CHAPTER I
THE TOUCH OF A CHILD
"I have given my word of honor--my sacred oath--not to betray what I
have discovered here."
At these words from the prisoner, a shout arose in which oaths and
mocking laughter mingled like the growling and snapping of hungermaddened
wolves.
"Then if I must die," Gledware cried, his voice, in its shrill excitement,
dominating the ferocious insults of the ruffians, "don\'t kill the child--you
see she is asleep--and she\'s so young--only five. Even if she were awake,
she wouldn\'t know how to tell about this cabin. For God\'s sake, don\'t kill
the little girl!"
Since the seizure of Gledware, the child had been lying on the rude
table in the midst of a greasy pack of cards--cards that had been thrown
down at the sound of his galloping horse. The table supported, also, much
of the booty captured from the wagon-train, while on the dirt floor beside
it were prizes of the freebooting expedition, too large to find resting-place
on the boards. Nor was this all. Mingled with stolen garments, cans and
boxes of provisions, purses and bags of gold, were the Indian disguises in
which the highwaymen from No-Man\'s Land had descended on the
prairie-schooners on their tedious journey from Abilene, Kansas, toward
the Southwest.
In the midst of this confusion of disguises, booty and playing-cards,
surrounded by cruel and sensual faces, the child slept soundly, her lips
slightly parted, her cheeks delicately flushed, her face eloquent in its
appeal of helplessness, innocence and beauty. One of the band, a tall
broad-shouldered man of middle-age, with an immense quantity of
whiskers perhaps worn as a visible sign of inward wildness, was, despite
his hardened nature, moved to remonstrance. Under cover of lurid oaths
and outrageous obscenity, he advanced his opinion that "the kid" needn\'t
be shot just because her father was a sneak-jug spy.