268CHAPTER XXVIIAN HOUR TOO LATE
“I had an idea that’s who it was when you described him,” said Sheriff Hardenberg, to whom Stratton returned at once with the news. “There’s only one ‘Paul’ around here who fits the bill, and he sure does to perfection.”
“Who is he?” asked Buck curiously.
Hardenberg’s eyes narrowed. “The slickest piece of goods in the State of Arizona, I’d say. He’s been mixed up in more crooked deals than any man I ever ran up against; but he’s so gol-darn cute nobody’s ever been able to catch him with the goods.”
“He sure don’t look it,” commented Stratton. “With that baby stare of his and—”
“I know,” interrupted the sheriff. “That’s part of his stock in trade; it’s pulled many a sucker. He’s got a mighty convincing way about him, believe me! He can tell the damnedest bunch of lies, looking you straight in the eyes all the time, till you’d swear everything he said was gospel. But his big specialty is egging somebody else on to do the dirty work, and when the dangerous part is over, he steps in and hogs most269of the profits. He’s organized fake mining companies and stock companies. Last year he got up a big cattle-raising combine, persuaded three or four men over in the next county to pool their outfits, and issued stock for about three times what it was worth. It busted up, of course, but not before he’d sold a big block to some Eastern suckers and got away with the proceeds.”
“I’d think that would have been enough to land him.”
“You would, wouldn’t you?” returned Hardenberg with a shrug. “But the law’s a tricky business sometimes, and he managed to shave the line just close enough to be safe. Well, it looks as if we had a chance of bagging him at last,” he added in a tone of heartfelt satisfaction.
“Going to arrest him before we start for the Shoe-Bar?” asked Buck.
Hardenberg laughed shortly. “Hell, no! You don’t know Paul Draper if you think he could be convicted on your statement, unsupported by witnesses. Believe me, by this time he’s doped out an iron-clad alibi, or something, and we wouldn’t have a chance. But if one of the Shoe-Bar gang should turn State’s evidence, that’s another matter.”
“Aren’t you afraid he may beat it if you let him go that long?”
“I’ll see to that. One of my men will start for270Amarillo right away and keep him in sight till we come back. By the way, we’ve got José Maria, and that guy you fired through the window. Caught the old fox sneaking back of those shacks along the north road.”
“Going to warn Lynch, I reckon,” suggested Buck crisply.
“That’s what I thought, so I strung some men along at likely points to pick up any more that may try the same trick. I haven’t got anything out of José yet, but a little thumbscrewing may produce results. I’ll tell you about it to-night.”
It was late when he finally appeared at the hotel lobby, and he had no very favorable news to impart. José Maria, it appeared, had stuck to the story of being engaged by an alleged Federal official to apprehend two outlaws, whose descriptions fitted Buck and his companion perfectly. He admitted having engaged the other Mexicans to help him, but swore that he had never intended any harm to the two men. Their instructions were merely to capture and hold them until the arrival of the supposed official.
“All rot, of course,” Hardenberg stated in conclusion. “But it hangs together a bit too well for any greaser to have thought out by himself. I reckon that cow-man who got you into the joint was responsible for the yarn and told José to give it out in case things should go wrong. Well, I won’t waste any more time271on the bunch. You two be around about seven to-morrow. I’d like to start sooner, but some of the boys have to come in from a distance.”
Buck and Jessup were there ahead of time, but it was more than an hour later when the posse left Perilla. There were about twenty men in all, for Hardenberg planned to send a portion of them across country to guard the outlet of that secret trail through the mountains of which Buck had told him. If Lynch and his men had any warning of their coming, or happened to be out on the range, the chances were all in favor of their making for the mountains and trying to escape by the cattle rustlers’ route.
During the ride the thought of Mary Thorne was often in Buck’s mind. He did not fear for her personal safety. Alf Manning was there, and though Stratton did not like him he had never doubted the fellow’s courage or his ability to act as a protector to the three women, should the need arise. But that such a need would arise seemed most unlikely, for Lynch had nothing to gain by treating the girl save with respect and consideration. He had no compunction about robbing her, but she could scarcely be expected to enter further into his schemes and calculations, especially at a time when his whole mind must be a turmoil of doubt and fear and uncertainty as to the future.
Nevertheless, Buck wished more than once that he had been able to get in touch with her since that272memorable afternoon when he had watched her ride out of sight down the little cañon, if only to prepare her for what was going on. It must have been very hard for her to go about day after day, knowing nothing, suspecting a thousand things, fretting, worrying, with not a soul to confide in, yet forced continually to present an untroubled countenance to those about her.
“Thank the Lord it’ll soon be over and she’ll be relieved,” he thought, when they finally came in sight of the ranch-house.
As the posse swept through the lower gate and up the slope, Buck’s eyes searched the building keenly. Not a soul was in sight, either there or about the corrals. He had seen it thus apparently deserted more than once before, and told himself now that his uneasiness was absurd. But when the girl suddenly appeared on the veranda and stood staring at the approaching horsemen, Buck’s heart leaped with a sudden spasm of intense relief, and unconsciously he spurred his horse ahead of the others.
As he swung himself out of the saddle, she came swiftly forward, her face glowing with surprise and pleasure.
“Oh, I’m so glad you’ve come,” she said in a low, quick voice, clasping his outstretched hand. “We’ve been worrying—You—you’re quite all right now?”273
“Fine and dandy,” Buck assured her. “Thanks to you, and Bud, I’m perfectly whole again.”
She greeted Jessup, who came up smiling, and then Sheriff Hardenberg was presented.
“Very glad to meet you, Miss Thorne,” he said. There was a faint twinkle in his eyes as he glanced toward Stratton for an instant, his belief confirmed as to the principal reason for Buck’s desire to keep the secret of the Shoe-Bar ownership. Then he became businesslike.
“Where’s Lynch and the rest of ’em?” he asked briskly.
The girl’s face grew suddenly serious. “I don’t know,” she answered quickly. “They were all working about the barns until a strange cow-boy rode in about two hours ago. I saw him pass the window but didn’t think much about it. About half an hour or so later I went out to give some orders to Pedro; he’s the cook, you know. But he wasn’t there and neither was Maria, and when I went out to the barns the men were gone. Of course something urgent might easily have taken them out on the range, but neither Maria nor Pedro has been off the place for weeks. Besides, when I peeped into the bunk-house everything was tossed about in confusion, as if—Well, I was afraid something—had happened.”
“Something has,” stated the sheriff grimly. “The274truth is, that scoundrel Lynch has got to the end of his rope, and we’re after him.”
The girl’s face paled, then flushed deeply. “What—what is it?” she asked in a low, troubled voice. “What has he—”
“It’s rather a long story, and I’m afraid there isn’t time to stop and tell you now,” explained the sheriff as she paused. “We’ve got to make every minute count. You have no idea which way they went?”
“It must have been west or south,” the girl answered promptly. “If they’d gone any other way I should have seen them.”
“Fine,” said Hardenberg, wheeling his horse. “Don’t you worry about anything,” he added over one shoulder. “We’ll be back in a jiffy.”
As he and his men spurred down the slope toward the entrance to middle pasture, the girl’s eyes sought Stratton’s.
“You—”
“I must.” He quickly answered her unspoken question. “They’ll need us to show them the way. We’ll be back, though, as soon as we possibly can. You’re not nervous, are you? You’re perfectly safe, of course, with—”
“Of course,” she assured him promptly. “Lynch has gone. There’ll be nothing for us to worry about here. Good-by, then, for a while. And do be careful—both of you.”275
Her face was a trifle pale, and about her mouth and chin were traced a few faint lines which hinted vaguely of forced composure. As Buck hastened to overtake the posse, he recalled her expression, and wondered with a troubled qualm whether she wasn’t really more nervous than she let herself appear. Perhaps she might have been more comfortable if he or Bud had remained at the ranch-house.
“Probably it’s all my imagination,” he decided at length. “With Manning there, she’s perfectly safe, especially as we’ve got the whole gang on the run. The ranch-house would be the very last place they’d head for.”
276CHAPTER XXVIIIFOREBODINGS
Almost at once they struck a fresh trail, made by a number of horsemen riding in a bunch, which led diagonally across middle pasture. It was easy to follow, and Hardenberg pushed his men hard to make up for delays which were likely to come later on. For a time Buck rode beside the sheriff, discussing their plans and explaining the lay of the land. Then he fell back a little to chat with Jessup.
“I’m sure glad of one thing,” Bud said emphatically, after a few desultory remarks. “Miss Mary won’t be bothered no more now with that son-of-a-gun hangin’ around an’ makin’ eyes.”
Stratton turned on him suddenly. “Who the devil do you mean?” he demanded sharply.
“Why, Tex, of course,” shrugged Jessup. “He used to put in considerable time soft-soapin’ around her. A hell of a nerve, I’ll say, makin’ up to such as her.”
Buck scowled. “I never saw anything like that,” he said brusquely, “except maybe once,” he added.277With a sudden recollection of that afternoon they moved the herd out of south pasture.
“Likely not,” returned Bud. “He wasn’t so bad till after yuh went. I got the notion he took to courtin’ her, yuh might say, as a kind of last hope. If he could figger on gettin’ her to marry him, he’d have the ranch an’ everythin’ on it without no more trouble at all. You’d think even a scoundrel like him would see she wouldn’t look at him.”
“Did he— Was he—”
“Oh, no! Nothin’ raw a-tall,” returned Bud, divining the thought in Stratton’s mind. “He just hung around the ranch-house a lot, an’ was awful sweet, an’ used them black eyes of his consid’able. Sorta preparing the way, I reckon. But he didn’t get far.” He chuckled reminiscently. “I’ll tell the world, she didn’t waste no time sendin’ him about his business.”
For a time Buck rode on in frowning silence. The very thought enraged him and added deeply to the score that was piling up so rapidly against the scoundrel.
Presently Bud’s voice broke in upon his savage reverie.
“Funny we didn’t see nothin’ of the Mannings back there,” he commented. “The lady couldn’t of known yuh was around.” He glanced slyly at Buck. “Besides,” he added, seeing that his friend’s expression did not lighten, “with somethin’ like this doin’, you’d278think his lordship would want to strut around in them baggy pants an’ yellow boots, an’ air his views on how to go about to catch the gang.”
Stratton turned his head abruptly. “But they must be there!” he said sharply. “They surely can’t have gone away.”
“There wasn’t no talk of it when I left,” shrugged Bud. “Still, an’ all, me an’ his nibs wasn’t on exactly confidential terms, an’ he might have forgot to tell me about his plans. Yuh got to remember, too, I’ve been gone over a week.”
A worried wrinkle dodged into Buck’s forehead. All along he had taken the presence of the Mannings so entirely for granted that the possibility of their having left the ranch never once occurred to him. But now, in a flash, he realized that by this time, for all he knew, they might be back in Chicago. As Bud said, it certainly seemed odd that neither of them had appeared when the posse rode up to the ranch-house. What a fool he had been not to make sure about it. Why hadn’t he asked the question outright?
“But I did mention it while we were talking,” he thought, trying to reconstruct that brief interview with Mary Thorne. “Hang it all! No, I didn’t. I was going to, but she interrupted. But she must have known what I referred to.”
Suddenly there came back the vivid recollection of the girl’s face as she said good-by. Outwardly cheerful279and composed, that faint pallor and the few lines of strain etched about her mouth and chin struck him now with a tremendous significance. She had known what was in his mind, but purposely refrained from revealing the truth for fear of becoming a drag and hamper to him. She was game through and through.
The realization brought a wave of tenderness surging over the man, followed swiftly by a deepening sense of trouble and uneasiness.
“I don’t like it at all, Bud,” he burst out abruptly. “I wish to thunder we’d found out for sure about those Mannings. If they have gone, one of us at least ought to have stayed.”
“Well, of course I’m only guessin’. Quite likely they’re there yet, only it just seemed funny not to see them. But even if she is left alone with only Mrs. Archer, yuh ain’t worryin’ about anythin’ really happenin’ to her, are yuh? It’ll be darn lonesome, an’ all that, but Lynch an’ the whole gang has beat it—”
“How do we know where they have gone?” cut in Stratton curtly. “They had a good hour’s start, and more. It’ll be getting dusk pretty quick. What’s to prevent one or more of ’em circling back by the southeast? Lynch is capable of anything, and after what you’ve just told me—”
Bud’s eyes widened. “But what would he have to gain—”280
“Gain?” repeated Buck irritably. “How the devil do I know what’s in that polecat’s mind? He’s quite capable of hiding behind a woman’s skirts. He’s even capable of carrying her off and trying to force her to marry him, or something like that. I’ve half a mind to—”
He broke off, frowning. Bud, now thoroughly alarmed, stared at him uneasily. “You’d better let me go back,” he said quickly. “They’ll need yuh more.”
“I don’t give a damn whether they need me or not,” retorted Buck swiftly. “I’ve got a better idea, though. We’ll hit Las Vegas inside of ten minutes. The ’phone’s still working, isn’t it?”
“It was the last I knew.”
“I’ll take a chance. There’s been nothing to put it out of business. By calling up we’ll know how things stand a whole lot quicker. If she and Mrs. Archer are alone, I’ll chase back at once and you can show Hardenberg the way into the mountains.”
Though Bud’s face showed no particular pleasure in the plan, he made no comment, and they rode on in silence. Presently the sheriff turned and called to Stratton. The trail was spreading out, he said, and growing more and more difficult to follow in the waning light.
“I don’t understand why they rode so far apart,”281he said, “unless it was to make it hard for any one to track them. Looks to me, though, as if they were heading straight for that cut into the mountains you told me about. Is it much further off?”
“About a quarter of a mile below the little ’dobe shack we’re coming to,” Stratton answered. “The creek takes a sharp turn to the southeast, and right at the bend you cross and ride straight west into a narrow draw that doesn’t look like it went anywhere. Further on it twists around and leads into a short cañon that brings you through to a sort of valley lying between the hills. After that everything’s plain sailing. It’s almost as plain as a regular trail.”
“Good,” nodded Hardenberg. “Anything to mark the draw?”
Buck thought a minute. “As I remember, there’s a low ridge on the north side, and a big clump of mesquite on the right just before you leave the flats.”
“Well, you’ll be with us to act as guide. I wish we’d had an hour’s earlier start, though. It won’t be any cinch traveling through these mountains in the dark. Still, at the worst, we can count on Dick Jordan’s bunch to nab them as they come out.”
Buck nodded. “I’m not sure I can stick along with you much longer,” he added briefly. “But Jessup can show you the way quite as well. There seems to be282some doubt now about those people I spoke of being still at the ranch.”
“Humph! That would mean that Miss Thorne would be there alone?”
“Yes, except for her aunt. I may be worrying unnecessarily, but with a scoundrel like Lynch—”
“You never can tell,” finished the sheriff as he hesitated. “That’s true enough. We mustn’t take any chances. But how—”
“Telephone. There’s a line from the ranch-house to Las Vegas camp just ahead.” Buck pointed where, through the gathering dusk, the outlines of the adobe shack showed dimly. “If I find there’s no one with her, I’ll ride back.”
“Go to it,” nodded the sheriff. “If you don’t show up I’ll understand. At a pinch I reckon we could find the trail ourselves from your directions.”
As Stratton pulled off to the right, he waved his hand and swept onward with the posse. Buck reached the door and swung out of the saddle, flinging the reins over Pete’s head. Then he found that Bud had followed him.
“I’m goin’ to wait an’ hear what yuh find out,” the youngster stated resolutely. “I can catch up with ’em easy enough.”
“All right.”
Buck hastily entered the shack, which was almost283pitch-dark. A faint glint of metal came from the telephone, hanging beside one window; and as he swiftly crossed the room and fumbled for the bell, there stirred within him a sudden sense of apprehension that was almost dread.
284CHAPTER XXIXCREEPING SHADOWS
With her back against the veranda pillar, Mary Thorne watched the group of mounted men canter down the slope, splash across the creek, and file briskly through the gate leading to middle pasture. Perhaps it would be more accurate to say that, for the most part, her glance followed one of them, and when the erect, jaunty, broad-shouldered figure on the big roan had disappeared, she gave a little sigh.
“He looks better—much better,” she murmured.
Her eyes grew dreamy, and in her mind she saw again that little hidden cañon with its overhanging ledge beneath which the man lay stretched out on his blankets. Somehow, the anxiety and suspense, the heart-breaking worry and weariness of that strange experience had faded utterly. There remained only a very vivid recollection of the touch of her hand against his damp forehead, the feeling of his crisp, dark hair as she pushed it gently back, the look of those long, thick lashes lying so still against his pallid face.
Not seldom she had wished those fleeting moments might have been prolonged. Once or twice she was285even a little jealous of Bud Jessup’s ministrations; just as, thinking of him now, she was jealous of his constant nearness to Buck and the manner in which he seemed so intently to share all the other’s plans and projects, and even thoughts.
“Well, anyway,” she said suddenly aloud, “I’m glad Stella’s not here.”
Then, realizing that she had spoken aloud, she blushed and looked hastily around. No one was in sight, but a moment or two later Mrs. Archer appeared on the veranda.
“I thought I heard voices a little while ago,” she said, glancing around. “Have the men come back?”
Mary turned to meet her. “No, dear. That was the—the sheriff and some of his men.”
“The sheriff!” An expression of anxiety came into Mrs. Archer’s pretty, faded face. “But what has happened? What—?”
“I’m not quite sure; they had no time to explain.” The girl put an arm reassuringly around the older woman’s shoulder. “But they’re after Tex and the other hands. They’ve done something—”
“Ha!” In any other person the sound would have seemed suspiciously like a crow of undisguised satisfaction. “Well, I’m thankful that at last somebody’s shown some common sense.”
“Why, auntie!” Astonished, the girl held her off286at arm’s length and stared into her face. “You don’t mean to say you’ve suspected—?”
Mrs. Archer sniffed. “Suspected! Why, for weeks and weeks I’ve been perfectly certain the creature was up to no good. You know I never trusted him.”
“Yes; but—”
“The last straw was his bringing that ridiculous charge against Buck Green,” Mrs. Archer interrupted with unexpected spirit. “That stamped him for what he was; because a nicer, cleaner, better-mannered young man I’ve seldom seen. He could no more have stolen cattle than—than I could.”
A mental picture of her tiny, delicate, fragile-looking aunt engaged in that strenuous and illicit operation brought a momentary smile to Mary Thorne’s lips. Then her face grew serious.
“But you know I didn’t believe it—really,” she protested. “I offered to keep him on if he’d only assure me he wasn’t here for any—any secret reason. But he wouldn’t, and at the time there seemed nothing to do but let him go.”
“I suppose he might have had some other private reason than stealing cattle,” commented Mrs. Archer.
“He had,” returned Mary, suppressing a momentary sense of annoyance that her aunt had shown the greater faith. “As nearly as I can make out, he was here to shadow Tex. As a matter of fact he really wanted287to leave the ranch and work from a different direction, so it turned out all right in the end. He thinks it was Tex himself who secretly instigated the cattle-stealing.”
“The villain!” ejaculated Mrs. Archer energetically. “But where has—er—Buck been all this time? Where is he now?”
The girl smiled faintly. “He was here a little while ago. He and Bud are both with the sheriff’s posse. They believe the men are heading for the mountains and have gone after them.”
Mrs. Archer glanced sharply at her niece, noted a faint flush on the girl’s face, and pursed her lips.
“When are they coming back?” she asked, after a little pause.
Mary shrugged her shoulders. “Not until they catch them, I suppose.”
“Which certainly won’t be to-night. I’m rather surprised at Buck. It seems to me that he ought to have stayed here to look after things, instead of rushing off to chase outlaws.”
“It wasn’t his fault,” defended Mary quickly. “He thought Alf and Stella were here.”
“Alf and Stella! Good gracious, child! How could he, when they left four days ago?”
“He didn’t know that. He took it for granted they were still here, and I let him think so. They needed him to guide the posse, and I knew if I told him,288he’d insist on staying behind. After all, dear, there’s nothing for us to worry about. It’ll be a bit lonesome to-night, but—”
“Worry! I’m not worrying—about myself.” Mrs. Archer regarded her niece with a curiously keen expression that seemed oddly incongruous in that delicate fragile-looking face. “I’m not blind,” she went on quickly. “I’ve noticed what’s been going on—the wretch! You’re afraid of him, too, I can see, and no wonder. I wish somebody had stayed—Still, we must make the best of it. What are you going to do about the stock?”
“Feed them,” said Mary laconically, quelling a little shiver that went over her. “Let’s go and do it now.”
Together they walked around to the corral, where Mary forked down some hay for the three horses, and filled the sunken water-barrel from the tank. Already shadows were creeping up from the hollows, and the place seemed very still and deserted.
In the kitchen the sense of silent emptiness was even greater, accustomed as they were to the constant presence of Pedro and his wife. The two women did not linger longer than was necessary to fill a tray with supper, which they carried into the living-room. Here Mary closed the door, lit two lamps, and touched a match to the wood piled up in the big fireplace.
“It’ll make things more cheerful,” she remarked289with an attempt at casualness which was not altogether successful. “I don’t see why we shouldn’t heat some water here and make tea,” she added with sudden inspiration.
Mrs. Archer, who liked her cup of tea, made no objections, and Mary sprang up and went back to the kitchen. Filling a saucepan from the pump, she got the tea-caddy out of a cupboard, and then paused in the middle of the room, staring out into the gathering dusk.
Neither doors nor windows in the ranch-house were ever locked, and, save on really cold nights, they were rarely even closed. But now, of a sudden, the girl felt she would be much more comfortable if everything were shut up tight, and setting down the pan and caddy on the table, she went over to the nearest window.
It looked out on the various barns and sheds clustered at the back of the ranch-house. The harness-room occupied the ground floor of the nearest shed, with a low, seldom-entered loft above, containing a single, narrow window without glass or shutters.
As Mary approached the open kitchen window, herself invisible in the shadows of the room, a slight sense of movement in that little square under the eaves of the shed roof drew her glance swiftly upward. To her horror she caught a momentary glimpse of a face framed in the narrow opening. It vanished swiftly—far290too swiftly to be recognized. But recognition was not necessary. The mere knowledge that some one was hidden in the loft—had probably been hidden there all along—turned the girl cold and instantly awakened her worst fears.
291CHAPTER XXXLYNCH SCORES
How long she stood there staring fearfully at the empty window of the shed, Mary Thorne had no idea. She seemed frozen and incapable of movement. But at last, with a shiver, she came to herself, and bending out, drew in the heavy wooden, shutters and fumbled with the catch. The bolt was stiff from disuse, and her hands shook so that she was scarcely able to thrust it into the socket. Still trembling, she closed and bolted the door and made fast the other windows. Then she paused in the middle of the room, slim fingers clenched tightly together, and heart beating loudly and unevenly.
“What shall I do?” she said aloud in a strained whisper. “What shall I do?”
Her glance sought the short passage, and, through it, the cozy brightness of the living-room.
“I mustn’t let her know,” she murmured.
After a moment more of indecision she stepped into the small room opening off the kitchen, which had been occupied by Pedro and his wife. Having bolted the shutters of the single window, she came back into the292kitchen and stood beside the table, making a determined effort for self-control. Suddenly the sound of her aunt’s voice came from the living-room.
“What are you doing, Mary? Can I help you?”
For a second the girl hesitated, nails digging painfully into her palms. Then she managed to find her voice.
“No thanks, dear. I’ll be there in just a minute.” Resolutely she took up the saucepan and caddy and walked slowly toward the lighted doorway. She felt that a glance at her face would probably tell Mrs. Archer that something was wrong, and so, entering the living-room, she went straight over to the fireplace. Kneeling on the hearth, she took the poker and made a little hollow amongst the burning sticks in which she placed the covered saucepan. When she stood up the heat had burned a convincingly rosy flush into her cheeks.
“I was closing the shutters,” she explained in a natural tone. “While the water’s boiling I think I’ll do the same in the other rooms. Then we’ll feel quite safe and snug.”
Mrs. Archer, who was arranging their supper on one end of the big table, agreed briefly but made no other comment. When Mary had secured the living-room door and windows, she took the four bedrooms in turn, ending in the one whose incongruously293masculine appointments had once aroused the curiosity of Buck Green.
How long ago that seemed! She set her candle on the dresser and stared around the room. If only she wasn’t such a helpless little ninny!
“And I’m such a fool I wouldn’t know how to use a revolver if I had it,” thought the girl forlornly. “I don’t even know what I did with Dad’s.”
Then, of a sudden, her glance fell upon the cartridge-belt hanging on the wall, from whose pendant holster protruded the butt of an efficient-looking six-shooter—Stratton’s weapon, which, like everything else in the room, she had left religiously as she found it.
Stepping forward, she took hold of it gingerly and managed to draw it forth—a heavy, thirty-eight Colt, the barrel rust-pitted in a few places, but otherwise in excellent condition. She had no idea how to load it, but presently discovered by peering into the magazine that the shells seemed to be already in place. Then all at once her eyes filled and a choking little sob rose in her throat.
“Oh, if you were only here!” she whispered unevenly.
It would be hard to determine whether she was thinking of Stratton, that dreamlike hero of hers, whose tragic death she had felt so keenly, or of another man who was very much alive indeed. Perhaps she scarcely knew herself. At all events it was only a294momentary little breakdown. Pulling herself together, she returned to the living-room, carrying the big six-shooter half hidden by her skirts, and managed to slip it, apparently unseen, on a little stand above which hung the telephone to Las Vegas camp. By this time the water was boiling, and having made tea, she carried the pot back to the big table and sat down opposite Mrs. Archer.
For a minute or two she was busy with the cups and had no occasion to observe her aunt’s expression. Then, chancing to glance across the table, she was dismayed to find the older woman regarding her with searching scrutiny.
“Well?” questioned Mrs. Archer briefly. “What is it?”
Mary stared at her guiltily. “What’s—what?” she managed to parry.
“Why beat about the bush?” retorted her aunt. “Something’s happened to frighten you. I can see that perfectly well. You know how I detest being kept in the dark, so you may as well tell me at once.”
Mary hesitated. “But it—it may not—come to anything,” she stammered. “I didn’t want to—to frighten you—”
“Rubbish!” An odd, delicately grim expression came into the little old lady’s face. “I’d rather be frightened unnecessarily than have something drop on me out of a clear sky. Out with it!”295
Then Mary gave in and was conscious of a distinct relief in having a confident.
“It’s only this,” she said briefly. “When I went to close the back kitchen window a little while ago, I saw a—a face looking out of that little window above the harness-room. Some one’s—hiding there.”
For an instant Mrs. Archer’s delicately pretty, faded face turned quite pale. Then she rallied bravely.
“Who—who was it?” she asked in a voice not altogether steady.
“I—don’t know. It disappeared at once. But I’m sure it wasn’t imagination.”
For a moment or two her aunt sat thinking. Then she glanced quickly across the room. “Is that gun loaded?” she asked.
The girl nodded; she had ceased to be surprised at anything. For a space Mrs. Archer regarded her untouched cup of tea thoughtfully. When she looked up a bright spot of pink was glowing in each wrinkled cheek.
“It’s not pleasant, but we must face it,” she said. “It may be Pedro, or even Maria. Both of them are cowards. On the other hand it may be Lynch. There’s no use shutting one’s eyes to possibilities.”
Abruptly she rose and walked quickly into her bedroom, returning in a moment or two with a little chamois case from which she drew a tiny twenty-two296caliber revolver, beautifully etched and silver-mounted, with a mother-of-pearl stock.
“Your uncle gave it to me many years ago and showed me how to use it,” she explained, laying it beside her plate. “I’ve never shot it off, but I see no reason why—”
She broke off with a gasp, and both women started and turned pale, as a harsh, metallic rattle rang through the room.
“What is it?” whispered Mary, half rising.
“The telephone! I can’t get used to that strange rattle. Answer it, quickly!”
Springing up, Mary flew across the room and took down the receiver.
“Hello,” she said tremulously. “Who is—Oh, Buck!” Her eyes widened and the blood rushed into her face. “I’m so glad! But where are you?... I see. No, they’re not here.... I know I did, but I thought—I wish now I’d told you. We—we’re frightened.... What?.... No, not yet; but—but there’s some one hiding in the loft over the harness-room.... I don’t know, but I saw a face at the window.... Yes, everything’s locked up, but—”
Abruptly she broke off and turned her head a little, the blood draining slowly from her face. A sound had come to her which struck terror to her heart. Yet it was a sound familiar enough on the range-land—merely297the beat of a horse’s hoofs, faint and far away, but growing rapidly nearer.
“Wait!” she called into the receiver, “Just a—minute.”
Her frightened eyes sought Mrs. Archer and read confirmation in the elder woman’s strained attitude of listening.
“Some one’s coming,” the girl breathed. Suddenly she flung herself desperately at the telephone. “Buck!” she cried. “There’s some one riding up.... I don’t know, but I’m—afraid.... Yes, do come quickly.... What’s that?”
With a little cry she rattled the hook and repeatedly pressed the round button which operated the bell. “Buck! Buck!” she cried into the receiver.
The thud of hoofs came clearly to her now; it was as if the horse was galloping up the slope from the lower gate.
“What’s the matter?” demanded Mrs. Archer, in a hoarse, dry voice.
With a despairing gesture the girl dropped the receiver and turned a face drained of every particle of color.
“The wire’s—dead,” she said hopelessly.
Mrs. Archer caught her breath sharply, but made no other sound. In the silence that followed they could hear the horse pull up just beyond the veranda,298and the sound of a man dropping lightly to the ground. Then came very faintly the murmur of voices.
To the two women, standing motionless, with eyes riveted on the door, the pause that followed lengthened interminably. It seemed as if that low, stealthy, sibilant whispering was going on forever. Mrs. Archer held her little pearl-handled toy with a spasmodic grip which brought out a row of dots across her delicate knuckles, rivaling her face in whiteness. Mary Thorne’s gray eyes, dilated with emotion, stood out against her pallor like deep wells of black. One clenched hand hung straight at her side; the other rested on the butt of the Colt, lying on the stand below the useless instrument.
Suddenly the tension snapped as the heavy tread of feet sounded across the porch and a hand rattled the latch.
“Open up!” called a harsh, familiar voice.
There was no answer. Mrs. Archer reached out to steady herself against the table. Mary’s grip on the Colt tightened convulsively.
“Open up, I tell yuh,” repeated the voice. “I ain’t aimin’ to—hurt yuh.”
Then apparently a heavy shoulder thrust against the door, which shook and creaked ominously. Suddenly the girl’s slim figure straightened and she brought her weapon around in front of her, holding it with both hands.299
“If—if you try to force that door, I—I’ll shoot,” she called out.
The only answer was an incredulous laugh, and an instant later the man’s shoulder struck the panels with a crash that cracked one of them and partly tore the bolt from its insecure fastenings.
Promptly the girl cocked her weapon, shut both eyes, and pulled the trigger. The recoil jerked the barrel up, and the bullet lodged in the ceiling. Before she could recover from the shock, there came another crash, the shattered door swung inward, and Tex Lynch sprang across the threshold.
Again Mary lifted the heavy weapon and tried to nerve herself to fire. But somehow this was different from shooting through a solid wooden door, and she could not bring herself to do it. Mrs. Archer had no such scruples. Her small, delicately-chiseled face was no longer soft and gentle. It had frozen into a white mask of horror, out of which the once-soft eyes blazed with fierce determination. Bending across the table, she leveled her toylike weapon at the advancing outlaw, and by the merest chance sent a bullet flying so close to his head that he ducked instinctively. An instant later Pedro darted through the passage from the kitchen, snatched the weapon from her hand, and flung her roughly into a chair.
Her aunt’s half-stifled cry stung Mary like a lash and roused her from the almost hypnotic state in300which, wide-eyed and terrified, she had been watching Lynch’s swift advance.
“Oh!” she cried furiously. “You—you beast!”
He was within a few feet of her now, and moved by the double impulse of fear and anger, her finger pressed the trigger. But there was no response, and too late the girl realized that she had failed to cock the weapon. In another moment Lynch had wrenched it from her hand.
301CHAPTER XXXIGONE
Motionless in his saddle, save for an occasional restless stamp of his horse, Bud Jessup waited patiently in front of the adobe shack at Las Vegas camp. His face was serious and thoughtful, and his glance was fixed on the open door through which came the broken, indistinguishable murmur of Buck Stratton’s voice. Once, thinking he heard an unusual sound, the youngster turned his head alertly and stared westward through the shadows. But a moment later his eyes flashed back to that narrow, black oblong, and he resumed his uneasy pondering as to what Buck might possibly be finding out.
Suddenly he gave a start as Stratton’s voice, harsh, startled, came to him distinctly.
“Mary! Mary! Why don’t you answer? What’s happened?”
The words were punctuated by a continuous rattle, and ended abruptly with the clatter of metal against metal.
“Hell!” rasped Buck, in a hoarse, furious voice with302an undercurrent of keen apprehension that made Bud’s nerves tingle. “The wire’s been cut!”
An instant later he appeared, running. Snatching the reins, he gained the saddle in a single bound, jerked his horse around, and was off across the pasture.
“Come on!” he shouted back over one shoulder. “There’s trouble at the ranch.”
Bud dug spurs into his cayuse and followed, but it was some minutes before he managed to catch up with his friend.
“What is it?” he cried anxiously. “What’s wrong? Have the Mannings—”
“They’ve gone, as I thought,” snapped Stratton. “The two women are alone. But that isn’t the worst.” A sudden spasm of uncontrolled fury rose in his throat and choked him momentarily. “There’s some one hidden in the loft over the harness-room,” he managed to finish hoarsely.
Bud stared at him in dismay. “Who the devil—”
“I don’t know. She just got a glimpse of a—a face in the window while she was closing up the kitchen.”
“Do you suppose it’s—Tex?”
“I don’t know,” retorted Buck through his clenched teeth. “What difference does it make, anyhow? Some one hid there for a—a purpose. By God! What fools we were not to make a search!”
“It seemed so darn sure they’d all beat it,” faltered303Bud. “Besides, I don’t guess any of us would of thought to look in that loft.”
“Maybe not. It doesn’t matter. We didn’t.” Stratton’s voice was brittle. “But if anything happens—”
“Have they locked up the whole house?” Jessup asked as Stratton paused.
“Yes, but what good’ll that do with two able-bodied men set on getting in? There isn’t a door or shutter that wouldn’t—”
“Two!” gasped Bud. “You didn’t say—”
“Didn’t I? It was just at the end. She was telling me about seeing the face and locking up the house. Then all at once she broke off.” Buck’s tone was calmer now, but it was the hard-won calm of determined will, and every now and then there quivered through it a faint, momentary note that told eloquently of the mingled dread and fury that were tearing his nerves to pieces. “I asked what was the matter and she said to wait a minute. It seemed like she stopped to listen for something. Then all of a sudden she cried out that some one was riding up.”
“It—it might not have been any of the gang,” murmured Bud, voicing a hope he did not feel.
“Who else would be likely to come at this time of night?” demanded Stratton. “Lynch is on the outs with everybody around Perilla. They don’t go near the ranch unless they have to. It couldn’t have been304one of Hardenberg’s men; he’s not expecting any one.”
“Did—did she say anything else?” asked Jessup, after a brief pause.
Buck hesitated. “Only that she—was afraid, and wanted us to—come quickly. Then the wire went dead as if it had been cut.”
Silence fell, broken only by the thud of hoofs and the heavy breathing of the two horses. Bud’s slim, lithe figure had slumped a little in the saddle, and his eyes were fixed unseeingly on the wide, flat sweep of prairie unfolding before them, dim and mysterious under the brilliant stars.
In his mind anxiety, rage, and apprehension contended with a dull, dead hopelessness which lay upon his heart like lead. For something in Buck’s tone made him realize in a flash a situation which, strangely, he had never even suspected. He wondered dully why he hadn’t ever thought of it before; perhaps because Buck was a new-comer who had seemed to see so little of Mary Thorne. Probably, also, the very friendly manner of Stella Manning had something to do with Jessup’s blindness. But his eyes were opened now, thoroughly and effectually, and for a space, how long or short he never knew, he fought out his silent battle.
It ended in a victory. Down in his heart he knew that he had never really had any hope of winning305Mary Thorne himself. He had cherished aspirations, of course, and dreamed wonderful dreams; but when it came down to hard actualities, romance did not blind him to the fact that she looked on him merely as a friend and nothing more. Indeed, though they were virtually of the same age, he had been aware at times of an oddly maternal note in her attitude toward him which was discouraging. Still, it was not easy definitely to relinquish all hope and bring himself to write “finis” to the end of the chapter. Indeed, he did not reach that state of mind until, glancing sidewise at his friend, there came to him a sudden, faintly bitter realization of the wide contrast between them, and of how much more Buck had to offer than himself.
Stratton’s erect, broad shoulders, the lean length of him, the way he held his head, gave Jessup a curious, unexpected impression of strength and ability and power. Buck’s eyes were set straight ahead and his clean-cut profile, clearly visible in the luminous starlight, had a look of sensitiveness and refinement, despite the strength of his jaw and chin and the somberness of his eyes. Bud turned away with a little sigh.
“I never had no chance at all,” he thought. “Someway he don’t look like a cow-puncher, nor talk quite like one. I wonder why?”
Half a mile further on Buck suddenly broke the prolonged silence.306
“I’ve been thinking it over,” he said briefly. “The man on the horse was probably Lynch. He could easily have started off with the rest and then made a circuit around below the ranch-house. If he picked his ground, we’d never notice where he left the others, especially as we weren’t looking for anything of the sort.”
“Who do you s’pose hid over the harness-room?”
“It might have been Slim, or Kreeger, or even Pedro. The whole thing was certainly a put-up job—damn them!” His voice shook with sudden passion. “Well, we’ll soon know,” he finished, and his mouth clamped shut.
Already the row of cottonwoods that lined the creek was faintly visible ahead, a low, vague mass, darker a little than the background of blue-black sky. Both spurred their jaded horses and a moment or two later pulled up with a jerk at the gate. Before his mount had come to a standstill, Bud was out of his saddle fumbling with the catch. When he swung it open, Stratton dashed through, swiftly crossed the shallow creek, and galloped up the long, easy slope beyond.
A chill struck him as the ranch-house loomed up, ominously black and desolate as any long-deserted dwelling. He had forgotten for an instant the heavy, wooden shutters, and when, with teeth clenched and heart thudding in his throat, he reached the veranda corner, the sight of that yellow glow streaming from307the open door gave him a momentary shock of supreme relief.
An instant later he saw the shattered door, and the color left his face. In two strides he crossed the porch and, with fingers tightening about the butt of his Colt, he stared searchingly around the big, brightly-lighted, strangely empty-looking room.
It held but a single occupant. Huddled in a chair on the further side of the long table was Mrs. Archer. Both hands rested on the polished oak, and clutched in her small, wrinkled hands was a heavy, cumbrous revolver, pointed directly at the door. Her white, strained face, stamped with an expression of hopeless tragedy, looked ten years older than when Buck had last seen it. As she recognized him she dropped the gun and tottered to her feet.
“Oh!” she cried, in a sharp, wailing voice. “You! You!”
In a moment Buck had her in his arms, holding her tight as one holds a hurt or frightened child. Mechanically he soothed her as she clung to him, that amazing self-control, which had upheld her for so long, snapping like a taut rope when the strain becomes too great. But all the while his eyes—wide, smoldering eyes, filled with a mingling of pity, of dread questioning and furious passion—swept the room searchingly.
Over the little lady’s bowed gray head his glance took in swiftly a score of details—the dead fire, the308dangling receiver of the useless telephone, a little pearl-handled revolver lying in a far corner as if it had been flung there, an upset chair. Suddenly his gaze halted at the edge of the shattered door and a faint tremor shook his big body. A comb lay on the floor there—a single comb of tortoise-shell made for a woman’s hair. But it was a comb he knew well. And as his eyes met Bud’s, staring from the doorway at the strange scene, they were the eyes of a man tortured.