"Oh, I don't know," murmured Meshackatee, glancing at the shamefaced cowboys, "you'd jest have to hire some more. What's the chances for something to eat?"
"You can eat with the rest of them," she answered impatiently, "and not a minute before. Now you worthless cowboys go away from that kitchen and quit making eyes at the cook. And if you want to hurry supper somebody take the ax and chop up a little wood."
There was a rush for the ax and the cowboys slouched away, laughing hectoringly at the man who had won.
"Well, git down," said Mrs. Scarborough with a grudging sigh, "that makes fourteen men we're cooking for."
They dismounted stiffly and she drew Meshackatee aside, talking rapidly as he inclined his curly head; and then, as Hall stood awkwardly by, a girl hurried out the kitchen door. In one hand was a huge bucket and she had started for the well when she met the newcomer's startled eyes. For a moment she stood still, then the bucket fell clattering and was clutched up with a trembling hand.
"Let me help you!" said Hall, raising his hat and advancing swiftly; and while Meshackatee looked on he filled the bucket with practiced hand and carried it back to the kitchen. There was a murmur of disapproval from the gunmen by the bunkhouse as he did not emerge immediately, and Mrs. Scarborough glanced around suspiciously; but he returned to his horse without meeting her eyes and Meshackatee grinned to himself.
The kitchen was forbidden ground at the ranch, hence the rush to chop and bring in the wood; but this stranger had shown himself adept indeed at invading thesanctum sanctorum. He had met Mrs. Scarborough's niece, and filled her bucket and whisked it back into the house, in about the time it would take a Texan to spit out his chew of tobacco. But that dropping of the bucket—was Miss Allifair so flustered, or had it been done with a purpose? He listened gravely to Miz Zoolah as she asked him questions and then guessed at the answers herself, but all the while his keen eyes were on Hall and his mind was seeking out the cause. For there is a reason for everything, if one can piece facts together or even jump atthe facts, and Meshackatee was by nature a casuist. But something of the furor that was going on in his mind seemed to be communicated to the vigilant Miz Zoolah, for she stopped in the middle of a spiteful tirade and turned her pale eyes on the stranger.
"Who is that man?" she demanded suddenly, and then she advanced and faced him.
"Haven't I seen you before somewhere?" she questioned sharply, and Hall seemed to rouse from some dream.
"No, ma'am," he replied in soft, reassuring tones, "or at least, ma'am, not to my knowledge. I am a stranger in these parts and——"
"Where'd you come from?" she put in, and he hesitated a moment before he made an answer.
"I am sorry," he said, "but I can't answer that question. I am just passing through and——"
"Who is this man?" she demanded of Meshackatee; and as she repeated the question a swift look passed between them and the two men joined forces against her.
"I don't know," returned Meshackatee, "but he's a stranger in this country—the boys picked him up at Cold Spring. Isham told me to bring him up here, but there's nothing against him. It was jest to protect him from the Bassetts."
"Yes, the Bassetts!" she snapped. "He must be a weakling if he needs any protection fromthem."
"Well, he's my prisoner, then," spoke upMeshackatee bluffly. "Anything else you'd like to know?"
"Yes, I'd just like to know why you allowed him in that kitchen if Isham sent him over for a prisoner. He might have stepped out that farther door and been halfway over to the Bassetts."
"He gave me his word of honor," answered Meshackatee defiantly. "I guess there's such a thing as a gentleman!"
"Agentleman!" she shrilled. "He gave you his word ofhonor! Since when have you got these idees into your head? I'm going to report this to Isham."
"Well, report and be blowed!" burst out Meshackatee rudely, and led his prisoner away.
But, even in a world where honor is not dead and the word "gentleman" is more than a name, there is such a thing as a reasonable precaution and Meshackatee slept by his man that night. They threw down their saddle-blankets beneath the towering cottonwood that stood just north of the house, and he slept with his dog at his back. It was the way they always slept, back to back on the scant blanket, and if anything moved 'Pache would raise his head and give voice to a rumbling growl.
The night was well along when there was a stir at his back and the vibrations of a noiseless growl. Meshackatee opened his eyes and moved gently in answer and a strange sight met his eyes. His prisoner had risen up without a sound and tiptoedback towards the house, and as he stood in the starlight a white form glided out and she met him in passionate embrace. Meshackatee moved again and his dog sank down obediently—there was a silence, and the prisoner came back—but far into the night the man who had turned casuist lay and speculated on the Ultimate Cause.
CHAPTER VI
THE ULTIMATE CAUSE
Itis easy to find a probable cause for any given act, but when one seeks the Ultimate Cause—the reason behind it all—that calls for deep thinking, and finesse. Human conduct is not so variable in many of its phases as to call for extended scrutiny, but the problem before Meshackatee was both so baffling and so disquieting that it left his brains in a whirl. That a girl as modest as Allifair Randolph, a woman who for months had received the attentions of scores of cowboys without one answering smile, should suddenly and for no reason throw aside all decorum and rush into the arms of a stranger—that was beyond the bounds of reason. It was so unreasonable it was foolish, and the great Cause must be sought for somewhere else. Then, surely, they had met before. Yes, met and learned to love and this was the reunion of two souls that had drifted far apart Allifair was that "certain party" for whom Hall had been seeking, and he had found her in the kitchen of the Scarboroughs.
Yet this comforting conclusion, plain and obvious as it was, merely opened up new fields of thought. Who was Allifair Randolph and who wasthis man Hall, and why did they make concealment of their love; and what would he do now, since he had discovered his beloved in the house of the man he despised? Would he cast aside his scruples against feuds and cattle wars and join the gang to be near her, or would he go his way and devise other means of winning the woman of his heart? Meshackatee thought it over and then his scheming mind began to turn the facts to his own purpose; and when the morning came he beckoned to his prisoner and led him across the creek to the mound. Here, beneath a gnarled oak which had grown up near the summit, drawing its strength from the dust of ancient dead, Meshackatee took out his field glasses and gazed long to the east before he broached the matter on his mind.
To the east lay Turkey Creek and the log fort of the Bassetts—and Grimes and his Mexicans as well—and it was to them fully as much as to the winning over of this stranger that his thoughts were turned that day. He had a dual mind, one part taking cognizance of the facts and the other busily using them to work his will; and when he spoke it was all to fit his program, though disguised in the mock-solemnity of a jest.
"Mr. Hall," he began, "I make it a principle never to interfere in the private affairs of any gentleman; but I saw something last night which pained me very much and I jest want to ask a few questions. Now in the first place, Mr. Hall, I want you to understand that Miss Allifair holds ahigh place in my regard; and I jest want to ask—as a friend, you understand—if your intentions are perfectly honorable?"
"My intentions!" faltered Hall, and then he went white and turned his face away. "Don't tell anybody!" he pleaded, clutching Meshackatee by the leg, "it would ruin our happiness forever. Oh, I was mad—insane—I should never have done it! But Meshackatee—she had thought I was dead!"
"Oh, dead, eh?" rumbled Meshackatee, squinting his calculating eyes and regarding him from beneath his long hair, "well, that makes a difference, of course. She'd heard about that shooting, and the bullet-hole under your heart and——"
"That's it—they told her I was dead!"
"'They'?"
"Yes. Her folks, and Mrs. Scarborough. She was a Randolph, you know, before her marriage; and she told Allifair I was dead."
"I—see!" observed Meshackatee, nodding his head and spitting wisely, "and was you young folks engaged to git married?"
"That was it—that's what caused it. We were engaged to be married, but we belonged to opposing clans. She was a Randolph, you see, and I'm a McIvor——"
"Ah!" exclaimed Meshackatee, "I'm beginning to savvy. The Randolph-McIvor feud—back in Kaintuck!"
"Yes, that's it," went on McIvor feverishly, "but let me explain it to you. Our families have beenat war for over twenty years, and each year the feud becomes worse. It's cost the Randolph faction over four hundred dead and the McIvors over three hundred that we know of. Men are found dead in the woods, just as I was left for dead, and others are never found. All our relatives are engaged in it, and hundreds of outsiders who hardly know what they're fighting for. All they think of is free whiskey and midnight raids and a chance to get revenge on some enemy; and so it goes until the mountains are a battle-ground and men have turned to brutes. And there's no power that can stop it, neither the courts nor the militia, because we live far back in the hills; but if I could marry Allifair, then the blood-feud would be ended and the Randolphs and McIvors would be friends."
"I understand," murmured Meshackatee, and sat smiling benevolently as the young man gazed off into space.
"We met by accident," he went on at last, "while I was scouting in their country. But she spared my life, she did not report me, and the next time we met we were friends. She's such a gentle creature—and I had turned rough, from living out and fighting for years—but somehow she learned to love me and the dream came to both of us to marry and end the feud. I was building a cabin, far up in the hills where no one would ever find us, when a dirty little spy discovered our meeting place and the Randolphs became aware of our plans.They watched us—and the next time I went to our tree there was no one there, she was gone. They reported her dead—shot down by the McIvors, for our womenfolks make war among themselves—but I asked all our women and none of them had done it, though many of them would gladly have done so.
"Can you imagine such conditions—gentle women, well-educated, going out like wild animals to strike down a woman like Allifair? I must have gone mad, for I went back to our meeting place, and there this dirty spy shot me. He shot me clean through the heart, or so it appeared, but the bullet went low and after they had left me I came to life and crept to a cave. There I lived on pure water for eleven days and as my body became purified I had visions and dreams, such as no man ever had before. And when I was well I crept up by night and listened at a camp of the Randolphs. That was where I heard that Allifair still lived and had been sent out to her aunt in Arizona.
"But what her aunt's name was, or where her husband lived, was something I never could learn; so I left and came out here, determined to find her if it took the rest of my life."
"Well, you've found her," observed Meshackatee, apparently unruffled by the harrowing tale of his friend, "so what's the next thing now?"
"They'll kill her!" he groaned, "they'll actually kill her before they'll consent to her marrying aMcIvor. So if you want to kill me too and ruin both our lives, just tell who I am to the Scarboroughs."
"Oh, no! Oh, no!" replied Meshackatee reassuringly, "that won't be necessary at all. Of course I'm working for Isham, and when I take a man's money, I aim to give him my best; but it won't be necessary—that is, always provided you're willing to helpmeout?"
"I'll do anything!" promised McIvor, "if you'll just keep our secret and help me to meet her again. Oh, since I have seen her and learned she still loves me I feel I could do anything—anything!"
"Hm, a meeting ain't so easy," said Meshackatee after a silence. "Miz Zoolah sure keeps a close watch. But you leave it to me, boy, and meanwhile stay away from her—I ain't the only man that has eyes. Them Texas toughs are jealous—they see you go in there yesterday—so keep plumb out of that kitchen. And the look in that gal's eyes when she see you at the well gave the whole business away, tome. You're kind of daffy now, don't notice where you're going or answer when other people speak to you, so the best thing for you is to go away a few days and let this excitement die down. Now I've got a little job, if you think you can do it——"
"Oh, I can't leave her, now!" protested McIvor broken-heartedly, but Meshackatee tapped him sharply on the knee.
"You're going to leave, see? Right now and no danged fooling. You're going over to hunt up them sheep."
"The sheep?" repeated McIvor, and Meshackatee smiled grimly as he took him gently by the arm.
"Take my advice," he warned, "and git away from Zoolah—she came almighty close to recognizing you. Now about this sheepman, Grimes, he knows these boys by sight and they can't any of 'em git near him; but that saddle of yours will tell any one you're no Texan and I believe you can ride plumb up to him. You're a stranger, see, and you can cuss out the Scarboroughs and tell him all the things they done to you; and after you've got next to him and found out all his plans—you come back here and tell me. Do that, and you'll git to see Allifair."
"Well, it's treacherous," observed McIvor at last, "but I've been that, and worse, before now. And if this man is coming in to stir up a war perhaps I can turn him back."
"This is what will turn him back," returned Meshackatee, patting his pistol, "and, believe me, nothing else. Thathombreis a fighter, he comes on a-charging, and nothing but a bullet will stop him. But leave that to me and this bunch of inbred Texans—and by the way, that's Isham coming."
He pointed to the canyon down which they had come and two horsemen, riding fast, flashed around a point and came galloping across the plain.
"You'd better wait," suggested Meshackatee, "you're supposed to be a prisoner, and maybe he'll have other plans."
"I'm not working forhim!" declared McIvor, obstinately, "I'm doing this work for you."
"Fair enough," agreed Meshackatee, "but I'm working for him. So try to stand in on the play. Come on, we'll go down to the house."
They arrived just as Elmo, the youngest of the Scarboroughs, stepped out from where he had been sulking. He was short and sandy, with a slouchy wool hat and two guns hung low on his hips. Each was tied at the bottom with a buckskin string which held the muzzles close to his legs, so that the carved ivory handles stuck out at such an angle that they practically touched his hands. Both holsters were cut away until they barely held their pistols, and the whole was arranged so that he could draw and shoot in the shortest possible time. But the boy himself—for he was hardly a man—had on his face such a look of both weakness and reckless deviltry that McIvor looked him over again. He was sullen now, after his defeat by the sheepmen and the tongue-lashing that Zoolah had given him, but he stepped out to meet his brothers with such a purposeful swagger that Mrs. Scarborough allowed him to pass.
"Well, they've come, boys," he announced, "Dave Grimes and twenty Mexicans, and nigh onto ten thousand sheep. They got in behind us—comeacross the Reservation—and now they're headed for the Basin!"
"Let 'em come!" challenged Isham, dropping down off his horse, "that suits me to a hickey—let 'em come! But the first damned Mexican that puts a sheep across Turkey Crick is going to git killed, that's all! That's my dead-line—Turkey Crick—and the minute they step across it the fireworks is going to begin!"
"We thought we'd better wait," explained Elmo hastily, "until you and Red got home——"
"That's right, kid," praised Isham, "you've got the right idee—leave it to me, and they won't nobody git hurt. But if you go riding in on 'em when they're down on their knees and shooting——"
Elmo glanced at Miz Zoolah and spit a thin jet of tobacco-juice, while the Texas gunmen smirked. But Zoolah was not the woman to let this pass unchallenged and she stepped out and confronted her husband.
"Do you happen to know," she demanded contentiously, "that Elmo and these cowboys ran away? Well, they did—ran away from those Mexicans like cowards—and now look at the way they act!"
The cowboys winced but Isham was excited and he paid scant attention to his helpmeet.
"Now come on, boys," he ordered, "ketch up your horses and git ready and we'll go out and meet the danged Mexicans. But no shooting, savvy, until I give the word; unless they shoot at us first."
He paced up and down while they ran to saddle their horses and Miz Zoolah assailed his ears with complaints; but he only glanced at her absently, slapping his boot with his quirt and staring off towards the Bassetts.
"Where are them Sorry Blacks at?" he demanded of Meshackatee. "Have you seen 'em around this morning? The dirty, half-Injun bastards, they may be laying in wait for us—better send somebody over to the store."
"I'll go!" volunteered Elmo, making a run to mount his horse, but Isham motioned him back.
"You look out, kid," he warned, "them Injuns are treacherous. They're liable to shoot you from the bresh."
He turned to Meshackatee and as they consulted together Hall felt Isham's eyes fixed upon him. Beneath their bleached, white lashes they regarded him coldly, as if appraising his worth as a spy; and at last, as Meshackatee drove his point home and nailed it, the chief of the Scarboroughs beckoned. But McIvor stood firm, his mouth grimly set, his eyes far away on the hills, and Meshackatee understood.
"I'll tell him," he said, and half an hour later McIvor rode forth over towards the store.
CHAPTER VII
A SHOWDOWN
Thetrail to the store led across the level valley, tramped broad by the passing of many horse-herds; and as McIvor left the Rock House and rode out into the open, more than one watchful eye was upon him. Yet he jogged on at a fox-trot, never turning to look back at the gathering clan of the Scarboroughs; and as he neared the store a single horseman left the Bassetts and rode warily over to meet him. It was the first move in the great conflict which was sure to take place; when the Scarboroughs and Bassetts, after years of petty bickerings, would meet and fight it out. Time and again they had swooped down and challenged each other, only to withdraw with loud boasts and threats; but now that the sheep had invaded the Basin it was war, and war to the knife. For as cattle and sheep cannot live together, but one or the other is sure to take the range; so the Bassetts and the Scarboroughs could not live in Maverick Basin—and the first blow would start a bloody feud.
All this McIvor sensed, for years of mountain warfare had made him quick to read the minds oflawless men; but their battles were not his and as he approached the shabby store he dismounted and left his rifle on his horse. The store was a log cabin, set off to one side from the foundations of a house which had been burned; and within its loop-holed walls there was everything for sale, from horseshoes to cornmeal and whiskey. The storekeeper came out smiling and wringing his hands—a cringing little man with mouse-colored hair and a nervous, insinuating smile—but as he wrapped up his few purchases McIvor did not fail to notice that his eyes never left the door. There was a thud of hoofs without, a long, tense silence, and then a shadow fell across the doorway.
He came in sideways, a thickset, swarthy man with a sparse black beard and mustache, and as Hall looked up he met a pair of glittering eyes that searched him through and through.
"Good morning," he said, but the man did not answer and McIvor went on with his buying.
"Oh, er—Sharps," stammered the storekeeper, whose name was Johnson, "this is Mister—er——"
"Hall," replied McIvor without looking up, but the storekeeper was not to be discouraged. With all his fawning ways he had a name as a busybody and now he was starting to live up to it.
"Oh, yes—Hall," he cringed. "You're new in the Basin. Are you staying over at the Scarboroughs?"
"No," returned Hall, and the Indian eyes of Sharps Bassett seemed to stab him in the back fora liar. "I'm just going through," explained McIvor at length, and instantly the storekeeper asked where. Then, without waiting for the answer, he darted to the doorway, and Bassett stepped out behind him. Hall followed them quickly, for they were gazing to the south; and as he looked down the trail he saw the gunmen from the Rock House riding in with the Scarboroughs at their head. They came on at a gallop letting out shrill yips and yelps and rollicking about in their saddles; and as they thundered up to the store Sharps reached for his rifle and put his broad back to the wall.
"Oh, here you are!" sneered Isham as Sharps faced him stolidly. "Well, you sorry, black bastard, I want to warn ye for the last time not to bring them sheep into this Basin. This is a white man's country and you've got no business here nohow; but if you bring in them Mexicans we'll run them out first, and then we'll runyouout. What'd ye think you was going to do—shoot this man in the back while he was buying a plug of tobaccy? Well, we've got you, Mister Injun, this trip!"
Sharps grunted contemptuously and shifted his eyes and as the Texans followed his glance they saw two other horsemen, riding rapidly in from the east. They came on at a gallop, then reined in their fine horses and trotted gracefully up to the store. It was Winchester Bassett and Bill.
Bill was nothing but a boy, lighter complected than his brothers but with the same heavy, half-Indian face; and as he rode up beside Sharps hestuck out his chin and made a mouth at the swaggering Elmo.
"Hello there, Squirley!" he hailed insultingly, and Winchester told him to shut up. Winchester Bassett was tall and slenderly built, with a heavy black mustache and a lightning-like quickness of eye; but as he reproved his younger brother he had a smile of easy tolerance, and young Bill was by no means abashed. They both dropped to the ground and as they lined up beside Sharps the Texans reined their horses away. It was a challenge, a defiance to the whole Scarborough clan which had ridden up and surrounded their chief; and as the Scarboroughs gave back Winchester smiled again, for he saw that their bluff had been called. They had galloped over to the store to catch Sharps by himself and worry him as dogs do a wolf, but Sharps had stood them off and now they had joined him—three men against fifteen, but determined. And three men on foot, with the firm ground to shoot from, might easily come off the victors; for the horses of the Texans, being wild and half-broken, would jump at the very first shot.
But no shot would be fired—or not at that time—for Isham had given the word to stand back; and as the gunmen grinned and weakened even Sharps' snake-like eyes took on a glint that was Indian for a smile. He was all Indian, this eldest of the fighting Bassett tribe, slow and stolid but immovable as a wall. No matter what the odds, Sharps Bassettwould never run; and his old battered rifle had killed more bears and lions than any other gun in the country. He stood there now like a grizzly bear at bay; and Bill, seeing the Texans filing in for a drink, turned his eyes to the smart-Aleck Elmo.
"Put down that gun," he challenged, as Elmo began to roll his pistol, "and I'll come over there and whip you."
"I don't haf to!" retorted Elmo, raising his pistol with a flourish and riding out past a tree; and as he whirled his horse he put six shots into the tree trunk, coming by it on the gallop.
"Beat that!" he said, "and I'll show you some real shooting. I can put up a six-spot and shoot out every pip with my horse going by on the run."
"Don't you worry!" bantered Bill, "I kin shoot straight enough; as you'll find out, if it comes to a showdown. I thought you was going to do something!"
He laughed as a Texan told him gruffly to hush up, and then he returned to Elmo.
"Put up that danged smoke-house," he called out hectoringly, "you ain't got the guts to use it. Jest meet me halfway and I'll fight you, fist and skull—for the drinks or for nothing at all."
He laid off his belt, with the two six-shooters hung loose in it, and stepped out into the open, but Elmo declined to fight. Some of the gunmen urged him on, but he had fought Bill once before and come off second best.
"Aw, come away, Bill," jeered Winchester, "can't you see he's afraid to fight ye? Come on, let's go back home."
"Well, you're so danged fresh," flared up Isham stepping forward, "you come, and I'll fight you myself."
"Nope, don't want no trouble," answered Winchester quietly, "git your horse, Bill—we'll be going home."
"You're skeered!" taunted Isham, laying off his belted pistols and rolling up his sleeves defiantly, but Winchester only smiled.
"You might gang me," he said, but, as Isham began to whoop, Sharps Bassett suddenly laid off his belt. Shaking the black hair from his eyes he advanced without a word, his neck swelling like a blow-snake's with rage.
"I'll fight ye!" he rumbled, and Isham backed away, then turned and made a jump for his guns.
"You dirty, black scoundrel!" he yelled in a false fury, "don't you think I seen that knife in your boot? I wouldn't dirty my hands on a nigger like you, nohow—because that's all you are, a damned nigger!"
Sharps stood in the open, his huge fists still clenched, his eyes turning red with savage rage; then he, too, wheeled and reached for his guns. There was a silence, and the gunmen that Isham had hired crouched low and waited for the break; but before a hand had moved a man stepped swiftlyforward and took his place beside the Bassetts. It was Hall McIvor and as the Texans paused to glance at him the tenseness of the moment was broken. A new emotion stepped in, to break the psychic wave that was sweeping them on towards a killing.
"What are you doing—over there?" demanded Isham roughly, and Hall fixed him with his piercing black eyes.
"I'm here to fight," he answered quietly. "This is no quarrel of mine, but when fifteen men pitch on three I'm going to help them, right or wrong."
"You half-Injun rascal!" burst out Isham accusingly, "I said all the time you was here to join the Bassetts—and now, by Godfrey, look at him!"
He turned to Meshackatee, who was looking on in wonder, and pointed a scornful hand at their ex-prisoner; but McIvor's blood was up and, as Isham continued to point, he leapt over and slapped him in the face.
"Take that!" he said, "and if you pretend to be a gentleman draw your gun and we'll shoot this out!"
He stood expectant, his slim hand poised and waiting above the butt of a well-worn pistol, but Scarborough did not go for his gun. He hesitated and as McIvor saw the fear in his eyes he stepped back with a thin-lipped smile.
"In my country," he said, "we settle our differences of opinion by stepping off ten paces, then turnand shoot. I say you are a coward, a blustering fool and no gentleman—do you accept my challenge, or not?"
"Aw, you're crazy," muttered Isham, backing off into the crowd, and McIvor let it pass. But when the Scarboroughs were gone he glanced swiftly at Winchester Bassett, who responded with his unruffled smile.
CHAPTER VIII
THE GOOD OLD SIMPLE PLAN
Nothinghad been further from the intentions of Hall McIvor as he rode forth from the Rock House that morning than that he should join the Bassetts as a friend. He had been sent to join them, yes; but treacherously, as a spy, who was to return and report to Meshackatee. But his heart had ruled his head—he had joined against the Scarboroughs and then slapped Isham in the face—and now that it was over he found himself a turncoat, shaking hands with Winchester Bassett. Yet something still told him that his heart had been right, and that open friendship was better than treachery; and that somehow, somewhere, he would see Allifair again, though never under the protection of the Scarboroughs.
Yet protection he must have, if he was to remain near her at all, and he sought it under the roof-tree of the Bassetts. They lived in a log house set on the edge of the riverbottom, but with its single, narrow door facing away from the creek bed and out upon the level plain. Its timbers were square-hewn, with loop-holes in place of windows, and the fireplace at one end was as massive as the Scarboroughs', with holes near the top for a lookout. A barn and round corral, for breaking horses, stood further along on the bench; and beyond and to the south rose the high, wooded hill which Meshackatee had predicted would be an ambush. A pack of hounds rushed out to greet them, hogs and chickens strayed about the yard; and as Hall rode up to the gate an old white-haired man hobbled out.
"Eh—what was the name?" he quavered anxiously, staring up at him with his farsighted eyes. "Oh, Hall, eh? Well, git down; git down, Mr. Hall. We ain't got much, but what we have you're shorely welcome to—our latch-string is always hung out. What's the news, boys?" he demanded, "did you rout them biggoty Scarboroughs? Well, good, and good again. Them and their no-count Texas gunmen—one Bassett could whip a hundred of 'm!"
"Well, we whipped 'em, Pap!" returned Winchester, "and this gentleman here slapped Isham's face and called him a dirty coward!"
"He did!" exulted Old Henry, turning to take Hall by the arm, "wall now, don't that beat all! And him a stranger, too—but he looks like a fighting man! What did Isham say to that?"
"He didn't say nothing," laughed Winchester, "jest mounted hiscaballoand flew!"
Henry Bassett stopped short to join in with silent laughter and then he led the way to the house. He was shriveled and bent, with a long, white beard and hands that clutched and clawed it when hetalked; but his high, hawklike nose and resolute eyes told of a courage that never had waned. Of all his boys, the swarthy Winchester was most like him, though Bill was whiter by far. But Bill had the heavy jaw and fat-cheeked face that came from his Digger Indian mother; and Sharps would pass for a fullblood anywhere, except for his chilled-steel nerve. Not a word had he said since his challenge to Isham, and his beady black eyes still glinted with anger as he slouched along out to the corrals. His rage, or so it seemed, now included the whole white race, and he stared at McIvor evilly.
The interior of the Bassett fort was dark and smoky and as they moved over towards the fireplace an Indian woman rose up and padded silently away. She was Old Henry's wife, or woman as he called her; but none of the men spoke to her, and when she came back her presence was studiously ignored.
"Have a cheer! Have a cheer!" urged Henry cordially, motioning Hall to a seat by the fire. "So you and my cubs hev whipped Isham again! Well, well, I'd a-liked to ben there. But my eyes ain't what they was and my legs is bothering some, so I aim to hold the fort here at home. I went out last week, when my haounds bayed a lion, and it kinder fetched my rheumatiz back. But them no-count Scarboroughs, I'd fight ary one of 'em with any weepon he'd name—from the p'int of a needle to the muzzle of a shotgun—I shore do despise that Isham!"
"He offered to fight Winchester!" spoke up Bill with a grin, "but Winch said he didn't want no trouble. And then, when Isham begin to crow, Sharps stepped out and offered to whip him. Hand and skull, it was; but Isham was afraid of him, so he backed off and went to calling names. I'd've plugged him right there, but Winch wouldn't let me; and while we was waiting for 'em to make a crooked move, this feller here comes over and joined us. He says the Scarboroughs held him up down in Deadman Canyon, and threatened to hang him for a horse-thief; and he don't allow no man to treat him like that, so he challenged old Isham to a duel."
"He did!" shrilled Old Henry. "Well, what did Isham do?"
"He jest said: 'You're crazy,' and backed away outer that, before all four of us blowed him full of holes!"
"Well, well," beamed Henry, "you must be a Southerner, I reckon, to be talking of fighting a duel. It ain't done much out here, they run more to bushwacking and shooting a man in his door; but back in Tennessee, where I was born and raised, they had duels every court-day. I've seen two mountain men grab the ends of a handkerchief and cut and slash away with their bowie knives till one or the other dropped dead, but these Texans are that treacherous they'd shore shoot you in the back before you'd stepped off five paces. A duel is for gentlemen, but I don't count them Scarboroughsas human—and I told 'em so p'intedly one time. They've abused me and my boys till we won't stan' it no more, and some day they's going to be akilling. I'm a peaceable man, but I can't git no jestice—leastwise I can't git it in the courts—and when they went to hiring gunmen they fo'ced my hand and I had to throw in with them sheepmen. Don't like sheep, I reckon, any more than you do; but Grimes and his Mexicans are fighters. They'll shore put a torch under them Texas bad men that'll burn 'em off the face of the earth. Me and my cubs ain't robbed no bank, nor paymaster's wagon neither, and we ain't got the money to hire gunmen; but after Grimes has got through with 'em I reckon the Bassetts can clean up on what there is left."
He winked and nodded wisely and, as the boys went on out, the squaw after a silence came timidly in and went on with cooking the dinner. She was still strong and vigorous, though her hair was turning gray; and from time to time, as Old Henry ran on, she glanced up at him with grave, adoring eyes.
"Yes, they call me a squawman," he confessed confidentially, when his wife had left them alone, "but I've had other women and they was never a one of 'em that suited me as well as this one. I thought I'd git rid of her when I come to this country, taking Sharps and Winchester with me; but she located me somehow and come a thousand miles overland, bringing Bill along on her back. That's faithfulness, I say, and I let her stay withme—and she shore thinks the world of Old Hank."
He smiled complacently as she came back to her kitchen, the hearth and hobs of the fireplace, and squatted down to look into the Dutch ovens; and when she was gone he jerked his head knowingly and lowered his voice again.
"Don't you worry," he said, "she savvies what's going on—understands every word I say; but you can't git her to speak English, not unless the house ketches afire or a horse gits down in the barn. She's afraid of them Scarboroughs; she claims they're bad medicine—'all same snake in the grass'—but this sheepman, Grimes, will shore crush their head, though their head may bruise his heel. That's what the Scripture says, according to Grimes—he's religious, some kind of a jack Mormon. Calls 'em 'Brother' when he's among 'em and sons of dogs when he's away from 'em, the same as all these other danged sheepmen. I never did like a sheep, to tell you the truth; but what else is they to do? If I don't bring in Grimes, them Scarboroughs are fixing to git me, and run me and my boys out of the country. Ain't a man got a right to protect his home? They crowded me to it, that's all."
The old man spent the day denouncing the meanness of the Scarboroughs and justifying his alliance with Grimes; but when, in the evening, Grimes himself rode in, Hall could see he was none too welcome. He was cordially received, for that was their custom, but after the first greetings the talkdied down to nothing and the sheepman cast about for a listener. He was a big, burly man with a Scotch turn to his tongue, and when he talked he thrust out his head vehemently and showed the bloodshot whites of his eyes. A month's growth of beard did not add to his appearance, and the hair lay in a mat on his chest; and he seemed to be mad, mad all the time, with a primal, caveman rage.
"I'll show 'em, the dirty cowards!" he burst out vindictively, addressing his harangue to McIvor. "Did you ever see a cowman that would stand up to a Winchester? Well, I haven't and yet I've seen lots of them. That Slash-knife outfit now is reputed to be a bad one, and they lay claim to the whole upper range; but here's one sheepman that they've never moved yet, and what's more, they never will. I can ride across there any place and they'll give me the trail, they know me as far as they can see me through a telescope. And these herders of mine, though they're nothing but Mexicans, are proper fighting fools—every one. I won't have 'em otherwise; and the first man that weakens I make him walk back to town. We're coming here to-morrow with ten thousand sheep under a lease from Henry Bassett. That gives us a right, don't it? We're running them on shares, and this has always been his range. But if any of them smart gunmen, like they tried to do yesterday, ride in and interfere with my herders; I ain't saying nothing,I'll jest drop off my mule and shoot the matter out, right there!"
"That's your privilege," conceded McIvor, "but wouldn't it be better to stay on the east side of Turkey Creek?"
"One side or the other—it's nothing to me! This is government land, see? And I'm a U.S. citizen. These dead-lines don't go with me!"
McIvor nodded and fell silent, for he knew the Scotch blood, but Grimes was pacing the floor.
"They'll draw a dead-lines, will they?" he demanded menacingly; "they'll tell me where I'll go and not go? I'm a free agent, see? I know what's my rights, and I don't give a dam' for the Scarboroughs! Didn't I meet their men yesterday, up on the Canyon Crick trail? Yes, and the whole suffering outfit rode over the top of a mountain to git away from my gun. You couldn't see 'em for dust, they were that anxious to escape me—if they'd had a feather in their hand they'd've flew—and now they send word that they've made a new dead-line, only this time it's Turkey Crick! I'll show 'em a dead-line, and I'll go out and kill a cow every time they kill one of my sheep. They's no law here and I know it, so we'll get back to first principles and fight it out man to man.
"If you ever read any poetry you may remember those famous lines about Rob Roy and the good, old simple plan:
"'That they should take who have the powerAnd they should keep who can.'
"That was the plan back in Scotland for many a long year, and it's the plan out here to-day; and I, for one, will never speak against it, for it has served me well so far."
"Apparently so," replied McIvor, who was beginning to turn against him. "I suppose every man follows his own nature."
"What do you mean, my friend?" demanded the sheepman truculently. "Don't you think I'm within my rights? Well, what do you mean then about following my own nature—are you one of these cowmen, too?"
"No," responded Hall, "I am a stranger in these parts. But after what I have seen of feuds and family wars I should certainly hesitate to start one."
"Oh, you're a stranger, eh? Well, I believe you, there—because any man that knows the Scarboroughs will tell you they'll never fight. You don't believe me, eh? Well, I'll see you to-morrow—be back with a big band of sheep—and if I don't pasture them sheep in the middle of that plain I'll buy you a ten-dollar hat."
"Very well, sir," bowed Hall, "I see you are determined. But I don't need a hat that bad."
CHAPTER IX
AMBUSH
Thenight was filled with the drumming of horses' feet and the rush and challenge of the hounds. They gathered by the gate and bayed and barked continuously, racing far out across the open plain; and when at dawn the Bassetts looked out, the Basin was stripped bare of stock. Not a cow or horse was left for Grimes to wreak his vengeance on if his sheep were shot up and scattered—the stage was cleared and set for the play, which promised to be a tragedy. The Bassetts peered out warily, using their glasses through the portholes as they scanned the neighboring hills for gunmen; then the old squaw ventured out, to bring in wood and water and cook their bread and coffee on the hearth. As the sun rose higher the oak door was thrown open, giving an unobstructed view of the plain; and at last the Bassetts stepped out into the open, for the hour for ambushing had passed.
There are crimes that stalk by noonday, and others that fear the light; but the men who shoot from ambush creep up in the night-time and kill at the first peep of day. Or, failing of their victim,they skulk off through the brush, before they, too, are marked down for revenge. All this the Bassetts knew, as well as that strange crotchet which keeps murderers from shooting down women; and so they stayed close till the hour for "tapping" had passed, sending their woman out instead. She plodded about stoically, apparently busy with her duties, but every possible hiding place was carefully scrutinized before she consented to let her men-folks come out.
They stood now in the sun, rolling a smoke and looking northward for the first of the four bands of sheep; and as the clamor of their bleating came faintly down the wind, old Susie, the Indian woman, came out. First she glanced at Bill and Winchester, who were talking and laughing together, and then at sullen-faced Sharps; and then she, too, looked away to the north where the sheep were beginning to move.
"No good!" she exclaimed, stamping her foot and turning to Henry; and while the other looked on she harangued him in Indian, pointing repeatedly at her sons and the sheep. But Henry Bassett was not the man to listen to a woman when it was a question of peace or war, and after a few words he dismissed her impatiently and joined his grinning "cubs."
"She don't like that man Grimes," he explained shamefacedly, "but it's too late now for sech talk. All the same, boys, this sheep-war ain't no concern of ours so we'll stay right close to the house. I'm shore sorry now that I said what I did; becauseif he wins, boys, he'll sheep us out, too. But it was that or knuckle down to them dastardly Scarboroughs, and I shore can't stummick that!"
He maundered on, arguing it over with himself, seeking vainly to justify his acts; and all the while the braying of the sheep grew louder as the herds drifted down through the pass. For weeks they had been struggling through scrub oaks and pines, and dense thickets of manzanita and buckthorn; and when at last they burst into the open the leaders advanced on the run. The first band was made up of big, sturdy wethers, their fleeces torn and tattered from trailing through the brush, but strong and active as bucks. They came on in a line which quickly spread out like the front of an advancing flood, and as the last of the herd came clear of the creek-bed the clangor of their baaing ceased. They fed along slowly, the leaders lingering to eat, the drag drifting past them to the front; and in the silence that followed a Mexican herder stepped out and looked down across the waving plain.
The grass was knee high and still green from winter rains, and it flowed away before them like a billowing field, for the sheep had never been there before. Yet this silence, this emptiness, this absence of man or beast, had its sinister side as well; and, after a long look, the herder disappeared and came out further down the creek. He kept under the bank, only showing among the shadows as he kept cover beneath the towering cottonwoods; but as his sheep drifted away towards the grassywestern hills he rushed out and turned them back with his dogs. Still the silence, the great emptiness, and as other herders came up they stepped out boldly into the open. Each man carried a gun and had his face to the hills, but no gun roared out its loud challenge. They drifted on slowly, down the broadening valley yet keeping close in to the creek, and at noon they had edged away from the menacing western ridges and gained the open Basin at last.
But now the fat wethers had eaten their full, and as the heat came on they took shelter in the river-bottom, drowsing peacefully in the shade of the willows. The camp-rustlers came up with their burros and kyacks, a fire was soon going at their camp; and as his burros, and Mexicans took their afternoon siesta Dave Grimes ambled over to the house. He rode up on a black mule, gaudy with martingale and fancy trimmings, and greeted the Bassetts at the gate.
"Well," he challenged, "didn't I tell ye I could do it? They see my men was armed—and I had others to do the flanking—and nobody fired a shot. Now I'm out in the open, where they can't sneak up on me; and I can fight 'em man to man!"
"They may not fight you that way," suggested Winchester amiably, but the rest of the Bassetts said nothing. The sight of the sheep actually cropping off the grass which they had depended upon to pasture their horses, had brought up a sober second thought, and Sharps and Bill were furious.
"What d'ye think you're going to do?" demanded Bill rebelliously, "bed your sheep down right in front of the door? We'd like a little feed where we can stake out our horses, without walking plumb over to the Scarboroughs."
"Oh, you would, hey?" returned Grimes, but there he stopped and swallowed his scathing retort. "Well, I'll speak to my herders," he said at last. "We've got to be neighborly, of course. But when I git through with 'em you can walk to the Scarboroughs' without dodging any forty-five ninetys. I see they've gathered all their cattle and drove 'em off west—and their gunmen are over there, too—but the first danged man that takes a shot at my sheep will find I've got a forty-five, too. I've seen that tried before—riding out at my herders and jumping my sheep off some bluff—but I've got a way to stop it that's never failed yet, I jest give 'em a taste of this!"
He patted the stock of a forty-five ninety rifle that stuck up from under his knee and Sharps broke his day-long silence.
"You're bad, ain't ye?" he rumbled, and Grimes saw that his new partners had already repented of their bargain.
"Yes, I'mbad," he said, "and I don't care who knows it. Anything more you'd like to say?"
"Nope," answered Sharps, and regarded him morosely at which Grimes wheeled his mule to go.
"Well, so long," he said, "can't be chatting here all day. But if you think you're sobravo, whydidn't you clean them Scarboroughs yourself, without calling for help onme?"
He flashed his eyes at Sharps and galloped over to his camp, leaving the Bassetts with something more to think about.
Why indeed had they brought in this barbarian, with his Mexicans and his sheep, when with a little more nerve they could have taken on the Scarboroughs and run them out of the country themselves? But it was too late now to ask that question, for Grimes and his sheep were there; and on the other hand it was too early to give way to despair, for the battle had just begun. The Scarboroughs might be cowards but, even then, they were cowmen; and a cowardly cowman will rise up and fight sheep when he would never fight anything else. No, the battle was not over, it had not yet begun; and before he had finished the self-satisfied Mr. Grimes might find himself hollering for help. But help he would never get, not from the Bassetts and their clan, for they had seen his raw work and he had tipped his own hand—he was there to sheep them all out!
They waited in sullen silence as the sheep began to move and the herders followed after them from the bedding ground; for that was the way these besotted sheepmen worked, they made themselves the slaves of their sheep. And the memory of that grass, so rich and sweet, had roused the sheep up early from their dreams; they set off in single file, each group behind its leader, and the leaders allheading for the plain. A single herder followed, his gun across his arm, his eyes on the distant hills; and from a knoll near their camp the extra herders watched him, for they knew he took his life in his hands. What they feared they could not say, more than the treachery of the cowmen who had disappeared so mysteriously into the hills, but they watched him nevertheless, and as they followed his squat form suddenly he staggered and dropped down in the grass. And then the answer came, a single shot in the silence, and the sheep broke into a run.
There was a volley then, from the rolling plain in front of them; and from a thin line of willows which marked the course of a dry stream the smoke rose up in white puffs. The sheep, which had rushed one way, now turned and rushed another; and as they went down in sudden rows the survivors stampeded, running frantically away from the smoke. The heavybangof cowmen's rifles, shooting ninety grains of powder, added the final touch of panic to their flight, and as they scooted across the plain the big, forty-five caliber bullets plowed through them until they dropped by scores. It was the vengeance of the Scarboroughs for the invading of their range, but the Bassetts did not rush for their guns. They looked on in stony silence, for it was no quarrel of theirs—and Grimes had tipped his hand too soon.
CHAPTER X
THE SHEEP-WAR
IfGrimes had thought to win a bloodless victory and take over Maverick Basin for his sheep he was brought back to earth by that first rifle-shot, which had struck down his boldestcaporal. And the fusillade which followed, killing his sheep by the hundreds and scattering them across the plain, showed the presence of an enemy as ruthless as himself and as determined to play a bold hand. No, it was too rich a prize to be given up lightly and the Scarboroughs were fighting to win. For an hour, while Grimes raged about in the distance and cursed his cowering herders, the rifle-shots continued and the sorely harried sheep went down until there were no more to kill. It was a slaughter of the innocents, but each sheep that went down sent a pang through Grimes' hard heart.
The position of the Scarboroughs, behind the bank of the low creek-bed which meandered across the plain, was impregnable from every side; and even after dark Grimes was afraid to venture out, lest he walk into yet another ambush. They were playing his own game—the way he had often played it when rash cowboys had charged down on hiscamp—and after gathering a few strays he was compelled to retreat, taking his much-vaunted Mexicans with him. Out of three thousand sheep he did not have fifty left; and his fightingcaporallay dead on the plain, shot down by a cowman's bullet.
But Grimes had made his boast that he would "show" the Scarboroughs, and the next morning early he came riding down the creek bed at the head of more than twenty armed Mexicans. They were ferocious looking creatures, each armed with a rifle and a pair of forty-five six-shooters, and as they rode past the house they charged the Bassett dogs and put them to flight with their ropes. Then they galloped on, laughing, to join Grimes and the rest, who had dismounted and tied their mules in the brush.
The Bassetts watched them through loop-holes, not without muttered curses for the bravos who had lashed their pet hounds; but when they saw the Mexicans start up a stream-bed to the west they paused and reserved their judgment. It was the mouth of that same wash which had sheltered the ambushed Scarboroughs when they had shot down the herder and his sheep, and if the Scarboroughs were still there—they waited in tense silence, but no battle sprang up on the plain. All was quiet and still, and at last Grimes himself walked out to the body of hiscaporal. The Mexicans followed after him, they carried the body back; and then for a long time not a head was seen above the cut-bank of the wash.
At the Rock House, far away, Hall could see through his glasses other men looking on from the mound. The Scarboroughs were at home, their horses caught and saddled, waiting to see what the next move would be. The sun mounted higher and the Bassetts stepped forth, the better to watch the grim drama; and then, from the north, there came the faintbaaaof sheep—Grimes was throwing another herd into the Basin. They came on at a trot, urged along from behind by herders and racing dogs; and as the first band left the brush another followed behind it, and after that a third. In long, bleating columns they strung out across the plain, heading straight for the guarded creek; and while the Scarboroughs ran to mount the bands swung to right and left and were held close along its bank. All three of Grimes' herds were now safely pastured in the very heart of the Basin; and he and his men were between them and the Scarboroughs, securely hidden behind the cut-bank of the wash. He came out into the open and held up his gun, but nobody answered the challenge.
As the Scarboroughs, the day before, had been impregnable to assault, so now Grimes held the upper hand; and, while his Mexican fighters patrolled the dry stream-bed, the sheep mowed down the grass. They were held in compact bands, each close to the creek, but as no one moved against them they were allowed to spread out and the clamor of their braying ceased. All was still in the Basin—as it had been before when the first band had gone toits fate—and as the heat came on the sheep huddled up together and slept in each other's shade. But the Scarboroughs had disappeared, some riding south and some west, and that was a bad sign for sheep.
At the log fort of the Bassetts they watched in patient silence, now scanning the hilltops for any signs of riding men, now turning again to the sheep. These had roused up from their drowsing and drifted out across the grasslands, anxiously guarded by three pairs of crouching herders; but if Grimes had hoped that the Texans would charge him he was disappointed again. They were playing a waiting game, or planning some new ambush which would mean fresh disaster to his sheep; and as the afternoon wore on Grimes scouted about uneasily, finally returning to mount his black mule. He started back towards his herds, then changed his mind suddenly and galloped up to the Bassett door.
"What—hiding in the house?" he hailed in mock surprise. "You'll get white from not seeing the sun. Or—well, I mean no disrespect, but where is that man Sharps, that misdoubted I would ever win my point? Will you look out there now and see my bands of sheep, feeding along like the beauties they are? And where are the Scarboroughs that were going to wipe me out if I dared to assert my rights?"
"They're hiding in the hills," answered Winchester grimly, "and you'd better git off and come in."
"Ah, weel," laughed Grimes, "I see you're no great fighters or you'd be in the hills yourselves. A man must come out boldly if he expects to get his rights, but we all of us follow our own nature. And that reminds me—how'd do, Mr. Hall—I'll be back for that ten-dollar hat!"
He turned his mule to go, looking back for the answer, and a bullet struck the ground close behind him.
"Yes you will!" called out Bill, as the mule cringed his tail and Grimes dropped down quickly with his gun. "Git around behind the house or they'll tap you off sure—they're shooting from the top of that hill!"
"The damned cowards!" cursed Grimes, suddenly jumping at a close shot and dragging his mule by the head; but as he struggled to lead it off a third bullet came that struck the poor animal dead.
"Come in here!" yelled Winchester, throwing open the door, but Grimes had gone out of his head.
"Stay in there if you want to!" he shouted back defiantly, and started on a run for the brush. It was a scant hundred feet to the edge of the river-bottom, and as they watched him through the port-holes they saw him gliding from tree to tree, vengefully stalking the slayer of his mule. But it was far to the hilltop and before he had more than started there was a shot from out on the plain. It was answered by another and then by a fusillade, and once more the sheep broke and ran. Who wasshooting, and from where, it was impossible to say; but all the herders were gone and the Mexicans along the stream-bed were firing off their guns at random. The only thing that moved besides the rush of frightened sheep was Grimes, running savagely up the wash.
From the shelter of their fort the Bassetts looked after him, and Sharps grunted scornfully to himself. But no shower of bullets followed the sheepman in his flight, he kept on and rejoined his frightened men; and when their frantic shooting had been stilled by his boot, the old silence fell again. Only theskuff-skuffof myriad feet as the sheep made a rush, then listened and rushed off again, broke the stillness which hung over the plain; but when a hiding herder sprang up to turn them back he went down before a single, distant shot. Then the Mexican fusillade reopened and when it had been silenced the sheep were left to their fate. From the hills far away plunging shots fell among them, to add to their senseless panic; and each bullet seemed to explode, throwing up dirt and tufts of grass, making the disaster more complete.
The bulk of the herd fled back up the broad canyon and took shelter in the brush along the creek, but there once more the explosive bullets fell among them and drove them into the hills. As dusk came on they were scattered in small bunches, hiding close and then rushing in full flight; and at dawn they still hid there, for Grimes' Mexicans had deserted him, thinking of nothing but to save theirown lives. Three more of their number had gone down before the gun of that marksman who never missed a shot; and in the night they fled north, leaving Grimes to gather his sheep, or leave them to the wolves if he chose.
CHAPTER XI
ALLIFAIR
Therewas a time, in the proud days of chivalry, when knights like Sir Launcelot had to ride forth disguised in order to tempt others to fight; but all this was changed when Colonel Colt and his six-shooter reduced men to about the same size. Dave Grimes had ridden in and challenged the Scarboroughs to fight him, to come out and battle for their range; but they had taken a leaf from his own book of warfare and kept under cover like Indians. Not for them the bold charge, the midnight raid on armed camps; they gave him his head until they had him where they wanted him and then shot his Mexicans from ambush. Four men had been struck dead and even then the wary Scarboroughs had kept beyond the range of his guns. They were playing safe, a hundred per cent safe, and Grimes threw up his hands and quit.
Of the ten thousand sheep, worth five dollars apiece, that he had driven in to eat out their range he took back a thousand or fifteen hundred at the most, leaving the rest to the mercy of the wolves. He was broken, beaten, but as he looked back acrossthe Basin he shook his grimy fist and swore vengeance. He had left their valley astench with the bodies of sheep, and three herders lay unburied on the plain; but as he retreated up the canyon he sent word to the Scarboroughs that they should pay for their killings, and more.
They watched him from the ridges until he was well on his way and then headed back towards the store, riding down the valley at a gallop and shooting off their pistols while they whooped their derision at the Bassetts. There were drinks, and more drinks, and wild rides across the battlefield, while the Bassetts looked on somberly. A great peril had been lifted, the sheep were gone, but now they were at the mercy of this band of drunken Texans who might any time charge down on their house. Or slip up in the night-time, like the skulkers they were, and shoot them down at dawn! Even Bill was quiet and Old Susie muttered as she gazed across the plain at their enemies. The Scarboroughs were so many and they were so few—but Old Henry refused to be alarmed.
The day wore on and, as the revelry became wilder, a messenger rode over with his hand up for peace and handed the Bassetts a note. Sharps gazed at it blankly and passed it to Bill, who passed it along to Winchester.
"Says here," he read: "'Take yore black squaw and go, you dirty sons——' well, that's enough for me."
"Who give you that?" he demanded of thestartled "neutral," and the messenger wheeled his horse.
"Isham Scarborough!" he replied, and was starting to go when Winchester beckoned him back.
"What's your rush?" he asked. "Can't you wait for the answer? Well, you tell Isham Scarborough that I'll shoot him on sight—and that goes for Red and Elmo. And you tell the three Scarboroughs, if they'll ride out halfway, we'll meet 'em on horseback—with six-shooters. Can you keep that from rattling around in your head?"
"W'y—yes!" stuttered the neutral, and went galloping back, while the Bassetts ran for their horses.
"That sheepman was right, boys," observed Winchester soberly, as they sat mounted and waiting to go. "If we'd had the nerve we'd've done this long ago and never have called him in. He's gone now, thank God, and we're back where we started from; but you know them Scarboroughs—we're next."
"Yes, you're right, son," quavered Old Henry, "they're dead sot agin us—they're determined to wipe us out. I've allus been peaceable but a man must protect himself, only don't take no chances with Isham. You head for him first, Winchester, and let Sharps take on Red, and Bill can shore clean up on Elmo!"
"Yes, you bet I can," cursed Bill, "but the cowardly whelp is fixing to ride back home."
"They're all going," growled Sharps, and reined his horse out the gate. "Come on," he said, "let's rush 'em!"
"Nope," vetoed Old Henry, "you want to be keerful, boys; and remember your old dad and mammy. Jest ride out slow and hold up your guns; and if they don't come out they're cowards."
"No use," grumbled Winchester as the Scarboroughs galloped off, "you couldn't high-life that outfit and make 'em fight. But come on, boys, anyway; let's go over to the store and lay in a little grub and tobacco."
"I'll go with you," spoke up Hall, who had been chafing for action, and he swung up on his waiting roan.
"Well, all right," smiled Winchester, "you seem to be willing, if you ain't drawing a gunman's pay. And anything we can do for you——"
"Don't mention it!" smiled back Hall, and they rode off together, for already they had come to be friends.
The trail to the store was cumbered with dead sheep which already had drawn flocks of crows, and as they rose up cawing McIvor had a vision of a picture he had once seen of War. Here was the same grim battlefield, only the victims were sheep; and there, riding off was the horde of barbarians who had left such wrack in their wake. They strung off across the Basin, and, well up in the lead, Hall could see the buckskin pony of Meshackatee. Since he had quit the arrogant Scarboroughs he had had his misgivings about Meshackatee, for he knew he stood high in their counsels; and he wondered whether this slaughter of Mexican herders and their sheep was not the result of his wiles.
He was a shrewd man, Meshackatee, and he had admitted himself that he was doing the heavy thinking for the gang. But would he now consent to turn these Indian tactics against Old Henry Bassett and his sons? Hall was loath to believe it; and yet he was not sure, for Meshackatee had a strange sense of loyalty. He called himself a hired bravo, and then in the next breath he said that no man could buyhim. He would think what he pleased, only as long as he took his money he felt he owed Isham his service. And Meshackatee had made a bargain with him, Hall McIvor, which circumstances had soon brought to nothing; but Hall still wondered if Meshackatee understood, for he had favored Hall with a sly wink at parting. Was it not possible, even yet, that Meshackatee considered him a spy, and his joining the Bassetts a mere blind; and that perhaps already Allifair was waiting to greet him, when he should return and bring his news? He gazed at the huge form on the distant buckskin horse and shook his head, though sadly.
Right or wrong he had thrown in his lot with the Bassetts, and if it came to a fight he would feel it his duty to protect them against all aggression; and yet—the days were longer than any he had known and the watches of the night were endless. He could see her through his glasses when he watched the far Rock House, this woman whose heart had remained faithful to his memory whenshe had given him up for dead. Was it right, after all, for him to follow his conscience when it left her to work like a slave? And could he not, in a pinch, turn upon the savage Sharps and so gain his freedom once more? But no, he could never meet Isham again without shooting it out then and there. They were born to be enemies, to oppose each other to the end; and he had crossed his Rubicon when he had slapped Isham in the face and called him a coward and a fool.