There was no one at the store but the weak-eyed Mr. Johnson and a group of staring neutrals, but the bottles were everywhere and several of the settlers were drunker than strict neutrality called for. The Bassetts rode up slowly, scanning every face in the slack crowd; and while the others went in Sharps stood by outside the door, to be ready for any treachery.
"Gimme five dollars worth of smoking tobacco," began Winchester peremptorily, "and we want to git an order of grub."
"Why, yes—certainly," cringed Johnson, starting to get it and drawing back, "but—er—I'm sorry, but the Scarboroughs have forbidden me——"
"I'mtalking to you!" rasped Winchester, and there was a moment of silence as the meaning of his statement went home.
"But they said they'd come back," protested Johnson in desperation, "and tear down my store if I did!"
"I'll tear it down right now!" answered Winchester, "if you don't shell out that grub."
The store-keeper shelled out, but he showed a mean spirit and Winchester tapped on the counter with his gun.
"Mr. Johnson," he said, "have you joined the Scarborough gang? Oh, you ain't, eh? You're a neutral! Well, try to act the part then, or we'll come over and clean you out. Good day—and keep your mouth shut."
They rode back heavy laden with supplies and tobacco, for the Bassetts looked forward to a siege; but no siege came and they went to slaughtering hogs, oblivious of the Scarboroughs' threat. It was Winchester who took the lead, for the banter of the sheepman had stung him to the quick; and day or night he rode forth boldly, gathering horses or riding to his hounds. If Old Henry disapproved he did nothing to show it, and Bill and Sharps worked on stoically; but the Indian woman sat where she could always see the hills and Hall watched the Rock House through his glasses.
A week went by and no storm broke upon them, the Scarboroughs had gone west to work their cattle; and then in the night Hall heard the hounds rush out, and a woman's voice called for help. The Bassetts sprang up and ran to their loop-holes, for their first thought was always of treachery; but Hall recognized the voice and rushed out through the doorway, striking the hounds aside as he ran.
"Allifair!" he cried, gathering her close into his arms and lifting her up from the dogs; and as the Bassetts stood staring he carried her into the house while the hounds followed meechingly behind.
CHAPTER XII
THE MAN-KILLING BASSETTS
Shestood trembling and holding close to him, her eyes on the swarthy Bassetts and the old squaw who was stirring up the fire; but when they had retired and left the lovers to themselves Allifair whispered swift words into Hall's ears.
"They're coming," she warned. "I know it for a certainty, because Meshackatee told me himself. And they're going to kill all the Bassetts!"
He gripped her and sat still, his eyes on the weak blaze which was lapping the black stones of the fireplace, and then he inclined his head. The Bassett boys were near, lying stolidly on their beds, which they had dragged back a little into the darkness, but he knew that some of them were listening. The jealous-eyed Sharps had never ceased to watch him since the day he had come to the house; and, seeing him now with this niece of the Scarboroughs, his ears would be straining for every word.
"They're strangers," she whispered, "some Slash-knife men that Isham sent out and hired secretly. And when they ride up and catch the Bassetts offtheir guard, they're to draw their guns and shoot."
He gripped her again, for she was whispering too loud—or so it seemed to his jangled nerves—and then he sat waiting in the silence. It pressed in upon him, as oppressive as the darkness, as fearful as the thoughts it brought up; and the stir of their breathing, even the beating of their hearts, took on a terrible distinctness. But her message was not finished, and as he held her close she whispered very softly in his ear.
"We must go," she said. "He told me to tell you. He'll be waiting with horses—down the creek."
He nodded, and his mind slipped back into the past and then leapt forward to the future. In a whirlwind of dancing visions he pictured their flight down the dark canyon, and Meshackatee waiting with the horses; and then his mind struck back and he could see the Bassetts, and the Slash-knife men riding in. He imagined their short parley, the secret signal, the flash of guns; and then these men who lay about him now would be shot down and left like the sheep-herders.
"I can't leave," he whispered back. "I've got to stay and help them. But you——"
She clutched him again and was whispering earnestly into his ear when Sharps rose up from his bed. It was just a fold of blankets, laid down on the dirt floor; and as he rose, Bill rose up too.
"What are you folks whispering about?" demanded Sharps, advancing in his stocking feet from the gloom, and Winchester sat up suddenly.
"Oh, you mustn't tell!" pleaded Allifair, frantically. "I promised him I wouldn't, you know."
"Promised who?" inquired Sharps, and as she shrank away from him Hall laid a soothing hand on her head.
"She came," he said, "to deliver me a message—a friend has offered to help us escape. We were engaged to be married and I came up here to find her, but she has been held a kind of prisoner at the Rock House."
"Yes, but didn't I hear her say," challenged Sharps, still unconvinced, "that some one was coming to kill the Bassetts?"
"You bet you did!" put in Bill, "because I heard it myself. This here don't look good to me."
"If you gentlemen will just step back," suggested McIvor quietly, "and let us talk this over a minute——"
"All right," spoke up Winchester, coming quickly to the front, "get back, boys; we know he's our friend."
"Well, I don't," grumbled Sharps, but he made room, reluctantly, when Winchester shoved him away. They gathered in a knot in the back part of the room, arguing angrily among themselves, while Hall talked in low tones with Allifair.
"I am in honor bound to stay," he ended gently, "so you will have to go back—and wait."
"What—back to the Rock House?" she protested indignantly. "And leave you here to be killed! No, Hall, I am going to stay."
"Well, that is your right," he responded, after a silence. "God knows I'll protect you, if I can. How many did you say there were?"
"Oh, were you going to fight them? Why not leave it to——But no, I know you too well. There are eight or ten of them, Hall."
"And since your life and mine are involved in it now——"
"You can tell them," she consented, and sighed.
The Bassetts listened grimly as he told the brief story of Isham and his Slash-knife killers, and then Winchester held out his hand.
"Don't you worry," he said, with a smile to Allifair, "we'll take care of you, lady—and him. All we needed was to know their little game."
He stepped out jauntily as he laid her a bed by the fire and then took his brothers outside. What he said Hall never knew but when they came back even Sharps had a friendly smile.
They slept till daylight—or lay in their blankets—and at dawn there was a man at every loop-hole, searching the country for the first sight of the gunmen. The sun was just up when they appeared In the north, riding down on the Turkey Creek trail: but as they left the brush two men fell behind and disappeared in the creek bed.
"One of them fellers was Red!" announced Bill, who was looking through the glasses. "I'd know that wool hat of his anywhere. There's eight of 'em now, altogether."
"Let me look!" demanded Winchester, and afterpeering through the port-hole he passed the glasses on to Sharps.
"All Teehannos," he said. "Well, boys, this means business; and we might as well shoot to kill. I'll meet 'em at the door and when they go for their guns—well, you know, don't wait too long."
Sharps grunted and caught up his rifle impatiently. Bill watched them as they rode down the valley; and when they turned off and took the trail to their house he too dropped down by a port-hole. As for Hall, he led Allifair to Old Susie's room and leaned his carbine against the left side of the door. This opened to the right, as most doors do, and there was a boxing that just hid the gun.
"What's the idee?" inquired Winchester, with the old, care-free smile which seemed to come to him in moments of danger; and Hall smiled back, though soberly.
"I'm left-handed," he explained, "that is, with a rifle; with a pistol I use the right hand. Well, they'll be watching my right hand; but I'll reach in with my left and have my carbine before they know it."
"And then?" suggested Winchester, but Hall only shrugged and glanced back significantly at Allifair. Already she had left the room in the rear and was looking on with growing alarm—for the horses were outside the door. There was a rush of hounds, a curse and a yelp, and then a voice hailed the house.
"Well?" inquired Winchester, opening the door about a foot and looking them over coldly, and the leader of the cowboys spoke roughly.
"We're lost," he said, "been riding all night. What's the chances for something to eat?"
"I guess you've come to the wrong house," returned Winchester politely. "That's the Scarborough place over there."
He opened the door and pointed off across the plain, but the Texans were not to be denied. They were Texans, every one, and there was a wild look in their eyes as they reined in their horses and sat waiting. Winchester noted it, but his manner was calm.
"Well, all right," he said, when they protested ignorance of the Scarboroughs, "we ain't running no restaurant but if you'll wait outside a while——"
"Outside!" snapped the leader, quick to snatch at some offense, and his men ranged in behind him.
"We have ladies in the house," explained Winchester, still suavely; and Allifair appeared behind him.
"Well, tell 'em to come out of that!" ordered the boss cowboy threateningly, "and git us something to eat!"
"Take her away," whispered Hall, brushing Winchester aside and stepping in front of Allifair.
"Good morning, gentlemen," he said—"I hope you'll excuse us——"
"Send the women out!" snarled the cowboy, glaring at Hall in a fury. "You'd better, if you know what's good for you."
"What do you mean?" demanded Hall; and, asWinchester came back and stood in the door, the killer gave the signal to shoot.
"We have a way," he announced, "of getting what we want!" And he laid his hand on his gun.
He was quick, but Hall was quicker—his hand snatched out the rifle and he shot from the hip at the leader. Then as the cowboys drew their pistols he plunged into the midst of them, shooting right and left with his carbine. There was a fusillade of pistol shots, the bang of rifles from loop-holes, and as the horses pitched and jostled three men fell down between them and were trampled in the wild stampede. The horses did the rest—they bolted to escape the shooting and their riders soon gave them their heads. It was a rout, but the Bassetts had gone out of their heads with rage and the lust for blood. They had turned berserk in a moment and as the Texans galloped away they shot two more off of their horses. Of the three men who were left, two took to the creek bottom and the other dropped down behind his horse.
"Leave him to me!" ordered Winchester, stepping out into the open, and the killer grabbed for his gun. It was on the wrong side, the one towards the house, and as he reached under his horse's neck Winchester shot at his head and clipped off a part of one ear. The killer jerked back and reached over his horse's neck, only to receive another wound in the arm.
"Get away from that horse!" shouted Winchester fiercely, and then shot it through and through. Thekiller turned and fled, his broken arm flapping, and the Bassetts let him go. They had had their fill of killing and blood, for three men lay dead in the yard. Of the two wounded who escaped, one was never seen again; and the other, fleeing north, encountered a she bear with cubs, which mangled him so that he died. Only two escaped unhurt, to return to the Slash-knife and tell of the man-killing Bassetts.
CHAPTER XIII
BACK FROM THE DEAD
Asin desert spaces the bodies of the dead draw vultures from hundreds of miles, so the news of the battle, spread by some mysterious means, brought the "neutrals" to the scene of the killing. They came from distant canyons, from up under the Rim and from the west as far as Clear Creek; and as they gazed at the dead cowboys they muttered among themselves and glanced at the Bassetts, and Hall. There was awe and wonder—and a new respect—in their eyes; for each man had been shot stone dead. Two in the heart and one through the brain, and the horses had been bucking like broncs. That was shooting—and done by the Bassetts.
The story of Winchester's duel passed from lip to lip—how he had put an underbit in Tucker's left ear and broken his arm when he reached over. He it was who had shot Paine through the heart, unless the preacher man had beat him to it; and Bill and Sharps must have got the rest, because the wounds had all been made with a rifle. And so these were the half-Indians that the Scarboroughs had been so scornful of and had called the Dirty Black so-and-sos! They gazed and rode home, and theirneighbors returned just to look at the fighting Bassetts. Then they gathered at the store, and what they said there was carried to the crestfallen Scarboroughs.
No longer did they dare to ride over to the store and buy the drinks for their gunmen, and the neutrals. A wave of resentment had been roused up against them by the exposure of their treacherous plan, and they kept close to the Rock House and waited. But they were far from being whipped, and when Hall spoke of leaving he was warned that they were watching the trails. So he lingered on from day to day, hardly noticing the passage of time as he talked of the future with Allifair. But though she smiled bravely and agreed to all his plans, she had caught a trick from the watchful old squaw; and, whether they strolled beneath the cottonwoods or rode out across the plain, her eyes were always straying to the hills. Perhaps it was presentiment, a premonition of coming bloodshed—or perhaps, having lived with the Scarboroughs so long, she sensed what was going on—but each day she grew more watchful, more apprehensive of danger, though she passed it off with a smile.
As she passed through the doorway she glanced instinctively at the bullet-holes where the Slash-knife men had shot up the house; and the dark, bloody stains where three men had died sent a shudder through her body as she passed. Old memories leapt up of other days when her own kinsmen had been shot down at their doors, and when theman at her side had come prowling back at night to shoot down even more. He had killed her own kin, and her brothers had killed his; and now, like a nightmare, another feud rose to thwart them, for the Scarboroughs would shoot him on sight. For it was Hall, leaping out into the midst of the killers, who had defeated them by spoiling their aim; and she, by running away and revealing the plot, had added fresh fuel to their hate. But they would not kill her—even the Scarboroughs had their shame—all they would do would be to shoot down her lover. And so she waited, and trembled.
For a week and more the Bassetts had kept close, sensing the mischief in the air, but as the days wore by and the Scarboroughs did not strike, their vigilance at last relaxed. None of the Scarboroughs had been killed, it was not a blood-feud yet, but only some sheep-herders on the side of the Bassetts and some cowboys employed by the Scarboroughs. The old enmity remained and the Scarboroughs were implacable, but the Bassetts were still for peace. They had proved their worth as fighting men par excellence and were content to let sleeping dogs lie. So, as all remained quiet, Winchester rode out across the range; and the next day was Sharps' turn to go.
There had been a rain in the night and the morning was crystal clear, all the hills stood out clean against the sky, and as the sun rose up higher without revealing any ambush the men took their ropes and stepped out. It was Sharps who went first, heading straight across the flat to where his night-horse was circling its stake; and Winchester and Bill had started after him when something called them back. Hall ventured forth last of all, for Allifair had delayed him, and halfway to his horse she called him again. He turned, but too late—there was a volley from the hills and he and Sharps went down.
There was a silence, an aching moment when even the horses stood still; and then, as Allifair sprang out to run to Hall, a strong hand hurled her back. The door slammed behind her and as the bar fell in place she heard Winchester's voice in the darkness.
"It's them Scarboroughs!" he cursed. "Don't you step outside the door or they'll shoot you down like a dog. Bill, take that far loop-hole—they're up on this first hill—and Dad, you watch the door."
He fumbled for his gun and hurried off to guard a port-hole, and Old Henry took his post by the door. Within the darkened house there was silence again, except for the wailing of Susie and the muttering of the startled men. They were taken by surprise, and as they scanned the empty landscape they imagined enemies springing up everywhere. Bill watched the creek bed and Winchester the south hill; and Old Henry, his voice plaintive, gave way to senile laments as he gazed at the body of Sharps.
"He's—he's alive, boys!" he quavered, as he saw the huge bulk move; and before they could stop him he had unbarred the door and dashed out into the open. The assassins on the hilltop seemed tohesitate from shame, or perhaps they were waiting to make sure; but as he passed out the gate a heavy rifle roared and the old man tottered and fell.
"Come back here!" shouted Winchester, snatching Allifair as she fled; and, while he was dragging her back, Old Susie eluded him and ran screaming to bring in her husband. He had risen on his knees but as she stooped to lift him up a second bullet, aimed deadly straight, almost tore him from her arms. Old Henry was struck dead, but she would not believe it; she dragged him back anyway, crying out against his murderers, while the men on the hill-top laughed.
"That's three of 'em!" they yelled, and Winchester barred the door again, for he feared that his mother would be next. The Scarboroughs had come to make good their boast and kill the last of the Bassetts; and the old Indian woman was no more to them than one of his barking dogs. They had come to kill them all, and even the gentle Allifair could not pass out that door and come back. They were killers, after all, these cowardly Scarboroughs, whom he had allowed to live too long; but killers in their own way, the sneaking, stealthy way of the Apaches, who hunted men down like game. Three men already had fallen before their guns; but he knew them, they would not fight in the open. They would not rush the house, and, while Bill kept a lookout, Winchester stood with his hand on the door.
Outside, on the plain, Hall McIvor lay limp where he had dropped at the first fatal volley; but Sharps,groaning and grunting like a huge, wounded bear, was clawing the earth with his hands. He did not call out, but inched feebly towards the house, and Winchester turned away. The men on the hill were letting Sharps live in order to trap both him and Bill; for before they could reach Sharps the Scarboroughs would shoot them down, and then they would finish him. It was a part of their system, figured out to a nicety, but Winchester and Bill did not go out. They stayed by their loop-holes, searching the hill-top for some movement that would reveal the cunning ambush of the enemy.
The sun came out hot and Sharps sank back exhausted; his black head heaved, and he was dead. Of all the Bassetts, the Scarboroughs had feared him most, and now that he was gone they hooted. Winchester and Bill, by their loop-holes inside the house, still watched the hillside, so ominously barren of life; but not a man moved and they did not fire a cartridge, for they would need them all, if they lived. They were outnumbered and surrounded, and when night fell their enemies would creep down close. They would slip up to the house, which two men could not guard, and fire it or break down the door; and then the Bassetts, if they lived that long, might hope to avenge their dead.
In the corner old Susie sat swaying back and forth while she mourned over the body of her husband, and at the loop-hole by the door Allifair gazed out through her tears at the form which had once been her lover. He lay on his face in a shallow hole,where the hogs in rooting had dug out a wallow in a slight depression in the ground. Her first madness was gone now and she knew better than to go near him; for before she could rush out and bring in his body they would riddle it again with bullets. It was better to wait, though it wrung her heart to do so, until night should bring its black shroud, and then she could go forth and take him in her arms and weep out the anguish in her breast.
She closed her eyes in prayer—though for what she did not know, since all that she lived for was lost—but as she looked out again she thought she saw his body move, his hand draw slowly back! She stepped to the door, which had been barred against her, and pulled it open to see. Yes, his body had moved, but at the snouting of a huge hog which even now was grunting in his face!
With a cry she flung the heavy door wide open and dashed out to save his dear body. To be mangled by hogs, and within sight of those who loved him—her anger swept her forth before she knew it. So swiftly did she run that she had reached down and caught him up before the first shot rang out, and, knowing their purpose, she shielded him with her body while the bullets smashed spitefully all about her. They were trying to frighten her, to make her drop her burden or expose him to a last vengeful shot, but the blood of Southern feudists ran strong in her veins and she faced the hill disdainfully. Then, as she gathered him closer and started for the house, the storm of bullets ceased. Winchester and Bill had marked down their men and their rifles were clearing the hill.
She dragged him through the doorway and sank down, half-fainting—and when she came to he was alive. Alive and smiling, though with grim lines about his mouth and a terrible intentness in his eyes.
"My sweetheart," he murmured, stooping to kiss her once more, and then he lifted her up. Yes, her lover who had been dead, had come back to life, to cherish and protect her still; and asking no questions she drew down his head and tried to kiss the anger from his eyes.
CHAPTER XIV
A MCIVOR
Thereis a look in the eyes of eagles which sometimes is found in men—a bold, resolute look, changing swiftly to defiance and a hatred that nothing can quench. It is the sign of the fighting man—not the sly, vicious killer, but the man who will fight till he dies. Hall McIvor wore it blazing when he reached for his rifle and strode over to join the Bassetts.
"Played 'possum, eh?" muttered Winchester, who had lost his old smile.
"Well, I wish we could bring in Sharps."
"No use," answered Hall, "they're just waiting to get you. Shall I kill the rest of those hogs."
"Yes, kill the last one of them!" burst out Winchester in a frenzy. "My God, them Scarboroughs ain't human!"
"No, they're not," replied Hall, and glanced up at the hill before he crossed the room to attend to the hogs. He surveyed them with loathing, with a shudder of horror at the fate he had so narrowly missed; and then, very carefully, he shot them one by one as they gathered about the body of Sharps. They followed their own nature, even as the menupon the hill, and so he shot them down; and so he would shoot—and without any more remorse—the men who had ambushed Sharps. Their bullets had gone wild or they would have shot him too and left him a carcass for the hogs; and, but for the devotion of the woman that he loved, he would be at their mercy still.
At the first volley of shots he had known that he was caught, and that to run was to invite certain death; and so he had dropped down, rolling swiftly out of sight while the smoke was still in their eyes. It was a trick that he had learned from the same careful father who had reared him with but one object in life—to make him a killer of men, a terror to the Randolph clan. He it was who had taught him to shoot left-handed with the rifle, since then he would present his right side to the enemy and avoid a fatal bullet through the heart. But in the battle a bullet had found his guarded heart, he had been left on the field for dead; and now, a second time, he had been spared from death in order to live for revenge.
They still thought he was dead, those whooping cravens on the hillside who had seen him dragged into the house; but if there was a God above to look down and judge men's hearts he swore to make them pay. Not while he could lift a hand should they shoot down white-haired men and make sport of weeping women; they had invited the wrath of Almighty God and he would be His sure sword. His hand, which they thought dead, should rise andsmite them; he would kill them one by one——He paused, for Allifair had laid her hand on his and was gazing deep down into his eyes.
"Remember," she said, "you are mine now—I saved you. And we must leave this horrible place."
He frowned and drew back, a stern refusal on his lips as he remembered the pitiless code of the feudist—but at the look in her eyes he bowed his head and gave her his hand in assent.
"It is the only way," she whispered, "if we are ever to end the feud before all our kinfolks are dead. Let these men fight it out—but if you join in with them now, I know you, you will never draw out. Let Winchester and Bill take their revenge on the Scarboroughs, and we will go back home. They cannot kill us then, because I shall be a McIvor and you will have married a Randolph."
"Yes, dear," he nodded, but he would not say more and she left him to watch over the dead.
The long day dragged on with men shouting from the hilltops, and then the smash and thud of the big, explosive bullets announced the beginning of a new attack. In some way the Scarboroughs had procured bullets which blew up the instant they struck against the house, and at each volley of shots the mortised logs crashed and jumped, while the chinks gave off a thin smoke. But after the first volleys the shooting died away and again a voice shouted from the hill. Hall muttered—it was the voice of Isham.
"Hey! Send out that woman!" he called downloudly. "Last chance—we're going to do a clean job!"
"Yes you are!" yelled back Bill, but Winchester was silent and it remained for Hall to speak.
"You'd better go, Allifair," he said. "I'll try to join you later." And then he whispered a few last words into her ear.
"Dare to trust 'em?" questioned Winchester as Hall opened the door, and when Hall nodded he assented. "Well, good-by, then," he said, giving his hand to Allifair, "I'll see that Mr. Hall gets away."
"Oh, will you?" she cried, and glanced guiltily at her lover; then gave the haggard Winchester both her hands. But there was something more behind, and as she gazed at him inquiringly he reached down and picked up a blanket. "For him," he said, and, glancing out at Sharps, he turned and strode abruptly away. Then she knew and the tears started suddenly to her eyes as she stepped bravely out into the open.
"Go back to the Rock House!" directed Isham from his hiding-place, but she went past the body of Sharps. Hall watched her as she bent down and covered it up without even a glance at the hill; and as she went across the plain he followed her through his glasses, though the bullets were smashing against the house. As each ball struck it seemed to rend the timbers, spitting lead viciously in through the chinks; and once more old Susie raised her voice in a wail, for she knew that the end was near. While the sun was in the sky Winchester could keepthem at bay; but when the shadows fell and blurred his sights, then the Scarboroughs would come down from their hill. They would creep up to the house and throw fire on the roof and shoot them all down as they ran; and the body of her husband would be burned where it lay—the Scarboroughs would destroy them all. But Winchester had taken the shovel from the fireplace and started a hole under the wall, and as evening came on he buckled on his two six-shooters and stepped to the mouth of his tunnel.
"Well, boys," he said, "we've got to skip out or they'll burn the old woman's house. I'm heading south, myself, as soon as it gets dark; and Bill, you'd better head north. Don't no one come near me, because I'm going to run hog-wild and shoot at every bush I see move. You stay right here, Hall, until the fireworks begin and then give the lady my regards. If I git out of this alive I'll take care of them Scarboroughs without any assistance fromyou."
He shook hands with them gravely and dropped down into the hole; they heard him digging, and then he was gone. Bill wriggled out after him, bellying off through the weeds, and Hall watched from the bottom of the hole.
Already the evening star was glowing in the west and the dusk gathered deeper among the trees; every shadow veiled some movement, the very earth seemed to whisper and the wind rustled by like a snake. He started and crouched back as he hearda shot up the creek, then three more and a racing through the brush; but still he held back until, down towards the south, the night suddenly burst into flame. There were shouts and loud challenges, a running fusillade that led away rapidly around the hill; and then, like a shadow, he glided out of his hiding-place and disappeared in the river-bottom below. A half hour later, riding a Scarborough horse which he had stolen from its picket on the plain, he circled around and edged in on the Rock House, where the dogs were baying like mad.
Along the hillside to the east the fight was still raging, breaking out after a short silence in a sudden rattle of pistol shots, punctuated by the bang of heavy rifles. Winchester had carried the war into the Scarborough camp, and, knowing every man for his enemy, he had set them all to shooting by the swiftness with which he moved. When they were not firing at him they were firing at each other; and from the Indian mound, where he had agreed to meet Allifair, Hall could see that they were scattered everywhere. Fights were springing up like wild-fire, only to die down suddenly after a veritable blaze of shooting; and in his man-hunter's mind he saw the wisdom of Winchester's move in going among them alone. But he had come to find Allifair and hurry her away before the Scarboroughs returned from their siege; and, standing beneath the oak tree, where she could just see him against the sky, he looked across the creek at the house.
It was dark, except for a dim light in the kitchen,and against the square doorway he could see women's forms as they hastened to and fro. And a woman's voice, loud, scolding and insistent, made known the presence of the vixenish Zoolah. At long intervals, as he listened, he could hear the voice of Allifair as she attempted some faint defense; and then Miz Zoolah would burst out afresh as she hurried out to listen to the shooting.
"I hope he kills them all!" she railed from the doorway. "Yes, and leaves them lay for the hogs!" She dodged into the house to renew her loud scolding and Hall settled down to wait. From the loop-hole in her kitchen Allifair could look out and see him, dimly outlined beneath the branches of the tree; but she could not come out until the battle was ended and Miz Zoolah had retired to her rest. From the bunk-house beyond and around the lighted kitchen, the watchdogs still bayed at the east; but no messenger came to bring news of the fighting and Mrs. Scarborough lingered on and on. At last the shooting stopped and the hounds challenged a galloping rider, who stayed to eat and then spurred away; and as midnight approached the house quieted down and a form came silently up the path.
It was Allifair, her few clothes tied up in a bundle, turning nervously to look back at the house; and as Hall rose to meet her she ran to his arms and burst into long-repressed tears.
"Oh, that woman!" she sobbed, "if she wasn't my own aunt——" And then she fell to weeping. "But anyway," she went on, "Bill and Winchestergot away, and two or three men got shot. They're looking for them everywhere, and I suppose the trails will be watched—do you think we can get past their guards?"
"We can try," answered Hall, "that is, if you wish. But perhaps it would be better if I came back for you later, when the excitement has kind of died down. You could hardly stand the journey now; this day has been too much."
"Yes, it has," she acknowledged, sinking down on the ground and pillowing her head against his breast, "and yet—we are always putting it off. Back home we could have married, but you had to build our cabin first; and now—well, where could we go?"
"I don't know," answered Hall, "because I'm a stranger in this country—I only know one trail out. And that trail will be guarded; so perhaps, after all——"
"But you'll come back soon, won't you?" she murmured wearily. "I'm afraid I can't go now. The strain was too much for me, when I thought you were dead—something seemed to snap in my brain. But now listen, dear, please don't join in this fighting. Will you always remember me first? And think of our kinsfolk back there in Kentucky—and of all our happiness, too. Think how happy we could be if we were married at last and back in our own mountains again; and the Randolphs and McIvors, after all these years——"
She stopped and sat bolt upright, a nervous tremorrunning through her, for Mrs. Scarborough had risen up before them. She held a pistol in one hand and behind her followed a dog which bristled at McIvor and growled.
"Put up those hands!" she commanded, pointing her pistol at him threateningly. "And so you're Hall McIvor! Well, let me tell you, Mr. McIvor, your father killed my brother and he killed my sister's son, too. You're nothing but a murderer and if you make the least move I'm going to shoot you dead. And before I'll let Allifair marry a son of Bland McIvor I'll shoot her down in her tracks!"
She towered above them, like a witch in the starlight, and as Allifair broke down and gave way to tears, Hall lifted her gently up.
"You don't need that pistol," he said to Miz Zoolah, "because no man that claims to be a gentleman ever raised his hand against a woman. I never have, and I never will."
"Yes, there you go again," she burst out vindictively, "I ought to have known it was you. Was there ever a McIvor that didn't have the same twaddle about his 'honor,' and being a gentleman? Well, what kind of honor is it when a grown man like your father shoots down my sister's boy? He was just a child, hardly fourteen years old——"
"Yes, but he shot at my father twice. And a boy, Mrs. Scarborough, can pull just as hard on a trigger as a man that's forty years old."
"Well, if that isn't a McIvor!" she burst out, laughing spitefully, "but I'll fix you, here and now.You put that fool down and march back to the house—I'll turn you over to Isham."
"You know he'll kill me," replied Hall, suddenly stepping away from Allifair, and Zoolah raised her voice.
"Yes, andI'llkill you!" she yelled, "you miserable murderer! Go on, now—step off down that path!"
He hesitated, for his hot Southern blood was up, and Allifair sprang at her aunt.
"Run!" she cried, striking the gun aside, and Hall made a jump into the darkness. The dog, which had been watching him, rushed in and grabbed his leg; but McIvor turned and kicked him off and as Miz Zoolah began to shoot he plunged down the hill and was gone.
CHAPTER XV
THE CASTLE IN THE AIR
Whena man flees for safety it is seldom into the unknown, for that is always fearful. Nine times out of ten he heads for some old stamping-ground, and generally he heads for home. Hall McIvor was lost in a country so wild that not even a wagon-track entered it; four trails led in and out and he took the one he knew, the one that went to Tonto. It was night, but he had a horse that knew the way, or at least that could follow a trail; and at the first flush of dawn he spurred down Jump-Off Point and splashed into Turkey Creek. Then he rode without stopping until, at Cold Spring, his horse threw up its head and quit. Hall was back where his troubles had begun.
At this same spot, not a month before, Isham Scarborough and Red had held him up and charged him with being a Bassett. Now the month had passed and hewasa Bassett, and the Scarboroughs would be hot on his trail; and if they caught him again the hangman's knot in the cliff-dwelling would be something more than a grim joke. The Scarboroughs were desperate; they had tried to kill off the Bassetts as they would stamp out a nest of rattlesnakes; but the most dangerous one had escaped, leaving his mark on three of them, and they would ride like the wind to cut him off. And, next after Winchester and the impetuous Bill, they would seek for Hall McIvor. Miz Zoolah would see to that, now that she knew he was Allifair's lover, and Isham would shoot him on sight. He looked around anxiously, casting about for some hiding place, and his eyes came to rest on a cliff-dwelling.
It was stuck like a swallow's nest in a hole in the rocks, high up against the base of the crag; and there, though he would have neither food nor water, he would find shelter from his enemies. For that very purpose the ancient cliff-dwellers had built it there, and every steep trail and close-built rampart had been constructed with the idea of defense. Yet if he left his horse below they would know he was hiding near and hunt him down like a rabbit—he mounted again and spurred on down the trail until once more he came to the creek. There he loosened the horse's saddle and set him free, stepping off into the running water.
The trail itself had struck over a long point which came down from Baker Mountain to the west and he turned up the creek-bed, stepping from stone to stone, until he had made his way back to Cold Spring. Then he waded up the torrent which rushed down from the cliffs and as he ducked under the wild grapevines his feet fell into a natural pathway, worn deep along the sides of the chasm. It was an ancient trail, half obliterated by cloudburstsand the rush of tumbling waters, but as it led up higher and the chasm widened out, Hall had a feeling that it was leading him somewhere. Not to the dwelling beneath the crag, for that was far to the left, but to some sanctuary where he might take shelter with Allifair. But the trail split and was lost in a maze of huge boulders and he found himself up on the bench.
Behind him rose the cliffs, terrace above terrace of shattered porphyry, but already his pursuers were in the canyon below—four Texans and hard-riding Isham. He watched them from the rim as they went whipping down the trail, then settled back and waited grimly. Down the creek-bed they galloped, then up and over the point and down once more into the creek; but as they saw his horse grazing they wheeled and took cover, dropping off to reconnoiter on foot. For half an hour or more their heads bobbed up as they crept along the bank of the stream and then in disgust they strode down to the water and gathered about his horse. He smiled as he saw them cutting circles for sign—they were trying to find his tracks; but he had covered them too well and after hunting for several hours they came back and camped at Cold Spring.
From his lookout among the crags Hall could hear their loud arguments, and their guesses at where he had gone; he could see their food, almost smell the can of coffee that they boiled over the mesquite coals; but still he lingered, eating acorns to stay his hunger, until at last they mounted androde on. More than one had shrewdly guessed that he was around there somewhere, but the brush was so thick as to make pursuit hopeless and they were loath to work on foot. So they went away and left him, agreeing to ride the trail first, and Hall began to think about food. On the bench to which he had mounted the grass stood knee-high and there were deer and bear tracks everywhere, but one shot from his rifle would bring the Scarboroughs back so he prowled through the oaks after turkey. They were there by the hundred, fat gobblers who just escaped him and hens that ran like lightning through the brush; but as he pursued a brood of young ones he discovered a nest of eggs and the food question, for the moment, was solved. The eggs were still fresh, and, after eating one raw, he hastened back to his lookout.
Already a feeling of security had come over him and as he waited for their return he worked busily on a turkey trap, which he planned to set at a spring. First he cut some long sticks, to make the top and sides, and then with limber switches he wattled them together, and at evening he took them down to the spring. It lay in the bottom of a brushy gulch and the turkey tracks led down to it everywhere. Cutting out a space above the spring he planted his wattled cage firmly; and then, digging a trench to lead the turkeys up and under it, he staked off the entrance inside. That was all it was, a fenced trench and a cage, but if any turkey strayed into it and lifted his head he would try,turkey-like, to find a hole between the slats instead of stooping down to pass out at the hole. Hall concealed the trap with brush and strewed acorns along the trench; and then, as no turkeys came, he built wings leading up to it and hid himself in the oak trees below.
There was a loud gobble from the hillside, the anxiousquilp-quilpof a hen, and the great birds leapt out and came sailing down through the air to land with a thump by the spring. For a moment they crouched frozen as they saw the wings of the trap, but no one had ever hunted them and they soon recovered from their alarm while still others soared down from the heights. An old hen with her little ones came trailing up from the chasm, and Hall watched them with bated breath; but as even these refused to go near his trap he rose up and made a rush. The hen dodged away, calling loudly to her brood, but in the stampede which followed he drove three of them into the wings and up the trench into the trap. That evening he ate meat, and when the morning came he set out to explore his domain.
The chasm up which he had come cut its way through the crags to a level mountain-top far beyond; and that, according to Meshackatee, was preempted by Old Man Baker, who claimed the whole mountain for himself. Since the Indians had killed his son, no Apache dared venture up there; and Hall made up his mind to follow their example, for Baker had shot every Indian on sight. There was game enough and to spare on the first lowbench; and farther up the canyon he discovered a hidden basin, where the deer and wild turkey swarmed. But what he sought for most was a hiding place among the cliffs, which would shelter him and his mate; and he clambered along the bear-track which led off around the point to the first of the dizzy cliff-dwellings.
It proved to be no more than some walls of broken rock, piled up in a shelving hole; and house after house, as he inspected them closer, turned out to be nothing but skeletons. Most of them had no roofs, they were all hard to get to and entirely too far from water; and the trails that led up to them made it absolutely certain that he would be seen going to and fro. There was only one place which would answer his purpose and it was like an eagle's nest above him. Within a great, arching cave, high up in the cliff, there stood a huge dwelling, with doors and windows sealed and a rampart across its front. It was a medieval castle, transported from dreamland and set like a jewel in the cliff. At the extreme southern side there was a rift in the solid roof that gave promise of a possible descent; but the path which led up to it, if path there ever was, had vanished with the passing of the centuries. Perhaps it had caved off and was buried in the talus which extended along the base of the precipice; but there his castle stood, aloof and unapproachable, whichever way he came.
The days passed and he became a wild animal, prowling the hillside like a mountain lion as hestalked the young turkeys or sought the hidden way to his castle. He knew it must be there, some cave or hidden passageway, for the rift from above had turned out a mere crack down which a rat could hardly crawl. He sickened of the taste of eggs and broiled turkeys, and of acorns ground up and boiled; yet the sight of that dwelling, high up above the canyon, held him on from day to day. It was a haven of refuge, if he could only reach it—and he knew there must be a path to it somewhere.
From the bench below he often stood and looked up at it, trying to imagine where the path might have passed; and at last he went back and began to explore the chasm, for there could be no other way to the cave. Above, below and far to the south of the dwelling the cliff rose sheer and smooth; but the gateway to the chasm was not so far from the castle that it could not give entrance from the side. Already he had threaded the narrow pathway that led up the bed of the stream; but now he climbed higher and, from the opposite side, looked across for some suggestion of a trail. The canyon wall was steep but not too steep; in places he almost imagined he saw a trail—a row of cat-steps here, a stretch of natural stairs, an ascent from shelf to shelf. But of what value was an ascent if it took him to no passageway—what he sought was a way to the cave. He lay idly in the shade, gazing across at the canyon wall, and as the silence came back he saw a shadow move down the stream-bed, pause stealthily and move again. Then, etched against the granite,a huge mountain-lion stood out, tawny red and almost invisible until it moved.
He looked on, still idly, for not since he had come there had he ventured to fire a shot; and the lion, which had been hiding from him, started stealthily up the path that he had been tracing from shelf to shelf. He padded softly up the cat-steps, took the stairs at a bound—and disappeared in a high, narrow crack. A half hour later Hall followed in his footsteps and at the mouth of his cave he received the last assurance that the pathway led to the castle. A cool wind breathed out of it, tainted with the strong musk of lions; and where could it come from but there?
He turned back eagerly to gather pitch-pine from a piñon stump; then entered, holding the torch like a club. There was a rustle before him, an uneasy growl, the flash of startled eyes; but still they fled on and he followed through the darkness until he saw a cleft of light overhead. It merged into an orifice that let in a soft glow and the vision of a skulking form; and then the invisible path, which had held his feet through the darkness, took him out into blinding day. He was standing in the court of his castle in the air and the lion was crouching by the door.
CHAPTER XVI
THERE'S ALWAYS A WAY
Everywindow and door of the cliff-dwellers' castle had been sealed against man and beast—the mountain lion was at bay and as he crouched down to spring Hall shot him through the head. He leapt into the air and fell kicking on his back and the man took possession of his den. That was the way he had learned of getting what he wanted, and the castle had been his dream. But the doors had been walled up and plastered over with mud a thousand years before and he hesitated to break them in. Perhaps within those walls there lay the bones of chiefs, with their weapons close to their hands; and after the passage of the centuries it seemed an impious thing to break in and disturb their ancient dust. The court alone was large enough to give him room to live and the whole world lay at his feet.
At the crack of his rifle the echoes of Deadman Canyon had awakened from their week-long sleep; they bandied it back and forth, from cliff to distant cliff, the news that a man was there. Hall stood at the rampart and gazed up and down thecanyon, and far away to the east; and as he watched he saw a horseman drop down into a ravine and ride for the Scarborough's stalking-ground. The rifle-shot had drawn him from a dim trail miles away, so keen had been his ears, and as he edged out on a point and crept forward to observe the spring Hall knew he was one of the man-killers. For an hour and more he scouted about the water, but when at last he stepped out into the open Hall saw at a glance it was Meshackatee.
There was the same huge bulk, the same battered hat, the jumper and the bulging chaps; and the horse which had blended into the landscape like a deer was the buckskin pony, Croppie. Yes, the man was Meshackatee; but what was his mission there, and why did he keep hid in the brush? A cold hand seemed to take McIvor by the throat—perhaps he was hunting for him! Although their relations had been friendly for the short time they were together, since then Meshackatee had had plenty of occasion to regret the trust he had bestowed. Instead of spying upon the Bassetts, Hall had joined them against the Scarboroughs; and later, when Meshackatee had sent him warning by Allifair, he had turned the information against them. Yes, more than that, he had left Meshackatee waiting down the creek while he stayed and did battle with the Slash-knives.
Hall watched him from his eyrie as he studied the trail for signs and finally retired to the cliff-dwellings, and then he went back through the coldblackness of the tunnel to store his hiding-place with food. What he feared most had happened, the first shot from his gun had brought the man-hunters upon him. Perhaps they had been watching through their high-powered glasses, or slipping down to look for his tracks; but now they knew he was there—or at least Meshackatee did—and there was nothing to do but to prepare for a siege. He ran hurriedly to the turkey traps which he had set up the canyon and came back with a pair of big birds; and then he went for acorns and filled his one canteen with water from the ice-cold creek. By that time it was dark and he returned to his lookout to await the next move of his enemies.
All that evening he watched the flicker from Meshackatee's lurking place, the loop-holed dwelling above the spring; but the fire was a blind for in the morning Meshackatee came back, leading a pack-animal down from the east. During the day he stayed close and Hall put in the time by skinning the mountain lion. But as evening approached again and none of the Scarboroughs rode in, his patience gave way before a yearning for human society, a craving for companionship—and food. So weary had he become of his perpetual turkey diet that he had broiled a steak from the haunch of the panther, and found it far from bad. But he could not live forever without coffee and salt; and, since he must make a move some time, he decided to make it right then and put Meshackatee's friendship to the test.
As darkness fell he crept down the gloomy chasm and waded across the creek; and then, with a stealthiness that not even an Indian could excel, he stalked Meshackatee's camp. He had retired within the cliff-dwelling, trusting to the watchfulness of his dog more than to any special vigilance of his own; and when Hall peered through the doorway he saw him sitting by the fire, deeply engaged in some mechanical task. In one hand he held a small bow with its string wound round a shaft which seemed to twirl in his grasp like a drill, and in the other he held some object that gleamed in the firelight and looked like a .45 cartridge. The dog 'Pache lay asleep on the far side of the fire, there was a whirring noise from the drill; and when Meshackatee looked up Hall was standing in the doorway with a questioning look in his eye. If Meshackatee noticed the rifle, held negligently at the hip, he concealed his knowledge well.
"Hello there!" he hailed, and the dog sprang up barking, his hair bristling forward with rage. "Aw, shut up, now, 'Pache!" rebuked Meshackatee indignantly, "you're a hell of a watch-dog, I swow! Come in, Hall; come in! Been looking for you everywhere! Shut up, you whelp, or I'll warp ye!"
He reached for a stick and the dog retired growling, skinning his teeth at the disturber of his dreams.
"Kinder startled him," explained Meshackatee, as Hall stepped inside, but McIvor spoke to the point.
"You've been looking for me?" he inquired."Well, let's come to an understanding—are you still in the employ of the Scarboroughs?"
"Hell—no!" burst out Meshackatee with explosive emphasis, "I quit 'em two weeks ago. Their work got too raw forme."
"Then we can be friends," suggested Hall, holding out his hand and Meshackatee rose up and took it.
"You're whistling!" he said, "and I guess mebby you need one—how long since you had a square meal?"
"Well, some time," admitted Hall, "but tell me, first of all, have you heard any news from Allifair?"
"Ye-es," returned Meshackatee, "she's still with the Scarboroughs. I sent an Injun in last week to look around. He said there was lots of cowboys, and two womenfolks cooking, and the cowboys was rounding up stock. But I heard from other sources that Miz Zoolah has written home and told Allifair's brothers to come out."
"What—to get her?"
"Or you!" hinted Meshackatee grimly, and Hall nodded his head regretfully.
"I was afraid of it," he added. "Cal and Ewing are hard men—we've had several encounters already."
"Well, the word I git is that the Scarboroughs are sending everywhere to hire all the gunmen they can. And, since they've killed Sharps and old Henry Bassett, they've come right out into the open. Everybody always knew they had a weakness forstray stock, but now they've joined a gang that works in three states and steals horses from plumb down in Texas. That judge down in Tonto that give the Maverick Basin boys a tip to settle their differences with a Winchester—well, he claims he never said it, but he sure played merry hell, because the wrong outfit is coming out on top. Them ranchers down on the Verde and clean to Geronimo are making an awful howl, and this gang of Texas horse-thieves is driving their stock off by the hundreds and running them up into the Basin. It's a regular hold-out, a horse-thieves' exchange, where Arizona horses are traded into Texas and Texas broncs swopped the other way. I been down in Tonto and the folks is all het up over it—some talk of a Vigilance Committee, and so forth."
He paused and as Hall stared moodily into the fire Meshackatee reached over and picked up a coffee-pot.
"I'll cook you a little grub," he volunteered briskly, and Hall came back from his dreams.
"Of course," went on Meshackatee, having won his attention, "this business don't mean much toyou. All you want is your girl and——"
"Yes, but how am I to get her?" demanded McIvor fiercely.
"Well——" began Meshackatee, and then he stopped. "Of course there's always a way."
"How do you mean?" inquired Hall, as he failed to elucidate, but Meshackatee only mumbled in his beard.
"Drink some coffee," he said; "git some grub under your belt. A man is a mouse when he's starved."
He heated up some bread and a kettle of beans and cut a can of fruit, and when Hall had eaten Meshackatee took up the discussion exactly where he had let it drop.
"There's always a way," he nodded impressively, "provided you've got the nerve. Them Texans are ranicky, I'll admit that from the start, and Isham has turned plumb bad. Always thought he was a blow-hard, a big bag of wind, but the scoundrel has turned out a killer. I'm nothing but a gunman, or that's what they call me, and I can't say I'm squeamish a bit. When them sheepmen come in I was in the fore-front of the battle—might have killed one or two of 'em myself. And furthermore, when they hired Paine and them Slash-knife boys to ride in and clean up on the Bassetts—I could stand for that stuff, too. It was rough, but they had a fighting chance. But this downright murdering, like shooting Old Henry and leaving Sharps out for the hogs—well, right there was where I quit. But I didn't quit quick enough—that Isham had gone bad, and he damned nigh got my skelp."
He rumpled his hair thoughtfully and shook his head at the fire. "You never can tell," he said.
"Did he attempt to kill you?" asked McIvor, but Meshackatee shrugged it away.
"Never mind," he grumbled, "that's betweenhim and me. But lemme give you a tip—if you meet up with Isham you go for your gun right now. But you won't meet nobody—that ain't the way they fight; the first thing you meet will be a forty-five explosive bullet—they're fighting from cover entirely. I've been down to Tonto talking with the sheriff of the county and a few other oldcompadresof mine, and it's the consensus of opinion that Maverick Basin is going to be damned on-healthy. Especially for officers and such. At the same time, as I said, there's always a way——"
"Well, what is that way?" broke in McIvor impatiently. "Are you thinking of going back?"
"I might be," admitted Meshackatee, "but I heard a gun down here yesterday, and I thought mebbe it might be Isham. He's thehombreI'm gunning for, to tell you the truth, and so I've been watching the trail. And in the meantime, while my time was idle on my hands, I've been fixing up some more of these."
He picked up one of the cartridges upon which he had been working and McIvor examined it critically. A hole had been bored into the heart of the lead bullet and a smaller cartridge neatly imbedded.
"One of them explosive bullets," boasted Meshackatee shamelessly; "I claim to have invented 'em, myself. A twenty-two blank, set exactly in the middle of it, and the minute she hits something—zingo! she blows up like a bomb. Maybe yousaw how they worked when we were chowsing them sheep? Well, the Scarboroughs are shooting them atmen."
"I know that," nodded McIvor, "but you spoke of some plan."
"Oh, sure," replied Meshackatee, "well, what I had in mind was to go back and try these onthem."
"And then?"
"Well, take to the brush; out-Injun 'em if we can—I'll admit it's kinder resky."
"I see," murmured Hall, and fell silent again while Meshackatee watched him narrowly.
"Of course," went on Meshackatee, "there's a hell-scad of them Texans——"
"That don't worry me a bit," put in McIvor abruptly. "I've been doing this kind of fighting all my life. But I promised Miss Randolph I'd keep out of this trouble and I aim to make my word good. At the same time, if the Scarboroughs have sent for her brothers——"
"They sure have!" affirmed Meshackatee, "and I'll tell you how I know it. One of them neutrals came out to buy 'em some cartridges and he showed me the letter himself. It was addressed to Cal Randolph, somewhere back in Kentucky——"
"That's all right," interrupted McIvor, "I believe you. It's only a question of whether I can get her away before her brothers arrive. Because of course you must see that I'm sure to lose her if I shoot Cal or Ewing now. I've simply got to disappearthe moment they arrive and stay hid until they go home."
"Well, we can fix it to git her," spoke up Meshackatee at length, "or at least we can make a try. But the first thing to do is to bushwack old Isham and put the fear of God in their hearts. They're riding the hills in bands, or so they tell me, out gunning for Winchester and young Bill; and there's a bunch of them Bassett neutrals that'll soon have to move if some one don't tap off Isham. But here's onehombre, I'm telling you, that ain't skeered of themall—if I can jest git one man for a pardner. A man has got to sleep, and that's where they ketch you, unless you happen to have a pardner to keep watch."
"That is true," agreed Hall, "and I'd be more than pleased to join you if it were not for my promise to Allifair. But under the circumstances, Meshackatee——"
"What, do you mean to say," burst out Meshackatee provocatively, "that you're going to let Isham git away with it? Didn't he try to shoot you down the same time he killed Sharps, and leave you lay for the hogs? Didn't he shoot at your girl when she run out to save you and all but kill her too? I was under the impression——"
"Just a moment," broke in Hall, looking him straight in the eye, "I believe in telling the truth. Back in Kentucky, where I come from, a man who would attack a woman would be run out of thecountry over night—and his own family would do their part—but I have promised my intended not to join in on this feud, unless by so doing I can save her. But before we go any further—why is it, my friend, that you are so keen for this desperate adventure? As I said before, I believe in telling the truth——"
"Well—therethen!" exclaimed Meshackatee, throwing back his shirt and revealing a small star underneath, "I'm a deputy sheriff, that's why. The sheriff and all his deputies was afraid to come in here—leastwise they wouldn't none of 'em come—and I told 'em, gimme a badge and ten dollars a day and I'd go in and git him myself. Yes, Isham—he's the man—and I figger on shooting him on sight. When I quit and called for my pay he told me to go to hell or he'd fill me full of lead; and then, by grab, he made his brag before them Texans that he'd helped do this job on my ears. Well, if hedidhe's the very, identical rascal I'm looking for; and it's him or me, that's all. Now, the cards are on the table and you can join in or pull out—if you stick you're a deputy sheriff."
"I'll stick," flashed back McIvor, and Meshackatee grabbed his hand. "I knowed it!" he said, and laughed.
CHAPTER XVII
INDIAN TACTICS
Itwas a failing of McIvor's, this instant response to the call of any friend for aid; and yet when Meshackatee laid his plans before him he was glad he had agreed to join him. For Meshackatee above all things was a man of action; and action, with Hall, was a necessity. All the days he had spent prowling in the hills like an animal had been wasted, as he looked back at them now; for Allifair's brothers would come, and come soon, if only to kill a McIvor. They were hard men to deal with, or had proved so to him, and there was many an old score that might be settled even yet if they could pick up his trail again. He had been lost before, given up for dead by his parents and the men of both clans; but this call from their aunt, and their sister's love affair, would bring them from wherever they lurked. And now, unless he was willing to see her snatched away, he must strike a last blow to win Allifair.
"No, I'll tell you," expounded Meshackatee, "they's no use doing anything until we've throwed the hooks into Isham. He's the leader of the gang and as long as he's there you can't git away withthat girl. He's got men on the trails, and Injun spies out everywhere, to say nothing of them organized horse-thieves; and whichever way you ride he's going to reach out and git you—unless, of course, you git him. Now here's the proposition, and I'll put it to you straight, jest exactly as it was put up to me. We're deputy sheriffs, see, drawing ten dollars per diem to serve these here warrants on the Scarboroughs; but I've been told unofficially that the county'll be jest as well pleased if they're killed while resisting arrest. The idee is to git 'em to resist. Tonto County, as I understand it, has got jest enough money to pay for deputies, but none for expensive court proceedings. When it comes to a showdown, the Scarborough outfit has got more money than the county—and you know what these lawyers are like. But that ain't our business, we're here to serve these warrants, and I'm going to start in on Isham.
"Now there's a man, Mr. Hall, that I thought I knowed well and I always claimed he was a coward. It jest shows how you sometimes git fooled. When it comes to a showdown that jasper always weakened, but it was jest because he was foxy. He knowed if he drawed the other feller would git him, and so he never drawed. He hired gunmen to do his fighting because gunmen was cheap and he wanted to keep out of jail; but when them Slash-knife boys fell down he seen right there he'd have to do his dirty work himself. That was the time when the dog-hair cropped out on him and I seen,by grab, he was a killer. Not a gun-fighter, mind ye—and they're dangerous enough—but one of these sneaking, calculating kind. He fights like the A-paches, never showing a head and always shooting from ambush; and the only way we'll git him is to go him one better—we've got to out-Injun him, that's all!"
"I'm ready," replied Hall. "Why not start right now?" And Meshackatee took him at his word.
They headed off east up the dim, Indian trail that Meshackatee had followed down to water; and as the stars wheeled in their courses Hall saw their direction change until at last they were going northwest. They had scrambled up a wash and then on up grassy slopes which led to the big ridge behind; and from there they had turned north, following a trail that dipped and twisted as it skirted the east slope of Turkey Creek. They rode and walked by turns, driving the pack-animal before them; and as the east began to flush they took to high ground and camped through the long, sultry day.