CHAPTER XICHAD DECIDES TO GET BUSY
After his failure to stop Yeager's escape, Culvera lost no time before starting a party in pursuit. He knew there was small chance of finding the American in that rolling sea of hills, but there was at least no harm in making the attempt.
As he walked to Pasquale's headquarters to make a report of the affair, Culvera's mind was full of vague suspicions. How had this man escaped? Had the old general freed him for some purpose of his own? Ramon had seen condemned prisoners released by his chief before. Always within a short time some enemy or doubtful friend of Pasquale had died a violent death. Was it his turn now? Could it be that Pasquale was anticipating his treachery?
To learn that the general was out at three o'clock in the morning lent no reassurance to his fears. After a moment's consideration the young man turned his steps toward the house where Yeager had been confined. But before starting he stopped in the shadow of a barn to see that his revolvers were loose in the scabbards and in good working order. Nor did he cross the moonlit open direct, but worked to his destinationby a series of tacks that kept him almost all the time in the darkness.
The seventeen-year-old sentry was still doing duty outside the prison. At sight of Culvera he stopped rolling a cigarette to snatch up his rifle and fling a challenge at him.
"How is it that you have let your prisoner escape?" demanded the officer in Spanish after he had given the countersign.
"Escape? No, señor. Listen. Do you not hear him move?" replied in the boy in the same tongue. "I think the Gringo is having a fit. For ten—twenty—minutes he has beat on the floor and kicked at the walls. To die at daybreak is not to his liking."
"Mil diablos! I tell you I saw him ride away. It is some one else in there."
"Some one else! But, no—that is impossible. Who else could it be?" As he asked the question the boy's jaw fell slack. A horrible suspicion pushed itself into his mind.
"Estupido!" he continued in growing terror. "Can it be—the general?"
"We shall see."
Culvera stepped to the door. It was locked and the key gone. He called aloud. His only answer was a strange, muffled sound like a groan and the beating of feet upon the floor.
With the butt of the sentry's rifle he hammeredin the door at the lock and by exerting all his strength forced the fastening. Lying in the middle of the room, bound hand and foot, with his furious face upturned to the moonlight, was Gabriel Pasquale. Culvera asked no foolish questions, wasted no time. Kneeling beside his superior officer, he cut the handkerchief that gagged him and the ropes that tied his limbs. Together Ramon and the guard lifted him to his feet and held him for a moment until his legs regained their power.
"What devil has done this outrage?" asked Ramon.
For a time Pasquale could only swallow and grunt. When the power of speech returned, he broke into fierce and terrible maledictions. His lieutenant listened in silence, extreme concern in his respectful face, an unholy amusement bubbling up behind the deferential exterior.
"Then it was the Gringo?" he asked when his chief ran out of breath and for the moment ceased cursing.
The insurgent leader went off into another explosion of rage. He would cut his heart out while the American devil was still alive. He would stake him out on the desert to broil to death beneath a Mexican sun.
Culvera showed the hat that he had punctured with his bullet. "Thus near I came toavenging you, general. See! One inch lower and I would have taken off the top of his head. Already Fuentes is pursuing him. Perhaps this Yeager may be dragged back to justice."
Culvera asked no questions as to why the general was alone with a condemned man at such an hour nor as to how the American had succeeded in overpowering him. He understood that his chief's wounded vanity was torturing the man enough to render curiosity unsafe. But the boyish sentry did not know this. He ventured on a sympathetic question.
"But, señor, Your Excellency, how did this Gringo devil, who was unarmed, take away your revolver and tie you?"
Pasquale, teeth clenched, whirled upon him. "You—dog of a peon—let your prisoner walk away without a challenge and then dare to questionme!"
The old soldier's fist shot out like a pile-driver. The blow lifted the boy from his feet and flung him like a sack of meal against the wall. His body hung there a moment, then dropped to the ground. A faint groan was the only sound that showed he was not unconscious.
The general strode from the room, Culvera at his heels. The brown mask of his face told no stories of how the younger man was enjoying himself.
Before he slept, Ramon had one more pleasant task before him. He roused Harrison to tell him the news. He sat smiling on the foot of the bed, his eyes mocking the startled face of the prizefighter.
"I come to bring you good news, señor," he jeered. "Your countryman has escaped."
Harrison sat up in bed. "What's that? Escaped, did you say? Where to?"
The Mexican swept one arm around airily. "How should I know? He's gone—broke out. He's taken a horse with him."
"A horse!" repeated Harrison stupidly.
"Just so—a horse. To ride upon, doubtless, since he was in somewhat of a hurry. Odd that a horse happened to be waiting saddled for him at two in the morning. Not so?"
The American groped toward the point. "You mean—that he had friends, that some one helped him to get away?"
The other man shrugged his shoulders. "Do I? Quien sabe? Anyhow, he's gone. Must be very disappointing to you, since you had promised yourself to see his translation to heaven at sunrise."
Harrison expressed himself bitterly in language emphatic and profane.
Meanwhile Culvera smiled pleasantly and sympathetically. "You run Pasquale a closesecond. He cursed the roof off when he found breath."
"I'm not through with Yeager yet. Believeme, he'll have one heluvatime before I'm done," boasted the prizefighter savagely.
"You're still in entire accord with the chief. Yet our friend the Gringo rides away in safety and laughs at you both. Ramon Culvera takes his hat off to Señor Yeager. He has played a winning game with courage and brains."
"I beat his fool head off when he joined the Lunar Company—the very day he joined. When I meet up with him again, I'll repeat," Harrison bragged, hammering the pillow with his clenched fist.
The Mexican looked politely incredulous. "Maybeso. This I say only. Yeager has played one game with Pasquale, one with you, and one with me. He comes out best each time. Of a sureness he is a strong man, wise, cool, resourceful. Is it not so?"
The prizefighter sputtered with wounded vanity. "Him! The boob's nothing but a lucky guy. You'd ought to 'a' seen him after I fixed his map that first day. Down and out he was, take my word for it."
"If Señor Harrison says so," assented Culvera with polite mockery. "But as you say, he laughs best who laughs last. And that remindsme. He left a note to be forwarded a friend. Pasquale was too crazy mad to see it, so I put it in my pocket."
He handed to the other man the note Steve had written for Threewit. The prizefighter read it in the dim light laboriously.
"It was written, you perceive, before Pasquale shoved his big head into a trap and gave him a chance to escape," explained the insurgent officer.
As Harrison read, certain phases of the situation arranged themselves before his dull mind. He was acutely disappointed at the escape of his enemy, since it was not likely the man would ever be caught again so neatly. But now he forced himself to look beyond this to the consequences. Yeager would tell all he knew when he reached Los Robles. With the troopers warned against him Harrison knew he could no longer move to and fro as freely on the American side. The very fact that he was a suspect would greatly hamper his dealings. The Seymours would probably turn against him for betraying the man who had risked his life to save Phil from the effects of his folly. And what about Ruth? He knew he held her by fear of trouble to Phil and by means of a sort of magnetic clamp he had always imposed upon her will. Would she throw him over now after she heard the story of the cowpuncher?
His eyes were still fastened sulkily on the note while he was slowly realizing these things. One line seemed to stand out from the rest.
Bust up that marriage if you can.
Harrison ground his teeth with impotent rage. This range-rider always had interfered with his affairs from the first moment he had met him. If ever he got the chance again to stamp him out—! The strong fingers of the man worked with the nervous longing to tighten on the throat of the gay youth who had worsted him in the duel the prizefighter had forced upon him. The cowpuncher had introduced himself by knocking him down. A few hours later he had turned a bruised and bleeding face up to him and laughed without fear as if it were of no consequence.
Yeager had stolen from him his reputation as a daring rider and a good shot. He had driven him from the Lunar Company. Now he was going back to spoil his plans for making money by rustling American stock and sending contraband goods across the line. Not only that; he was going to take from him the girl he was engaged to marry.
"By God! I'll give him a run for it," the prizefighter announced savagely and suddenly.
"For what?" asked Culvera maliciously.
"My business," retorted Harrison harshly, reaching for his clothes.
Half an hour later he was galloping toward the north. If he could reach Los Robles before Yeager did, he would turn a trick that would still leave the odds in his favor.
CHAPTER XIIINTO THE DESERT
Ruth was baking apple pies in the kitchen. In her eyes there was a smile and there were little dimples near the corners of her mouth. Evidently she was thinking of something pleasant. Her nimble fingers ran around the edge of the upper crust with a fork and scalloped a design. At odd moments she would burst into a little rhapsody of song that appeared to bubble out of her heart.
Some one stepped into the doorway and shut out the sunlight. Her questioning glance lifted, to meet the heavy frown of the man to whom she was engaged. At sight of him the sunshine was extinguished from her face, just as it had seemed to be from the room when his broad shoulders had filled the opening.
"You—Chad!" she cried. "I thought—"
"Well, I ain't. I'm here," he broke in roughly. "And you don't look glad to death to see me either."
Her gentle eyes reproached him. "You're always welcome. You know that."
His harsh face softened a little as he stepped forward and kissed her. "Maybe I do, but maybeI like to hear you say so. Girl, I've come to take you with me."
"With you? Where?" Alarm was in the eyes that flashed to meet his.
"To Noche Buena."
"But—what for?"
"Ain't it reason enough that I want you to go? We can get married at Arixico to-night."
She broke into protest disjointed and a little incoherent. "You promised me that—that I could have all the time I wanted. You said—you said—"
"That was when I was here to look after you. But I'll be staying in Sonora quite a while the way my business affairs look. I need you—and what's the sense of waiting, anyhow?"
"No—no! I don't want to—not now. Please don't ask it, Chad, I—I don't want to get married—yet."
Sobs began to choke up her voice. Tears welled up in her eyes.
"I don't see why you don't," he insisted sullenly. "Ain't trying to back out, are you?"
"No, but—"
"You better not," he retorted with a threatening look. "I ain't the kind of man it's safe to jilt."
"You promised me all the time I wanted," she repeated. "You wouldn't hurry me. That waswhat you said," she sobbed, breaking down suddenly.
"All right," he conceded ungraciously. "I'm not forcing you to marry me now. But I thought it best, seeing as I've got to ask you to go with me, anyhow. O' course I can put you in charge of Carmen to chaperon you. She's the woman that keeps house for Pasquale. But it kinder seemed to me it would be better if you went as my wife. Then I could take care of you."
"Go with you—now? What do you mean, Chad?"
"It's this fellow Yeager. He's shot himself, and he wants to see you before he dies." From his pocket he took the note Steve had written to Threewit and handed it to Ruth. "You don't have to go, but I hate to turn down a fellow when he's all in and ready to quit the game."
She read the note, her face like chalk. Not for a moment did she doubt that the cowpuncher had written it. Even if her mind had harbored any vague suspicions one line in the letter would have swept them away.Bust up that marriage if you can. She knew to what marriage he referred. Nobody but Yeager could have written those words.
"But he says—he says"—her voice shook, but she forced herself to go on—"that this letter isn't to be sent until his death."
"Yep. So it does. But he got to asking for you. So I just lit out to give you a chance to go if you want to. It's up to you. Do just as you please."
"Of course I'll go. Is he—is he as bad as he says?"
"Pretty bad, the doc says. But I reckon he's good for a day or two. My advice would be to start right away, though, if you want to see him alive."
"Yes. That would be best. I'll see mother now." She stopped at the door and leaned against the jamb a little faintly, then turned toward him. "It was fine of you to come, Chad. I know you don't like him. But—I won't forget."
"Oh, tha's all right," he mumbled.
"Have you seen Mr. Threewit yet?" she asked.
"Threewit—no." He was for a moment puzzled at her question. "No—he's out getting a set somewheres in the hills."
Ruth came back and took the note from Harrison's reluctant fingers. "He ought to get this at once. I'll send Billie Brown out with it. He'll explain to Mr. Threewit about us going on ahead and not waiting for him."
The prizefighter did not quite like the idea. He would rather have kept the note himself andburnt it later. But it was out of his charge now. Without stirring doubts he could not make any objection. Anyhow, he would be in Sonora and safely married to Ruth long before the deception was discovered.
Mrs. Seymour made her protest against such an unconventional trip, but Ruth rode her objections down after the fashion of American girls.
"Why can't I go for a ride with the man to whom I'm engaged? What's wrong with it? I'll stay with the lady that keeps house for General Pasquale. In two or three days I'll be back. Don't say no, mommsie." Her voice broke a little as she pleaded the cause. "He's dying—Mr. Yeager is—and he wants to see me. I'd always blame myself if I didn't go. I've just got to go."
"I don't see why you have to go riding all over the country to see one man when you're engaged to another. In my time—"
"If Chad doesn't object, why should you?"
"Oh, I know you'll go. I suppose it's all right, but I wish Phil could go with you too."
"So do I, but of course he can't. Chad says that affairs are so disturbed across the line that probably the Government won't make Phil any trouble, but that if he showed himself in Sonora some of the friends of that man Mendoza would be sure to kill him."
"I suppose so." Mrs. Seymour sighed. Herharum-scarum young son was on her mind a good deal. "Now, don't you fret, honey, about Steve Yeager. He's the kind of man that will take a lot of killing. A man who has lived outdoors in the saddle for a dozen years is liable to get over a wound that would finish some one else."
In his haste to reach Los Robles before Yeager the prizefighter had ruined the horse he rode. He picked up another one cheap and got for Ruth her brother's pony. Within an hour of his arrival the two animals were brought round for the start.
The mother, still a little troubled in her mind, took Harrison aside for a last word.
"Chad Harrison, you look after my little girl and see no harm comes to her. If anything happens to her I'll never forgive you."
"Rest easy about that, Mrs. Seymour. You don't think any more of Ruth than I do. If I thought there was any danger I sure wouldn't take her. She'll come back to you safe and sound," he promised.
They rode away in the afternoon sunlight toward the south. It had been understood that they were to spend the night at the Lazy B Ranch, but at the point where the road for the ranch deflected from the main pike Harrison drew rein.
"Too bad there isn't another ranch farther on. It's a little better than six o'clock now. We'lllose a heap of time by stopping here. Soon the moon will be out and we could keep going till we reach Lone Tree Spring. Stopping there for two or three hours' rest, we could ride in to Noche Buena by breakfast time. But I reckon you're tired, ain't you?"
"I'm not—not a bit," she answered eagerly. "Let's go on. It's cooler traveling in the evening, anyhow."
He appeared to hesitate, then shook his head. "No—o, I expect that wouldn't be proper. If you was a boy instead of a girl I'd say sure."
"Don't let's be silly, Chad," she pleaded. "We want to get there as soon as we can. It makes no difference if I am a girl."
"I promised your maw I'd take good care of you. Would it be doing that to let you stay up 'most all night?"
"Of course it would. We can sleep some at Lone Tree. I want to go on, Chad."
"All right," he conceded with a manner of reluctance.
This was what Harrison desired. If Yeager reached Los Robles before night a search party would be sent out. It would go straight toward the Lazy B. Chad wanted to get across the line and put as many miles as possible between him and the pursuit.
Deep into the desert they struck, keeping forthe most part to a rapid road gait. The dusty miles spun out behind them as they covered white sunbaked levels, cut across rough hillsides of rubble, dipped into sandy washes, and wound forward through wastes of cactus and zacaton.
By the time the moon was riding high in the heavens Ruth was very tired. Her shoulders drooped and she clung to the pommel of the saddle. But she did not ask Chad to stop and let her rest. She would rather have been whipped than have confessed exhaustion. Whenever she thought he might be looking at her, the weary shoulders straightened with a pathetic attempt at jauntiness.
The man knew how completely fagged she was. Riding behind her through the silver night, his greedy eyes noted her game struggle not to give in. He saw the flowing lines of the girlish figure relax with fatigue. No longer was the gallant little dusky head poised lightly above the flat straight back. But he made no offer to rest. It was essential that they should get beyond any chance of capture by her friends. Once he had her safely in his hands she might sleep round the clock undisturbed.
It was midnight before they rode into the cottonwoods of Lone Tree Spring. Chad lifted her, stiff and cold from lack of circulation, to the ground. She clung to his coat sleeve for amoment dizzily before she limped forward to the live-oak that gave the place its name. The girl sank down beside the water-hole with her back to the trunk of the tree.
There was faint, humorous apology in the tired smile she lifted to the man.
"I guess I'm what the boys call a quitter, Chad," she decided.
"You're a game little thoroughbred," he blurted out. "You're all in. That's what's the matter with you. Never mind, little girl. I'll fix the tarps so as you can get some sleep. When you wake you'll be good as ever."
"Don't let me sleep too long. Perhaps I'd better just rest."
"No; take a couple of hours' sleep. I'll wake you when it's time to go."
He brought the saddle blankets, spread them on the ground, and covered them with his slicker. His coat served for a pillow. Above her he spread a tarp and tucked the edges under.
"You're good to me, Chad," she told him with a sleepy little smile.
"I aim to be." He stooped and kissed her with a sudden passionate impulse.
Startled at his roughness, she drew back. "Don't ... please!"
He rose abruptly. "Go to sleep," was his harsh command.
A vague uneasiness that was almost fear stirred in her mind. She did not know this man at all. Except for the merest surface commonplaces he was a stranger to her. Yet she had promised to give her life into his keeping. They were alone together in this moonlit night of stars, a thousand miles from all the safeguards that had always hedged her soft youth. After she had married him they would always be together. Even her mother and Phil would be outsiders. So would all her friends—Daisy Ellington and Frank Farrar ... and Steve Yeager if he lived. And he must live. She affirmed that passionately, clung to the thought of it as a drowning man does to a plank. He would get well—of course he would....
And so she fell asleep.
CHAPTER XIIITHE NIGHT TRAIL
Yeager rode into Los Robles an hour after Harrison and Ruth had left. He turned in at the Lunar stables the pony Pasquale had so kindly donated to his use and walked across town to the Seymour bungalow. Passing through the garden and round the house, he disappeared without being seen into the remodeled barn where he lodged.
He felt bully. After an adventure that had been a close call he was back home among friends who would be glad to see him. As he took his bath and shaved and dressed he broke occasionally into a whistle of sheer exuberant joy of life. He intended to surprise the folks by walking down and taking his place with the others when the dinner bell rang. Daisy Ellington would clap her hands and sparkle in her enthusiastic way. Shorty would begin to poke fun at him. Mrs. Seymour would probably just smile in her slow, motherly fashion and see that he got one of the choice steaks. And Ruth—would she flash at him her swift dimpled smile of pleasure? Or would she still be harboring malice toward him for having warned her against Harrison?
Steve waited until he thought they would be seated before he opened the door and stepped into the dining-room. The effect was not at all what he had expected. Daisy was the first to see him. She dropped her knife on the plate with a clatter and gave a little scream. Shorty stopped a spoonful of soup halfway to his mouth, as if he were waiting to have a still picture of himself taken. His eyes stared and his jaw fell. Mrs. Seymour, who was bringing a platter from the kitchen, stood stock-still in the doorway. The expression, on her face arrested Yeager's smile.
"What's the matter with you all? Looks like you were seeing a ghost," he said.
"Where did you come from, Steve Yeager?" demanded Mrs. Seymour.
"Me? Why, I came from my room—reached town an hour or so ago."
Something cold clutched at the heart of the mother. "Where from? Weren't you in Sonora?"
"Sure I was. At Noche Buena. And I want to tell you that I've had enough of that burg for quite some time."
Daisy broke in. "Isn't it true that you were shot?"
He turned to her, surprised. "How did you hear that story already. No, it ain't true. I was to have been shot this mawnin', but I broke jail and made a getaway."
"But—your letter said you had shot yourself and couldn't live long. I read it myself. Mr. Threewit showed it to me before he left."
"And Mr. Harrison told us it was true," corroborated Mrs. Seymour. She knew something was wrong, but as yet she could not guess what.
"Harrison! Has he been here?" asked Yeager sharply.
"He and Ruth left this afternoon for Noche Buena. He said you wanted to see her before you died and he showed us the letter you had written."
The range-rider stood paralyzed. The truth flashed numbingly over his brain.
"Ruth—gone with Harrison—to Noche Buena," was all he could say.
Again Daisy cut in, this time sharply. "Tell us your story, Steve. What is it that's wrong?"
In a dozen sentences he told it. They listened tensely. The mother was the first to break the silence after he had finished. She began to sob. Steve put an arm across her shoulder awkwardly.
"Now, don't you, Mrs. Seymour. Don't you take on. We'll get right on his trail." He turned abruptly to Orman. "Get horses saddled. We'll hit the road right away. Daisy, call up Threewit and let him know. I'll take your gat, Shorty."
The edge of decision was in his voice. Nobody disputed the orders of this lean, brown, sunbakedyouth with the alert, quiet, masterful eyes. In his manner was something more deadly than threats. More than one of those present thought he would not like to be Harrison.
"Mr. Threewit has gone. He and Frank started for Noche Buena almost an hour ago. They went because of your letter," explained Miss Ellington.
"Good. We'll probably catch them. Jackson, find out if they went armed and see that we all have rifles as well as six-guns. Get a move on you. We'll start in ten minutes from the hotel."
Within the stipulated time they were in the saddle. Steve looked his posse over with an eye competent and vigilant. "Orman, you and Bob ride straight to the Lazy B. Harrison gave it out he was going to stop there for the night. Me, I think he was lying. If he hasn't been there, cut acrost to Gila Creek and follow the bed. Jackson and Dan, you go straight south for the old Pima water-hole and sweep along below the edge of the mesa. I'll have a try more to the east. Mind, no slip-up, boys. And don't forget Harrison wears his guns low. If you have to shoot, aim to kill."
Phil Seymour came running down the road. "What's this they're telling about Ruth and Harrison?" he demanded.
Yeager had no time for explanations. He turned the boy over to one of the others. "Tellhim about it, Jackson. If he wants to go along, take him with you and Dan. We'll all meet to-morrow noon at Sieber's Pass."
He shot down the road at a gallop, leaving behind him a cloud of gray dust. The others followed at a canter. Their horses had to cover many miles before morning and there was no use in running them off their legs at the start.
Jackson, waiting for Phil to rope and saddle a pony, yelled a caution to the others.
"Keep yore shirts on, boys. This ain't no hundred-yard dash. Steve's burnin' the wind because he's got to haid off Harrison from Pasquale's camp. All we got to do is to drive him up to Steve."
Phil cut out and roped a pony, then slapped on a saddle. Presently he and Jackson were following the others down the dust-filled road.
The boy spoke his fears aloud, endeavoring to reassure himself.
"Chad won't hurt Ruth any. He wouldn't dare. This country won't stand for that kind of a play with a girl. Arizona would hang him to the first telegraph pole that was handy."
The cowpuncher looked at him and spoke dryly. "I reckon the skunk's been out of Arizona quite some time. He's in greaser land now, and I never heard tell that Pasquale was so darned particular what his men did. Just tie aknot in this: if Harrison reaches the insurrecto camp with yore sister, she'll come back as his wife—or not at all."
"By God! I'll kill Harrison at sight if he hurts a hair of her head," the boy cried, a lump in his throat.
"Mebbe you will, mebbe you won't. Chad ain't just what you'd call a white man. He'll shoot out of the chaparral if he's pressed. Someone's going to git hurt if we bump into Mr. Harrison. It won't be no picnic a-tall to take him. He's liable to be more hos-tile than a nest of yellow jackets."
"Leave him to me if we come up with him. I'll shoot it out with him," the boy cried wildly.
Jackson grinned. "You're crazy with the heat, boy. What do you reckon I bought chips in this game for? I want a crack at the coyote myself."
Phil and Jackson caught up with old Dan a mile or so beyond the point where the road to the Lazy B left the main traveled trail.
"The other boys hitting the dust for the ranch?" asked Jackson.
"Yep."
"Yeager's got it right. They won't find Harrison there. He'll go through with his play. Chad's no quitter."
Dan nodded. He was a reticent man of about fifty-five with a bald head and a face of wrinkled leather.
"We'll git him sure," Phil spoke up, announcing his hope rather than his conviction. "Steve knows what he's doing, you bet."
Yeager himself was not so sure. Doubts tortured him as to the destination of Harrison. Perhaps, after all, he might be making for some refuge in the hills and not for Pasquale's headquarters. He knew that as soon as word reached them the Lazy B riders would begin to comb the desert in pursuit. But what were a dozen riders among these thousand hill pockets of the desert? The best chance was to catch the man at some one of the few water-holes. But if he pushed on at full speed the chances were all in his favor considering the long start he had.
The range-rider was astride the fastest horse in the Lunar stables. Steve had taken his pick of the mounts, for his work was cut out for him. Hitherto the luck had all been with Harrison. If Yeager had not met one of the old Lone Star boys, now riding for the Hashknife outfit, and stopped to join him in a long talk over their cigarettes, Steve would have reached Los Robles in time to spoil the man's plan. Or if he had gone direct to Mrs. Seymour instead of fooling away a good hour and a half in his room, he would havecut down his enemy's start by so much golden time.
Now all he could do was to get every foot of speed from his horse that could be coaxed. He rode like a Centaur, giving with his lithe, supple body to every motion of the animal. But though he took steep hillsides of shale on the run, the pony slithering down in a slide of rubble like a cat, the rider's alert eyes watched the footing keenly. He could afford if necessary to break a leg himself, but he could not afford to have the horse suffer such an accident. Not for nothing had he ridden on the roundup for many years. Few men even in Arizona could have negotiated safely such a bit of daredevil travel as he was doing this night.
His brains were busy, too, on the problem before him. Times and distances he figured, took into account the animals Harrison and Ruth were riding, estimated her strength and her companion's feverish haste to reach safety with her. They would have to stop at a water-hole somewhere, either on Gila Creek, or the old Pima camping-ground, or else at Lone Tree Spring. The most direct route to Noche Buena was by Lone Tree. Harrison was in a deuce of a hurry. Therefore he would choose the shortest way. So Yeager guessed and hoped.
His watch told him it was an hour past midnightwhen Steve drew close to Lone Tree Spring. He was following a sandy wash into the soft bed of which the hoofs of his horse sank without noise. They were perhaps two hundred yards from the spring when the ears of his pony lifted. That was enough for Yeager. He dismounted and trailed the reins, guessing that the wind had brought the scent of other horses to his own. Quietly he moved forward, rifle in hand ready for action.
The heart of him jumped when he caught sight of two picketed horses grazing on the bench above. He worked forward with infinite care along the bank of the wash till he reached the first of the cottonwoods. From here he could catch a glimpse of something huddled lying under the live-oak. This no doubt was the sleeping girl. The figure of a heavy-set man stood with his back to Yeager in silhouette against the skyline.
Yeager crawled forward another fifteen yards. A twig snapped under his knee. The figure in silhouette whirled. Steve rose at the same instant, rifle raised to his shoulder.
"Don't move," he advised quietly.
CHAPTER XIVTHE CAVE MEN
Harrison stared at him dumfounded, chin down and jutting, his hand hovering longingly close to the butt of a revolver. He stood so for an instant in silence, crouched and tense.
"Damn you, so you're here," he said at last in a low, hoarse voice.
"Don't make another pass like that or I'll plug you. Unbuckle that belt and drop it. That's right. Now, kick it from you."
"What do you want?" demanded the man under the gun savagely after he had obeyed instructions.
"You know what I want, you wolf." Steve moved forward till he was about fifteen feet from the other. His eyes did not lift for a moment from the man he covered.
They glared at each other, two savage, primeval men with the murder lust in their hearts. All that centuries of civilization had brought them was just now quenched.
Then the woman, the third factor in the triangle, stirred restlessly and awoke. She looked at them incuriously from innocent eyes still heavy with slumber. Gradually the meaning ofthe scene came home to her, and with it a realization that Steve Yeager was standing before her in the flesh.
"You—here!" she cried, scarce believing.
"The cur lied," explained the cowpuncher. "It was a frame-up to get you in his power."
"But your letter said—"
"Never mind about that now. Go down into the wash and bring up my horse. It needs water."
She hesitated. "You're not going to hurt him, Steve?"
"That's between him and me. Do as I say."
Ruth scarcely recognized in this grim, hard-faced man with the blazing eyes the gay youth whom she knew at home. She felt in his manner the steel of compulsion. Without further protest she moved to obey him. She was fearful of what was about to take place, but her heart leaped with gladness. Steve was alive and strong. It was not true that he lay with the life ebbing out of him, all the supple strength stolen from his well-knit body. For the moment that was happiness enough.
Harrison, watching with narrowed eyes the stone-wall face of his captor, jeered at him hardily.
"Now you got a strangle holt on me, what you aim to do?"
"I'm going to take you back to the boys that are combing these hills for you. They'll do all that's done."
The prisoner's sneer went out of commission. He did not need to ask what Arizona cowpunchers would do to him under the circumstances.
"I figured your size was about a twenty-two—not big enough to fight it out alone with me. Once is a-plenty."
The cave man's desire to beat down his enemy with his naked hands smouldered fiercely in the cowpuncher's heart.
"Step out in front of me and saddle those horses," he ordered.
Harrison looked at him murderously. His mouth was an ugly, crooked gash. Boiling with rage, he saddled, cinched, and watered the horses.
Ruth had returned with Steve's pony. Her heart beat fast with excitement. An instinct told her they were about to come to grips in epic struggle.
"You're mighty high-heeled now when you got a gun thrown on me. Put it in the discard and I'll beat the life out o' you," threatened the prizefighter.
Not releasing the other man with his eyes, Yeager lent one hand to help Ruth mount. He gave clear, curt instructions in a level voice.
"Take all three horses and ride to the edge ofthe mesa. Wait there. One of us—either him or me—will come up there after a while. If it's him, take all the horses and light out. Keep the moon on your left and ride straight forward till daybreak. You'll see a gash in the hills about where the sun rises. That's Sieber's Pass. The boys will be waiting for you. Understand?"
"Yes, but—What are you going to do, Steve?" she cried almost in a whisper.
"That's my business—and I'm going to attend to it. Keep your mind on the directions I've given. If it's Harrison that comes up over the hill, get right out with all the horses. Gimme your promise on that."
Trembling, she gave it to him.
"Don't you be afraid. No need of that.It won't be him. It'll be me that comes. But if it should be him, don't let him get close. Shoot him first. It will be to save you from worse than death. Have you got the nerve to do it?"
Something in his manner, in his voice, rang a bell in her heart. She nodded, her throat too dry for speech.
"All right. Go now. And don't make any mistake whatever you do. Follow out exactly what I've told you."
Again she promised. He handed to her the rifle. She rode away, taking the other horses with her.
When she was out of sight in a dip of the draw, Harrison spoke.
"Well, what is it to be? I see you got your gats yet. Going to shoot me down like a coyote?"
"That's what you deserve. That's what you'd get if the Lazy B boys got hold of you. But I'm going to kill you with my bare hands, you wolf."
With what seemed a single motion of his hands he unbuckled the revolver belt from his waist and flung it from him. Crouched like a tiger, he moved slowly forward, the flow of his muscles rhythmic and graceful.
The prizefighter could scarce believe his luck. He threw out his salient chin and laughed triumphantly. "You damned fool! I've got you at last. I've got you."
Light as a panther, Yeager lashed out with his left and caught flush the point of that protruding chin. The grinning head went back as if it had been on hinges. Shoulders, buttocks, and heels hit the ground together. The range-rider was on him as a terrier lights on a rat. Jarred though his brains were, the instinct of self-preservation served the man underneath. He half turned, flung an arm around the neck of his foe, and clung tightly even while he covered up. Steve's fist hammered at the back of the close-cropped head. The prizefighter swung over, face down,rose to his hands and knees by sheer strength, then reached for his neck grip again.
Yeager eluded him, throwing all his weight forward to force his opponent down again. Harrison gave suddenly. They rolled over and over, fighting and clawing like wild cats, two bipeds in a death struggle as fierce and ruthless as that between wolves or grizzlies. No words were spoken. They were back in the primitive Stone Age before speech was invented. Snarling and growling, they fought with an appalling fury.
Presently they were back on their feet again. Toe to toe they stood, rocking each other with sledgehammer blows. Blood poured from the beaten faces of both. Harrison clinched. They staggered to and fro before they went down heavily, Yeager underneath. The prizefighter thrust his right forearm under the chin of his enemy and with his left thumb and middle finger gouged at the eyes of the man beneath him. Steve's legs moved up, encircled those of the rustler, and swiftly straightened. With a bellow of pain Harrison flung himself free and clambered to his feet. The legs of his trousers had been ripped open for a foot. Blood streamed from his calves where the sharp rowels of the range-rider's spurs had torn the flesh.
They quartered over the ground many timesas they fought. Sometimes they were on their feet slogging hard. Once, at least, they crouched knee to knee. Lying on the ground, they struck no less furiously and desperately. All sense of fair play, of sportsmanship, was gone. They struggled to kill and not be killed.
Their lungs labored heavily. They began to stagger as they moved. The muscles of their arms lost their resilience. Their legs dragged as though weighted. Harrison was, if a choice might be made, in worse case. He was the stronger man, but he lacked the tireless endurance of the other. Watching him with animal wariness, Yeager knew that the man who went down first would stay down. His enemy was sagging at the knees. He could with difficulty lift his arms. He fought only in spurts. All this was true of himself, too. But somewhere in him was that dynamic will not to be beaten that counted heavily as a reserve.
The prizefighter called on himself for the last attack. He stumbled forward, head down, in a charge. An aimless blow flung Steve against the trunk of the live-oak. His arms thrashing wildly, Harrison plunged forward to finish him. The cowpuncher ducked, lurched to one side. Against the bark of the tree crashed the fist of the other, swinging him half round.
Yeager flung himself on the back of his foe.Human bone and flesh and muscle could do no more. The knees of Harrison gave and he sank to the ground, his head falling in the spring. His opponent, breathless and exhausted, lay motionless on top of him. For a time both lay without stirring. The first to move was Steve. He noticed that the nose and mouth of the senseless man lay beneath the water. By exerting all his strength he pulled the battered head almost out of the water. Very slowly and painfully he got to his feet. Leaning against the tree for support, he looked down at the helpless white face of the man he had hated so furiously only a few minutes earlier. That emotion had entirely vanished. It was impossible to feel any resentment against that bruised and bleeding piece of clay. Steve was conscious only of a tremendous desire to lie down and go to sleep.
He laved his face with water as best he could, picked up the belt he had thrown away, and drunkenly climbed the hill toward Ruth.
She cried out at sight of him with a heart of joy, but as he lurched nearer she slid from the horse and ran toward him. Could this be the man she had left but half an hour since so full of vital strength and youth? His vest and shirt were torn to ribbons so that they did not cover the mauled and bruised flesh at all. Every exposed inch of his head and body had its wounds to show. Hewas drenched with blood. The sight of his face wrung her heart.
"What did he do to you?" she cried with a sob, slipping an arm round his waist to support him.
"I said I'd be the one to come," he told her as he leaned against the neck of his pony.
"Oh, why did you do it?" And swiftly on the heels of that cry came the thought of relief for him. "I'll get you water. I'll bathe your wounds."
"No. We've got to get out of here. Any time some of Pasquale's men may come. His camp is not far."
"But you can't go like that. You're hurt."
"That's all right. Nothing the matter with me. Can you get on alone?"
"Can you?" she asked in turn, after she had swung to the saddle.
He had to try it three times before he succeeded in getting into the seat. So weak was he that as the horse moved he had to cling with both hands to the pommel of the saddle to steady himself. Ruth rode close beside him, all solicitude and anxiety.
"You ought not to be riding. I know your wounds hurt you cruelly," she urged in a grave and troubled voice.
"I reckon I can stand the grief. When I'vehad a bath and a good sleep I'll be good as new."
She asked timidly the question that filled her mind. "Did you—What about him?"
"Did I kill him? Is that what you mean?"
"Yes," she murmured.
"No, I reckon not. He was lying senseless when I left, but I expect he'll come to."
"Oh, I hope so ... I do hope so."
He looked at her, asking no questions. Some men would have broken into denunciation of the scoundrel, would have defended the course they had followed. This man did neither the one nor the other. She might think what she pleased. He had fought from an inner compulsion, not to win her applause. No matter how she saw it he could offer no explanations or apologies.
"I hope so because—because of you," she continued. "Now I know him for what he is. I'm through with him for always." Then, in a sudden burst of frankness: "I never did trust him, really."
"You've had good luck. Some women find out things too late," he commented simply.
After that they rode in silence, except at long intervals when she asked him if he was in pain or too tired to travel. The lightening of the sky for the coming dawn found them still in the saddle with the jagged mountain line rising vaguelybefore them in the darkness like a long shadow. Presently they could make out the gash in the range that was Sieber's Pass.
"Some of the boys will be waiting there for us, I reckon," Steve said. "They'll be glad to see you safe."
"If I'm safe, they'll know who brought it about." Her voice trembled as she hurried on: "I can't thank you. All I can say is that I understand from what you saved me."
He looked away at the distant hills. "That's all right. I had the good luck to be in the right place. Any of the boys would have been glad of the chance."
After a time they saw smoke rising from a hollow in the hills. They were climbing steadily now by way of a gulch trail. This opened into a draw. A little back from the stream a man was bending over a camp-fire. He turned his head to call to a second man and caught sight of them. It was Orman. He let out a whoop of gladness when he recognized Ruth. Others came running from a little clump of timber.
Phil lifted his sister from the saddle and kissed her. He said nothing, since he could not speak without breaking down.
Jackson looked at Steve in amazement. "You been wrastling with a circular saw?" he asked.
It hurt Yeager's broken face to smile, but heattempted it. "Had a little difference of opinion with Chad. We kind o' talked things over."
Nobody asked anything further. It is the way of outdoor Arizona to take a good deal for granted. This man was torn and tattered and bruised. His face was cut open in a dozen places. Purple weals and discolorations showed how badly his body had been punished. He looked a fit subject for a hospital. But every one who looked into his quiet, unconquered eyes knew that he had come off victor.
"First off, a bath in the creek to get rid of these souvenirs Chad sent to my address. Then it's me for the hay," he announced.
Ruth watched him go, lean, sinewy, and wide-shouldered. His stride was once more light and strong, for with the passing hours power had flowed back into his veins. She sighed. He was a man that would go the limit for his friends. He was gentle, kindly, full of genial and cheerful courage. But she knew now there was another side to him, a quality that was tigerish, that snarled like a wolf in battle. Why was it that men must be so?
Old Dan chuckled. "Ain't he the lad? Stove up to beat all get-out. But I'd give a dollar Mex to see the other man. He's sure a pippin to see this glad mawnin'."
Something of what was groping in her mindbroke from Ruth into words. "Why do men fight like that? It's dreadful."
Dan scratched his shiny bald head. "It straightens out a heap of things in this little old world. My old man used to say to me when I was a kid, 'Son, don't start trouble, but when it's going, play yore hand out.' That's how it is with Steve. He ain't huntin' trouble anywhere, but he ce'tainly plays his hand out."
Phil took charge of his sister. He gave her coffee and breakfast, then arranged blankets so that she could get a few hours' sleep in comfort. Orman rode back to Los Robles to carry the word to Mrs. Seymour that Ruth had been rescued and was all right. The others lounged about camp while Yeager and the girl slept.
At noon they were wakened. Coffee was served again, after which they rode down from the pass and started home. Before supper-time they were back in Los Robles.