As Steve strolled out into the moonlight, he left behind him the monotonous thumping of heavy feet and the singsong voice of the caller.
“Birdie fly out,Crow hop in,Join all handsAnd circle ag'in.”
came to him, in the high, strident voice of Lute Perkins. He took a deep breath of fresh, clean air, and looked about him. After the hot, dusty room, the grove, with its green foliage, through which the moonlight filtered, looked invitingly cool. He sauntered forward, climbed the hill up which the wooded patch straggled, and sat down, with his back to a pine.
Behind the valley rampart, he could see the dim, saw-toothed Teton peaks, looking like ghostly shapes in the moonlight. The night was peaceful. Faint and mellow came the sound of jovial romping from the house; otherwise, beneath the distant stars, a perfect stillness held.
How long he sat there, letting thoughts happen dreamily rather than producing them of gray matter, he did not know. A slight sound, the snapping of a twig, brought his mind to alertness without causing the slightest movement of his body.
His first thought was that, in accordance with dance etiquette in the ranch country, his revolver was in its holster under the seat of the trap in which they had driven over. Since his week was not up, he had expected no attack from Jed and his friends. As for the enemy, of whom Arlie had advised him, surely a public dance was the last place to tempt one who apparently preferred to attack from cover. But his instinct was certain. He did not need to look round to know he was trapped.
“I'm unarmed. You'd better come round and shoot me from in front. It will look better at the inquest,” he said quietly.
“Don't move. You're surrounded,” a voice answered.
A rope snaked forward and descended over the ranger's head, to be jerked tight, with a suddenness that sent a pain like a knife thrust through the wounded shoulder. The instinct for self-preservation was already at work in him. He fought his left arm free from the rope that pressed it to his side, and dived toward the figure at the end of the rope. Even as he plunged, he found time to be surprised that no revolver shot echoed through the night, and to know that the reason was because his enemies preferred to do their work in silence.
The man upon whom he leaped gave a startled oath and stumbled backward over a root.
Fraser, his hand already upon the man's throat, went down too. Upon him charged men from all directions. In the shadows, they must have hampered each other, for the ranger, despite his wound—his shoulder was screaming with pain—got to his knees, and slowly from his knees to his feet, shaking the clinging bodies from him.
Wrenching his other hand from under the rope, he fought them back as a hurt grizzly does the wolf pack gathered for the kill. None but a very powerful man could ever have reached his feet. None less agile and sinewy than a panther could have beaten them back as at first he did. They fought in grim silence, yet the grove was full of the sounds of battle. The heavy breathing, the beat of shifting feet, the soft impact of flesh striking flesh, the thud of falling bodies—of these the air was vocal. Yet, save for the gasps of sudden pain, no man broke silence save once.
“The snake'll get away yet!” a hoarse voice cried, not loudly, but with an emphasis that indicated strong conviction.
Impossible as it seemed, the ranger might have done it but for an accident. In the struggle, the rope had slipped to a point just below his knees. Fighting his way down the hill, foot by foot, the Texan felt the rope tighten. One of his attackers flung himself against his chest and he was tripped. The pack was on him again. Here there was more light, and though for a time the mass swayed back and forth, at last they hammered him down by main strength. He was bound hand and foot, and dragged back to the grove.
They faced their victim, panting deeply from their exertions. Fraser looked round upon the circle of distorted faces, and stopped at one. Seen now, with the fury and malignancy of its triumph painted upon it, the face was one to bring bad dreams.
The lieutenant, his chest still laboring heavily, racked with the torture of his torn shoulder, looked into that face out of the only calm eyes in the group.
“So it's you, Struve?”
“Yes, it's me—me and my friends.”
“I've been looking for you high and low.”
“Well, you've found me,” came the immediate exultant answer.
“I reckon I'm indebted to you for this.” Fraser moved his shoulder slightly.
“You'll owe me a heap more than that before the night's over.”
“Your intentions were good then, I expect. Being shy a trigger finger spoils a man's aim.”
“Not always.”
“Didn't like to risk another shot from Bald Knob, eh? Must be some discouraging to hit only once out of three times at three hundred yards, and a scratch at that.”
The convict swore. “I'll not miss this time, Mr. Lieutenant.”
“You'd better not, or I'll take you back to the penitentiary where I put you before.”
“You'll never put another man there, you meddling spy,” Struve cried furiously.
“I'm not so sure of that. I know what you've got against me, but I should like to know what kick your friends have coming,” the ranger retorted.
“You may have mine, right off the reel, Mr. Fraser, or whatever you call yourself. You came into this valley with a lie on your lips. We played you for a friend, and you played us for suckers. All the time you was in a deal with the sheriff for you know what. I hate a spy like I do a rattlesnake.”
It was the man Yorky that spoke. Steve's eyes met his.
“So I'm a spy, am I?”
“You know best.”
“Anyhow, you're going to shoot me first, and find out afterward?”
“Wrong guess. We're going to hang you.” Struve, unable to keep back longer his bitter spleen, hissed this at him.
“Yes, that's about your size, Struve. You can crow loud now, when the odds are six to one, with the one unarmed and tied at that. But what I want to know is—are you playing fair with your friends? Have you told them that every man in to-night's business will hang, sure as fate? Have you told them of those cowardly murders you did in Arizona and Texas? Have you told them that your life is forfeit, anyway? Do they know you're trying to drag them into your troubles? No? You didn't tell them that. I'm surprised at you, Struve.”
“My name's Johnson.”
“Not in Arizona, it isn't. Wolf Struve it is there, wanted for murder and other sundries.” He turned swiftly from him to his confederates. “You fools, you're putting your heads into a noose. He's in already, and wants you in, too. Test him. Throw the end of that rope over the limb, and stand back, while he pulls me up alone. He daren't—not for his life, he daren't. He knows that whoever pulls on that rope hangs himself as surely as he hangs me.”
The men looked at each other, and at Struve. Were they being led into trouble to pay this man's scores off for him? Suspicion stirred uneasily in them.
“That's right, too. Let Johnson pull him up,” Slim Leroy said sullenly.
“Sure. You've got more at stake than we have. It's up to you, Johnson,” Yorky agreed.
“That's right,” a third chipped in.
“We'll all pull together, boys,” Struve insinuated. “It's only a bluff of his. Don't let him scare you off.”
“He ain't scaring me off any,” declared Yorky. “He's a spy, and he's getting what is coming to him. But you're a stranger too, Johnson. I don't trust you any—not any farther than I can see you, my friend. I'll stand for being an aider and abettor, but I reckon if there's any hanging to be done you'll have to be the sheriff,” replied Yorky stiffly.
Struve turned his sinister face on one and another of them. His lips were drawn back, so that the wolfish teeth gleamed in the moonlight. He felt himself being driven into a trap, from which there was no escape. He dared not let Fraser go with his life, for he knew that, sooner or later, the ranger would run him to earth, and drag him back to the punishment that was awaiting him in the South. Nor did he want to shoulder the responsibility of murdering this man before five witnesses.
Came the sound of running footsteps.
“What's that?” asked Slim nervously.
“Where are you, Steve?” called a voice.
“Here,” the ranger shouted back.
A moment later Dick France burst into the group. “What's doing?” he panted.
The ranger laughed hardily. “Nothing, Dick. Nothing at all. Some of the boys had notions of a necktie party, but they're a little shy of sand. Have you met Mr. Struve, Dick? I know you're acquainted with the others, Mr. Struve is from Yuma. An old friend of mine. Fact is, I induced him to locate at Yuma.”
Dick caught at the rope, but Yorky flung him roughly back.
“This ain't your put in, France,” he said. “It's up to Johnson.” And to the latter: “Get busy, if you're going to.”
“He's a spy on you-all, just the same as he is on me,” blurted the convict.
“That's a lie, Struve,” pronounced the lieutenant evenly. “I'm going to take you back with me, but I've got nothing against these men. I want to announce right now, no matter who tells a different story, that I haven't lost any Squaw Creek raiders and I'm not hunting any.”
“You hear? He came into this valley after me.”
“Wrong again, Struve. I didn't know you were here. But I know now, and I serve notice that I'm going to take you back with me, dead or alive. That's what I'm paid for, and that's what I'm going to do.”
It was amazing to hear this man, with a rope round his neck, announce calmly what he was going to do to the man who had only to pull that rope to send him into eternity. The very audacity of it had its effect.
Slim spoke up. “I don't reckon we better go any farther with this thing, Yorky.”
“No, I don't reckon you had,” cut in Dick sharply. “I'll not stand for it.”
Again the footsteps of a running man reached them. It was Siegfried. He plunged into the group like a wild bull, shook the hair out of his eyes, and planted himself beside Fraser. With one backward buffet of his great arm he sent Johnson heels over head. He caught Yorky by the shoulders, strong man though the latter was, and shook him till his teeth rattled, after which he flung him reeling a dozen yards to the ground. The Norwegian was reaching for Dick when Fraser stopped him.
“That's enough of a clean-up right now, Sig. Dick butted in like you to help me,” he explained.
“The durned coyotes!” roared the big Norseman furiously, leaping at Leroy and tossing him over his head as an enraged bull does. He turned upon the other three, shaking his tangled mane, but they were already in flight.
“I'll show them. I'll show them,” he kept saying as he came back to the man he had rescued.
“You've showed them plenty, Sig. Cut out the rough house before you maim some of these gents who didn't invite you to their party.”
The ranger felt the earth sway beneath him as he spoke. His wound had been torn loose in the fight, and was bleeding. Limply he leaned against the tree for support.
It was at this moment he caught sight of Arlie and Briscoe as they ran up. Involuntarily he straightened almost jauntily. The girl looked at him with that deep, eager look of fear he had seen before, and met that unconquerable smile of his.
The rope was still round his neck and the coat was stripped from his back. He was white to the lips, and she could see he could scarce stand, even with the support of the pine trunk. His face was bruised and battered. His hat was gone; and hidden somewhere in his crisp short hair was a cut from which blood dripped to the forehead. The bound arm had been torn from its bandages in the unequal battle he had fought. But for all his desperate plight he still carried the invincible look that nothing less than death can rob some men of.
The fretted moonlight, shifting with the gentle motion of the foliage above, fell full upon him now and showed a wet, red stain against the white shirt. Simultaneously outraged nature collapsed, and he began to sink to the ground.
Arlie gave a little cry and ran forward. Before he reached the ground he had fainted; yet scarcely before she was on her knees beside him with his head in her arms.
“Bring water, Dick, and tell Doc Lee to come at once. He'll be in the back room smoking. Hurry!” She looked fiercely round upon the men assembled. “I think they have killed him. Who did this? Was it you, Yorky? Was it you that murdered him?”
“I bane t'ink it take von hoondred of them to do it,” said Siegfried. “Dat fallar, Johnson, he bane at the bottom of it.”
“Then why didn't you kill him? Aren't you Steve's friend? Didn't he save your life?” she panted, passion burning in her beautiful eyes.
Siegfried nodded. “I bane Steve's friend, yah! And Ay bane kill Johnson eef Steve dies.”
Briscoe, furious at this turn of the tide which had swept Arlie's sympathies back to his enemy, followed Struve as he sneaked deeper into the shadow of the trees. The convict was nursing a sprained wrist when Jed reached him.
“What do you think you've been trying to do, you sap-headed idiot?” Jed demanded. “Haven't you sense enough to choose a better time than one when the whole settlement is gathered to help him? And can't you ever make a clean job of it, you chuckle-minded son of a greaser?”
Struve turned, snarling, on him. “That'll be enough from you, Briscoe. I've stood about all I'm going to stand just now.”
“You'll stand for whatever I say,” retorted Jed. “You've cooked your goose in this valley by to-night's fool play. I'm the only man that can pull you through. Bite on that fact, Mr. Struve, before you unload your bile on me.”
The convict's heart sank. He felt it to be the truth. The last thing he had heard was Siegfried's threat to kill him.
Whether Fraser lived or died he was in a precarious position and he knew it.
“I know you're my friend, Jed,” he whined. “I'll do what you say. Stand by me and I'll sure work with you.”
“Then if you take my advice you'll sneak down to the corral, get your horse, and light out for the run. Lie there till I see you.”
“And Siegfried?”
“The Swede won't trouble you unless this Texan dies. I'll send you word in time if he does.”
Later a skulking shadow sneaked into the corral and out again. Once out of hearing, it leaped to the back of the horse and galloped wildly into the night.
Two horsemen rode into Millikan's Draw and drew up in front of the big ranch house. To the girl who stepped to the porch to meet them they gave friendly greeting. One of them asked:
“How're things coming, Arlie?”
“Better and better every day, Dick. Yesterday the doctor said he was out of danger.”
“It's been a tough fight for Steve,” the other broke in. “Proper nursing is what pulled him through. Doc says so.”
“Did he say that, Alec? I'll always think it was doc. He fought for that life mighty hard, boys.”
Alec Howard nodded: “Doc Lee's the stuff. Here he comes now, talking of angels.”
Doctor Lee dismounted and grinned. “Which of you lads is she making love to now?”
Arlie laughed. “He can't understand that I don't make love to anybody but him,” she explained to the younger men.
“She never did to me, doc,” Dick said regretfully.
“No, we were just talking about you, doc.”
“Fire ahead, young woman,” said the doctor, with assumed severity. “I'm here to defend myself now.”
“Alec was calling you an angel, and I was laughing at him,” said the girl demurely.
“An angel—huh!” he snorted.
“I never knew an angel that chewed tobacco, or one that could swear the way you do when you're mad,” continued Arlie.
“I don't reckon your acquaintance with angels is much greater than mine, Miss Arlie Dillon. How's the patient?”
“He's always wanting something to eat, and he's cross as a bear.”
“Good for him! Give him two weeks now and he'll be ready to whip his weight in wild cats.”
The doctor disappeared within, and presently they could hear his loud, cheerful voice pretending to berate the patient.
Arlie sat down on the top step of the porch.
“Boys, I don't know what I would have done if he had died. It would have been all my fault. I had no business to tell him the names of you boys that rode in the raid, and afterward to tell you that I told him,” she accused herself.
“No, you had no business to tell him, though it happens he's safe as a bank vault,” Howard commented.
“I don't know how I came to do it,” the girl continued. “Jed had made me suspicious of him, and then I found out something fine he had done for me. I wanted him to know I trusted him. That was the first thing I thought of, and I told it. He tried to stop me, but I'm such an impulsive little fool.”
“We all make breaks, Arlie. You'll not do it again, anyhow,” France comforted.
Doctor Lee presently came out and pronounced that the wounded man was doing well. “Wants to see you boys. Don't stay more than half an hour. If they get in your way, sweep 'em out, Arlie.”
The cowpunchers entered the sick room with the subdued, gingerly tread of professional undertakers.
“I ain't so had as that yet, boys,” the patient laughed. “You're allowed to speak above a whisper. Doc thinks I'll last till night, mebbe, if I'm careful.”
They told him all the gossip of the range—how young Ford had run off with Sallie Laundon and got married to her down at the Butte; how Siegfried had gone up and down the valley swearing he would clean out Jack Rabbit Run if Steve died; how Johnson had had another row with Jed and had chosen to take water rather than draw. Both of his visitors, however, had something on their minds they found some difficulty in expressing.
Alec Howard finally broached it.
“Arlie told you the names of some of the boys that were in the Squaw Creek sheep raid. She made a mistake in telling you anything, but we'll let that go in the discard. It ain't necessary that you should know the names of the others, but I'm going to tell you one of them, Steve.”
“No, I don't want to know.”
“This is my say-so. His name is Alec Howard.”
“I'm sorry to hear that, Alec. I don't know why you have told me.”
“Because I want you to know the facts of that raid, Steve. No killing was on the program. That came about in a way none of us could foresee.”
“This is how it was, Steve,” explained Dick. “Word came that Campeau was going to move his sheep into the Squaw Creek district. Sheep never had run there. It was understood the range there was for our cattle. We had set a dead line, and warned them not to cross it. Naturally, it made us sore when we heard about Campeau.
“So some of us gathered together hastily and rode over. Our intentions were declared. We meant to drive the sheep back and patrol the dead line. It was solemnly agreed that there was to be no shooting, not even of sheep.”
The story halted here for a moment before Howard took it up again. “Things don't always come out the way you figure them. We didn't anticipate any trouble. We outnumbered them two to one. We had the advantage of the surprise. You couldn't guess that for anything but a cinch, could you?”
“And it turned out different?”
“One of us stumbled over a rock as we were creeping forward. Campeau heard us and drew. The first shot came from them. Now, I'm going to tell you something you're to keep under your own hat. It will surprise you a heap when I tell you that one man on our side did all the damage. He was at the haid of the line, and it happens he is a dead shot. He is liable to rages, when he acts like a crazy man. He got one now. Before we could put a stopper on him, he had killed Campeau and Jennings, and wounded the herders. The whole thing was done before you could wink an eye six times. For just about that long we stood there like roped calves. Then we downed the man in his tracks, slammed him with the butt of a revolver.”
Howard stopped and looked at the ranger before he spoke again. His voice was rough and hoarse.
“Steve, I've seen men killed before, but I never saw anything so awful as that. It was just like they had been struck by lightning for suddenness. There was that devil scattering death among them and the poor fellows crumpling up like rabbits. I tell you every time I think of it the thing makes me sick.”
The ranger nodded. He understood. The picture rose before him of a man in a Berserk rage, stark mad for the moment, playing Destiny on that lonely, moonlit hill. The face his instinct fitted to the irresponsible murderer was that of Jed Briscoe. Somehow he was sure of that, beyond the shadow of a doubt. His imagination conceived that long ride back across the hills, the deep agonies of silence, the fierce moments of vindictive accusation. No doubt for long the tug of conscience was with them in all their waking hours, for these men were mostly simple-minded cattlemen caught in the web of evil chance.
“That's how it was, Steve. In as long as it takes to empty a Winchester, we were every one of us guilty of a murder we'd each have given a laig to have stopped. We were all in it, all tied together, because we had broke the law to go raiding in the first place. Technically, the man that emptied that rifle wasn't any more guilty than us poor wretches that stood frozen there while he did it. Put it that we might shave the gallows, even then the penitentiary would bury us. There was only one thing to do. We agreed to stand together, and keep mum.”
“Is that why you're telling me, Alec?” Fraser smiled.
“We ain't telling you, not legally,” the cow-puncher answered coolly. “If you was ever to say we had, Dick and me would deny it. But we ain't worrying any about you telling it. You're a clam, and we know it. No, we're telling you, son, because we want you to know about how it was. The boys didn't ride out to do murder. They rode out simply to drive the sheep off their range.”
The Texan nodded. “That's about how I figured it. I'm glad you told me, boys. I reckon I don't need to tell you I'm padlocked in regard to this.”
Arlie came to the door and looked in. “It's time you boys were going. Doc said a half hour.”
“All right, Arlie,” responded Dick. “So-long, Steve. Be good, you old pie eater.”
After they had gone, the Texan lay silent for a long time. He understood perfectly their motive in telling him the story. They had not compromised themselves legally, since a denial would have given them two to one in the matter of witnesses. But they wished him to see that, morally, every man but one who rode on that raid was guiltless of the Squaw Creek murders.
Arlie came in presently, and sat down near the window with some embroidery.
“Did the boys tire you?” she asked, noting his unusual silence.
“No. I was thinking about what they told me. They were giving me the inside facts of the Squaw Creek raid.”
She looked up in surprise. “They were?” A little smile began to dimple the corners of her mouth. “That's funny, because they had just got through forgiving me for what I told you.”
“What they told me was how the shooting occurred.”
“I don't know anything about that. When I told you their names I was only telling what I had heard people whisper. That's all I knew.”
“You've been troubled because your friends were in this, haven't you? You hated to think it of them, didn't you?” he asked.
“Yes. It has troubled me a lot.”
“Don't let it trouble you any more. One man was responsible for all the bloodshed. He went mad and saw red for half a minute. Before the rest could stop him, the slaughter was done. The other boys aren't guilty of that, any more than you or I.”
“Oh, I'm glad—I'm glad,” she cried softly. Then, looking up quickly to him: “Who was the man?” she asked.
“I don't know. It is better that neither of us should know that.”
“I'm glad the boys told you. It shows they trust you.”
“They figure me out a white man,” he answered carelessly.
“Ah! That's where I made my mistake.” She looked at him bravely, though the color began to beat into her cheeks beneath the dusky tan. “Yet I knew it all the time—in my heart. At least, after I had given myself time to think it over. I knew you couldn't be that. If I had given you time to explain—but I always think too late.”
His eyes, usually so clear and steely, softened at her words. “I'm satisfied if you knew—in your heart.”
“I meant——” she began, with a flush.
“Now, don't spoil it, please,” he begged.
Under his steady, half-smiling gaze, her eyes fell. Two weeks ago she had been a splendid young creature, as untaught of life as one of the wild forest animals and as unconsciously eager for it. But there had come a change over her, a birth of womanhood from that night when she had stood between Stephen Fraser and death. No doubt she would often regret it, but she had begun to live more deeply. She could never go back to the care-free days when she could look all men in the face with candid, girlish eyes. The time had come to her, as it must to all sensitive of life, when she must drink of it, whether she would or no.
“Because I'd rather you would know it in your heart than in your mind,” he said.
Something sweet and terrifying, with the tingle and warmth of rare wine in it, began to glow in her veins. Eyes shy, eager, frightened, met his for an instant. Then she remembered the other girl. Something hard as steel ran through her. She turned on her heel and left the room.
From that day Fraser had a new nurse. Arlie disappeared, and her aunt replaced her a few hours later and took charge of the patient. Steve took her desertion as an irritable convalescent does, but he did not let his disappointment make him unpleasant to Miss Ruth Dillon.
“I'm a chump,” he told himself, with deep disgust. “Hadn't any more sense than to go scaring off the little girl by handing out a line of talk she ain't used to. I reckon now she's done with me proper.”
He continued to improve so rapidly that within the prescribed two weeks he was on horseback again, though still a little weak and washed out. His first ride of any length was to the Dillon ranch. Siegfried accompanied him, and across the Norwegian's saddle lay a very business-like rifle.
As they were passing the mouth of a cañon, the ranger put a casual question: “This Jack Rabbit Run, Sig?”
“Yah. More men wanted bane lost in that gulch than any place Ay knows of.”
“That so? I'm going in there to-morrow to find that man Struve,” his friend announced carelessly.
The big blonde giant looked at him. “Yuh bain't, Steve? Why, yuh bain't fit to tackle a den uh wild cats.” An admiring grin lit the Norwegian's face. “Durn my hide, yuh've got 'em all skinned for grit, Steve. Uh course, Ay bane goin' with yuh.”
“If it won't get you in bad with your friends I'll be glad to have you, Sig.”
“They bain't my friends. Ay bane shook them, an' served notice to that effect.”
“Glad of it.”
“Yuh bane goin' in after Struve only?”
“Yes. He's the only man I want.”
“Then Ay bane go in, and bring heem out to yuh.”
Fraser shook his head. “No, old man, I've got to play my own hand.”
“Ay t'ink it be a lot safer f'r me to happen in an' get heem,” remonstrated Siegfried.
“Safer for me,” corrected the lieutenant, smiling. “No, I can't work that way. I've got to take my own chances. You can go along, though, on one condition. You're not to interfere between me and Struve. If some one else butts in, you may ask him why, if you like.
“Ay bane t'ink yuh von fool, Steve. But Ay bane no boss. Vat yuh says goes.”
They found Arlie watering geraniums in front of the house. Siegfried merely nodded to her and passed on to the stables with the horses. Fraser dismounted, offering her his hand and his warm smile.
He had caught her without warning, and she was a little shy of him. Not only was she embarrassed, but she saw that he knew it. He sat down on the step, while she continued to water her flowers.
“You see your bad penny turned up again, Miss Arlie,” he said.
“I didn't know you were able to ride yet, Lieutenant Fraser.”
“This is my first try at it. Thought I'd run over and say 'Thank you' to my nurse.”
“I'll call auntie,” she said quickly.
He shook his head. “Not necessary, Miss Arlie. I settled up with her. I was thinking of the nurse that ran off and left me.”
She was beginning to recover herself. “You want to thank her for leaving while there was still hope,” she said, with a quick little smile.
“Why did you do it? I've been mighty lonesome the past two weeks,” he said quietly.
“You would be, of course. You are used to an active outdoor life, and I suppose the boys couldn't get round to see you very often.”
“I wasn't thinking of the boys,” he meditated aloud.
Arlie blushed; and to hide her embarrassment she called to Jimmie, who was passing: “Bring up Lieutenant Fraser's Teddy. I want him to see how well we're caring for his horse.”
As a diversion, Teddy served very well. Horse and owner were both mightily pleased to see each other. While the animal rubbed its nose against his coat, the ranger teased and petted it.
“Hello, you old Teddy hawss. How air things a-comin', pardner?” he drawled, with a reversion to his Texas speech. “Plumb tickled to death to meet up with yore old master, ain't you? How come it you ain't fallen in love with this young lady and forgot Steve?”
“He thinks a lot of me, too,” Arlie claimed promptly.
“Don't blame you a bit, Teddy. I'll ce'tainly shake hands with you on that. But life's jest meetin' and partin', old hawss. I got to take you away for good, day after to-morrow.”
“Where are you going?” the girl asked quickly. Then, to cover the swift interest of her question: “But, of course, it is time you were going back to your business.”
“No, ma'am, that is just it. Seems to me either too soon or too late to be going.”
She had her face turned from him, and was busy over her plants, to hide the tremulous dismay that had shaken her at his news.
She did not ask him what he meant, nor did she ask again where he was going. For the moment, she could not trust her voice to say more.
“Too late, because I've seen in this valley some one I'll never forget, and too soon because that some one will forget me, sure as a gun,” he told her.
“Not if you write to him.”
“It isn't a him. It's my little nurse.”
“I'll tell auntie how you feel about it, and I'm sure she won't forget you.”
“You know mighty well I ain't talking about auntie.”
“Then I suppose you must mean me.”
“That's who I'm meaning.”
“I think I'll be able to remember you if I try—by Teddy,” she answered, without looking at him, and devoted herself to petting the horse.
“Is it—would it be any use to say any more, Arlie?” he asked, in a low voice, as he stood beside her, with Teddy's nose in his hands.
“I—I don't know what you mean, sir. Please don't say anything more about it.” Then again memory of the other girl flamed through her. “No, it wouldn't—not a bit of use, not a bit,” she broke out fiercely.
“You mean you couldn't——”
The flame in her face, the eyes that met his, as if drawn by a magnet, still held their anger, but mingled with it was a piteous plea for mercy. “I—I'm only a girl. Why don't you let me alone?” she cried bitterly, and hard upon her own words turned and ran from the room.
Steve looked after her in amazed surprise. “Now don't it beat the band the way a woman takes a thing.”
Dubiously he took himself to the stable and said good-by to Dillon.
An hour later she went down to dinner still flushed and excited. Before she had been in the room two minutes her father gave her a piece of startling news.
“I been talking to Steve. Gracious, gyurl, what do you reckon that boy's a-goin' to do?”
Arlie felt the color leap into her cheeks.
“What, dad?”
“He's a'goin' back to Gimlet Butte, to give himself up to Brandt, day after to-morrow.”
“But—what for?” she gasped.
“Durned if I know! He's got some fool notion about playin' fair. Seems he came into the Cedar Mountain country to catch the Squaw Creek raiders. Brandt let him escape on that pledge. Well, he's give up that notion, and now he thinks, dad gum it, that it's up to him to surrender to Brandt again.”
The girl's eyes were like stars. “And he's going to go back there and give himself up, to be tried for killing Faulkner.”
Dillon scratched his head. “By gum, gyurl, I didn't think of that. We cayn't let him go.”
“Yes, we can.”
“Why, honey, he didn't kill Faulkner, looks like. We cayn't let him go back there and take our medicine for us. Mebbe he would be lynched. It's a sure thing he'd be convicted.”
“Never mind. Let him go. I've got a plan, dad.” Her vivid face was alive with the emotion which spoke in it. “When did he say he was going?” she asked buoyantly.
“Day after to-morrow. Seems he's got business that keeps him hyer to-morrow. What's yore idee, honey?”
She got up, and whispered it in his ear. His jaw dropped, and he stared at her in amazement.
Steve came drowsily to consciousness from confused dreams of a cattle stampede and the click of rifles in the hands of enemies who had the drop on him. The rare, untempered sunshine of the Rockies poured into his window from a world outside, wonderful as the early morning of creation. The hillside opposite was bathed miraculously in a flood of light, in which grasshoppers fiddled triumphantly their joy in life. The sources of his dreams discovered themselves in the bawl of thirsty cattle and the regular clicking of a windmill.
A glance at his watch told him that it was six o'clock.
“Time to get up, Steve,” he told himself, and forthwith did.
He chose a rough crash towel, slipped on a pair of Howard's moccasins, and went down to the river through an ambient that had the sparkle and exhilaration of champagne. The mountain air was still finely crisp with the frost, in spite of the sun warmth that was beginning to mellow it. Flinging aside the Indian blanket he had caught up before leaving the cabin, he stood for an instant on the bank, a human being with the physical poise, compactness, and lithe-muscled smoothness of a tiger.
Even as he plunged a rifle cracked. While he dived through the air, before the shock of the icy water tingled through him, he was planning his escape. The opposite bank rose ten feet above the stream. He kept under the water until he came close to this, then swam swiftly along it with only his head showing, so as to keep him out of sight as much as possible.
Half a stone's throw farther the bank fell again to the water's edge, the river having broadened and grown shallow, as mountain creeks do. The ranger ran, stooping, along the bank, till it afforded him no more protection, then dashed across the stony-bottomed stream to the shelter of the thick aspens beyond.
Just as he expected, a shot rang from far up the mountainside. In another instant he was safe in the foliage of the young aspens.
In the sheer exhilaration of his escape he laughed aloud.
“Last show to score gone, Mr. Struve. I figured it just right. He waited too long for his first shot. Then the bank hid me. He wasn't expecting to see me away down the stream, so he hadn't time to sight his second one.”
Steve wound his way in and out among the aspens, working toward the tail of them, which ran up the hill a little way and dropped down almost to the back door of the cabin. Upon this he was presently pounding.
Howard let him in. He had a revolver in his hand, the first weapon he could snatch up.
“You durned old idiot! It's a wonder you ain't dead three ways for Sunday,” he shouted joyfully at sight of him. “Ain't I told you 'steen times to do what bathin' you got to do, right here in the shack?”
The Texan laughed again. Naked as that of Father Adam, his splendid body was glowing with the bath and the exercise.
“He's ce'tainly the worst chump ever, Alec. Had me in sight all the way down to the creek, but waited till I wasn't moving. Reckon he was nervous. Anyhow, he waited just one-tenth of a second too late. Shot just as I leaned forward for my dive. He gave me a free hair-cut though.”
A swath showed where the bullet had mowed a furrow of hair so close that in one place it had slightly torn the scalp.
“He shot again, didn't he?”
“Yep. I swam along the far bank, so that he couldn't get at me, and crossed into the aspens. He got another chance as I was crossing, but he had to take it on the fly, and missed.”
The cattleman surveyed the hillside cautiously through the front window. “I reckon he's pulled his freight, most likely. But we'll stay cooped for a while, on the chance. You're the luckiest cuss I ever did see. More lives than a cat.”
Howard laid his revolver down within reach, and proceeded to light a fire in the stove, from which rose presently the pleasant odors of aromatic coffee and fried ham and eggs.
“Come and get it, Steve,” said Howard, by way of announcing breakfast. “No, you don't. I'll take the window seat, and at that we'll have the curtain drawn.”
They were just finishing breakfast when Siegfried cantered up.
“You bane ready, Steve?” he called in.
Howard appeared in the doorway. “Say, Sig, go down to the corral and saddle up Teddy for Steve, will you? Some of his friends have been potshotting at him again. No damage done, except to my feelings, but there's nothing like being careful.”
Siegfried's face darkened. “Ay bane like for know who it vas?”
Howard laughed. “Now, if you'll tell Steve that he'll give you as much as six bits, Sig. He's got notions, but they ain't worth any more than yours or mine. Say, where you boys going to-day? I've a notion to go along.”
“Oh, just out for a little pasear,” Steve answered casually. “Thought you were going to work on your south fence to-day.”
“Well, I reckon I better. It sure needs fixing. You lads take good care of yourselves. I don't need to tell you not to pass anywhere near the run, Sig,” he grinned, with the manner of one giving a superfluous warning.
Fraser looked at Siegfried, with a smile in his eyes. “No, we'll not pass the run to-day, Alec.”
A quarter of an hour later they were in the saddle and away. Siegfried did not lead his friend directly up the cañon that opened into Jack Rabbit Run, but across the hills to a pass, which had to be taken on foot. They left the horses picketed on a grassy slope, and climbed the faint trail that went steeply up the bowlder-strewn mountain.
The ascent was so steep that the last bit had to be done on all fours. It was a rock face, though by no means an impossible one, since projecting ledges and knobs offered a foothold all the way. From the summit, the trail edged its way down so precipitously that twice fallen pines had to be used as ladders for the descent.
As soon as they were off the rocks, the big blonde gave the signal for silence. “Ay bane t'ink we might meet up weeth some one,” he whispered, and urged Steve to follow him as closely as possible.
It was half an hour later that Sig pointed out a small clearing ahead of them. “Cabin's right oop on the edge of the aspens. See it?”
The ranger nodded assent.
“Ay bane go down first an' see how t'ings look.”
When the Norwegian entered the cabin, he saw two men seated at a table, playing seven up. The one facing him was Tommie, the cook; the other was an awkward heavy-set fellow, whom he knew for the man he wanted, even before the scarred, villainous face was twisted toward him.
Struve leaped instantly to his feet, overturning his chair in his haste. He had not met the big Norseman since the night he had attempted to hang Fraser.
“Ay bane not shoot yuh now,” Siegfried told him.
“Right sure of that, are you?” the convict snarled, his hand on his weapon. “If you've got any doubts, now's the time to air them, and we'll settle this thing right now.”
“Ay bane not shoot, Ay tell you.”
Tommie, who had ducked beneath the table at the prospect of trouble, now cautiously emerged.
“I ain't lost any pills from either of your guns, gents,” he explained, with a face so laughably and frankly frightened that both of the others smiled.
“Have a drink, Siegfried,” suggested Struve, by way of sealing the treaty. “Tommie, get out that bottle.”
“Ay bane t'ink Ay look to my horse first,” the Norwegian answered, and immediately left by way of the back door not three minutes before Jed Briscoe entered by the front one.
Jed shut the door behind him and looked at the convict.
“Well?” he demanded.
Struve faced him sullenly, without answering.
“Tommie, vamos,” hinted Briscoe gently, and as soon as the cook had disappeared, he repeated his monosyllable: “Well?”
“It didn't come off,” muttered the other sulkily.
“Just what I expected. Why not?”
Struve broke into a string of furious oaths. “Because I missed him—missed him twice, when he was standing there naked before me. He was coming down to the creek to take a bath, and I waited till he was close. I had a sure bead on him, and he dived just as I fired. I got another chance, when he was running across, farther down, and, by thunder, I missed again.”
Jed laughed, and the sound of it was sinister.
“Couldn't hit the side of a house, could you? You're nothing but a cheap skate, a tin-horn gambler, run down at the heels. All right. I'm through with you. Lieutenant Fraser, from Texas, can come along and collect whenever he likes. I'll not protect a false alarm like you any longer.”
Struve looked at him, as a cornered wolf might have done. “What will you do?”
“I'll give you up to him. I'll tell him to come in and get you. I'll show him the way in, you white-livered cur!” bullied the cattleman, giving way to one of his rages.
“You'd better not,” snarled the convict. “Not if you want to live.”
As they stood facing each other in a panting fury the door opened, to let in Siegfried and the ranger.
Jed's rage against Struve died on the spot. He saw his enemy, the ranger, before him, and leaped to the conclusion that he had come to this hidden retreat to run him down for the Squaw Creek murders. Instantly, his hand swept to the hilt of his revolver.
That motion sealed his doom. For Struve knew that Siegfried had brought the ranger to capture him, and suspected in the same flash that Briscoe was in on the betrayal. Had not the man as good as told him so, not thirty seconds before? He supposed that Jed was drawing to kill or cover him, and, like a flash of lightning, unscabbarded and fired.
“You infernal Judas, I'll get you anyhow,” he cried.
Jed dropped his weapon, and reeled back against the wall, where he hung for a moment, while the convict pumped a second and a third bullet into his body. Briscoe was dead before Fraser could leap forward and throw his arms round the man who had killed him.
Between them, they flung Struve to the ground, and disarmed him. The convict's head had struck as he went down, and it was not for some little time that he recovered fully from his daze. When he did his hands were tied behind him.
“I didn't go for to kill him,” he whimpered, now thoroughly frightened at what he had done. “You both saw it, gentlemen. You did, lieutenant. So did you, Sig. It was self-defense. He drew on me. I didn't go to do it.”
Fraser was examining the dead man's wounds. He looked up, and said to his friend: “Nothing to do for him, Sig. He's gone.”
“I tell you, I didn't mean to do it,” pleaded Struve. “Why, lieutenant, that man has been trying to get me to ambush you for weeks. I'll swear it.” The convict was in a panic of terror, ready to curry favor with the man whom he held his deadliest enemy. “Yes, lieutenant, ever since you came here. He's been egging me on to kill you.”
“And you tried it three times?”
“No, sir.” He pointed vindictively at the dead man, lying face up on the floor. “It was him that ambushed you this morning. I hadn't a thing to do with it.”
“Don't lie, you coward.”
They carried the body to the next room and put it on a bed. Tommie was dispatched on a fast horse for help.
Late in the afternoon he brought back with him Doctor Lee, and half an hour after sunset Yorky and Slim galloped up. They were for settling the matter out of hand by stringing the convict Struve up to the nearest pine, but they found the ranger so very much on the spot that they reconsidered.
“He's my prisoner, gentlemen. I came in here and took him—that is, with the help of my friend Siegfried. I reckon if you mill it over a spell, you'll find you don't want him half as bad as we do,” he said mildly.
“What's the matter with all of us going in on this thing, lieutenant?” proposed Yorky.
“I never did see such a fellow for necktie parties as you are, Yorky. Not three weeks ago, you was invitin' me to be chief mourner at one of your little affairs, and your friend Johnson was to be master of ceremonies. Now you've got the parts reversed. No, I reckon we'll have to disappoint you this trip.”
“What are you going to do with him?” asked Yorky, with plain dissatisfaction.
“I'm going to take him down to Gimlet Butte. Arizona and Wyoming and Texas will have to scrap it out for him there.”
“When, you get him there,” Yorky said significantly.
“Yes, when I get him there,” answered the Texan blandly, carefully oblivious of the other's implication.
The moon was beginning to show itself over a hill before the Texan and Siegfried took the road with their captive. Fraser had carelessly let drop a remark to the effect that they would spend the night at the Dillon ranch.
His watch showed eleven o'clock before they reached the ranch, but he pushed on without turning in and did not stop until they came to the Howard place.
They roused Alec from sleep, and he cooked them a post-midnight supper, after which he saddled his cow pony, buckled on his belt, and took down his old rifle from the rack.
“I'll jog along with you lads and see the fun,” he said.
Their prisoner had not eaten. The best he could do was to gulp down some coffee, for he was in a nervous chill of apprehension. Every gust of wind seemed to carry to him the patter of pursuit. The hooting of an owl sent a tremor through him.
“Don't you reckon we had better hurry?” he had asked with dry lips more than once, while the others were eating.
He asked it again as they were setting off.
Howard looked him over with rising disgust, without answering. Presently, he remarked, apropos of nothing: “Are all your Texas wolves coyotes, Steve?”
He would have liked to know at least that it was a man whose life he was protecting, even though the fellow was also a villain. But this crumb of satisfaction was denied him.