309CHAPTER XXXIIBUCK RIDES
Presently Mrs. Archer released her spasmodic grip on Stratton’s flannel shirt and fumbled for her handkerchief.
“I’m a fool to—to waste time like this,” she faltered, dabbing her eyes with the crumpled square of cambric.
“I think you’re rather wonderful,” returned Buck gently. He helped her to a chair. “Sit down here, and when you’re able, tell us just what—happened.”
Her hands dropped suddenly to her lap and she looked up at him with wide, blazing eyes. Bud had approached and stood on the other side of the chair, listening intently.
“It was that creature Lynch,” she said in a voice that trembled a little with anger and indignation. “He was the one who rode up on horseback. It was Pedro who was hidden in the loft. Mary told you about that before the telephone went dead.”
“The wire was cut,” muttered Stratton. “That must have been the greaser’s work.”
She gave a quick nod. “Very likely. He’s equal310to anything. They met just outside the door and talked together. It seemed as if they’d never leave off whispering. Mary was over by the telephone and I stood here. She had that revolver, which she’d found in the other room.” Her eyes indicated the weapon on the table, and Buck was conscious of a queer thrill as he recognized it as his own. “We waited. At last the—the beast pounded at the door and called to us to open. We didn’t stir. Then he threw himself against the door, which cracked. Mary cried out that if he tried to force it, she’d shoot. The creature only laughed, and when she did fire, the bullet went wild.”
She paused an instant, her fingers twitching at the handkerchief clasped in her lap.
“And then he broke in?” questioned Buck, in a hard voice.
She nodded. “Yes. I fired once, but it did no good. Before I could shoot again, Pedro came up from behind and snatched the revolver away. He must have forced his way into the kitchen. He threw me into a chair, while Lynch went after Mary.”
Buck’s lips were pressed tightly together; his face was hard as stone. “Didn’t she fire again?”
“No, I don’t know why. I couldn’t see very well. Something may have gone wrong with the revolver; perhaps she had scruples. I should have had none.” Mrs. Archer’s small, delicate face looked almost311savage. “I’d have gloried in shooting the brute. At any rate, she didn’t, and he took the weapon away from her and flung it on the table.”
Again she hesitated briefly, overcome by her emotions. Stratton’s face was stony, save for a momentary ripple of the muscles about his mouth.
“And then?” he questioned.
“I—I tried to go to her, but Pedro held me in the chair.” Mrs. Archer drew a long, quivering breath. “Lynch had her by the wrist; I heard him say something about not hurting her; and then he said, quite plainly, that since she’d got him in this mess, she’d have to get him out. I couldn’t understand, but all at once I realized that if they did—take her away, they’d probably tie me up, or something, to prevent my giving the alarm, and so I pretended to faint.”
She lifted her handkerchief to her lips and let it fall again. “It wasn’t easy to lie still in that chair and see the dear child—being dragged away. But I knew I’d be quite helpless against those two villains. She—she didn’t struggle much; perhaps she hadn’t the strength.” The old lady’s voice shook, and she began again plucking nervously at her handkerchief. “The minute they were out of the door, I got up and followed them. I thought perhaps I might be able to see which way they went. It was pitch-dark, and I crept along beside the house to the corner. I could just see their outlines over by the corral. Pedro was312saddling two horses. When he had done, that creature, Lynch, made Mary mount and got on his own horse, which he had been leading. Then the two men began to talk. I couldn’t hear everything, but it sounded as if they were arranging to meet somewhere. They gave the name of a place.”
Her eyes searched Buck’s face with a troubled, anxious scrutiny. “So many Arizona towns have a foreign sound, but somehow I—I’ve never even heard of Santa Clara.”
“Santa Clara!” burst out Bud. “Why, that’s over in Sonora. If he should get her across the border—”
Mrs. Archer sprang to her feet and caught Stratton by one arm. “Mexico!” she cried hysterically. “Oh, Buck! You must save her from that creature! You mustn’t let him—”
“He sha’n’t. Don’t worry,” interrupted Stratton harshly. “Tell me as quickly as you can what else you heard. Was there anything said about the way he meant to take?”
Mrs. Archer clenched her small hands and fought bravely for self-control. “He said he—he might be delayed. He didn’t dare take the road through Perilla, and the trail through the mountains was probably blocked by the sheriff.” Her forehead wrinkled thoughtfully. “He said the only way was to—to go313through the pass and turn south along the edge of the T-T land. That—that was all.”
Buck’s face lighted with somber satisfaction. “It’s a good bit,” he said briefly. “When they started off did you notice which way they went?”
“Pedro rode past the house toward the lower gate. Lynch went straight down the slope toward the bunk-house. He was leading Mary’s horse. I ran a little way after them and saw them cross the creek this side of the middle pasture gate.”
Buck shot a glance at Jessup. “The north pasture!” he muttered. “He knows there’ll be no one around there, and it’ll be the safest way to reach the T-T trail. I’ll saddle a fresh cayuse and be off.” He turned to Mrs. Archer. “Don’t you worry,” he said, with a momentary touch on her shoulder that was at once a caress and an assurance. “I’ll bring her back.”
“You must!” she cried. “They said something—It isn’t possible that he can—force her to—to marry him?”
“A lot of things are possible, but he won’t have the chance,” replied Stratton grimly. “Bud, you stay here with Mrs. Archer, and I’ll—”
“Oh, no!” protested the old lady. “You must both go. I don’t need any one. I’m not afraid of being here alone. No one will come—now.”314
“Why couldn’t I go after Hardenberg and get him to take a bunch around the south end of the hills,” suggested Jessup quickly. “They might be able to head him off.”
“All right,” nodded Stratton curtly. “Go to it.”
Inaction had suddenly grown intolerable. He would have agreed to anything save the suggestion that he delay his start even for another sixty seconds. With a hurried good-by to Mrs. Archer, he hastened from the room, swung into his saddle, and rode swiftly around to the corral. A brief search through the darkness showed him that only a single horse remained there. He lost not a moment in roping the animal, and was transferring his saddle from Pete, when Bud appeared.
“You’ll have to catch a horse from theremuda,” he said briefly. “I’ve taken the last one. Turn Pete into the corral, will you, and give him a little feed.” Straightening up, he turned the stirrup, mounted swiftly, and spurred his horse forward. “So-long,” he called back over one shoulder.
The thud of hoofs drowned Bud’s reply, and as the night closed about him, Buck gave a faint sigh of relief. There was a brief delay at the gate, and then, heading northwest, he urged the horse to a canter.
He was taking a chance in following this short cut through the middle pasture, but he felt he had no choice. To attempt to trail Lynch would be futile,315and if he waited until dawn, the scoundrel would be hopelessly in the lead. He knew of only one pass through the mountains to T-T ground, and for this he headed, convinced that it was also Lynch’s goal, and praying fervently that the scoundrel might not change his mind.
He was under no delusions as to the task which lay before him. Lynch would be somewhat handicapped by the presence of the girl, especially if he continued to lead her horse. But he had a good hour’s start, and once in the mountains the handicap would vanish. The chase was likely to be prolonged, particularly as Lynch knew every foot of the mountain trail and the country beyond, which Stratton had never seen.
But the presence of difficulties only strengthened Buck’s resolution and confidence. As he sped on through the luminous darkness, the cool night wind brushing his face, a seething rage against Tex Lynch dominated him. Now and then the thought of Mary Thorne came to torture him. Vividly he pictured the scene at the ranch-house which Mrs. Archer had described, imagining the girl’s fear and horror and despair, then and afterward, with a realism which made him wince. But always his mind flashed back to the man who was to blame for it all, and with savage curses he pledged himself to a reckoning.
And so, with mind divided between alternating316spasms of tenderness and fury, he came at last to the further side of middle pasture and dismounted to let down the fence. It was characteristic of the born and bred ranchman that instead of riding swiftly on and letting the cut wires dangle, he automatically obeyed one of the hard and fast rules of the range and fastened them behind him. He did not pause again until he reached the little sheltered nook in the face of the high cliffs, out of which led the trail.
Had those two passed yet, or were they still out there somewhere in the sandy wastes of north pasture? He wondered as he reined in his horse. He scarcely dared hope that already he could have forestalled the crafty Lynch, but it was important to make sure. And so, slipping out of the saddle, he flung the reins over the roan’s head and, walking forward a few steps, lit a match and searched the ground carefully for any signs.
Three matches had been consumed before he found what he was looking for—the fresh prints of two horses leading toward the trail. Hastily returning to his cayuse, he swung into the saddle and headed the roan toward the grade. They were ahead of him, then; but how far?
It was impossible to make any speed along the rough uncertainties of this rocky trail, but Buck wasted no time. Down in the further hollow he turned aside to the spring, not knowing when he would again find317water for his horse. He did not dismount, and as the roan plunged velvet nozzle into the spring, a picture rose in Buck’s mind of that other day—how long ago it seemed!—when he himself, sagging painfully in the saddle, had sucked the water with as great an eagerness out of a woman’s soggy Stetson, and then, over the limp brim, gazed gratefully into a pair of tender hazel eyes which tried in vain to mask anxiety beneath a surface of lightness.
He bit his lips and struck the saddle-horn fiercely with one clenched fist. When the horse had finished drinking, he turned him swiftly and, regaining the trail, pushed on feverishly at reckless speed.
About an hour later the first pale signs of dawn began to lighten the darkness. Slowly, gradually, almost imperceptibly, a cold gray crept into the sky, blotting out the stars. Little by little the light strengthened, searching out shadowy nooks and corners, revealing this peak or that, widening the horizon, until at length the whole, wide, tumbled mass of peak and precipice, of cañon, valley, and tortuous, twisted mountain trail lay revealed in all its grim, lifeless, forbidding desolation.
From his point of vantage at the summit of a steep grade, Buck halted and stared ahead with a restless, keen eagerness. He could see the trail curving over the next rise, and farther still he glimpsed a tiny patch of it rounding the shoulder of a hill. But it was318empty, lifeless; and as he loosed the reins and touched the roan lightly with a spur, Stratton’s face grew blank and hard again.
From somewhere amongst the rocks the long-drawn, quavering howl of a coyote sounded mournfully.
319CHAPTER XXXIIICARRIED AWAY
The same dawn unrolled before the eyes of a man and a girl, riding southward along the ragged margin of the T-T ranch. Westward stretched the wide, rolling range-land, empty at the moment of any signs of life. And somehow, for the very reason that one expected something living there, it seemed even more desolate than the rough, broken country bordering the mountains on the other side.
That, at least, was Mary Thorne’s thought. Emerging from the mountain trail just as dawn broke, her eyes brightened as she took in the flat, familiar country, even noting a distant line of wire fence, and for the first time in many hours despair gave place to sudden hope. Where there was range-land there must be cattle and men to tend them, and her experience with Western cow-men had not been confined to those of Lynch’s type. Him she knew now, to her regret and sorrow, to be the great exception. The majority were clean-cut, brave, courteous, slow of speech, perhaps, but swift in action; simple of mind320and heart—the sort of man, in short, to whom a woman in distress might confidently turn for help.
But presently, as the rising sun, gilding the peaks that towered above her, emphasized the utter emptiness of those sweeping pastures, the light died out of her eyes and she remembered with a sinking heart the blackleg scourge which had so recently afflicted the T-T outfit. There had been much discussion of it at the Shoe-Bar, and now she recalled vaguely hearing that it had first broken out in these very pastures. Doubtless, as a method of prevention, the surviving stock had been moved elsewhere, and her chances for help would be as likely in the midst of a trackless desert as here.
The reaction made her lips quiver and there swept over her with renewed force that wave of despair which had been gaining strength all through those interminable black hours. She had done her best to combat it. Over and over again she told herself that the situation was far from hopeless. Something must happen. Some one—mostly she thought of Buck, though she did not name him even to herself—would come to her aid. It was incredible that in this day and generation a person could be successfully carried off even by one as crafty, resourceful, and unscrupulous as Tex Lynch. But in spite of all her reasoning there remained in the back of Mary’s mind a feeling of cold horror, born of those few sentences she had321overheard while Pedro was saddling the horses. Like a poisonous serpent, it reared its ugly head persistently, to demolish in an instant her most specious arguments. The very thought of it now filled her with the same fear and dread that had overwhelmed her when the incredible words first burned into her consciousness, and made her glance with a sudden, sharp terror at the man beside her. She met a stare from his bold, heavy-lidded eyes that sent the blood flaming into her cheeks.
“Well?” queried Lynch, smiling. “Feelin’ better, now it’s mornin’?”
The girl made no answer. Hastily averting her eyes, she rode on in silence, lips pressed together and chin a little tilted.
“Sulking, eh?” drawled Lynch. “What’s the good? Yuh can’t keep that sort of thing up forever. After we’re—married—”
He paused significantly. The girl’s lip quivered but she set her teeth into it determinedly. Presently, with an effort, she forced herself to speak.
“Aren’t you rather wasting time trying to—to frighten me with that sort of rubbish?” she asked coldly. “In these days marriage isn’t something that can be forced.”
The man’s laugh was not agreeable. “Oh, is that so?” he inquired. “You’re likely to learn a thing or two before long, I’ll say.”322
His tone was so carelessly confident, so entirely assured, that in an instant her pitiful little pretense of courage was swept away.
“It isn’t so!” she cried, turning on him with wide eyes and quivering lips. “You couldn’t— There isn’t a—real clergyman who’d do—do such a thing. No one could force me to—to— Why, I’d rather die than—”
She paused, choking. Lynch shrugged his shoulders.
“Oh, no, yuh wouldn’t,” he drawled. “Dyin’ is mighty easy to talk about, but when yuh get right down to it, I reckon you’d change yore mind. I don’t see why yore so dead set against me,” he added. “I ain’t so hard to look at, am I? An’ with me as yore husband, things will—will be mighty different on the ranch. You’ll never have to pinch an’ worry like yuh do now.”
Tears blinded her, and, turning away quickly, she stared unseeing through a blurring haze, fighting desperately for at least a semblance of self-control. He was so confident, so terribly sure of himself! What if he could do the thing he said? She did not see how such a ghastly horror could be possible; but then, what did she know of conditions in the place to which he was taking her?
Suddenly, as she struggled against that overpowering weight of misery and despair, her thoughts flew323longingly to another man, and for an instant she seemed to look into his eyes—whimsical, a little tender, with a faint touch of suppressed longing in their clear gray depths.
“Buck! Oh, Buck!” she yearned under her breath.
Then of a sudden she felt a hand on her bridle and became aware that Lynch was speaking.
“We’ll stop here for a bit,” he informed her briefly. “You’d better get down and stretch yoreself.”
She looked at him, a little puzzled. “I’m quite comfortable as I am,” she returned stiffly.
“I expect yuh are,” he said meaningly. “But I ain’t takin’ any chances.” With a wave of his hand he indicated a steepish knoll that rose up on their left. “I’m goin’ up there to look around an’ see what the country looks like ahead,” he explained. “I’ll take both cayuses along, jest in case yuh should take the notion to go for a little canter. Sabe?”
Without a word she slipped out of the saddle and, moving to one side, listlessly watched him gather up the reins of her horse and ride toward the foot of the hill. Its lower levels sloped easily, and in spite of the handicap of the led horse, who pulled back and seemed reluctant to follow, Lynch took it with scarcely a pause.
There came a point, however, about half way to the summit, from which he would have to proceed on foot. Lynch dismounted briskly enough and tied both324horses to a low bush. Then, instead of starting directly on the brief upward climb, he turned and glanced back to where Mary stood.
That glance, indicating doubt and suspicion, set the girl suddenly to wondering. Ever so little her slim figure straightened, losing its discouraged droop. Was it possible? He seemed to think so, or why had he looked back so searchingly? Guardedly her glance swept to right and left. A hundred feet or so to the south a spur of the little hill thrust out, hiding what lay beyond. If she could reach it, might there not possibly be some spot in all that jumble of rocks and gullies where she at least might hide?
Filled with a new wild hope; realizing that nothing she might do could make her situation worse, Mary’s eyes returned to the climbing man, and she watched him narrowly. Little by little, when his back was toward her, she edged toward the spur. She told herself that when he reached the top she would make a dash, but in the end her tense, raw nerves played her false. Quivering with eagerness, she held herself together until he was within twenty feet or more of the summit, and then her self-control snapped abruptly.
She had covered scarcely a dozen yards over the rough ground when a hoarse shout of surprise came from Lynch, followed by the clatter of rolling stones as he plunged back down the hill. But she did not turn her head; there was no time or need. Running325as she had never run before, she rounded the spur and with a gasp of dismay saw that the cliffs curved back abruptly, forming an intervening open space that seemed to extend for miles, but which, in reality, was only a few hundred yards across.
Still she did not halt, but sped on gamely, heading for the mouth of the nearest gully. Presently the thud of hoofs terrified her, but stung her to even greater effort. Nearer the hoofs-beats came, and nearer still. Breathless, panting, she knew now she could never reach the gully. The realization sent her heart sinking like a lead plummet, but fear drove her blindly on. Suddenly the bulk of a horse loomed beside her and a man’s easy, sneering laugh bit into her soul like vitriol. An instant later Lynch leaped from his saddle and caught her around the waist.
“Yuh would, would yuh?” he cried, gazing down into her flushed, frightened face. “Tried to shake me, eh?”
For a moment he held her thus, devouring her with his eyes, holding the bridles of both horses in his free hand. Then all at once he laughed again, hatefully, and crushing her to him, he kissed her, roughly, savagely—kissed her repeatedly on the lips and cheeks and throat.
Mary cried out once and tried to struggle. Then of a sudden her muscles relaxed and she lay limply in his arms, eyes closed, wishing that she might die, or,326better yet, that some supreme force would suddenly strike the creature dead.
How long she lay there shuddering with disgust and loathing, she did not know. It seemed an eternity before she realized that his lips no longer touched her, and opening her eyes she was startled at the sight of his face.
It was partly turned away from her as he stared southward across the flats. His eyes were wide, incredulous, and filled with a mingling of anger and dismay. In another moment he jerked her roughly to her feet, dragged her around to the side of her horse, and fairly flung her into the saddle. Vaulting into his own, he spurred the beast savagely and rode back toward the out-thrust spur at a gallop, dragging the unwilling Freckles with him.
Gripping the saddle-horn to keep her precarious seat, Mary yet found time for a hurried backward glance before she was whisked out of sight of that wide stretch of open country to the south. But that glance was enough to make her heart leap. Dots—moving dots which she had no difficulty in recognizing as horsemen—were sweeping northward along the edge of the breaks. Who they were she neither knew nor cared. It was enough that they were men. Her eyes sparkled, and a wild new hope flamed up within her, even though she was being carried swiftly away from them.327
Once in the shelter of the spur, Lynch did not halt but rode on at full speed, heading northward. For half a mile or so the thudding hoof-beats of the two horses alone broke the silence. Then, as their advance opened up a fresh sweep of country, Lynch jerked his mount to a standstill with a suddenness that raised a cloud of dust about them.
“Hell!” he rasped, staring from under narrowing lids.
For full half a minute he sat motionless, his face distorted with baffled fury and swiftly growing fear. Then his eyes flashed toward the hills on the right and swept them searchingly. A second later he had turned his cayuse and was speeding towards a narrow break between two spurs, keeping a tight hold on the girl’s bridle.
“You try any monkey tricks,” he flung back over one shoulder, “and I’ll—kill yuh.”
Mary made no answer, but the savage ferocity of his tone made her shiver, and she instantly abandoned the plan she had formed of trying, by little touches of hand and heel, to make Freckles still further hamper Lynch’s actions. Through the settling dust-haze she had seen the cause of his perturbation—a single horseman less than a mile away galloping straight toward them—and felt that her enemy was cornered. But the very strength of her exultation gave her a passionate longing for life and happiness, and328she realized vividly the truth of Lynch’s callous, sneering words, that when one actually got down to it, it was not an easy thing to die. She must take no chances. Surely it could be only a question of a little time now before she would be free.
But presently her high confidence began to fade. With the manner of one on perfectly familiar ground, Lynch rode straight into the break between the rocks, which proved to be the entrance to a gully that widened and then turned sharply to the right. Here he stopped and ordered Mary to ride in front of him.
“You go ahead,” he growled, flinging her the reins. “Don’t lose any time, neither.”
Without question she obeyed, choosing the way from his occasional, tersely flung directions. This led them upward, slowly, steadily with many a twist and turn, until at length, passing through a narrow opening in the rocks, Mary came out suddenly on a ledge scarcely a dozen feet in width. On one side the cliffs rose in irregular, cluttered masses, too steep to climb. On the other was a precipitous drop into a cañon of unknown depth.
“Get down,” ordered Lynch, swinging out of his saddle.
As she slid to the ground he handed her his bridle-reins.
“Take the horses a ways back an’ hold ’em,” he told her curtly. “An’ remember this: Not a peep out of329yuh, or it’ll be yore last. Nobody yet’s double-crossed me an’ got away with it, an’ nobody ain’t goin’ to—not even a woman. That cañon’s pretty deep, an’ there’s sharp stones a-plenty at the bottom.”
White-faced and tight-lipped, she turned away from him without a word and led the two horses back to the point he indicated. The ledge, which sloped sharply upward, was cluttered with loose stones, and she moved slowly, avoiding these with instinctive caution and trying not to glance toward the precipice. A dozen feet away she paused, holding the horses tightly by their bridles and pressing herself against the lathered neck of Freckles, who she knew was steady. Then she glanced back and caught her breath with a swift, sudden intake.
Kneeling close to the opening, but a little to one side, Lynch was whirling the cylinder of his Colt. Watching him with fascinated horror, Mary saw him break the weapon, closely inspect the shells, close it again, and test the trigger. Then, revolver gripped in right hand, he settled himself into a slightly easier position, eyes fixed on the opening and head thrust a little forward in an attitude of listening.
Only too well she guessed his purpose. He was waiting in ambush to “get” that solitary horseman they had seen riding from the north. Whether or not he had come here for the sole purpose of luring the other to his death, Mary had no notion. But she could330see clearly that once this stranger was out of the way, Lynch would at least have a chance to penetrate into the mountains before the others from the south arrived to halt him.
Slowly, interminably the minutes ticked away as the girl stood motionless, striving desperately to think of something she might do to prevent the catastrophe. If only she had some way of knowing when the stranger was near she might cry out a warning, even at the risk of Lynch’s violence. But thrust here in the background as she was, the unknown was likely to come within range of Lynch’s gun before she even knew of his approach.
Suddenly, out of the dead silence, the clatter of a pebble struck on the girl’s raw nerves and made her wince. She saw the muscles of Lynch’s back stiffen and the barrel of his Colt flash up to cover the narrow entrance to the ledge. For an instant she hesitated, choked by the beating of her heart. Should she cry out? Was it the man really coming? Her dry lips parted, and then all at once a curious, slowly moving object barely visible above the rocky shoulder that sheltered Lynch, startled her and kept her silent.
In that first flash she had no idea what it was. Then abruptly the truth came to her. It was the top of a man’s Stetson. The ledge sloped upward, and where she stood it was a good two feet higher than at the entrance. A man was riding up the outer slope and,331remembering the steepness of it, Mary knew that, in a moment, more of him would come into view before he became visible to Lynch.
White-faced, dry-lipped, she waited breathlessly. Now she could see the entire hat. A second later she glimpsed the top of an ear, a bit of forehead, a sweeping look of dark-brown hair—and her heart died suddenly within her.
The man was Buck Green!
332CHAPTER XXXIVTHE FIGHT ON THE LEDGE
In that instant of supreme horror, Mary Thorne found time to be thankful that terror struck her momentarily dumb. For now, with lips parted and a cry of warning trembling there, she saw that it was too late. Like a pointer freezing to the scent, Lynch’s whole body had stiffened; one hand gripped the leveled Colt, a finger caressed the trigger. At this juncture a cry would almost surely bring that tiny, muscular contraction which might be fatal.
From behind the ledge Buck’s hat had disappeared, and a faint creak of saddle-leather told the girl that he had dismounted and by so doing must have moved a trifle out of range.
Sick with horror and desperation, the girl’s eye fell upon a stone lying at her feet—a jagged piece of granite perhaps twice the size of a baseball. In a flash she dropped the bridle-reins and, bending, caught it up stealthily. Freckles pricked his ears forward, but with a fleeting, imploring touch of one hand against his sweaty neck, Mary steadied herself for a moment,333slowly drew back her arm, and, with a fervent, silent prayer for strength, she hurled the stone.
It grazed Lynch’s face and struck his wrist with a force that jerked up the barrel of the revolver. The spurt of flame, the sharp crack of the shot, the clatter of the Colt striking the edge of the precipice, all seemed to the girl to come simultaneously. A belated second afterward Lynch’s furious curses came to her. With dilated eyes she saw him snatch frantically at the sliding weapon, and as it toppled out of sight into the cañon barely an inch ahead of his clutching, striving fingers, she thrilled with sudden fierce joy.
“Curse you!” he frothed, springing up and rushing at her. “You—”
“Buck!” she screamed. “Quick! His gun’s gone! He—”
A blow from his fist struck her mouth and flung her backward against the horse. Half fainting, she saw Freckles lunge over her shoulder and heard the vicious click of his teeth snapping together. But Lynch, ducking out of reach of the angry horse, caught Mary about the waist and dragged her toward the precipice.
Involuntarily she closed her eyes. When she opened them again, stirred by the curious silence and the sudden cessation of all movement, she found herself staring dazedly into the face of Buck Green.
He stood very quietly just inside the narrow334entrance to the ledge, not more than ten feet from her. In one hand was a six-shooter; the other hung straight at his side, the fingers tightly clenched. As he met her bewildered glance, his eyes softened tenderly and the corners of his lips curved in a momentary, reassuring smile. Then abruptly his face froze again.
“Yuh take another step an’ down she’ll go,” said a hoarse voice close to the girl’s ear.
It was Lynch; and Mary, her senses clearing, knew whose hands gripped her so tightly that she could scarcely breathe. Glancing sidewise, she hastily averted her eyes. She was standing within six inches of the edge of the precipice. For the first time she could look down into those sheer depths, and even that hurried glimpse made her shiver.
“Well, I admit you’ve got the bulge on me, as it were.” Buck’s voice suddenly broke the silence. “Still, I don’t see how you’re going to get out of this hole. You can’t stand like this forever.”
Mary stared at him, amazed at his cool, drawling, matter-of-fact tone. She was still more puzzled to note that he seemed to be juggling with his revolver in a manner which seemed, to say the least, extraordinarily careless.
“I can stand here till I get tired,” retorted Lynch. “After that— Well, I’d as soon end up down there as get a bullet through my ribs. One thing, I wouldn’t go alone.”335
“Suppose I offered to let you go free if you give up Miss Thorne?” Stratton asked with sudden earnestness.
“Offer? Hell! Yuh can’t fool me with that kind of talk. Not unless yuh hand over yore gun, that is. Do that, an’ I might consider the proposition—not otherwise.”
Buck hesitated, his eyes flashing from the weapon he whirled so carelessly between his fingers to Lynch, whose eyes regarded him intently over the girl’s shoulder.
“That would be putting an awful lot of trust in you,” he commented. “Once you had the gun, what’s to prevent you from drilling me—Oh, damn!”
He made a sudden, ineffectual grab at the gun, which had slipped from his fingers, and missed. As the weapon clattered against the rocks, Lynch’s covetous glance followed it involuntarily. What happened next was a bewildering whirl of violent, unexpected action.
To Mary it seemed as if Buck cleared the space between them in a single amazing leap. He landed with one foot slipping on the ragged edge of the precipice, and apparently threw his whole weight sidewise against Lynch and the girl he held. Just how it happened she did not know, but in another moment Mary found herself freed from those hateful, gripping hands and flung336back against her horse, while at her feet the two men grappled savagely.
Over and over on the narrow confines of the sloping ledge they struggled fiercely, heaving, panting, with muscles cracking, each seemingly possessed with a grim determination to thrust the other into the abyss. Now Buck was uppermost; again Lynch, by some clever trick, tore himself from Stratton’s hold to gain a momentary advantage.
Like one meshed in the thralls of some hateful nightmare, the girl crouched against her horse, her face so still and white and ghastly that it might well have been some clever sculptor’s bizarre conception of “Horror” done in marble. Only her eyes seemed to live. Wide, dilated, glittering with an unnatural light, they shifted constantly, following the progress of those two writhing bodies.
Once, when Lynch’s horse snorted and moved uneasily, she caught his bridle and quieted him with a soothing word, her voice so choked and hoarse that she scarcely knew it. Again, as the men rolled toward the outer side of the ledge and seemed for a moment almost to overhang the precipice, she gave a smothered cry and darted forward, moved by some wild impulse to fling her puny strength into the scale against the outlaw.
But with a heave of his big body, Buck saved himself as he had done more than once before, and the337struggle was resumed. Back and forth they fought, over and over around that narrow space, until Mary was filled with the dazed feeling that it had been going on for ever, that it would never end.
But not for an instant did she cease to follow every tiny variation of the fray, and of a sudden she gave another cry. Gripped in a fierce embrace, the two men rolled toward the entrance to the ledge, and all at once Mary saw one of Lynch’s hands close over and instantly seize the revolver Buck had dropped there.
Instantly she darted forward and tried to wrest it from his grasp. Finding his strength too great, she straightened swiftly and lifting one foot, brought her riding boot down fiercely with all her strength on Lynch’s hand. With a smothered grunt his fingers laxed, and she caught up the weapon and stepped quickly back, wondering, if Lynch came uppermost, whether she would dare to try to shoot him.
No scruples now deterred her. These had vanished utterly, and with them fear, nervousness, fatigue, and every thought of self. For the moment she was like the primitive savage, willing to do anything on earth to save—her man! But so closely were the two men entwined that she was afraid if she shot at Lynch the bullet might injure Buck.
Once more the fight veered close to the precipice. Lynch was again uppermost; and, whether by his greater strength, or from some injury Buck had338sustained against the rocks, the girl was seized by a horrible conviction that he had the upper hand. Knees gripping Stratton about the body, hands circling his throat, Lynch, apparently oblivious to the blows rained on his chest and neck, was slowly but surely forcing his opponent over the ragged margin of the ledge. It was at this instant that the frantic girl discovered that her weapon had suffered some damage when it fell and was quite useless.
Already Buck’s head overhung the precipice, his face a dark, strangled red. Flinging the revolver from her, Mary rushed forward and began to beat Lynch wildly with her small, clenched fists.
But she might as effectually have tried to move a rooted tree, and with a strangled cry, she wound her fingers in his coarse black hair and strove with all her strength to drag Lynch back.
339CHAPTER XXXVTHE DEAD HEART
Vaguely, as of a sound coming from far distances, the crack of a revolver-shot penetrated to the girl’s numbed brain. It did not surprise her. Indeed, it roused only a feeling of the mildest curiosity in one whose nerves had been strained almost to the breaking-point. When Lynch, with a hoarse cry, toppled back against her, she merely stepped quickly to one side, and an instant later she was on her knees beside Stratton.
“Buck!” she sobbed. “Oh, Buck!” clutching at him as if from some wild fear that he would topple into the abyss.
Hands suddenly put her gently to one side, and some one dragged Stratton from his dangerous position and supported him against an upraised knee. It was Bud Jessup, and behind him loomed the figures of Sheriff Hardenberg and several of his men.
Mary’s glance noted them briefly, incuriously, returning anxiously to the man beside her. His eyes were open now, and he was sucking in the air in deep, panting gulps.340
“How yuh feelin’?” asked Bud briefly.
“All right—get my breath,” mumbled Buck.
“Yuh hurt any place?” Jessup continued, after a brief pause.
“Not to speak of,” returned Stratton in a stronger tone. “When I first jumped for the cuss, I hit my head the devil of a crack, and—pretty near went out. But that don’t matter—now.”
His eyes sought the girl’s and dwelt there, longingly, caressingly. There was tribute in their depths, appreciation, and something stronger, more abiding which brought a faint flush into her tired face and made her heart beat faster. Presently, when he staggered to his feet and took a step or two toward her, she felt no shame in meeting him half way. Quite as naturally as his arm slipped around her shoulders, her lifted hands rested against the front of his flannel shirt, torn into ribbons and stained with grime.
“For a little one,” he murmured, looking down into her eyes, “you’re some spunky fighter, believe me!”
She flushed deeper and her lids drooped. Of a sudden Sheriff Hardenberg spoke up briskly:
“That was a right nice shot, kid. You got him good.”
He was standing beside the body sprawling on the ground, and the words had scarcely left his lips when Lynch’s eyes opened slowly.
“Yes—yuh got me,” he mumbled.341
Slowly his glance swept the circle of faces until it rested finally on the man and girl standing close together. For a long moment he stared at them silently, his pale lips twitching. Then all at once a look of cunning satisfaction swept the baffled fury from his smoldering eyes.
“Yuh got me,” he repeated in a stronger voice. “Looks like yuh got her, too. Maybe yuh think you’ve gobbled up the ranch, likewise, an’—an’ everything. That’s where yuh get stung.”
He fell to coughing suddenly, and for a few minutes his great body was racked with violent paroxysms that brought a bright crimson stain to the sleeve he flung across his mouth. But all the while his eyes, full of strange venomous triumph, never once left Stratton’s face.
“Yuh see,” he choked out finally, “the ranch—ain’t—hers.”
He paused, speechless; and Mary, looking down on him, felt merely that his brain was wandering and found room in her heart to be a little sorry.
“Why ain’t it hers?” demanded Bud with youthful impetuosity. “Her father left it to her, an’—”
“It wasn’t his to—to leave. He stole it.” Lynch’s voice was weaker, but his eyes still glowed with hateful triumph. “He forged the deed—from—from papers—Stratton left with him—when he went—to war.” He moistened his dry lips with his tongue.342“When Stratton was—killed—he didn’t leave—no kin—to make trouble, an’ Thorne—took a chance.”
His voice faltered, ceased. Mary stared at him dumbly, a slow, oppressive dread creeping into her heart. Little forgotten things flashed back into her mind. Her father’s financial reverses, his reticence about the acquisition of the Shoe-Bar, the strange hold Lynch had seemed to have on him, rose up to torment her. Suddenly she glanced quickly at Buck for reassurance.
“It isn’t so!” she cried. “It can’t be. My father—”
Slowly the words died on her lips. There was love, tenderness, pity in the man’s eyes, but no—denial!
“Ain’t it, though?” Lynch spoke in a labored whisper; his eyes were glazing. “Yuh thinks—I’m—loco. I—ain’t. It’s—gospel truth. Yuh find Quinlan, the—the witness. No, Quinlan’s dead. It’s—it’s—Kaylor. Kaylor got—got— What was I sayin’.” He plucked feebly at his chap-belt. “I know. Kaylor got—a clean thousand for—for swearin’—the signature—was—Stratton’s. Yuh find Kaylor. Hardenberg ... thumbscrew ... the truth....”
The low, uneven whisper merged into a murmur; then silence fell, broken only by the labored breathing of the dying man. Dazed, bewildered, conscious of a horrible conviction that he spoke the truth, Mary stood frozen, struggling against a wave of utter343weariness and despair that surged over her. She felt the arm about her tighten, but for some strange reason the realization brought her little comfort.
Suddenly Hardenberg broke the silence. He had been watching the girl, and could no longer bear the misery in her white, strained face.
“You think you’ve turned a smart trick, don’t you?” he snapped with angry impulsiveness. “As a matter of fact the ranch belongs to him already. The man you’ve known as Green is Buck Stratton himself.”
Lynch’s lids flashed up. “Yuh—lie!” he murmured. “Stratton’s—dead!”
“Nothing like it,” retorted the sheriff. “The papers got it wrong. He was only badly wounded. This fellow here is Buck Stratton, and he can prove it.”
A spasm quivered over Lynch’s face. He tried to speak, but only a faint gurgle came from his blood-flecked lips. Too late Hardenberg, catching an angry glance from Buck, realized and regretted his impulsive indiscretion. For Mary Thorne, turning slowly like a person in a dream, stared into the face of the man beside her, lips quivering and eyes full of a great horror.
“You!” she faltered, in a pitiful, small voice. “You—”
Stratton held her closer, a troubled tenderness sweeping the anger from his eyes.344
“But—but, Mary—” he stammered—“what difference does—”
Suddenly her nerves snapped under the culminating strain of the past few hours.
“Difference!” she cried hysterically. “Difference!” Her heart lay like a cold, dead thing within her; she felt utterly miserable and alone. “You—My father! Oh, God!”
She made a weak effort to escape from his embrace. Then, abruptly, her slim, girlish figure grew limp, her head fell back against Stratton’s shoulder, her eyes closed.