Read Online Dorn Of The Mountains by Zane Grey - Free Book Online

voice like this hunter’s. Without excitement or emotion or hurry, it yet seemed full and significant of things the words did not mean. Bo uttered a strange little exultant cry.
    Riggs’s arm had dropped limply. No doubt it was numb. He stared, and his predominating expression was surprise. As the shuffling crowd began to snicker and whisper, Riggs gave Dorn a malignant glance, shifted it to Helen, and then lurched away in the direction of his gun.
    Dorn did not pay any more attention to him. Gathering up Helen’s baggage, he said—“Come on.”—and shouldered a lane through the gaping crowd. The girls followed closely at his heels.
    “Nell…what’d I tell you?” whispered Bo. “Oh, you’re all a-tremble.”
    Helen was aware of her unsteadiness; anger and fear and relief in quick succession had left her rather weak. Once through the motley crowd of loungers she saw an old gray stagecoach and four lean horses. A grizzled sunburned man sat in the driver’s seat, whip and reins in hand. Beside him was a younger man with rifle across his knees. Another man, young, tall, lean, dark, stood holding the coach door open. He touched his sombrero to the girls. His eyes were sharp as he addressed Dorn.
    “Milt, wasn’t you held up?”
    “No. But some long-haired galoot was tryin’ to hold up the girls. Wanted to throw his gun at me. I was sure scared,” replied Dorn as he deposited the luggage.
    Bo laughed. Her eyes, resting upon Dorn, were warm and bright. The young man at the coach door took a second look at her, and then a smile changed the dark hardness of his face.
    Dorn helped the girls up the high step into the stage, and then, placing the lighter luggage in with them, he threw the heavier pieces up on top.
    “Joe, climb up,” he said.
    “Wal, Milt,” drawled the driver, “let’s ooze along.”
    Dorn hesitated with his hand on the door. He glanced at the crowd, now edging close again, and then at Helen. “I reckon I ought to tell you,” he said, and indecision appeared to concern him.
    “What!” exclaimed Helen.
    “Bad news. But talkin’ takes time. An’ we mustn’t lose any.”
    “There’s need of hurry?” queried Helen, sitting up sharply.
    “I reckon.”
    “Is this the stage to Snowdrop?”
    “No. That leaves in the mornin’. We rustled this old trap to get a start to night.”
    “The sooner the better. But I…I don’t understand,” said Helen, bewildered.
    “It’ll not be safe for you to ride on the mornin’ stage,” returned Dorn.
    “Safe! Oh, what do you mean?” exclaimed Helen. Apprehensively she gazed at him, and then back at Bo.
    “Explainin’ will take time. An’ facts may change your mind. But if you can’t trust me….”
    “Trust you?” interposed Helen blankly. “You mean to take us to Snowdrop?”
    “I reckon we’d better go roundabout an’ not hit Snowdrop,” he replied shortly.
    “Then to Pine…to my uncle…Al Auchincloss?”
    “Yes, I’m goin’ to try hard.”
    Helen caught her breath. She divined that some peril menaced her. She looked steadily, with all a woman’s keenness, into this man’s face. The moment was one of the fateful decisions she knew the West had in store for her. Her future and that of Bo’s were now to be dependent upon her judgments. It was a hard moment, and, although she shivered inwardly, she welcomed the initial and inevitable step. This man Dorn, by his dress of buckskin, must be either scout or hunter. His size, his action, the tone of his voice had been reassuring. But Helen must decide from what she saw in his face whether or not to trust him. And that face was clear bronze, unlined, unshadowed, like a tranquil mask, clean-cut, strong jawed, with eyes of wonderful transparent gray.
    “Yes, I’ll trust you,” she said. “Get in and let us hurry. Then you can explain.”
    “All ready, Bill. Send ’em along!” called Dorn.
    He had to stoop to enter the stage, and, once in, he appeared to fill that side upon which