"She is mine, and no man shall come between us!"
It would be hard now if theruralesshould prove too many for him—if a bullet should check him in their flight and she be left alone. But how to wake her! He tramped near as he led up the unwilling mounts; then, as time pressed, he spoke to her, and at last he knelt at her side.
"Say!" he called, and when that did not serve he laid his hand on her shoulder.
"Wake up!" he said, shaking her gently. "Wake up, it's almost day!"
Even as he spoke he went back to the phrase of the cow-camp—where men rise before it is light. But Gracia woke up wondering and stared about her strangely, unable to understand.
"Why—what is it?" she cried. Then, as he spoke again and backed away, she remembered him with a smile.
"Oh," she said, "is it time to get up? Where are we, anyway?"
"About ten miles from Fortuna," answered Hooker soberly. "Too close—we ought to be over that divide."
He pointed ahead to where the valley narrowed and passed between two hills, and Gracia sat up, binding back her hair that had fallen from its place.
"Yes, yes!" she said resolutely. "We must go on—but why do you look at me so strangely?"
"Don't know," mumbled Bud. "Didn't know I was. Say, let me get them saddle-blankets, will you?"
He went about his work with embarrassed swiftness, slapping on saddles and bridles, coiling up ropes, and offering her his hand to mount. When he looked at her again it was not strangely.
"Hope you can ride," he said. "We got to get over that pass before anybody else makes it—after that we can take a rest."
"As fast as you please," she answered steadily. "Don't think about me. But what will happen if—they get there first?"
She was looking at him now as he searched out the trail ahead, but he pretended not to hear. One man in that pass was as good as a hundred, and there were only two things he could do—shoot his way through, or turn back. He believed she would not want to turn back.
Though the times had turned to war, all nature that morning was at peace, and they rode through a valley of flowers like knight and lady in a pageant. The rich grass rose knee-deep along the hillsides, the desert trees were filigreed with the tenderest green and twined with morning-glories, and in open glades the poppies and sand-verbenas spread forth masses of blue and gold.
Already on the mesquit-trees the mocking-birds were singing, and bright flashes of tropical color showed where cardinal and yellow-throat passed. The dew was still untouched upon the grass, and yet they hurried on, for some premonition whispered to them of evil, and they thought only to gain the far pass.
To the west and north rose the high and impassable mountain which had barred their way in the night; across the valley the flat-topped Fortunas threw their bulwark against the dawn; and all behind was broken hills and gulches, any one of which might give up armed men. Far ahead, like a knife-gash between the ridges, lay the pass to the northern plains, and as their trail swung out into the open they put spurs to their horses and galloped.
Once through that gap, the upper country would lie before them and they could pick and choose. Now they must depend upon speed and the chance that their way was not blocked.
Somewhere in those hills to the east Bernardo Bravo and his men were hidden. Or perhaps they were scattered, turned by their one defeat into roving bandits or vengeful partizans, laying waste the Sonoran ranches as they fought their way back to Chihuahua. There were a hundred evil chances that might befall the fugitives, and while Bud scanned the country ahead Gracia cast anxious glances behind.
"They are coming!" she cried at last, as a moving spot appeared in the rear. "Oh, there they are!"
"Good!" breathed Hooker, as he rose in his stirrups and looked.
"Why good?" she demanded curiously.
"The's only three of 'em," answered Bud. "I was afraid they might be in front," he explained, as she gazed at him with a puzzled smile.
"Yes," she said; "but what will you do if they catch us?"
"They won't catch us," replied Hooker confidently. "Not while I've got my rifle. Aha!" he exclaimed, still looking back, "now we know all about it—that sorrel is Manuel del Rey's!"
"And will you kill him?" challenged Gracia, rousing suddenly at the name. Hooker pretended not to hear. Instead, he cocked his eye up at the eastern mountain, whence from time to time came muffled rifle-shots, and turned his horse to go. There was trouble over there to the east somewhere—Alvarez and his Yaquis, still harrying the retreating rebels—and some of it might come their way.
"Ah, how I hate that man!" raged Gracia, spurring her horse as she scowled back at the galloping Del Rey and his men who were riding onward rapidly.
"All right," observed Bud with a quizzical smile, "I'll have to kill him for you then!"
She gazed at him a moment with eyes that were big with questioning, but the expression on his rugged face baffled her.
"I would not forget it," she cried impulsively. "No, after all I have suffered, I think I could love the man who would meet him face to face! But why do you—ah!" she cried, with a sudden tragic bitterness. "You smile! You have no thought for me—you care nothing that I am afraid of him! Ah,Dios, for a man who is brave—to rid me of this devil!"
"Never mind!" returned Bud, his voice thick with rising anger. "If I kill him it won't be foryou!"
He jumped Copper Bottom ahead to avoid her, for in that moment she had touched his pride. Yes, she had done more than that—she had destroyed a dream he had, a dream of a beautiful woman, always gentle, always noble, whom he had sworn to protect with his life. Did she think he was apeladoMexican, a hot-country lover, to be inflamed by a glance and a smile? Then Phil could have her!
"Ah, Bud!" she appealed, spurring up beside him, "you did not understand! I know you are brave—and if he comes"—she struck her pistol fiercely—"I will kill him myself!"
"Never mind," answered Bud in a kinder voice. "I'll take care of you. Jest keep your horse in the trail," he added, as she rode on through the brush, "and I'll take care of Del Rey."
He beckoned her back with a jerk of the head and resumed his place in the lead. Here was no place to talk about men and motives. The mountain above was swarming with rebels, there wereruralesspurring behind—yes, even now, far up on the eastern hillside, he could see armed men—and now one was running to intercept them!
Bud reached for his rifle, jacked up a cartridge, and sat crosswise in his saddle. He rode warily, watching the distant runner, until suddenly he pulled in his horse and threw up a welcoming hand. The man was Amigo—no other could come down a hillside so swiftly—and he was signaling him to wait.
"Who is that man?" asked Gracia, as she reined in at his side. "Do you know him?"
"Sure do!" responded Hooker jovially. "He's the best friend I got in Mexico!
"Kai, Amigo!" he hailed, as the Yaqui came quartering down the hill, and, apparently oblivious of the oncoming pursuers, he rode out of the trail to meet him. They struck hands and Amigo flashed his familiar smile, glancing shyly over the horse's back at the daughter of the Aragons.
"I knew horse," he explained, with a gentle caress for Copper Bottom. "My people—up there—kill Mexicans! Where you go?"
"North—to the line," answered Bud, pointing up the pass.
"Muy malo!" frowned the Yaqui, glancing once more at the woman behind. "Muchos revoltosos!"
"Where?" asked Bud.
"Everywhere!" replied Amigo with a comprehensive wave of the hand. "But no matter," he added simply. "I will go with you. Who are these horsemen behind?"
"Rurales!" responded Hooker, and the Yaqui's black eyes dilated.
"Yes," nodded Bud as he read the swift question in their glance. "He is there, too—Del Rey!"
"Que bueno!" exclaimed the Indian, fixing his eagle glance upon the riders. He showed his white teeth in a smile. In an instant he saw his opportunity, he saw his enemy riding into a trap, and turned his face to the pass.
"Come!" he said, laying hold of alátigostrap, and as Hooker loped on up the steady incline he ran along at his stirrup. In his right hand he still carried the heavy Mauser, but his sandaled feet bore him forward with tireless strides, and only the heaving of his mighty chest told the story of the pace.
"Let me take your gun," suggested Hooker, as they set off on their race, but Amigo in his warrior's pride only shook his head and motioned him on and on. So at last they gained the rugged summit, where the granite ribs of the mountain crop up through the sands of the wash and the valley slopes away to the north. To the south was Del Rey, still riding after them, but Amigo beckoned Bud beyond the reef and looked out to the north.
"Revoltosos!" he exclaimed, pointing a sun-blackened hand at a distant ridge. "Revoltosos!" he said again, waving his hand to the east. "Here," waving toward the west, "no!"
"Do you know that country?" inquired Hooker, nodding at the great plain with its chains of parallel Sierras, but the Indian shook his head.
"No," he said; "but the best way is straight for that pass."
He pointed at a distant wedge cut down between the blue of two ridges, and scanned the eastern hills intently.
"Men!" he cried, suddenly indicating the sky-line of the topmost ridge. "I think they arerevoltosos," he added gravely. "They will soon cross your trail."
"No difference," answered Bud with a smile. "I am not afraid—not with you here, Amigo."
"No, but the woman!" suggested Amigo, who read no jest in his words. "It is better that you should ride on—and leave me here."
He smiled encouragingly, but a wild light was creeping into his eyes and Hooker knew what he meant. He desired to be left alone, to deal with Del Rey after the sure manner of the Yaquis. And yet, why not? Hooker gazed thoughtfully at the oncomingruralesand walked swiftly back to Gracia.
"This Indian is a friend of mine," he said, "and I can trust him. He says it will be better for us to ride on—and he will take care of therurales."
"Take care?" questioned Gracia, turning pale at a peculiar matter-of-fact tone in his voice.
"Sure," said Hooker; "he says there arerevoltososahead. It will be better for you, he says, to ride on."
"Madre de Dios!" breathed Gracia, clutching at her saddle; and then she nodded her head weakly.
"You better get down for a minute," suggested Hooker, helping her quickly to the ground. "Here, drink some water—you're kinder faint. I'll be right back—jest want to say good-by."
He strode over to where Amigo had posted himself behind a rock and laid a hand on his arm.
"Adios, Amigo!" he said, but the Yaqui only glanced at him strangely.
"Anything in my camp, you are welcome to it," added Hooker, but Amigo did not respond. His black eyes, far-seeing as a hawk's, were fixed intently before him, where Del Rey came galloping in the lead.
"You go now!" he said, speaking with an effort, and Hooker understood. There was no love, no hate, left in that mighty carcass—he was all warrior, all Yaqui, and he wanted Del Rey to himself.
"We'll be going," Hooker said to Gracia, returning swiftly, and his subdued tones made her start. She felt, as one feels at a funeral, the hovering wings of death, yet she vaulted into her saddle and left her thoughts unsaid.
They rode on down the valley, spurring yet holding back, and then with a roar that made them jump the heavy Mauser spoke out—one shot! And no more. There was a hush, a long wait, and Amigo rose slowly from behind his rock.
mauser
With a roar that made them jump the heavy Mauser spoke out
"God!" exclaimed Hooker, as he caught the pose, and his voice sounded a requiem for Manuel del Rey.
Then, as Gracia crossed herself and fell to sobbing, he leaned forward in his saddle and they galloped away.
Though men may make a jest of it in books, it is a solemn thing to kill a man, even to be near when one is killed. If Gracia had slain Del Rey herself in a passion her hot blood might have buoyed her up, but now her whole nature was convulsed with the horror of it and she wilted like a flower.
An hour before she had burned with hatred of him, she had wished him dead and sought the man who would kill him. Now that his life had been snipped off between two heart-beats she remembered him with pity and muttered a prayer for his soul. For Hooker, for De Lancey, she had no thought, but only for the dashing young captain who had followed her to his death.
Of this Bud had no knowledge. He realized only that she was growing weaker, and that he must call a halt, and at last, when the walls of their pass had widened and they rode out into the open plain, he turned aside from the trail and drew rein by a clump of mesquit.
"Here, let me take you," he said, as she swayed uncertainly in the saddle. She slid down into his arms and he laid her gently in the shade.
"Poor girl," he muttered, "it's been too much for you. I'll get some water and pretty soon you can eat."
He unslung the canteen from his saddle-flap, gave her a drink, and left her to herself, glancing swiftly along the horizon as he tied out their mounts to graze. But for her faintness he would have pushed on farther, for he had seen men off to the east; but hunger and excitement had told upon her even more than the day-and-night ride.
For a woman, and sitting a side-saddle, she had done better than he had hoped; and yet—well, it was a long way to the border and he doubted if she could make it. She lay still in the shade of the mesquit, just as he had placed her, and when he brought the sack of food she did not raise her head.
"Better eat something," he suggested, spreading out some bread and dried beef. "Here's some oranges I got from Don Juan—I'll jest put them over here for you."
Gracia shuddered, sighing wearily. Then, as if his words had hurt her, she covered her face and wept.
"What did you tell that man?" she asked at last.
"W'y—what man?" inquired Hooker, astonished. "Ain't you going to eat?"
"No!" she cried, gazing out at him through her tears, "not until I know what you said. Did you tell that Indian to—to kill him?"
She broke down suddenly in a fit of sobbing, and Hooper wiped his brow.
"W'y, no!" he protested. "Sure not! What made you think that?"
"Why—you rode over and spoke to him—and he looked at me—and then—he—killed him!"
She gave way to a paroxysm of grief at this, and Bud looked around him, wondering. That she was weak and hungry he knew, but what was this she was saying?
"I reckon I don't understand what you're driving at," he said at last. "Wish you'd eat something—you'll feel better."
"No, I won't eat!" she declared, sitting up and frowning. "Mr. Hooker," she went on very miserably, "what did you mean this morning when you—laughed? I said I hated poor Manuel—and you said—well, what you did—and then you laughed! Did you think—oh, you couldn't have—that I really wanted him killed?"
"W'y, sure not!" cried Hooker heartily. "I knowed you was fooling! Didn't I laugh at you? Say, what kind of a feller do you think I am, anyway? D'ye think I'd get an Indian to do my killing?"
"Oh, then didn't you?" she cried, suddenly brightening up. "You know, you talk so rough sometimes—and I never do know what you mean! You said you guessed you'd have to kill him for me, you know, and—oh, it was too awful! I must be getting foolish, I'm so tired, but—whatdidyou tell that Indian?"
Bud glanced at her sharply for a moment and then decided to humor her. Perhaps, if he could get her quieted, she would stop talking and begin to eat.
"He asked me who was after us," he said, "and I told him it was Del Rey."
"Yes, and what did he say then?"
"He didn't say nothing—jest lined out for the pass."
"And didn't you say you wanted—him—killed?"
"No!" burst out Bud, half angrily. "Haven't I told you once? I did not! That Indian had reasons of his own, believe me—he's got a scar along his ribs where Del Rey shot him with a six-shooter! And, furthermore," he added, as her face cleared at this explanation of the mystery, "you'd better try to take me at my word for the rest of this trip! Looks to me like you've been associating with these Mexicans too much!"
"Why, what do you mean?" she demanded curtly.
"I mean this," answered Hooker, "being as we're on the subject again. Ever since I've knowed you you've been talking about brave men and all that; and more'n once you've hinted that I wasn't brave because I wouldn't fight."
"I'd jest like to tell you, to put your mind at rest, that my father was a sergeant in the Texas Rangers and no hundred Mexicans was ever able to make him crawl. He served for ten years on the Texas border and never turned his back to no man—let alone a Mex. I was brought up by him to be peaceable and quiet, but don't you never think, because I run away from Manuel del Rey, that I was afraid to face him."
He paused and regarded her intently, and her eyes fell before his.
"You must excuse me," she said, looking wistfully away, "I did not—I did not understand. And so the poor Yaqui was only avenging an injury?" she went on, reaching out one slender hand toward the food. "Ah, I can understand it now—he looked so savage and fierce. But"—she paused again, set back by a sudden thought—"didn't you know he would kill him?"
"Yes, ma'am," answered Hooker quietly, "I did!"
"Then—then why didn't you—"
"That was between them two," he replied doggedly. "Del Rey shot him once when he was wounded and left him for dead. He must have killed some of his people, too; his wife mebbe, for all I know. He never would talk about it, but he come back to get his revenge. I don't shoot no man from cover myself, but that ain't it—it was between them two."
"And you?" she suggested. "Ifyouhad fought Del Rey?"
"I would have met him in the open," said Hooker.
"And yet—"
"I didn't want to," he ended bluntly. "Didn't want to fight him and didn't want to kill him. Had no call to. And then—well, there was you."
"Ah!" she breathed, and a flush mounted her pale cheeks. She smiled as she reached out once more for the food and Hooker resolved to do his best at gallantry, it seemed to make her so happy.
"So you were thinking of me," she challenged sweetly, "all the while? I thought perhaps I was a nuisance and in the way. I thought perhaps you did not like me because—well, because I'm a Mex, as you say."
"No, ma'am," denied Hooker, gazing upon her admiringly. "Nothing like that! When I say Mex I mean these low,peladoMexicans—Don Juan tells me you're pure Spanish."
"With perhaps a little Yaqui," she suggested slyly.
"Well, mebbe he did say that, too," confessed Bud. "But it's jest as good as Spanish—they say all the big men in Sonora have got some Yaqui blood—Morral, that was vice-president; the Tornes brothers, governors—"
"And Aragon!" she added playfully, but at a look in his eyes she stopped. Bud could not look pleasant and think of Aragon.
"Ah, yes," she rattled on. "I know!Youlike the Yaquis better than the Spanish—I saw you shaking hands with that Indian. And what was it you called him—Amigo?"
"That's right," smiled Hooker; "him and me have been friends for months now out at the mine. I'd do anything for that feller."
"Oh, now you make me jealous," she pouted. "If I were only a Yaqui—and big and black—"
"Never mind," defended Bud. "He was a true friend, all right, and true friends, believeme, are scarce."
There was a shade of bitterness in his voice that did not escape her, and she was careful not to allude to Phil. His name, like the name of her father, always drove this shy man to silence, and she wanted to make him talk.
"Then you ought to be friends withme," she chided, after a silence. "I have always wanted to be your friend—why will you never allow it? No, but really! Haven't I always shown it? I remember now the first time that I saw you—I was looking through my hole among the passion-flowers and you saw me with your keen eyes. Phil did not—but he was there. And you just looked at me once—and looked away. Why did you never respond when I came there to look for you? You would just ride by and look at me once, and even Phil never knew."
"No," agreed Bud, smiling quietly. "He was crazy to see you, but he rode right by, looking at the windows and such."
"The first time I met him," mused Gracia, "I asked about you. Did he ever tell you?"
Bud hung his head and grinned sheepishly. It was not difficult to make out a case against him.
"Is it something I have done?" she asked at last. "Is that why you never liked me? Now, Mr. Hooker, please speak to me! And why do you always sit so far away—are you afraid of me? But look"—she moved closer to him—"here we are alone, and I am not afraid of you!"
"Of course not," answered Bud, looking across at her boldly. "Why should you be—you ain't afraid of nothing!"
"Is that a compliment?" she demanded eagerly. "Oh, then I'm so happy—it's the first you ever paid me! ButhaveI been brave," she beamed, "so far? Have I been brave, like a man?"
"Sure have!" remarked Hooker impersonally, "but we ain't there yet. Only thing I don't like about you is you don't eat enough. Say, don't pick up them crumbs—let me pare off some more of this jerked beef for you. Can't nobody be brave when they're hungry, you know, and I want to bring you in safe."
"Why?" she inquired, as she accepted the handful of meat. "Is it on Phil's account?" she ventured, as he sat gazing stoically at the horses. "You were such friends, weren't you?" she went on innocently. "Oh, that is why I admire the Americans so much—they are so true to each other!"
"Yes," observed Hooker, rolling his eyes on her, "we're fine that way!"
"Well, I mean it!" she insisted, as she read the irony in his glance.
"Sure! So do I!" answered Hooker, and Gracia continued her meal in silence.
"My!" she said at last; "this meat is good! Tell me, how did you happen to have it on your saddle? We left so suddenly, you know!"
She gazed up at him demurely, curious to see how he would evade this evidence that he had prepared in advance for their ride. But once more, as he had always done, Hooker eluded the cunningly laid snare.
"I was figuring on pulling out myself," he replied ingenuously.
"What? And not take me?" she cried. "Oh, I thought—but dear me, what is the use?"
She sighed and drooped her head wearily.
"I am so tired!" she murmured despondently. "Shall we be going on soon?"
"Not unless somebody jumps us," returned Bud. "Here, let me make you a bed in the shade. There now"—as he spread out the saddle-blankets temptingly—"you lay down and get some sleep and I'll kinder keep a watch."
"Ah, you are so kind!" she breathed, as she sank down on the bed. "Don't you know," she added, looking up at him with sleepy eyes that half concealed a smile, "I believe you like me, after all."
"Sure," confessed Bud, returning her smile as honestly; "don't you worry none about me—I like you fine."
He slipped away at this, grinning to himself, and sat down to watch the plain. All about him lay the waving grass land, tracked up by the hoofs of cattle that had vanished in the track of war. In the distance he could see the line of a fence and the ruins of a house. The trail which he had followed led on and on to the north. But all the landscape was vacant, except for his grazing horses. Above the mountains the midday thunder-caps were beginning to form; the air was very soft and warm, and—He woke up suddenly to find his head on his knees.
"Ump-um-m," he muttered, rising up and shaking himself resolutely, "this won't do—that sun is making me sleepy."
He paced back and forth, smoking fiercely at brown-paper cigarettes, and still the sleep came back. The thunder-clouds over the mountains rose higher and turned to black; they let down skirts and fringes and sudden stabs of lightning, while the wind sucked in from the south. And then, with a slash of rain, the shower was upon them.
At the first big drops Gracia stirred uneasily in her sleep. She started up as the storm burst over them; then, as Bud picked up the saddle-blankets and spread them over her, she drew him down beside her and they sat out the storm together. But it was more to them than a sharing of cover, a patient enduring of the elements, and the sweep of wind and rain. When they rose up there was a bond between them and they thrust and parried no more.
They were friends, there in the rush of falling water and the crash of lightning overhead. When the storm was over and the sun came out they smiled at each other contentedly without fear of what such smiles may mean.
As the sun, after a passing storm, comes forth all the more gloriously, so the joy of their new-found friendship changed the world for Bud and Gracia. The rainbow that glowed against the retreating clouds held forth more than a promise of sunshine for them, and they conversed only of pleasant things as they rode on up the trail.
Twenty miles ahead lay the northern pass, and from there it was ten more to Gadsden, but they spoke neither of the pass nor of Gadsden nor of who would be awaiting them there. Their talk was like that of children, inconsequential and happy. They told of the times when they had seen each other, and what they had thought; of the days of their childhood, before they had met at Fortuna; of hopes and fears and thwarted ambitions and all the young dreams of life.
Bud told of his battle-scarred father and their ranch in Arizona; of his mother and horse-breaking brothers, and his wanderings through the West; Gracia of her mother, with nothing of her father, and how she had flirted in order to be sent to school where she could gaze upon the upstanding Americans. Only Bud thought of the trail and scanned the horizon for rebels, but he seemed more to seek her eyes than to watch for enemies and death.
They rode on until the sun sank low and strange tracks struck their trail from the east. Bud observed that the horses were shod, and more tracks of mounted men came in beyond. He turned sharply toward the west and followed a rocky ledge to the hills, without leaving a hoof-print to mark the way of their retreat.
By the signs the land ahead was full of bandits andladrones, men to whom human life was nothing and a woman no more sacred than a brute. At the pass all trails converged, from the north and from the south. Not by any chance could a man pass over it in the daytime without meeting some one on the way, and if the baserevoltososonce set eyes upon Gracia it would take more than a nod to restrain them.
So, in a sheltered ravine, they sought cover until it was dark, and while Gracia slept, the heavy-headed Bud watched the plain from the heights above.
When she awoke and found him nodding Gracia insisted upon taking his place. Now that she had been refreshed her dark eyes were bright and sparkling, but Bud could hardly see. The long watching by night and by day had left his eyes bloodshot and swollen, with lids that drooped in spite of him. If he did not sleep now he might doze in the saddle later, or ride blindly into some rebel camp; so he made her promise to call him and lay down to rest until dark.
The stars were all out when he awoke, startled by her hand on his hair, but she reassured him with a word and led him up the hill to their lookout. It was then that he understood her silence. In the brief hours during which he had slept the deserted country seemed suddenly to have come to life.
By daylight there had been nothing—nothing but dim figures in the distance and the tracks of horses and mules—to suggest the presence of men. But now as the velvet night settled down upon the land it brought out the glimmering specks of a hundred camp-fires to the east and to the north. But the fires to which Gracia pointed were set fairly in their trail, and they barred the way to Gadsden.
"Look!" she said. "I did not want to wake you, but the fires have sprung up everywhere. These last ones are right in the pass."
"When did you see them?" asked Hooker, his head still heavy with sleep. "Have they been there long?"
"No; only a few minutes," she answered. "At sundown I saw those over to the east—they are along the base of that big black mountain—but these flashed up just now; and see, there are more, and more!
"Some outfit coming in from the north," said Bud. "They've crossed over the pass and camped at the first water this side."
"Who do you think they are?" asked Gracia in an awed voice. "Insurrectos?"
"Like as not," muttered Bud, gazing from encampment to encampment. "But whoever they are," he added, "they're no friends of ours. We've got to go around them."
"And if we can't?" suggested Gracia.
"I reckon we'll have to go through, then," answered Hooker grimly. "We don't want to get caught here in the morning."
"Ride right through their camp?" gasped Gracia.
"Let the sentries get to sleep," he went on, half to himself. "Then, just before the moon comes up, we'll try to edge around them, and if it comes to a show-down, we'll ride for it! Are you game?"
He turned to read the answer, and she drew herself up proudly.
"Try me!" she challenged, drawing nearer to him in the darkness. And so they stood, side by side, while their hands clasped in promise. Then, as the night grew darker and no new fires appeared, Hooker saddled up the well-fed horses and they picked their way down to the trail.
The first fires were far ahead, but they proceeded at a walk, their horses' feet falling silently upon the sodden ground. Not a word was spoken and they halted often to listen, for others, too, might be abroad. The distant fires were dying now, except a few, where men rose up to feed them.
The braying of burros came in from the flats to the right and as the fugitives drew near the first encampment they could hear the voices of the night guards as they rode about the horse herd. Then, as they waited impatiently, the watch-fires died down, the guards no longer sang their high falsetto, and even the burros were still.
It was approaching the hour of midnight, and as their horses twitched restively at the bits they gave them the rein and rode ahead at a venture.
At their left the last embers of the fires revealed the sleeping forms of men; to their right, somewhere in the darkness, were the night herd and the herders. They lay low on their horses' necks, not to cast a silhouette against the sky, and let Copper Bottom pick the trail.
With ears that pricked and swiveled, and delicate nostrils snuffing the Mexican taint, he plodded along through the greasewood, divining by some instinct his master's need of care. The camp was almost behind them, and Bud had straightened up in the saddle, when suddenly the watchful Copper Bottom jumped and a man rose up from the ground.
"Who goes there?" he mumbled, swaying sleepily above his gun, and Hooker reined his horse away before he gave him an answer.
"None of your business," he growled impatiently. "I am going to the pass." And as the sentry stared stupidly after him he rode on through the bushes, neither hurrying nor halting until he gained the trail.
"Good luck!" he observed to Gracia, when the camp was far behind. "He took me for an officer and never saw you at all."
"No, I flattened myself on my pony," answered Gracia with a laugh. "He thought you were leading a packhorse."
"Good," chuckled Hooker; "you did fine! Now don't say another word—because they'll notice a woman's voice—and if we don't run into some more of them we'll soon be climbing the pass."
The waning moon came out as they left the wide valley behind them, and then it disappeared again as they rode into the gloomy shadows of the cañon. For an hour or two they plodded slowly upward, passing through narrow defiles and into moonlit spaces, and still they did not mount the summit.
In the east the dawn began to break and they spurred on in almost a panic. The Mexicanpaisanoscount themselves late if they do not take the trail at sun-up—what if they should meet some straggling party before they reached the pass?
Bud jumped Copper Bottom up a series of cat steps; Gracia's roan came scrambling behind; and then, just as the boxed walls ended and they gained a level spot, they suddenly found themselves in the midst of a camp of Mexicans—men, saddles, packs, and rifles, all scattered at their feet.
"Buenos días!" saluted Bud, as the blinking men rose up from their blankets. "Excuse me,amigos, I am in a hurry!"
"A donde va? A donde va?" challenged a bearded man as he sprang up from his brush shelter.
"To the pass,señor," answered Hooker, still politely, but motioning for Gracia to ride on ahead. "Adios!"
"Who is that man?" bellowed the bearded leader, turning furiously upon his followers. "Where is my sentinel? Stop him!"
But it was too late to stop him. Bud laid his quirt across the rump of the roan and spurred forward in a dash for cover. They whisked around the point of a hill as the first scattered shots rang out; and as a frightened sentinel jumped up in their path Bud rode him down. The man dropped his gun to escape the fury of the charge and in a mad clatter they flung themselves at a rock-slide and scrambled to the bench above. The path was rocky, but they pressed forward at a gallop until, as the sun came up, they beheld the summit of the pass.
"We win!" cried Bud, as he spurred up the last incline.
As he looked over the top he exploded in an oath and jerked Copper Bottom back on his haunches. The leader of a long line of horsemen was just coming up the other side, not fifty feet below him. Bud looked to each side—there was no escape—and then back at the frightened girl.
"Keep behind me," he commanded, "and don't shoot. I'm going to hold 'em up!"
He jumped his horse out to one side and landed squarely on the rim of the ridge. Gracia drew her horse in behind him and reached for the pistol in her holster; then both together they drew their guns and Bud threw down on the first man.
"Go on!" he ordered, motioning him forward with his head. "Pr-r-ronto!" He jerked out his rifle with his left hand and laid it across his lap.
"Hurry up now!" he raged, as the startled Mexican halted. "Go on and keep a-going, and the first man that makes a break I'll shoot him full of holes!"
He sat like a statue on his shining horse, his six-shooter balanced to shoot, and something in his very presence—the bulk of his body, the forward thrust of his head, and the burning hate of his eyes—quelled the spirits of the rebels. They were a rag-tag army, mounted on horses and donkeys and mules and with arms of every known make.
The fiery glances of the American made them cringe as they had always cringed before their masters, and his curses turned their blood to water. He towered above them like a giant, pouring forth a torrent of oaths and beckoning them on their way, and the leader was the first to yield.
With hands half-raised and jaw on his breast he struck spurs to his frightened mule and went dashing over the ridge.
The others followed by twos and threes, some shrinking, some protesting, some gazing forth villainously from beneath their broad hats. As they looked back he whirled upon them and swore he would kill the first man that dared to turn his head.
After all, they were a generation of slaves, those low-browed, unthinking peons, and war had not made them brave. They passed on, the whole long line of bewildered soldiery, looking in vain for the men that were behind the American, staring blankly at the beautiful woman who sat so courageously by his side.
When the last had gone by Bud picked up his rifle and watched him around the point. Then he smiled grimly at Gracia, whose eyes were still round with wonder, and led the way down the trail.
The high pass and theinsurrectoswere behind them now and the rolling plains of Agua Negra were at their feet. To the northeast the smoke banners of the Gadsden smelters lay like ribbons across the sky, and the line was not far away.
Yet, as they came down from the mountains, Bud and Gracia fell silent and slackened their slashing pace. The time for parting was near, and partings are always sad.
Bud looked far out across the valley to where a train puffed in from the south, and the sight of it made him uneasy. He watched still as it lay at the station and, after a prolonged stare in the direction of Agua Negra, he reined sharply to the north.
"What is it?" asked Gracia, coming out of her reverie.
"Oh, nothing," answered Bud, slumping down in his saddle. "I see the railroad is open again—the' might be somebody up there looking for us."
"You mean—"
"Well, say a bunch ofrurales."
He turned still farther to the north as he spoke and spurred his jaded horse on. Gracia kept her roan beside him, but he took no notice, except as he scanned the line with his bloodshot eyes. He was a hard-looking man now, with a rough stubble of beard on his face and a sullen set to his jaw. As two horsemen rode out from distant Agua Negra he turned and glanced at Gracia.
"Seems like we been on the run ever since we left Fortuna," he said with a rueful smile. "Are you good for just one more?"
"What is it now?" she inquired, pulling herself together with an effort. "Are those two men coming out to meet us? Do you think they'd stop us?"
"That's about our luck," returned Hooker. "But when we dip out of sight in this swale here we'll turn north and hit for the line."
"All right," she agreed. "My horse is tired, but I'll do whatever you say, Bud."
She tried to catch his eyes at this, but he seemed lost in contemplation of the horsemen.
"Them'srurales," he said at last, "and heading straight for us—but we've come too far to get caught now. Come on!" he added bruskly, and went galloping up the swale.
For two miles they rode up the wash, their heads below the level of the plain, but as Bud emerged at the mouth of the gulch and looked warily over the cut bank he suddenly reached for his rifle and measured the distance to the line.
"They was too foxy for me," he muttered, as Gracia looked over at the approachingrurales. "But I can stand 'em off," he added, "so you go ahead."
"No!" she cried, coming out in open rebellion.
"Well, I won't leave you—that's all!" she declared, as he turned to command her. "Oh, come along, Bud!" She laid an impulsive hand on his arm and he thrust his gun back into the sling with a thud.
"All right!" he said. "Can't stop to talk about it. Go ahead—and flay the hide off of that roan!"
They were less than a mile from the line, but theruraleshad foreseen their ruse in dropping into the gulch and had turned at the same time to intercept them. They were pushing their fresh horses to the utmost now across the open prairie, and as the roan lagged and faltered in his stride Bud could see that the race was lost.
"Head for that monument!" he called to Gracia, pointing toward one of the international markers as he faced their pursuers. "You'll make it—they won't shoot a woman!"
He reached for his gun as he spoke.
"No, no!" she cried. "Don't you stop! If you do I will! Come on!" she entreated, checking her horse to wait for him. "You ride behind me—they won't dare shoot at us then!"
Bud laughed shortly and wheeled in behind her, returning his gun to its sling.
"All right," he said, "we'll ride it out together then!"
He laid the quirt to the roan. In the whirl of racing bushes a white monument flashed up suddenly before them. Theruraleswere within pistol-shot and whipping like mad to head them. Another figure came flying along the line, a horseman, waving his hands and motioning. Then, riding side by side, they broke across the boundary with the baffledruralesyelling savagely at their heels.
"Keep a-going!" prompted Hooker, as Gracia leaned back to check her horse. "Down into the gulch there—themruralesare liable to shoot yet!"
The final dash brought them to cover, but as Bud leaped down and took Gracia in his arms the roan spread his feet, trembled, and dropped heavily to the ground.
"He'll be all right," soothed Bud, as Gracia still clung to his arm. Then, as he saw her gaze fixed beyond him, he turned and beheld Philip De Lancey.
It was the same Phil, the same man Bud had called pardner, and yet when Hooker saw him there he stiffened and his face grew hard.
"Well?" he said, slowly detaching Gracia's fingers and putting her hand away.
As Phil ran forward to greet them he stepped sullenly off to one side. What they said he did not know, for his mind was suddenly a blank; but when Phil rushed over and wrung his hand he came back to earth with a start.
"Bud!" cried De Lancey ecstatically, "how can I ever thank you enough? You brought her back to me, didn't you, old man? Thank God, you're safe—I've been watching for you with glasses ever since I heard you had started! I knew you would do it, pardner; you're the best friend a man ever had! But—say, come over here a minute—I want to speak to you."
He led Hooker off to one side, while Gracia watched them with jealous eyes, and lowered his voice as he spoke.
"It was awful good of you, Bud," he whispered, "but I'm afraid you've got in bad! The whole town is crazy about it. Old Aragon came up on the first train, and now they've wired that you killed Del Rey. By Jove, Bud! wasn't that pulling it a little strong? Captain of therurales, you know—the whole Mexican government is behind him—and Aragon wants you for kidnapping!"
"What's that?" demanded Gracia, as she heard her own name spoken.
Bud looked at Phil, who for once was at a loss for words, and then he answered slowly.
"Your father is down at the station," he said, "looking for—you!"
"Well, he can't have me!" cried Gracia defiantly. "I'm across the line now! I'm free! I can do what I please!"
"But there's the immigration office," interposed Phil pacifically. "You will have to go there—and your father has claimed you were kidnapped."
"Ha! Kidnapped!" laughed Gracia, who had suddenly recovered her spirits. "And by whom?"
"Well—by Bud here," answered De Lancey hesitatingly.
Gracia turned as he spoke and surveyed Hooker with a mocking smile. Then she laughed again.
"Never mind," she said, "I'll fix that. I'll tell them that I kidnappedhim!"
"No, but seriously!" protested De Lancey, as Bud chuckled hoarsely. "You can't cross the line without being passed by the inspectors, and—well, your father is there to get you back."
"But I will not go!" flung back Gracia.
"Oh, my dear girl!" cried De Lancey, frowning in his perplexity, "you don't understand, and you make it awful hard for me. You know they're very strict now—so many low women coming across the line, for—well, the fact is, unless you are married you can't come in at all!"
"But I'min!" protested Gracia, flushing hotly. "I'm—"
"They'll deport you," said De Lancey, stepping forward to give her support.
"I know it's hard, dear," he went on, as Bud moved hastily away, "but I've got it all arranged. Why should we wait? You came to marry me, didn't you? Well, you must do it now—right away! I've got the license and the priest all waiting—come on before theruralesget back to town and report that you've crossed the line. We can ride around to the north and come in at the other side of town. Then we—"
"Oh, no, no!" cried Gracia, pushing him impulsively aside. "I am not ready now. And—"
She paused and glanced at Bud.
"Mr. Hooker," she began, walking gently toward him, "what will you do now?"
"I don't know," answered Hooker huskily.
"Will you come with us—will you—"
"No," said Bud, shaking his head slowly.
"Then I must say good-by?"
She waited, but he did not answer.
"You have been so good to me," she went on, "so brave, and—have I been brave, too?" she broke in pleadingly.
Hooker nodded his head, but he did not meet her eyes.
"Ah, yes," she sighed. "You have heard what Phil has said. I wish now that my mother were here, but—would you mind? Before I go I want to—give you a kiss!"
She reached out her hands impulsively and Hooker started back. His eyes, which had been downcast, blazed suddenly as he gazed at her, and then they flitted to Phil.
"No," he said, and his voice was lifeless and choked.
"You will not?" she asked, after a pause.
"No!" he said again, and she shrank away before his glance.
"Then good-by," she murmured, turning away like one in a dream, and Bud heard the crunch of her steps as she went toward the horses with Phil. Then, as the tears welled to his eyes, he heard a resounding slap and a rush of approaching feet.
"No!" came the voice of Gracia, vibrant with indignation. "I sayno!" The spat of her hand rang out again and then, with a piteous sobbing, she came running back to Bud, halting with the stiffness of her long ride.
"I hate you!" she screamed, as Phil came after her. "Oh, I hate you! No, you shallneverhave the kiss! What! if Bud here has refused it, will I give a kiss toyou? Ah, you poor, miserable creature!" she cried, wheeling upon him in a sudden fit of passion. "Where wereyouwhen I was in danger? Where wereyouwhen there was no one to save me? And did you think, then, to steal a kiss, when my heart was sore for Bud? Ah, coward! You are no fit pardner! No, I will never marry you—never! Well, go then! And hurry! Oh, how I hate you—to try to steal me from Bud!"
She turned and threw her arms about Hooker's neck and drew his rough face down to hers.
"You do love me, don't you, Bud?" she sobbed. "Oh, you are so good—so brave! And now will you take the kiss?"
"Try me!" said Bud.
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