. When she opened her eyes again the world was reeling and

objects around her were strangely blurred, but she held tightly to the

saddle, telling herself that she must retain her composure, and after a

time she regained the mastery over herself.



With the return of her mental faculties she began to give some thought to

escape. But escape seemed to be impossible. Looking backward toward the

bank she had left, she saw that the pony must have come fifteen or twenty

feet in the two or three plunges it had made. She found herself wondering

how it could have succeeded in coming that distance. Behind her the water

had become perfectly clear, and the impressions left by the pony's hoofs

had filled up and the river bottom looked as smooth and inviting as it had

seemed when she had urged the pony into it.



In front of her was a stretch of water of nearly the same width as that

which lay behind her. To the right and left the grayish-black sand spread

far, but only a short distance beyond where she could discern the sand

there were rocks that stuck above the water with little ripples around

them.



The rocks were too far away to be of any assistance to her, however, and

her heart sank when she realized that her only hope of escape lay directly

ahead.



She leaned over and laid her head against the pony's neck, smoothing and

patting its shoulders. The animal whinnied appealingly and she stifled a

sob of remorse over her action in forcing it into the treacherous sand,

for it had sensed the danger while obeying her blindly.



How long she lay with her head against the pony's neck she did not know,

but when she finally sat erect again she found that the water was touching

the hem of her riding skirt and that her feet, dangling at each side of

the pony, were deep in the sand of the river bottom. With a cry of fright

she drew them out and crossed them before her on the pommel of the saddle.

With the movement the pony sank several inches, it seemed to her; she saw

the water suddenly flow over its back; heard it neigh loudly, appealingly,

with a note of anguish and terror which seemed almost human, and feeling a

sudden, responsive emotion of horror and despair, Sheila bowed her head

against the pony's mane and sobbed softly.



They would both die, she knew--horribly. They would presently sink beneath

the surface of the sand, the water would flow over them and obliterate all

traces of their graves, and no one would ever know what had become of

them.



Some time later--it might have been five minutes or an hour--Sheila could

not have told--she heard the pony neigh again, and this time it seemed

there was a new note in the sound--a note of hope! She raised her head and

looked up. And there on the bank before her, uncoiling his rope from the

saddle horn and looking very white and grim, was Dakota!



Sheila sat motionless, not knowing whether to cry or laugh, finally

compromising with the appeal, uttered with all the composure at her

command:



"Won't you please get us out of here?"



"That's what I am aiming to do," he said, and never did a voice sound

sweeter in her ears; at that moment she almost forgave him for the great

crime he had committed against her.






He seemed not in the least excited, continuing to uncoil his rope and

recoil it again into larger loops. "Hold your hands over your head!" came

his command.



She did as she was bidden. He had not dismounted from his pony, but had

ridden up to the very edge of the quicksand, and as she raised her hands

she saw him twirl the rope once, watched as it sailed out, settled down

around her waist, and was drawn tight.



There was now a grim smile on his face. "You're in for a wetting," he

said. "I'm sorry--but it can't be helped. Get your feet off to one side so

that you won't get mixed up with the saddle. And keep your head above the

water."



"Ye-s," she answered tremulously, dreading the ordeal, dreading still more

the thought of her appearance when she would finally reach the bank.



His pony was in motion instantly, pulling strongly, following out its

custom of dragging a roped steer, and Sheila slipped off the saddle and

into the water, trying to keep her feet under her. But she overbalanced

and fell with a splash, and in this manner was dragged, gasping,

strangling, and dripping wet, to the bank.



Dakota was off his pony long before she had reached the solid ground and

was at her side before she had cleared the water, helping her to her feet

and loosening the noose about her waist.



"Don't, please!" she said frigidly, as his hand touched her.



"Then I won't." He smiled and stepped back while she fumbled with the rope

and finally threw it off. "What made you try that shallow?" he asked.



"I suppose I have a right to ride where I please?" He had saved her life,

of course, and she was very grateful to him, but that was no reason why he

should presume to speak familiarly to her. She really believed--in spite

of the obligation under which he had placed her--that she hated him more

than ever.



But he did not seem to be at all disturbed over her manner. On the

contrary, looking at him and trying her best to be scornful, he seemed to

be laboring heroically to stifle some emotion--amusement, she decided--and

she tried to freeze him with an icy stare.



"Now, you don't look dignified, for a fact," he grinned, brazenly allowing

his mirth to show in his eyes and in the sudden, curved lines that had

come around his mouth. "Still, you couldn't expect to look dignified, no

matter how hard you tried, after being dragged through the water like

that. Now could you?"



"It isn't the first time that I have amused you!" she said with angry

sarcasm.



A cloud passed over his face, but was instantly superseded by a smile.



"So you haven't forgotten?" he said.



She did not deign to answer, but turned her back to him and looked at her

partially submerged pony.



"Want to try it again?" he said mockingly.



She turned slowly and looked at him, her eyes flashing.



"Will you please stop being silly!" she said coldly. "If you were human

you would be trying to get my pony out of that sand instead of standing

there and trying to be smart!"



"Did you think that I was going to let him drown?" His smile had in it a

quality of subtle mockery which made her eyes blaze with anger. Evidently

he observed it for he smiled as he walked to his pony, coiling his rope

and hanging it from the pommel of the saddle. "I certainly am not going to

let your horse drown," he assured her, "for in this country horses are

sometimes more valuable than people."



"Then why didn't you save the pony first?" she demanded hotly.



"How could I," he returned, fixing her with an amused glance, "with you

looking so appealingly at me?"



She turned abruptly and left him, walking to a flat rock and seating

herself upon it, wringing the water from her skirts, trying to get her

hair out of her eyes, feeling very miserable, and wishing devoutly that

Dakota might drown himself--after he had succeeded in pulling the pony

from the quicksand.



But Dakota did not drown himself. Nor did he pull the pony out of the

quicksand. She watched him as he rode to the water's edge and looked at

the animal. Her heart sank when he turned and looked gravely at her.



"I reckon your pony's done for, ma'am," he said. "There isn't anything of

him above the sand but his head and a little of his neck. He's too far

gone, ma'am. In half an hour he'll----"



Sheila stood up, wet and excited. "Can't you do something?" she pleaded.

"Couldn't you pull him out with your lariat--like you did me?"



There was a grim humor in his smile. "What do you reckon would have

happened to you if I had tried to pull you out by the neck?" he asked.



"But can't you do something?" she pleaded, her icy attitude toward him

melting under the warmth of her affection and sympathy for the unfortunate

pony. "Please do something!" she begged.



His face changed expression and he tapped one of his holsters

significantly. "There's only this left, I reckon. Pulling him out by the

neck would break it, sure. And it's never a nice thing to see--or hear--a

horse or a cow sinking in quicksand. I've seen it once or twice and----"



Sheila shuddered and covered her face with her hands, for his words had

set her imagination to working.



"Oh!" she said and became silent.



Dakota stood for a moment, watching her, his face grim with sympathy.



"It's too bad," he said finally. "I don't like to shoot him, any more than

you want to see it done. I reckon, though, that the pony would thank me

for doing it if he could have anything to say about it." He walked over

close to her, speaking in a low voice. "You can't stay here, of course.

You'll have to take my horse, and you'll have to go right now, if you

don't want to be around when the pony----"



"Please don't," she said, interrupting him. He relapsed into silence, and

stood gravely watching her as she resumed her toilet.



She disliked to accept his offer of the pony, but there seemed to be no

other way. She certainly could not walk to the Double R ranchhouse, even

to satisfy a desire to show him that she would not allow him to place her

under any obligation to him.



"I've got to tell you one thing," he said presently, standing erect and

looking earnestly at her. "If Duncan is responsible for your safety in

this country he isn't showing very good judgment in letting you run around

alone. There are dangers that you know nothing about, and you don't know a

thing about the country. Someone ought to take care of you."



"As you did, for example," she retorted, filled with anger over his

present solicitation for her welfare, as contrasted to his treatment of

her on another occasion.



A slow red filled his cheeks. Evidently he did possess some

self-respect, after all. Contrition, too, she thought she could detect in

his manner and in his voice.



"But I didn't hurt you, anyway," he said, eyeing her steadily.



"Not if you call ruining a woman's name not 'hurting' her," she answered

bitterly.



"I am sorry for that, Miss Sheila," he said earnestly. "I had an idea that

night--and still have it, for that matter--that I was an instrument--

Well, I had an idea, that's all. But I haven't told anybody about what

happened--I haven't even hinted it to anybody. And I told the parson to

get out of the country, so he wouldn't do any gassing about it. And I

haven't been over to Dry Bottom to have the marriage recorded--and I am

not going to go. So that you can have it set aside at any time."



Yes, she could have the marriage annulled, she knew that. But the

contemplation of her release from the tie that bound her to him did not

lessen the gravity of the offense in her eyes. She told herself that she

hated him with a remorseless passion which would never cease until he

ceased to live. No action of his could repair the damage he had done to

her. She told him so, plainly.



"I didn't know you were so blood-thirsty as that," he laughed in quiet

mockery. "Maybe it would be a good thing for you if I did die--or get

killed. But I'm not allowing that I'm ready to die yet, and certainly am

not going to let anybody kill me if I can prevent it. I reckon you're not

thinking of doing the killing yourself?"



"If I told my father--" she began, but hesitated when she saw his lips

suddenly straighten and harden and his eyes light with a deep contempt.



"So you haven't told your father?" he laughed. "I was sure you had taken

him into your confidence by this time. But I reckon it's a mighty good

thing that you didn't--for your father. Like as not if you'd tell him he'd

get some riled and come right over to see me, yearning for my blood. And

then I'd have to shoot him up some. And that would sure be too bad--you

loving him as you do."



"I suppose you would shoot him like you shot that poor fellow in Lazette,"

she taunted, bitterly.



"Like I did that poor fellow in Lazette," he said, with broad, ironic

emphasis. "You saw me shoot Blanca, of course, for you were there. But you

don't know what made me shoot him, and I am not going to tell you--it's

none of your business."



"Indeed!" Her voice was burdened with contempt. "I suppose you take a

certain pride in your ability to murder people." She placed a venomous

accent on the "Murder."



"Lots of people ought to be murdered," he drawled, using the accent she

had used.



Her contempt of him grew. "Then I presume you have others in mind--whom

you will shoot when the mood strikes you?" she said.



"Perhaps." His smile was mysterious and mocking, and she saw in his eyes

the reckless gleam which she had noted that night while in the cabin with

him. She shuddered and walked to the pony--his pony.



"If you have quite finished I believe I will be going," she said, holding

her chin high and averting her face. "I will have one of the men bring

your horse to you."



"I believe I have quite finished," he returned, mimicking her cold,

precise manner of speech.



She disdainfully refused his proffer of assistance and mounted the pony.

He stood watching her with a smile, which she saw by glancing covertly at

him while pretending to arrange the stirrup strap. When she started to

ride away without even glancing at him, she heard his voice, with its

absurd, hateful drawl:



"And she didn't even thank me," he said with mock bitterness and

disappointment.



She turned and made a grimace at him. He bowed and smiled.



"You are entirely welcome," she said.



He was standing on the edge of the quicksand, watching her, when she

reached the long rise upon which she had sat on her pony on a day some

weeks before, and when she turned he waved a hand to her. A little later

she vanished over the rise, and she had not ridden very far when she heard

the dull report of his pistol. She shivered, and rode on.



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