171
Mannix’s face was pale, but his eyes glowed with determination.
“Do you think it’s worth it, Coyote?” he asked.
“Step up here, Mannix, an’ listen to what this fellow has to say,” was Rathburn’s reply. “Men,” he called in a loud voice, “I’m lookin’ to you to give your mine boss an’ your deputy sheriff a fair deal.”
There was a murmur among the men. Mannix, after a moment of hesitation, stepped forward.
Rathburn swung on Sautee. “Tell him!” he commanded in a voice which stung like the crack of a whip on still air.
“I––I had a hand in the business,” said Sautee frantically. “It was Carlisle and me. We––we framed the robberies.”
Mannix’s eyes narrowed.
“Tell him where I got that money last night,” Rathburn thundered. “Tell him, Sautee, or, so help me, I’ll drill a hole through you!”
Sautee cowered before the deadly ferocity in Rathburn’s voice. “I had it in the––office––downtown,” he stammered. “There was blank paper in that package, Mannix. Let him go––let him go, Mannix, or we’ll all be killed!” Sautee cried.
Rathburn was looking steadily at the deputy. “Carlisle is roped an’ tied up the trail by the big rocks,” he said. “Send up there for him an’ bring him down here.”
Several of the men who were mounted spurred their horses up the steep trail. There was utter silence now among the men. Mannix, too, was cool and collected. He had not drawn his gun. He surveyed the quaking Sautee with a look of extreme contempt. The mine manager’s nerves had gone to pieces before Rathburn’s menacing personality. All he cared for now was his life. The black reputation he had given to Rathburn led him to believe that the172man could not be depended upon, and that he was liable to carry out his threat and blow them all to bits. He wet his lips with a feverish tongue.
“Where’s the money you an’ Carlisle got away with?” demanded Mannix.
“I’ve got all I took,” whined Sautee. “I’ll give it back. I don’t know what Carlisle’s done with his. It was his scheme, anyway; he proposed it when he hit this country a year ago.”
“And the other man–––” suggested Mannix.
“Mike Reynolds,” cried Sautee. “But he was only in on the truck driver deal and––last night. Let The Coyote go, Mannix–––”
Then Sautee, in a frenzy of fear, an easy prey to the seriousness of the situation and his shattered nerves, told everything. He explained how it had been Carlisle who proposed getting Rathburn out of jail and making him the goat. He told of the worthless contents of the package he had given Rathburn to carry to the mine, how they had planned to rob him on the way and thus put him in a situation where he would have to get out of the country. He explained how Carlisle had pointed out that they had a club over Rathburn’s head in their knowledge of his real identity. He complained that Carlisle had intended to double cross him, and how he had double crossed Carlisle in turn. He ended with a whining plea for consideration at the hands of Mannix.
The men with Carlisle came down the trail. Carlisle was astride his own horse. His gun was in his holster.
“We’ve got you, you outlaw!” he cried as he flung himself from the saddle and strode up to Rathburn, Mannix, and Sautee.
Rathburn’s eyes had narrowed until they were slits through which his cold, hard gaze centered upon Carlisle. His attitude had changed. Even his posture173was suddenly different. There was a long breath from the men behind Mannix. It was a tense moment. They could see the menace in Rathburn’s manner, and they could see that Carlisle was fighting mad.
“Ain’t you a little free with your language, Carlisle?” drawled Rathburn.
“You know who he is?” Carlisle cried to Mannix. “He’s The Coyote––an outlaw an’ a killer with a price a mile long on his head–––”
“But I ain’t never sneaked any miners’ pay-rolls, Carlisle,” Rathburn broke in with a sneering inflection in his voice. “What’d you do with Mike Reynolds? He was with you last night, wasn’t he?”
Carlisle’s jaw snapped shut. He swung on Rathburn with eyes darting red. Then his gaze flashed to the cringing Sautee.
“You––you rat–––”
Rathburn stepped before Sautee. “You haven’t any quarrel with him, Carlisle,” he said evenly; “your quarrel, if you’ve got one, is with me. I outguessed you, that’s all. You ain’t plumb clever, Carlisle. You ought to be in a more genteel business. I just naturally figured out the play an’ made Sautee talk, that’s all. I ain’t the only gent Mannix is wanting––there’sthreeof us here!”
Carlisle’s face was purple and working in spasms of rage. He realized instantly that Rathburn had spoken the truth.
“It was his scheme from the start!” shrilled Sautee from the protection of Rathburn’s broad shoulders.
Then the mine manager, unable to longer stand the strain, collapsed on the ground, groaning.
“Underhanded!” Carlisle shot through his teeth as Mannix stepped back. “An’ I heard The Coyote was a go-getter. By guns, I believe you’re yellow!”
“You’ve got a chance to try an’ finish what you174started in the Red Feather the day I got here, Carlisle,” said Rathburn in ringing tones. “If you think I’m yellow––draw!”
A second’s hesitation––two figures in identical postures under the morning sun––a vagrant breeze murmuring in the timber.
Then two movements, quick as lightning––too fast for the eye to follow––and the roar of guns.
Rathburn stepped back, his weapon smoking at his hip, as Carlisle swayed for a moment and then crumpled upon the ground. Rathburn quickly drew the piece of paper from his left pocket and the roll of bills from his right. He put the note with the bills and tossed the roll to Mannix. Then he stepped back to the doorway.
“Join your men, Mannix,” he said quietly.
Mannix thrust the money into a pocket and stood for several seconds looking directly into Rathburn’s eyes. A curious expression was on the deputy’s face, partly wonder, partly admiration, partly doubt. Then he turned abruptly upon his heel and walked back to the gaping men.
Sautee struggled to his feet. Rathburn motioned to him to join the others, and he staggered down to them.
Then Rathburn coolly lit a match and touched it to the fuse sticking out from the box of dynamite.
There was a wild yell of terror, and the mob tumbled down the trail as Rathburn ran for the trail above the powder house. The men had disappeared when he turned. His gun leaped into his hand and he fired––once, twice, three times––the fourth shot cut the burning fuse, and with a sharp intaking of breath, he ran for his horse, mounted, and rode into the timber along the trail.
175CHAPTER XXVFILED!
Rathburn picked his way slowly through the timber around to the southeast and then directly down toward the town. It was slow going, and the man seemed to relish this fact. His face was thoughtful, wistful, a bit grave. He occasionally patted his horse’s neck.
“We’re on our way home, old hoss,” he said softly. “Seems like we justhadto stop off here.”
He fingered two small objects in his coat pocket.
“I wonder,” he murmured. “I wonder if I could be mistaken.”
He turned west after a time and rode carefully until he gained a worn trail. This he followed down toward town, and in half an hour he dismounted in the timber behind a small cabin at the side of the road to the hogback.
Rathburn went to the rear door and knocked. He received no answer, but sounds came to him through an open window. He opened the door softly and stole inside. There was no one in the kitchen. The sounds came from another room. He passed on into a bedroom and turned into another bedroom where he saw a figure in overalls lying on the bed. A great mass of dark hair covered the pillow. The form shook with sobs.
Rathburn laid a gentle hand upon the shoulder, and the face, which was quickly turned to him, was the face of a girl––the girl he had first seen when coming into the town, the girl who had been sitting176the horse listening to Carlisle’s tirade, the girl the barn man had said was supposed to be Carlisle’s sister.
“They don’t know you were up there,” said Rathburn softly. “Your boy’s clothes fooled them, if they saw you at all. They probably thought I was carrying Sautee down the trail, for they found Sautee up there in the powder house with me.”
The girl sobbed again. Her eyes were red with weeping.
“Listen, ma’am,” said Rathburn gently. “I picked these up from the road the day the truck driver was held up.” He brought out two hairpins from his coat pocket.
“It set me to thinking, ma’am, an’ was one reason why I stayed over here to find out what was goin’ on. Maybe I’ve done wrong, ma’am, but I was hoping I’d be doin’ you a favor. I saw the look in your eyes the day Carlisle was talkin’ to you when you was on the hoss. I know you helped him in his holdups, dressed like a boy, but I figured you didn’t do it because you wanted to.”
“No––no––no!” sobbed the girl.
“All right; fine, little girl. No one knows anything about it but me, an’ I’m goin’ away. But, listen, girlie, just what was Carlisle to you?”
A spasm of weeping shook the girl. “Nothing I could help,” she sobbed. “He––I had to do as he said––because––oh, I hate him. I hate him!”
“There, there,” soothed Rathburn. “I suspected as much, girlie.”
“He made my father a bad man,” sobbed the girl; “an’ made me go with him or my father would have to go––to––to go–––”
“Never mind, girlie,” Rathburn interrupted softly. “I don’t want to hear the story. Just keep it to yourself177an’ start all over. It ain’t a bad world, girlie, an’ there’s more good men in it than there’s bad. Now, you can begin to live and be happy like you ought. Carlisle won’t worry you no more.”
She raised her head and looked at him out of startled eyes in which there was a ray of hope.
“You say––he won’t––worry me–––”
“Not at all, girlie. He walked into his own trap. I’m goin’, girlie. So long, an’ good luck.”
He took her hand and pressed it, and under the spell of his smile the hope came into her welling eyes.
“Good-by,” he called from the doorway.
She was smiling faintly through her tears when he slipped out.
Deputy Sheriff Mannix was sitting in his little office alone. It was nearly sunset. A faint glow of crimson shot across the carpet.
Mannix was scowling thoughtfully. On the desk before him were two pieces of paper. One of them was a reward notice publishing the fact that The Coyote was wanted and that five thousand dollars would be paid by the State of Arizona for his capture, dead or alive.
Mannix picked up the second piece of paper and again read the words penciled upon it:
I am taking out of this money belonging to the Dixie Queen the five hundred dollars Sautee promised me for carrying the money to the mine, and the two thousand dollars reward offered for the capture of those who had been robbing the Dixie Queen. I expect that shortly after this gets into the proper hands Sautee will be in jail, and he will be handy to tell you this is all O. K.
I am taking out of this money belonging to the Dixie Queen the five hundred dollars Sautee promised me for carrying the money to the mine, and the two thousand dollars reward offered for the capture of those who had been robbing the Dixie Queen. I expect that shortly after this gets into the proper hands Sautee will be in jail, and he will be handy to tell you this is all O. K.
Rathburn.
178
Mannix took up the reward notice, put it with the note, and jammed the two pieces of paper into an obscure pigeonhole in his desk.
“Filed!” he said aloud.
Then he rose with a peculiar smile, went out upon the little porch, and stared toward the east where the reflection of the sunset cast a rosy glow over the foothills leading down to the desert.
179CHAPTER XXVITHE PRODIGAL
With face upraised to the breath of air which stirred across the bare black lava hills, Rathburn leaned forward in the saddle eagerly, while his dun-colored horse stood patiently, seemingly in accord with his master’s mood. A merciless sun beat down from a hot, cloudless sky.
Below, stretching in endless miles was the desert––a sinister, forbidding land of desolate distances, marked only by slender yucca palms, mesquite, dusty greasewood, an occasional clump of green palo verde, the slim fingers of the ocatilla, the high “forks” of the giant sahuara, and clumps of la cholla cactus, looking like apple orchards in full bloom.
Yet the man’s gaze fell for a moment lovingly on each species of cactus and desert vegetation; his look was that which dwells in the homesick eyes of a traveler when he sees his native land from the deck of an inbound ship.
“Hoss, we’re home!” he said aloud, while the animal pricked up its ears.
Then he looked off to the left, where the blue outlines of a low range of mountains wavered in the heat like a mirage.
“Imagination Range,” he said moodily.
He tickled the dun with his spurs and trotted along the crest of the lava ridge. At its eastern terminus he swung down into the desert and struck straight east in the direction of Imagination Range. The desert’s surface between the lava ridge and the higher hills of the range to eastward was cut by dry180washes and arroyos and miniature ridges studded with giant cactus.
On the top of one of these high rises the horseman suddenly reined in his mount and stared into the south. “There’s trouble––an’ spelled with a capital T!” he ejaculated.
The gaze in his keen gray eyes centered upon a number of riders speeding their horses over the tumbled section of desert below him to his right. He made out two divisions of horsemen. One group was some distance ahead of the other. Even as he stared down at them, its group separated, and some rode for Imagination Range, while others hastened toward the lava hills, or due north in his direction. The second group halted for a brief spell, evidently for a conference, and then its members also divided and started in swift pursuit of the men ahead.
The watcher on the top of the rise frowned.
“Out of here, hoss,” he said sharply. “This ain’t our day for visitors.”
He pushed on eastward, increasing its pace, but losing time in skirting the frequent bits of high ground. As he rode down into a deep arroyo, a horseman came galloping into its lower end and raced almost upon him before seeing him. His hand darted like lightning to his gun, and the weapon snapped into aim at his hip. The horseman came to a rearing halt, reins dangling, his hands held high, his eyes bulging from their sockets.
“Rathburn!” he exclaimed.
“The same,” said the man with the gun. “What’s all the disturbance down there?”
“Bob Long is chasing us,” the other answered with a nervous grin.
“As I remember it,” drawled Rathburn, “Bob Long is the sheriff of Mesquite County. You boys sure ain’t been misbehaving?”
181
“It’s worse than that,” said the fugitive, staring doubtfully at his questioner. “The stage driver’s dead. Had a notion the boss was foolin’ when he told him to reach up for the bugs in the air.”
“Who does the boss happen to be in this case?”
The man hesitated.
“Take your time,” said Rathburn sarcastically; “there’s nobody after you but the sheriff, an’ he probably won’t be along for a minute or two.”
“It won’t doyouno good for him to find us here,” said the other boldly.
Rathburn’s eyes blazed. “I reckon you’re forgettin’ that Bob Long knows I travel alone,” he said hotly. “He savvys I don’t travel with a crowd. I ain’t found it necessary so far, an’ I ain’t aiming to start. I counted eight in your gang––to hold up one stage, eh?” He concluded with a sneer, while the other shifted nervously in his saddle and cast a quick look back over his shoulder. There seemed no one there.
“You needn’t be lookin’ around,” Rathburn said coldly. “You’re goin’ to stay here till you answer my question, if all the sheriffs in Arizona come ridin’ up meanwhile. Who’s headin’ your gang?”
“That ain’t professional,” the fugitive grumbled. “You’re just the same as one of us.”
Then, seeing the look that came into Rathburn’s eyes, he said hastily: “Mike Eagen planned the lay.”
“I guessed it,” said Rathburn in a tone of contempt. “Well, you better slope while you’ve still got a chance.”
He motioned to the man to go, and the latter rode at a gallop up the arroyo and out of sight. Rathburn’s face wore a worried scowl, as he slid his gun into its holster, whirled his horse, and speedily climbed the east side of the arroyo.
From a vantage point he caught sight again of182the horsemen racing up from the south. They were much nearer, and he could readily make out the members of the sheriff’s posse. He had had experience with posses before.
Striking around the crest of the high ground which formed the east side of the arroyo, he again raced toward the range of mountains in the east, taking advantage of every bit of cover which offered concealment from the riders approaching at top speed from the south.
Occasional glances made it plain that the sheriff was sending, or personally bringing, most of his posse east in the direction of the mountains, presumably in the hope of cutting off the outlaws from seeking refuge in the hills. But the mountains were Rathburn’s goal as well as the goal of a majority of Mike Eagen’s band, though for totally different reasons. He refused to change his direction, although by going north, the stout, speedy dun could doubtless outdistance the posse before the afternoon was spent.
Rathburn’s teeth snapped shut, his jaw squared, and his eyes narrowed, as he saw indubitable signs that he had been detected. Two of the posse were waving their arms and dashing in his direction. At that distance they could not identify him, but under the circumstances such identification was unnecessary. His presence there, riding like mad, was certain to convince the pursuers that he was one of the gang responsible for the stage job. This was obvious.
For good reasons, Rathburn did not want it generally known that he was back in a country where he had spent most of his life, and where he was branded as a desperate outlaw with a big price on his head. Consequently, seeing that the sheriff’s men were out to get him, he abandoned all attempt at concealment, drove in his spurs, gave the dun horse its head, and raced for the mountains.
183
Other members of the posse who were farther to the east caught the signals of the two who were in hot pursuit of Rathburn, and they dashed north to cut him off. The outlaws had disappeared, and Rathburn shook his head savagely, as he realized they had sought cover when they saw the chase was directed at one man. Without having had a hand in the holdup of the stage, he had arrived on the spot just in time to draw the fire of the authorities. And fire it was now; for the men behind him had begun shooting in the hope of a chance hit at the distance.
A scant mile separated him from his goal. He came to a level stretch which was almost a mass of green because of the clumps of palo verde. Here he urged the dun to its utmost, outdistanced the pair in his rear, and gained on the men riding from the south, almost ahead of him. He swerved a bit to the north and cut straight for a notch in the mountains. He smiled, as he approached it, and saw a narrow defile leading into the hills. He gained it in a final, heartbreaking burst of speed on the part of his mount. As he dashed into the cañon, bullets sang past him and over his head. Then a cry of amazement came to his ears.
“It’s The Coyote!” a man was yelling. “Rathburn’s back!”
He dashed into the shelter of the defile, a grim smile playing on his lips. He had been recognized. His face hardened. He rounded a huge boulder, checked his horse, and dismounted. He could hear the pound of hoofs in the entrance of the narrow cañon. A rider came into view below.
Rathburn leaned out from the protection of the boulder. His lips were pressed into a fine, white line, and there was a look of haunted worry in his eyes. His gun flashed in his hand. The rider saw him and yelled, spurring his horse. Then Rathburn’s184gun swung quickly upward. A sharp report sounded, like a crash of thunder in the narrow confines of the cañon, and its echoes reverberated through the hills.
The rider toppled in his saddle and fell to the floor of the cañon. His horse came to a snorting stop, reins dangling, all four legs braced. The hoof-beats instantly were stilled. A silence, complete and sinister, reigned in the defile.
Rathburn slipped his smoking gun into his holster and mounted noiselessly. Then he walked his horse slowly up the cañon, sitting sidewise in the saddle to keep a vigil on the trail behind. A minute later he heard a volley of shots below, the signal to all the scattered members of the posse to race to the entrance of the cañon. He increased his pace, broke his gun, extracted the empty shell, and inserted a fresh cartridge in its place.
185CHAPTER XXVIITHE DESERT CODE
Keeping to the trail, Rathburn mounted higher and higher and spoke continually to his horse in a crooning tone of encouragement. His face was drawn in grim lines, his eyes were constantly alert, his very posture in the saddle showed that his nerves were at high tension.
He ignored dim paths which occasionally led off to the left or right in rifts in the sheer, black walls of the narrow cañon. No sound came to him from below. He knew the posse would have to proceed with the utmost caution, for the sheriff and his men could not be sure that they would not encounter him at some bend in the trail. They would be expecting shots from every boulder; for Rathburn had let them know he had no intention of being taken easily or alive.
The afternoon wore on, with Rathburn steadily penetrating the very heart of Imagination Range. Finally he swung out of the cañon trail and took a dim path to the right. He dismounted and walked back to rub off the scars left by his horse’s shoes on the rock floor of the side trail. Satisfied that he would leave the members of the posse confused as to which side trail he had taken, he returned to his horse, mounted, and proceeded up the narrow trail leading to the top of the range to the south of the deep cañon.
In the western sky the sun was low when he rode down the crest of the range. The mountains were devoid of vegetation, bleak and bare and black. The186lava rock seemed to absorb the heat of the sun and throw it in the rider’s face. But Rathburn didn’t appear to mind it.
He crossed the backbone of the range and began the descent on the eastern side. But he descended only a short distance before he swung out of the saddle. From the slicker pack on the rear of his saddle he took a pair of heavy leather gloves. He cut these open in the palms with his pocketknife and then tied them about the shoes on his horse’s hind feet. The dun was only shod behind.
Again he mounted, and this time he turned to the south and rode down a long slope of lava rock. He grunted with satisfaction, as he looked behind and saw that the leather prevented the shoes on his mount’s hind feet from leaving their mark. He was completely obliterating his trail––leaving nothing for the posse to follow, if they should trace him to the top of the range.
He walked his horse slowly, for the dun did not like the idea of the leather tied to its hoofs. In less than two miles the leather was worn through upon the hard rock, and he got down and removed the remnants. He straightened up and looked out over the vista of the desert.
The western sky was a sea of gold. Far to southward a curl of smoke rose upward, marking the course of a railroad and a town. Rathburn looked long in this direction, with a dreamy, wistful light in his eyes. Close at hand vegetation appeared upon the slopes of the hills. His gaze darted here and there along the ridges below him, and his parted lips and eager attitude showed unmistakably that he was familiar with every rod of the locality in which he found himself.
Again he climbed into the saddle and turned off to the left, entering a cañon. For better than half a187mile he proceeded down this way, then he rode eastward again, winding in and out in a network of cañons until he came to the rock-ribbed crest of a ridge which overlooked an oasis in the desert hills. There was green vegetation where the water from a spring seeped into the floor of the cañon below him. The spring was nothing more than a huge cup in the rock which had caught the water from the spring rains and filled. Above the spring was a small cabin, and Rathburn saw that the cabin door was open.
Hurriedly he rode down a trail to the right which circled around into the cañon from its lower end. As he galloped toward the spring, a figure appeared in the doorway of the cabin. Rathburn waved an arm and dismounted at the spring. He led his horse to drink, as the man came walking toward him from the cabin. He compelled the dun to drink slowly; first a swallow, now two, then a few more; finally he drew the horse away from the water.
“You can have some more a little later,” he said cheerfully. “Hello, Joe Price!”
The man walked up to him without a great show of surprise and held out his hand. He was bareheaded, and the hair which hung down to his shoulders was snow-white. The face was seamed and lined, burned by the sun of three score Arizona summers, and the small, blue eyes twinkled.
“Hang me with a busted shoe string if it ain’t Rathburn,” said the old man. “Why, boy, you’re just in time for supper. Put your horse up behind the cabin an’ get in at the table. She’s a big country, all full of cactus; but the old man’s got grub left!”
Rathburn laughed, rinsed his mouth out with water he dipped from the spring in a battered tin cup, and took a swallow before he replied.
188
“Joe, there’s two things I want––grub an’ gaff. I know you’ve got grub, or you wouldn’t be here; but I don’t know if you’re any good at the gaff any more.”
The old man scrutinized him. “You look some older,” he said finally. “Not much of the wild, galootin’ kid left in you, I ’spect. But don’t go gettin’ fresh with me, or I’ll clout you one with my prospectin’ pick. Go ’long now; put up your horse an’ hustle inside. If you want to wash up, I guess you can––bein’ a visitor.”
Rathburn chuckled, as he led his horse around behind the cabin, where two burros were, and unsaddled him. Before he entered the cabin he stood for a moment looking up the ridge down which he had come. The old man watched him, but made no comment. As Rathburn sat down to the table, however, he spoke.
“I kin hear anybody comin’ down that trail over the ridge, while they’re a mile away,” he said simply without looking up.
Rathburn flashed a look of admiration at the old man.
The glow of the sunset lit the hills with crimson fire, and a light breeze stirred with the advent of the long, colorful desert twilight. They ate in silence, washing down the hardy food with long drafts of strong coffee. The old man asked no questions of his friend. He knew that in time Rathburn would talk. A man’s business in that desolate land of dreadful distances was his own, save such of it as he wanted to tell. It was the desert code.
Supper over, they went out to a little bench in front of the cabin. There Joe Price lit his pipe, and Rathburn rolled a cigarette.
For some time they smoked in silence. The purple189twilight drifted over the hills, and the breeze freshened in welcome relief to the heat of the day.
“Joe, I just had to come back,” said Rathburn softly. “Something’s wrong with me. You wouldn’t think I’d get homesick this way, after all the trouble I’ve had here, would you?”
The old man removed his pipe. “Anybody here in particular you want to see?” he asked slowly.
Rathburn shrugged. “You’re always gettin’ right down to cases first hand off an’ running,” he complained. “Of course there’s folks I want to see. I want to see you, for instance.”
“I don’t reckon you’d be ridin’ any terrible great distance an’ takin’ chances by the handful just to see me, boy,” said Price. “But I ain’t tryin’ to pry into your affairs. You don’t have to answer any of the fool questions I ask you––you know that. I’m an old man an’ gettin’ childish.”
Rathburn laughed. “I can believe that when I find you still putterin’ around up here where there ain’t even a sign of mineral,” he chided.
“There’s gold right under your feet,” said the old man stoutly. “I’ll have a payin’ vein opened up here in less’n three months.”
“I hope so, Joe. There’s nobody I’d like more to see make a big strike than you. You were my dad’s friend, an’ you’ve been mine. I haven’t got many friends, Joe.”
“But them you’ve got is good ones,” said Price quickly. “How long you been away?”
“About eight months,” Rathburn replied with a frown.
“It’s hard to get away from the desert,” mused the old man. “It’s in your blood. If you leave here for good you’ve just naturally got to take something along with you from here––something that’s a part of the desert, you might say.”
190
Rathburn looked keenly at the face of his friend. But the old man was regarding his pipe, as if he had never until that moment seen it.
“I ran into a posse chasin’ a gang that robbed a stage on the way over here this noon,” Rathburn said presently.
Price’s interest quickened, but he made no sign. “They saw you?” he asked.
“Couldn’t help it,” Rathburn grumbled. “Took after me. I had to drop one of ’em with a bullet in the shoulder to slow ’em up in the long cañon over on the other side.”
“Know any of the gang?” Price asked.
“Met one. Threw down my gun on him. He told me Mike Eagen was runnin’ the works.”
Price nodded. “I reckon Mike’s been pullin’ quite a few stunts while you been away.”
“An’ I’ve been gettin’ the blame for ’em more’n likely,” said Rathburn in indignation.
Price nodded again. “Might be so,” he commented.
Rathburn looked up at him in understanding. “They’ll have me mixed up with this stage holdup,” he said earnestly. “From what I gathered they killed the driver, an’ they’ll say that was my part.”
“That’s the trouble, boy,” said the old miner. “If a fellow’s handy with his gun somebody’s sure to get jealous of him an’ make him draw. If he gets his man because he has to, he’s a killer. When he’s known as a killer he ain’t got a chance. Youhadto drop the two men you dropped aroun’ here, boy; but they ain’t forgettin’ it.”
“Bob Long was headin’ that posse,” said Rathburn thoughtfully.
“An’ Bob Long’s a sticker when he hits out on a man’s trail,” said Price. “Still, I guess you’d be191safe in here for a while. There ain’t many knows this place.”
“I don’t figure on stayin’ here long, Joe,” said Rathburn.
“I didn’t think you did,” said Price.
“I’ll have to get goin’––hit for new country an’ never know when I may run up against the law in a quarter where I ain’t expecting it; always sneaking along––like the coyote. It was Mike Eagen who gave me that name, Joe.”
Rathburn’s voice was low and vibrant, and the old man felt the menacing quality in it.
“What’s more,” Rathburn went on, “I’m always remembering that he’s back here, getting away with his dirty tricks, shoving the blame off on me, some way or other, when the chase gets too hot.”
For some time the old man was silent. When he spoke he put an arm about Rathburn’s shoulder.
“Boy, before you get worse mixed up than you are, there’s a place you ought to visit aroun’ here,” he said in a fatherly tone.
Rathburn shrugged and stared up at the night sky which was blossoming with stars.
“It would be a right smart risk,” Price went on, “for they’d maybe think to drop aroun’ that way on a lookout for you; but I reckon before you do much more, you better drop in at the Mallory place.”
Rathburn rose abruptly. “I guess that’s what I came up here to hear you say,” he said irritably. “But I don’t reckon it can be done, Joe. I haven’t any business there.”
“How do you know, boy? Maybe you ain’t bein’ right fair.”
“Seems to me it would look better for me to stay away.”
“They don’thaveto see you,” urged the old man.192“The Mallory place is a good fifteen miles from Hope, close up against the mountains. Boy, don’t you think you better make sure?”
The wistful, yearning look was back in Rathburn’s eyes. His right hand rested upon the butt of his gun. The other held his forgotten cigarette. He turned and looked into the old man’s eyes.
“Joe, you said something about takin’ something from the desert if I left it. You’re right. But it can’t be, Joe. This thing has killed my chances!”
The gun seemed to leap from its holster into his hand at his hip of its own accord. The old miner’s brows lifted in astonishment at the draw.
“If I was you I wouldn’t be much scared who I met on the way down to the Mallory place if I didn’t meet too many of ’em at once,” he said with a smile.
“I––I couldn’t wear it––there,” Rathburn faltered.
“Well, leave it hangin’ on a handy peg, boy,” said the old man cheerfully.
Rathburn jammed the gun back into its holster and walked around to his horse. He led the animal down to drink and then returned and saddled.
“You goin’ on to-night?” asked Price casually.
“I’m takin’ a ride,” Rathburn confessed.
“You ain’t takin’ my advice at the same time, are you?” asked Price, pretending to be greatly concerned.
Rathburn mounted and looked down upon him in the faint light of the stars.
“Joe Price, you’re a wise old desert rat, an’ I’m a young fool,” he said with a twinkle in his gray eyes. “If Bob Long happens this way give him my regards an’ tell him they got the reward notices over in California all right, for I saw ’em stuck up over there. So long.”
193
The old miner called out after him and watched him ride down the cañon and disappear in the shadows. Nor was he the only watcher; for, high on the ridge above, another man touched his horse with his spurs and started down the west side of the range, as Rathburn vanished.
194CHAPTER XXVIIIA NIGHT SUMMONS
In two hours Rathburn came to a fence about a small ranch. Cattle were grazing on the sparse feed within the inclosure, and he saw a clump of trees marking the site of a house.
He rode around the fence until he came to a gate. There was a light shining from two of the windows of the house. He passed through the gate, and, as he approached the house from the side, he saw two figures on the porch. He halted in the shelter of the trees, and, as one of the figures crossed the beam of light which shone out the door, he saw that it was a man. He obtained a fleeting look at the man’s face. He was comparatively young, not bad looking, with blue eyes and a small, close-cropped, sandy mustache.
Rathburn scratched his head in an effort to place the man. He seemed vaguely familiar. Rathburn was sure he had seen him somewhere. But he gave up the futile effort to identify him when he saw that the other figure on the porch was that of a girl.
Dismounting, he led his horse around to the rear and put him in a corral near the barn. He surmised that it was about ten o’clock. As he walked toward the front of the house, again he heard the sputtering of a small motor car; then he saw the path of light from its headlights go streaking across the desert in the direction of the town to southward. The front door closed, and all was still.
Rathburn hesitated for several moments, then he stamped up the porch steps and knocked at the door. It was opened by a girl. She held a lighted lamp in195her hand. When she saw Rathburn standing, hat in hand, before her, her dark eyes widened, and she nearly dropped the lamp. He stepped forward quickly and took it from her.
“Roger!” she exclaimed breathlessly. “You––here?”
“I’m here, Laura,” he said quietly. “I’m home on a––a visit.”
“I heard you were back,” she faltered. “Mr. Doane––that is––a gentleman from town told me he had heard you were back. But–––”
She scanned his face closely and peered beyond him into the shadows with visible concern.
“Roger, come in quickly,” she invited, stepping back from the door.
With a faint smile he entered and closed the door after him. He put the lamp down on the table in what was evidently the sitting room of the small house. He looked about him with the air of one who sees familiar surroundings, but is embarrassed by them.
“Some one been tellin’ you the details of my arrival?” he asked with an effort to appear casual.
“I heard you were in some trouble, Roger.” The girl continued to stare at him with a queer expression in her fine eyes––part sorrow, part concern, part gladness.
“I’m not a stranger to trouble these days, Laura,” he said soberly.
There was a sob in the girl’s throat, but she recovered herself at once.
“Have you eaten?” she asked quickly.
“Up at Joe Price’s place,” he replied. “All fed and chipper.”
There was not much confidence in his tone or manner. As the girl lowered her gaze, he looked at her hungrily; his eyes feasted on the coils of dark196hair, her long, black lashes, the curve of her cheek and her delicate color, the full, ruby lips, and the small, quivering chin. She was in the throes of a strong emotion.
“I’m sorry, Laura, if––you didn’t want me to come,” he said unsteadily.
“Oh, Roger! Of course we want you to come. It’s been so long since we saw you. And you’ve––you’ve gone through so much.”
She raised her eyes, and the expression which he saw in their depths caused him to look away and to bite his lips.
“There’s a lot of it I wish I could undo, Laura; an’ there’s a lot more of it I couldn’t help, an’ maybe some I––I––wasn’t–––” He paused. He couldn’t bring himself to say anything in extenuation of himself and his acts in the presence of this girl. It might sound as if he were playing for her sympathy, he thought to himself.
“Roger, I know you haven’t done all the things I’ve heard about,” she said bravely. “And there’s always a chance. You’re a man. You can find a way out. If the trails seem all twisted and tangled, you can use a compass––your own conscience, Roger. You still have that.”
“How did you happen to mention the trails bein’ all mixed up like that?” he asked curiously.
“Why––I don’t know. Isn’t that the way it seems?”
Rathburn looked away with a frown. “You come near hittin’ the nail on the head, Laura.”
“Oh, then youarebeginning to think!” she said eagerly.
“I’ve done nothing but think for months,” Rathburn confessed.
She looked at him searchingly. Then her eyes197dropped to the black butt of the gun in the holster strapped to his right thigh. She shuddered slightly.
“You came from the west, Roger?” she asked.
“Yes,” he replied shortly. “From where there’s water an’ timber an’ flowers an’ grass––but they had my number there, just the same as they’ve got it here. I’m a marked man, Laura Mallory.”
She leaned upon the table with one hand; the other she held upon her breast.
“Are––are they––after you, Roger?” she asked in a low, anxious tone.
“As usual,” he answered with a vague laugh. “Laura, I didn’t come here to bother you with my troubles; I come here just to seeyou.”
The girl colored. “I know, Roger. We’ve known each other a long time––since we were children. You wouldn’t like it for me not to show any concern over your troubles, would you?”
“I wish we could talk about something else,” said Rathburn. “I can’t stay long.”
Laura Mallory looked worried. “May I ask where you plan to go, Roger?”
“I’m not sure. I only know I wanted to come back, an’ I came. I hadn’t any fixed plans, an’ I wasn’t expecting the reception I got.” His face clouded. Then he looked straight into the girl’s eyes. “I hit this country this morning,” he said steadily. “The first folks I saw was some men ridin’ in my direction up between the lava hills and the range. Then things began to happen.”
She nodded brightly. “I believe you,” she said simply.
Rathburn smiled. “You aways did that, Laura, an’ I ain’t never been much of a hand at lying.”
“Roger,” she said quickly, “if they all knew you as well as I think I know you–––”
“They wouldn’t believe,” he interrupted. “They198call me The Coyote, an’ they’ll have me live up to the name whether I want to or not,” he added bitterly.
“But, Roger, you’re forgetting what I said about the trails and the compass.”
“No, Laura, I’m not, but there’s another force besides the big lodestone that’s affectin’ that compass.”
“Roger, you’re thinking of an enemy!”
He did not answer her. His face appeared grim, almost haggard, in the yellow rays of the lamplight.
“Roger, you once promised me anything I might ask,” she said softly.
“An’ all you have to do is ask,” he answered, taking a step toward her.
“I’m going to ask you for something, Roger,” she said without looking at him. “Maybe you’ll think it’s––it’s too much that I ask.” She glanced up at him doubtfully.
“What is it, Laura?” he insisted.
“I want your gun, Roger,” she whispered.
He straightened and stared at her in startled wonder. “But, Laura––a man in my position––why––why––where would I be at?”
“Maybe if you gave it to me it would help you find a way out, Roger,” she pleaded earnestly.
Rathburn looked into her eyes and thrilled. Then without a word he unbuckled his cartridge belt which held his holstered gun, untied the strap about his thigh and laid the belt with the weapon upon the table.
“Roger!” said the girl. The sob again was in her voice. She reached out and placed a hand upon his arm.
An elderly man appeared in the doorway from the kitchen.
“Father, this is Roger,” said the girl hurriedly. “He’s back.”