The summer heat was at its height, the close, oppressive heat that presages torrential rains to come; and from the top of their butte they could see the white thunderheads, riding majestically up above the Rim. Below them lay the canyon with Turkey Creek at its bottom and, still further northwest, the broad swales of Maverick Basin showed dimly through a pass in the hills. Hall looked it all over through Meshackatee's big glasses, whenit came his turn to stand guard; and then he looked back along the trail which they had followed, trying to fix every landmark in his mind. For if all went well the time would soon come when he would be fleeing through the night with Allifair; and every butte and ridge, every turn in that dim trail, must be stamped indelibly on his memory. He traced it out again, noting each landmark through his glasses, and then suddenly he picked up an Indian. He had stepped out from some scrub-oaks and was examining their tracks, where they had passed through a sandy swale, and as he disappeared into the brush Hall ran and wakened Meshackatee, but the Apache did not show himself again.
"He's down in some gulch," observed Meshackatee sagely, "probably legging it to take the news to Isham. Two white men, one on foot; and two horses, one drove ahead; and a dog—well, that will be Meshackatee. And the man on foot—the chances are good that Isham will guess it's you. Well, watch along Turkey Creek and if you see any one crossing, wake me up and we'll make a quick move."
Hall watched and as the day wore on towards evening he saw what Meshackatee had feared. Six horsemen in single file came trotting down the creek, half-hidden behind the tall brush; but when Meshackatee came the enemy had vanished again and the trails were bare—too bare.
"We'll move," stated Meshackatee, "as soon as it's dark; and if you're game, I am—we'll rideacross country and try to come out at the Rock House. Might as well head for the place we're going to, even if I don't know the way none too well."
"All right," agreed Hall, "and if we find cover in time I'll slip down and spy on the house."
"Bad business," grumbled Meshackatee, "don't like this a little bit. Them cowboys are out for our hair."
They remained at the lookout until it was dark and then, packing swiftly, struck out to the west, following cow-trails clear to the creek. There they watered their horses and started up the other side; but the canyon which they ascended boxed up near the summit and they had to return to the creek. Meshackatee's plans had gone awry, putting him in a very bad humor; but after thinking it over he moved up a side canyon and took shelter on a bench above the stream.
Here they tied out their horses in a narrow cove which was surrounded on three sides by wooded slopes; and then, with his dog sleeping against his back, Meshackatee sprawled out and went to sleep. But the failure of their plans had left McIvor uneasy—he did not approve of this camp above the trail; and as morning approached he rose up silently and felt his way down to the stream. This was the hour that he dreaded, just before the break of day, and he crept along the ground regardless of the dew which weighed down the heavy grass.
There had been noises in the night and 'Pachehad growled repeatedly, some wild cattle had jumped suddenly and fled; and as he drew near the water he noticed that the grass had been trampled on the opposite side of the stream. He slipped down closer, hardly stirring a twig as he moved, and the first flush of dawn showed men's tracks in the sand—and the dew had been knocked from the grass! He lay silent, his heart thumping; there was a stir across the creek, a stir and the hunch of a head. That was enough—he glided away like a rattlesnake, and Meshackatee woke up with a jump. They were surrounded—he knew that from the look in Hall's eyes—and, catching up his gun from the fold of his blanket, he rolled over behind a big rock.
"Where are they at?" he whispered, and when Hall told him he grunted and began to pile up rocks. Hall dug in also, making a loop-hole through which to shoot and laying out his cartridges in rows; and 'Pache, sensing the enemy, crouched down anxiously between them, growling low and sniffing the wind. A deathlike silence fell upon the narrow canyon as they settled back to wait for the attack; but not a bush stirred—the Scarboroughs were still hoping they would saddle up and ride down the hill. Ride up to their very guns and then with one volley they could snuff out their lives together. But their ambush had been detected and now Meshackatee and Hall were searching the brushy hillside for a target.
"No use," complained Meshackatee, "they must've heard us digging. Let's start something, before they scatter out."
He took off his old hat and stuck it on a stick and as it bobbed above the boulder an explosive bullet struck it, spattering the ground about them with lead. 'Pache yelped as it struck him and cringed down beside Meshackatee who was cursing at the hole in his hat; and then Hall saw a movement below the smoke puff and answered with a shot that drew a volley. The whole hillside seemed to belch forth smoke, but the bullets for the most part went high; the Scarboroughs were below them, hidden away among the boulders which had fallen from the rimrock above.
"They can't reach us," chuckled Meshackatee, snuggling up to his loop-hole and shooting back at the smoke; but a crash from behind brought them both to a right-about and raised a cheer from below. The explosive bullets had stampeded their pack-horse and they were just in time to see him go smashing through the brush and fall into the creek-bed below.
"Makes no difference," grumbled Meshackatee, "don't need him now, nohow—be lucky to git out of here afoot."
Hall made no comment but down in his heart he agreed with Meshackatee fully—they would be lucky to get out alive. Behind them the steep slopes were sparsely covered with timber, but not enough to protect them in their flight; and the sound of the firing would bring the whole Scarborough clan to make their position worse. It was a dangerous place to be, and yet not more dangerous than otherswhere he had been compelled to make a stand. And he had often observed that, where both sides were shooting from cover, it was seldom that any one was hurt. Only one thing was necessary—they must maintain their position until darkness should cover up their flight. He peeped out through his loop-hole, shooting warily at stray smoke-puffs, and they settled themselves for the siege.
But the men that they were fighting were not satisfied to wait, they had other strings to their bow; and as Hall and Meshackatee lay behind their rock shelter a bullet struck between them.
"Judas Priest!" exclaimed Meshackatee, as his dog ran off yelping; and then, seeing the smoke from a point across the creek he hastily changed his front. Hall piled up rocks before them, but Meshackatee lay watching, and when the next bullet came he shot.
"Behind that big boulder," he said. "You watch me smoke him out of that."
"Haven't got time," answered Hall, but Meshackatee did not smile—he was slipping an explosive cartridge into his gun. He thrust out his rifle and lay sighting along the barrel and at a puff from the boulder he fired. Another bullet struck their rock-pile, and dangerously near; but the man behind the boulder leapt up as if he were shot and Hall saw that it was an Indian. He darted off along the hillside with Meshackatee still shooting at him, and at the second shot he fell. But even when he wasdown Meshackatee shot him again and the Indian lay a huddle in the sun.
"I'll show you!" muttered Meshackatee, "you doggoned rat-eater. You're thehombrethat's been raising all this hell. Well, see how you like that, and mebbe the rest of them A-paches will learn to lay off of Meshackatee."
He turned to Hall and nodded triumphantly.
"What'd I tell ye?" he said. "Did you see me smoke him out? Busted a big explosive bullet on that rock jest behind him and burned him up with hot lead. But I knowed, by grab, no Teehanno could bushwack me—they've gone and hired A-paches."
"There's another one!" exclaimed Hall, as another plunging shot came over the top of their fort; and Meshackatee grabbed for his cartridges.
"Better git out of here," he said, and was turning to scuttle away when a rifle opened up down the creek. It was shooting fast and almost rhythmically, and another lighter gun joined in; then there was a tattoo of answering shots, trailing off into silence as the fighters emptied their magazines.
"What's that?" asked Hall, and Meshackatee shook his head—he was watching the rocky hill. Something moved among the boulders, his rifle roared out again; and as a tall Texan broke to run they both opened fire. He dropped his gun and ran on.
"They're all going!" exclaimed Hall, turning to shoot into the creek-bed; and now there was no answer as with harrying shots they followed the flight of the bush-whackers. Whoever they were they were fleeing in a panic—the battle had been won, but by whom?
CHAPTER XVIII
"I CLAIM RED"
Theywaited, these two men who had dared invade the Scarborough stronghold and, daring, had almost paid the price, and Meshackatee raised a hail.
"Wa-a—hooo!" he called, and as his big voice woke the echoes there was an answering yell from below. A man, invisible as a spotted fawn when it walks in the shadow of leaves, came rustling up the canyon, and at last he spoke from the hill.
"Wahoo yourself!" he challenged, "who the hell are you fellers, anyway?"
"I'm Meshackatee," returned that gentleman, "and here's Mr. Hall——"
"Oh, Hall, eh?" spoke up the voice. "This is Winchester Bassett. Come down, boys, and I'll stake you to a horse."
They crept down through the shadows and met him at the creek, still smiling but without his jaunty air. A thick growth of black beard made his face look deathly pale, his clothes were hanging in shreds, and as he wrung Hall's hand he had a wild look in his eyes though he tried to conceal it with a smile.
"Well, well, Hall," he said, "I'm sure glad to see you. And you, too, Meshackatee—how are you? But say, we'd better go, because the Scarboroughs will be back and we don't want to git caught in this brush. Heard you shooting down here, and Bill and me took a chance—we winged two of 'em and captured all their horses."
"I knowed it!" exclaimed Meshackatee, "I almost knowed that that was you. They ain't many men, I'll say, that can work a Winchester that fast——"
"I was named after it," grinned Winchester. "How're you fixed for ammunition?"
"Whole pack-load!" answered Meshackatee. "Thought you boys might be short. Come on, let's go bring it down."
They caught their frightened horses and threw on the packs while Winchester turned back to join Bill; but when they arrived they found the Bassetts in a rock-pile, for much bush-whacking had got on their nerves.
"Help yourselves, boys," invited Winchester, waving his hand at the Scarborough horses which were tied among the willows by the creek, "and for cripes' sake, make it brief."
They mounted helter-skelter, driving the spare horses before them as they dashed across the creek and away; but when they had put a mile between themselves and the treacherous hillside Winchester held up his hand for a halt.
"No rush now, fellers," he said, "we'll jest see what happens. And by the way, what's the chances for a smoke?"
"Good!" beamed Meshackatee, "got lots of to-baccy—I knowed you boys would be short."
"Oh, you did, eh?" observed Winchester, after rolling a quick smoke, and he cocked his head at Bill.
"Yep, brought lo-ots of tobaccy," repeated Meshackatee hospitably, as he began to unlash his pack. "I'll git you them cartridges now."
"Damned good of you," murmured Winchester, "but what's the big idee? I ain't curious, I jest want to know."
"Oh, didn't I tell ye?" grinned Meshackatee, "me and Hall are deputy sheriffs!"
"The—hell!" scoffed Winchester, and Bill stopped smoking long enough to feel for his gun.
"That's the fact," returned Meshackatee, "got warrants for the Scarboroughs. Want you and Bill to help serve 'em."
There was a silence then as Winchester tugged at his mustache and considered the possibilities of the case.
"Well, I'll tell you, Meshackatee," he said at last, "of course it's all right but, after what's happened, Bill and I don't want 'em arrested. We want to see 'em killed."
"No more'n natural," conceded Meshackatee, "but you understand there's such a thing as thelaw. I can't shut my eyes to no such violations, but—well, my orders, boys, is dead or alive. I reckon you understand."
"Uhr, that's different," replied 'Winchester, as Meshackatee winked at him; but Bill was still in the dark.
"Yes—law!" he burst out, "a man get lots of protection from you deputy sheriffs and such. Here them Scarboroughs have been chasing us like a couple of wild animals for well-nigh onto a month——"
"Never mind, Bill," smiled Winchester, "don't you git the idee? We serve these here warrants with a six-shooter."
"The Scarboroughs," put in Meshackatee, "is charged with first degree murder, for killing your father and Sharps."
"Oh," nodded Bill, and sat in gloomy silence. "Well, gimme a star, then," he said.
They rode on along the ridge, keeping well up above Turkey Creek and watching for the Scarboroughs below; and, as no horsemen appeared, they finally skirted the whole valley and came out in the hills above the Basin. The ground here was open, with waving slopes of grass and timber along the summits; and they made a camp among the oak trees, while they staked out their horses and swept the plain with their field-glasses. They had a pair apiece now, for the men who had ambushed them had left all their glasses on their saddles; and asMeshackatee surveyed the spoils he chuckled in his beard, for the day had not promised so well.
"Pretty slick, boys," he said, "two horses apiece now, and these field-glasses are sure good for weak eyes. I feel it in my bones I'll soon have a big posse—say, ain't that one of the Scarboroughs by the house?"
"It's Red," responded Hall, "he's riding my horse. I'd know that little roan anywhere."
"Remember that time when he tried to trade you out of him? Well, that's Red—he's crazy about horses."
"Yes, and I'm crazy, too," said Hall, still watching him through his glasses. "I'll bet you I get that horse back."
"How?" demanded Meshackatee, but Hall shrugged his shoulders.
"How does anybody get back a horse?" he asked.
"By cracky!" burst out Meshackatee, "that gives me an idee! Do you mean you're going to steal 'im? Well, we'll pull a little Injun stuff, jest to pay 'em for this morning, and I bet you we come pretty nigh gittingRed!"
"Well, count me in on that," put in Winchester quietly. "It was Red that shot the old man."
"I know this is good," said Meshackatee, "because I saw it pulled off once myself. The A-paches danged near worked it on me. Instead of stealing that horse, jest slip up and pull his picket-pin; and like any horse he'll make for the hills. It ain'tnature for a horse to stay out on them flats—they always like to git up on high ground. Well, let 'im ramble till daylight and then see where he's gone to—and be there when Red comes up."
"Let me do it!" clamored Bill, but Winchester brushed him aside.
"I'm the oldest," he said. "I claim Red."
"I'll release that horse myself," stated Hall. "If Red follows it, that's nothing to me."
"Winchester's surest," decided Meshackatee. "But whoever takes this job has got to do it my way."
"All right," agreed Winchester, his eyes suddenly a-gleam. "Go ahead—what you want me to do?"
"I want you to rise up," said Meshackatee solemnly, "and say: 'Surrender, in the name of the law!'"
"He'll take that to hell with 'im," predicted Winchester grimly. "I wish I could say it for Isham."
"That's my job," replied Meshackatee. "I claim Isham."
"You can have him," conceded Winchester, "if I don't git him first. But what's your grievance against Isham?"
"Never mind," returned Meshackatee, "but I'm telling you right now—I claim Isham Scarborough myself. That's what brought me back to these parts."
"Well, we won't quarrel," smiled Winchester, and, going off by himself, he began to pace up anddown. "Come on," he said at last, "they're watching us through their glasses. Let's saddle up and start off north. We can come back after it's dark."
"Good idee," agreed Meshackatee, "but ain't they a cowardly bunch of gun-toters—afraid to come out and fight the four of us!"
"That ain't the way they work it," said Winchester. "We'll give 'em a dose of their own medicine. But honest, boys, I can't hardly wait to git my gun on Red Scarborough."
They rode off slowly, keeping a scout before and behind to protect them from possible surprise; and when it was dark they made their way across Turkey Creek, taking shelter in the hills behind the store. From their hiding place on the heights they could see the lights down at the Rock House, and lanterns bobbing to and fro; and shortly after midnight, armed only with his pistols, Hall McIvor set off on his quest. He walked warily from the first, for the ambush of that morning had taught him to fear the Apaches; but if they were skulking near he passed by them unobserved and crept close to the silent Rock House.
For an hour he lay watching it, half-tempted to climb the Indian mound and steal a secret interview with Allifair; but the hounds were restless and noisy and the time had not come for him to jeopardize her safety again. The Scarboroughs ruled the Basin with the power of feudal barons, their retainers were on every trail; and until their pride was broken, until they, too, had learned to fear,it was useless to oppose their will. He crept closer through the damp grass to where his high-headed roan, Blue, was nervously circling his stake, and when it recognized him he worked its picket-pin loose and watched it as it walked away. At first it started south, heading back towards its home; but as the hounds rushed out barking it turned and circled west, still dragging the rope and pin.
At the first peep of dawn they located Blue with their glasses, standing stiffly at the foot of a hill; but as the sun rose and touched him Blue woke from his trance-like sleep and moved up towards a point. There following his horse nature he intended to stand, basking in the sun until the chill was out of his limbs; after which he would fall to feeding, enjoying his freedom to the full before his new master should trail him from the plain. But already there was a man not a hundred yards away waiting patiently with his rifle in his hands; and as Blue raised his head and looked back towards the Rock House, Winchester saw a lone man riding out. It was Red, riding bareback on a horse he had picked up, following rapidly along the broad trail; and as he spied his missing mount he cut straight across the valley, coming up the grassy swale on the lope. Winchester crouched behind a bush and breathed on his hands—his hour of vengeance had come.
Red rode up towards his horse, unconscious of any danger until a man rose just below him, a man with a rifle in his hands.
"Surrender," he said, "in the name of the law!"But Red sat staring, open-mouthed. Then he whirled his horse and Winchester shot him twice, leaving him dead where he pitched to the ground.
"Here's your horse," he said, as he rode back to camp, and Hall took the trembling Blue in silence.
"Good enough!" pronounced Meshackatee, and they started off north, for the Scarboroughs were beginning to swarm.
CHAPTER XIX
APACHES
Therecannot be a war without violence and bloodshed, nor can all the losses be on one side. No matter which side is right, or which has the strongest battalions, Death holds a level hand. The Scarboroughs had killed Sharps and old Henry Bassett; but now the scales had turned and Red, their finest rifle-shot, had been shot down by Winchester Bassett. A posse of four men had ridden into their stronghold and offered to give them battle; and then, when they had refused and held fast to Indian tactics, Death had risen up and snatched away Red. Yet even with the body of their brother before them the Scarboroughs declined to fight.
No swarm of vengeful Texans came spurring on their trail as Meshackatee led the way north, riding boldly up the trail which led like a highway towards the Rim; and at the divide above Canyon Creek they stopped. Here, though they were hidden in the pines, they could watch the trail both ways; and it was time to cook coffee and rest. And if, as might happen, any Scarborough men passed by, they could give them tit for tat. For a month and more the Scarboroughs in their arrogance hadheld up every wayfarer on this trail, and if a man did not belong to their secret organization he was destined to proceed on foot. All this the Bassetts knew, for the men who had given them shelter were the ones who had suffered the most; and when, late in the afternoon, they spied a horse-herd coming south they fairly romped to cover.
The horses, which were jaded from their long drive over the rocks, came toiling up the zig-zag trail, and the posse let them pass; but as the two Texans who were driving them came up with the drag they sensed mischief and dashed back down the hill. Lead slugs and explosive bullets struck the ground up all about them, and as they forded the creek the Bassetts took after them while the others rounded up the horses.
"Them's Mormon horses," declared Meshackatee, after they had stopped them on a flat, "I know about half of them brands. We'll jest hold 'em a while and see who shows up—may git some of these Texicans yet."
They went back to their lookout, leaving the horses to graze; and almost immediately Bill and Winchester appeared, riding low and spurring like mad.
"Injuns!" they yelled, as they scrambled up the point and dropped down behind their rocks. "Apaches, as sure as hell!"
"Where at?" demanded Meshackatee. "Them A-paches ain't on the war-path, and hain't been since the 'Pache Kid."
"Well, all right," panted Bill, "but I'll bet ye we seen twenty. And when we run across 'em they chased us."
"There they are!" said Winchester, pointing to a string of half-naked horsemen, "and if them ain't Apaches, I'm a liar."
"Leave 'em to me!" swaggered Meshackatee, "because that's where I shine. We'll try 'em with a little sign-talk."
He stepped out on the point where he could be seen plainly from below and raised his right hand in the peace sign.
"Wahoo!" he bellowed, "Wahoo Meshackatee!" But the Indians only circled and stared at him. They were savage looking creatures, with their long black hair bound back out of their eyes with red handkerchiefs; but after a second look Meshackatee ripped out an oath and came striding back to the posse.
"Aw, hell!" he exclaimed, "them ain't no Injuns. It's nothing but a passel of white men."
"How do you know?" demanded Bill. "Jest because they don't savvy your sign-language——"
"Aw, cripes; I know an Injun!" burst out Meshackatee indignantly. "I can tell 'em by the way they set a horse. We'll try 'em with a little U.S.A."
He stepped out on the point and hailed them again, and a man rode out from the rest. He was mounted on a mule and the minute he saw him McIvor knew it was Grimes. It was not the mulealone, it was the thrust of his head and the handy way he carried his rifle.
"Hello there!" shouted Hall, stepping out on a rock, and Grimes stopped his mule and looked up.
"Don't know you!" he announced, "but dam' your black hearts, we've come to git back our horses!"
"That's Grimes—the sheepman," explained Hall over his shoulder, and Meshackatee stepped down behind a rock.
"You talk to him," he grumbled. "I got no use for a sheepman." And Winchester and Bill nodded assent.
"Yes, sure it's Grimes!" yelled the pseudo Indian, "but who in damnation are you?"
"My name is Hall," answered McIvor shortly. "I met you down at the Bassetts'!"
"Oh, that preacher guy!" observed the sheepman sarcastically. "Well, what areyoudoing up here?"
"I'm a deputy sheriff," retorted McIvor. "What does your business happen to be?"
"A de-puty sheriff!" whooped Grimes. "Hey, boys; here's a deputy sheriff!"
He laughed and the gang of make-believe Apaches came riding up to join him.
"Seems to amuse them," remarked Hall, and Meshackatee muttered an oath while the Bassetts looked on in grim silence.
"Bunch of Mormons," growled Winchester, "rigged out with horsetails and handkerchiefs—kinder reminds me of the Mountain Meadow massacre."
"All the same," spoke up Meshackatee, "we might use the danged jaspers. Git 'em to go down and clean up on the Scarboroughs!"
"Why not?" chimed in Hall. "This is no time for petty differences. Shall I tell them we'll give back their horses?"
"Sure," replied Meshackatee, "but they've got to prove ownership. Otherwise they'll claim the whole band. Go down and see what you can do."
Hall swung up on his horse and rode down the trail, and as he came up to the Mormons they reined to one side, leaving Grimes to do the talking.
"How'd do, Mr. Hall," he began, "do you know anything about our horses? So you're a deputy sheriff, hey?"
"Yes, I'm a deputy sheriff," answered McIvor evenly, "and I can't see that it's in any way a joke. There are three more officers up there in the rocks, and I'd advise you to show a little more respect."
"Oh, certainly!" mocked Grimes, "you're jest thehombreswe're looking for. A big gang of horse-thieves has been raiding our ranches and driving off our stock for a month. Not gitting any protection we have organized to run 'em down and hang every scoundrel we can ketch; but now, of course, all we have to do is to report our losses toyou!"
"Yes, that's right," said Hall, "just give me a list of the animals, so there won't be any mistake."
"Any mistake!" repeated Grimes. "Well, by grab, it seems to me you look more like a horse-thief than we do. How's the Scarborough boys gitting along these days? But I believe you was staying with the Bassetts?"
"Yes, I was staying with the Bassetts," replied Hall. "Anything more you'd like to know?"
"I asked you," sneered Grimes, who seemed determined to pick a quarrel, "how your friends, the Scarboroughs, are gitting along."
"Why, not so well," returned McIvor. "Red was killed only this morning. It was a case of resisting arrest."
"Killed!" cried Grimes, and then he spurred forward and held out a hairy hand. "By hooky," he exclaimed, "I sure apologize, Mr. Hall, for any little thing I may have said. I'm sure glad to meet you, and my friends and neighbors here will be proud to shake your hand."
He introduced the Mormon ranchmen, most of whom had laid off their disguise, and then returned to the matter at hand.
"Are you in charge of this posse?" he asked. "Because we'd like to find out about them horses." "No, I'm not," replied Hall, "Meshackatee is in command, and the other two deputies are the Bassetts. You remember them—Winchester and Bill."
"You don't say!" exclaimed Grimes, leaning over in his saddle. "Is that the way the ground lays? Because if that's the case I can git you a bunch of deputies that will serve without money and without price. All we ask is a whack at the Scarboroughs."
"We can talk that over later." responded Hall,"but I'm sure we'd be glad to have you. Now about those horses—we just held up a big band that a couple of young Texans were driving——"
"Good!" chorused the Mormons, suddenly starting up the trail, but McIvor motioned them back.
"And my orders," he went on, "were that each man should describe his animals in order to avoid mistakes."
"Give 'im his way, boys; give 'im his way!" spoke up Grimes with assumed heartiness. "He's an officer of the law after all. And right now, Mr. Hall, I want to offer my services to arrest the last Scarborough for horse-stealing."
Hall nodded obliviously, for all the Mormons in unison were calling off a list of their horses, and after they had written the brands and colors on chance papers he led the way to the herd. Meshackatee and the Bassetts rode along to deliver the animals but when the lists had been filled there was a general clamor for other horses, which the ranchers claimed as their own. At first Meshackatee resisted them, demanding receipts for the animals; but as they became more insistent he threw up his hands and told them to take the whole herd.
"And git to hell out of here," he added under his breath—which the Mormons proceeded to do.
It was late in the evening but, rushing the herd before them, they started back up the trail at a gallop. Only Grimes, the sheepman, stayed, and he stemmed every rebuff until Meshackatee made him a deputy.
CHAPTER XX
UP HORSE-THIEF CANYON
Acommoncause will bring strange people together, but a common hatred will make them like brothers. The Bassetts suspected Grimes of fishing for sheep-rights, and heknewthey had run out on him in his fight; and a month before Meshackatee had been a gunman, engaged in fighting all three of them; but a common desire to get revenge on the Scarboroughs made them partners, if not exactly friends. And McIvor, who would have quit all four of them in a minute if there was any other way of winning Allifair, plunged heart and soul into the council of war which was to plan the downfall of Isham. For it was Isham after all who was the head and front of the Scarboroughs, and he had a genius for making men hate him.
"I'm for riding up to his house," declared Grimes, swaying truculently, "and shooting it out, right there. We could slip up on 'em after dark."
"Nope, that house is a fort," vetoed Meshackatee instantly; "he could pot the whole bunch of us through them loop-holes. And that passel of hounds would raise such a hooraw you couldn't git nigh the place."
"And besides," interposed McIvor, "there are the women folks to think of——"
"They didn't think of ours!" broke in Bill resentfully. "And for all we know, Maw's dead. They went up to the store and told Johnson they'd kill him if he sold the old lady anything."
"Well, let's begin right there," suggested McIvor pacifically. "Let's go down to that store and hold up the store-keeper and take Mrs. Bassett some supplies. I'm ready to start right now."
"Nope, not to-night," objected Meshackatee cannily, "they're liable to be out somewhere looking for us."
"Well, I'll tell you," suggested Winchester, "let's go after them two horse-thieves that Bill and I were chasing. They headed right up that side canyon."
"That's the talk!" agreed Grimes, springing eagerly to his feet. "Them's the boys we want to git. D'ye think you can follow their trail?"
"They's a cabin up there," explained Winchester, "kind of a hold-out for horse-thieves, I reckon. The chances are good they'll come back to it."
"Well, let's wait till before daylight," suggested the practical Meshackatee, "and ketch 'em jest at dawn."
"It's a dirty damned way of fighting," grumbled Winchester morosely, "but I'm game—they pulled it on me."
So they slept until the morning star, glowing round like a ball, gave warning that daylight wasnear; and then, with Winchester ahead, they forded the roaring creek and followed a beaten trail up the canyon. No one or two horses had trampled that broad path—a band had been over it, and more than one band, and they could see the Texans' tracks leading on. At dawn they sighted a house, a small, chunky cabin built from the biggest logs that could be moved; and chock against it was a corral where two jaded ponies stood drooping inside the bars. It stood in a little opening, tucked up under the north hill, and they withdrew to lay their plans.
"We'll surround it," directed Meshackatee, "two men on each side and one here to guard the horses; and the first man that comes out you can all pull down on him—and if he don't halt when I order you can shoot. But if he gits inside that cabin it'll be a long siege at best, because she's mighty nigh bullet-proof."
They separated then, Grimes and Winchester going up one ridge and Meshackatee and Hall up the other; and as the sun began to shine on the bald slopes to the west they settled down to watch the house. It had been built all too evidently for purposes of defense, though no loop-holes appeared in the walls; but no windows appeared either and the door was of heavy oak slabs. The Texans were safe as long as they remained inside of it, and they seemed in no hurry to come out. A shrewd suspicion was beginning to form in Hall's mind that in some way their presence had been discovered, but they waited patiently until the sun was an hourhigh and then a tall cowboy stumbled out. He was a typical Texan, all boots and high hat, and he headed for the woodpile without so much as a glance at the sinister hillsides above him.
"Put 'em up!" bellowed Meshackatee as the Texan reached for the ax, but instead the man started to run. He did not even look up, simply bolted for the doorway like a rabbit caught away from his hole. But the posse had been watching, and as he started for the door their rifles all spoke at once. The pile of chips at his feet seemed to leap into the air as the bullets struck all around him, but he escaped by some miracle and slammed the door behind him, at which Meshackatee ripped out a great oath.
"Come out of that cabin!" he roared from his hiding-place, "come out, or we'll blow you to hell!"
But the men inside the cabin were punching loop-holes through the chinks and Meshackatee opened fire. The work on the loop-holes was given over precipitately, for the heavy bullets bored their way through the chinks, and when a couple of explosive bullets almost blew down the door the Texans were ready for a parley.
"Who air you fellers, anyway?" they shouted through the doorway. "We're all right—we ain't done nothin'!"
"We're a posse of deputy sheriffs and you're wanted for horse-stealing. Come out!" thundered Meshackatee, "or we'll kill ye!"
"You'll kill us anyway!" answered one of the men, and they went to work on their loop-holes.
"I'll fix 'em," announced Meshackatee, and, slipping in another explosive bullet, he fired it through the hole in the door. There was a smash inside and a loud yell of protest and then, very reluctantly, the shattered door was thrown open and the Texans stepped out with hands up.
"Come up here!" ordered Meshackatee, over the top of a rock. "Is there anybody else in there?"
"Nope, the other boys are gone," answered the trembling prisoners, who were both barely out of their teens, and Hall quickly searched them for concealed guns.
"All right," he said, "you can put down your hands. Come on, we'll go back to camp."
They returned to the horses, where Bill had a fire going and a pot of coffee on the coals, and Grimes and Winchester joined them.
"You sure ruined that cabin," observed Winchester to Meshackatee, but Grimes strode over to the prisoners.
"Oho!" he said, "so you're the young bucks that have been raising all this deviltry. Well, we'll just make you an example for the rest of 'em to look at when they come over to steal our stock."
He made the grewsome motions of tightening a loop about his neck and the Texans turned deathly pale.
"I thought you were deputies," said one of themat length, but no one responded directly. With two prisoners on their hands they would be handicapped at every turn, and the question before them was whether to let Grimes hang them or allow them to go scot free.
"Well, what you got to say for yourselves?" asked Meshackatee at length, after they had eaten a scanty breakfast. "Where'd you git that band of horses you had yesterday?"
The younger of the boys was by now too scared to talk, but the older one spoke up boldly.
"We were coming in from Holbrook," he said, "and some men that we met said they'd give us ten dollars to drive these broncs down into the Basin."
"Come from Texas?" inquired Meshackatee. "Well, couldn't you see by them brands that half those horses was stolen? I know you could now, son; so don't make us hang you for a liar."
"You're a liar yourself!" flashed back the boy indignantly. "Didn't you claim you was a deputy sheriff!"
"Take the witness," shrugged Meshackatee, rolling his eyes at Winchester. "He's too danged smart for me."
"Lookee here, kid," began Winchester with a placating smile, "you'd better come through with the truth. Who're you working for—Isham Scarborough?"
"Don't know him," denied the boy. "We were jest rambling through the country when we met up with them fellers with the horses. Say, are youdeputy sheriffs? Well then, you don'tdareto hang me! Don't I git a trial, or nothing?"
"You're gitting a trial, right now," returned Winchester. "And if you git too gay we'll jest take off these tin stars andshowyou whether or not we can hang you. You're a tough little devil, I can see that with one eye; but—oh, hell, let the little whelp go!"
He laughed shortly and turned away, pretending to adjust his pistol, and McIvor nodded at Meshackatee.
"We're not fighting boys," he said, but Grimes took the opposite view.
"Now, gentlemen," he objected, rising up from where he sat, "I think you're wrong—dead wrong. These boys may be young but they knew what they were doing; and this stealing has got to stop, that's all! I'll jest take off this star, so they won't be no complications, and—you can turn them over to me."
"No, don't you do it, Mister!" cried the boy in a panic, running to cling to Meshackatee's knees, "I—I'll never steal another horse again. And this other boy, he's only a kid—we ran away from home together."
"Oh, I see," mumbled Meshackatee, and glanced questioningly at Grimes who stood with his lips grimly pursed.
"Well?" he demanded, but Meshackatee shook his head.
"Nope," he said, "they's too small, Mr. Grimes. And I ran away from home myself."
"Then I resign," snarled Grimes, beginning to unpin his star and Meshackatee held out his hand.
"Gimme the star, then," he replied, "you're too rough-shod for us. We didn't come out here to hang any kids—we came to git Isham Scarborough."
Grimes paused and rolled his evil eyes on the boys, then snapped his badge back in place.
"I'll stick," he said. "You're chicken-hearted, but I'll stick. But if these kids turn up later with a gang of their confederates, don't say I didn't warn ye!"
"Very well, Mr. Grimes," returned Meshackatee politely, "and being as you're so brave we'll jest head back for the Basin and put you up against some grownmen."
CHAPTER XXI
THE RANDOLPHS
Ifit was madness for Meshackatee and his posse of four to ride back into the stronghold of the Scarboroughs, there was a method in their madness. The Scarboroughs would be swarming like a nest of red ants on account of the killing of Red, they would be scouring the country and watching every trail; but, even so, a man must eat. Maverick Basin was the hold-out of a gang of men so desperate that they set all law at defiance, shooting down whoever opposed them; but it had a store, full of flour and bacon, and Meshackatee's packs were flat. First he had shared his food with Hall, and then with the Bassetts, and finally with Grimes and the boy horse-thieves; and when they turned back there was nothing in the kyacks but coffee and cartridges and tobacco.
They took to the high ground, led by Winchester Bassett who had ranged the whole country with his hounds, and at evening they emerged on a wooded hill-top and looked out the Basin with their glasses. The sun had hardly set when they rode out from cover and headed straight for the darkened store. The storekeeper was a careful, not to say a stingy,man; and he had his reasons also for preferring to sit in the dark, since bright windows have often drawn bullets. He was hiding when they rode up but, finding his store surrounded, he lit up and opened the door.
"Oh, good evening," he cringed as Meshackatee loomed up before him. "Well, well, howdy do, Meshackatee!"
"I want some grub," returned Meshackatee, "and I want it quick, without any high signs to the Scarboroughs. So jest git out your pencil and keep tally on what we take—you'll be paid by Tonto County."
"But the county is practically bankrupt," protested Johnson in an ague.
"So'm I," replied Meshackatee, "and I'm hungry to boot. So use your own judgment, Mr. Johnson."
He stepped into the store-room and began to hand out the sacks of flour, and after a glaring silence Mr. Johnson saw the point and began sullenly to check up the requisition. For a requisition it was, such as armies are wont to make, and deputy sheriffs in pursuit of criminals; and soon bacon and coffee and beans came out to fill the sacks which they were slinging on the saddles of their spare mounts.
"Now, what's the news, Mr. Johnson?" spoke up Meshackatee abruptly. "Who's over at the Scarborough place now?"
"Why—er—Elmo," began the store-keeper, "and Miz Zoolah, of course——"
"Where's Isham?" demanded Meshackatee, and the others stopped to listen, but Johnson only shook his head.
"He's gone," he said, and Meshackatee drew his big six-shooter and laid it down impressively in the lamp-light.
"Gone where?" he asked, but not even the gun could make the frightened store-keeper tell.
"I don't know, boy, I swear it," he answered as they faced him, "but they say he's over in New Mexico. Been gone for a week, and now that Red is dead, young Elmo has taken things in charge."
"How many men has he got?" inquired Grimes, moving closer, and the store-keeper backed away instinctively.
"Oh, a great many!" he exclaimed. "Sometimes as much as forty. They're coming in all the time. This evening there were two all the way from Kentucky——"
"What were their names?" broke in Hall, and the store-keeper winced.
"Why—er—Randolph," he said, "and, now that you speak of it, I believe they were inquiring for you."
"Very likely," replied Hall, and slipped quietly outside, where he could think what this meant to him. And so Allifair's brothers had come! The feud of Tug Fork had been transplanted to Maverick Basin—the Randolphs had come to kill him. He stood in the shadows, looking out across the plain to where the lights of the Rock House stillglowed. It was too late now; he had lost. Cal and Ewing were there, and as soon as they learned the country they would take up his trail like bloodhounds. They would follow him like a deer and like a deer he must flee, for Allifair loved her brothers. Bloody-handed as they were, and rough and brutal, she loved Cal and Ewing for what they might have been if the feud had not warped their whole lives. They were man-killers now, thin-lipped and cruel-eyed, and yet he dared not oppose them. Once more he must play the coward.
While the others lingered on, indulging in a few drinks and cross-questioning the reluctant Mr. Johnson, he sorted out a pack-load of the most substantial food and lashed it on his spare horse. He was mounting to go when Winchester Bassett stepped out, followed by Bill, carrying a big sack of food.
"W'y hello," exclaimed Winchester, "are you going to leave us? We're going up north and lay for Isham."
"Yes, I've got to go," said Hall, "but don't tell the store-keeper. The Randolphs have come out here to kill me."
"I had an idee they had," admitted Winchester. "Well, sorry to see you go. But say, wait a minute and you can start off with me and Bill—that storekeeper is a Scarborough spy."
Hall waited, still in the shadows, for the light from the store door might reveal his presence to his enemies; and as he watched the Rock House he saw a lantern leave the house and go bobbing outto the barn. There was a hair-trigger atmosphere about the whole raid which set his jangled nerves on edge; for he knew that the Scarboroughs kept close watch over the store, even dictating who should come there for supplies. They would be riding over soon to see who had been there, if they were not already skulking near; and the news of his presence would be the signal for the Randolphs to take up the trail again. For years, back in Kentucky, they had dogged his tracks, trying to catch him for a moment off his guard; and he, throwing great circles, had often swung in behind them, so that they in turn were pursued. More than once he had ambushed them, and once he had shot Cal; but they had always crept away leaving the battle undecided, for the feud had taught the value of stealth. The men who fought in the open had long before been killed—it was Indian warfare now.
Bill and Winchester came out, after taking a last drink, and rode off in silence down the road. The night was still, so that the sounds traveled far, and the circumstances of their home-coming were depressing. Except for a few times when, at the risk of their lives, they had crept in to leave their mother some fresh beef, they had never been near the house since that fatal day when Sharps and Old Henry had been killed. Old Susie had detected movements on the top of the hill where the Scarboroughs had once laid in wait, and Winchester and Bill had evidence of their own to show that the house was watched. It was the old system of theScarboroughs, always to lie in wait and shoot down their enemies from the brush.
The hounds came rushing out at them, changing their baying to joyous yelps as they recognized their long-lost masters; and old Susie, for once, forgot her Indian stoicism and wept as she clung to Bill. He was her favorite boy, the baby she had carried when she had traveled overland in search of her husband; and when they had put down her supplies and were preparing to go she still clung desperately to Bill.
"You go on," he said to Winchester, "I'll stay with Maw a while. But I'll ketch you—get the boys and start ahead."
"Well, all right," grumbled Winchester, "but you be careful, kid; them Scarboroughs are on the prod."
They parted company at the gate, Winchester riding for the store and Hall turning off to the east; but as he rode through the darkness Hall halted on the trail, and at last he wheeled and turned back. The vague uneasiness which had held him all the evening suddenly took form and clutched at his heart. What if the Randolphs had come, not to run him down and kill him, but to carry their sister away? He circled the Basin and finally headed south, cutting across the open plain and taking shelter in the wooded hills beyond; and when the day dawned he crept out on a point where he could look down and see her from afar. She must know he was near, for the store-keeper had told him that he was believed to be the slayer of Red; and if thatwas the case how anxiously she must be waiting for the time when he would appear on the mound. How many times already she must have glanced out through the loop-hole, hoping to see his waiting form beneath the tree; and now he was slinking away, without even making trial of the Providence which he claimed as his guide. He focussed his glasses and gazed down at the Rock House, and at daylight Allifair appeared.
She stepped to the doorway, dressed in white like a bride though she was only a kitchen drudge, and her eyes seemed to be turned to the hills. Almost she seemed to see him, or to sense his distant presence, for she raised her hand in a sign; and then she waved him away, just as plainly as if she spoke to him, and turned sorrowfully back into the house. Soon the smoke from the huge chimney told the story of her industry—she was cooking while the rest of them slept. Hall watched them as they came out, Miz Zoolah and Elmo; and at last the men whom he never had feared—Cal Randolph and the tall, lanky Ewing. They were typical mountaineers in their high boots and slouched hats, and yet after all not so different from the Texans who came striding across from the bunk-house. But he feared them now, for they had come to take his life and his hands were tied by love. They were the brothers of Allifair and she had beckoned him away; yet he lingered, waiting to see their next move.
A dozen rash plans leapt up in his brain—to steal her and bear her away, to hide her from their furyand then return to Tug Fork, to make an end to the feud. But each time the vision of Cal and Ewing Randolph rose up to brand them as worse than dreams; the fate which had pursued him was still on his trail, nothing could be done while her brothers were there. He put down his glasses and gazed out across the Basin, seeking some end to the phantasma of his life. Even here, as in Kentucky, it had been a nightmare of death and violence, while his heart was sick for peace. All he wanted was peace, the same surcease we give the dead—a forgetting, oblivion, a new life. Yet even after one death his incognito had been discovered and the chase was on again. Nothing would stay the dark passions of the men he had warred against, they were ruthless as death itself.
He closed his eyes wearily to shut out the sight of this valley which had once seemed so fair, and sleep swooped to seize him in an instant. But while his senses swooned something came to his ears that roused him as nothing else could—a rifle-shot, far away. He listened, half convinced, and a volley ripped the air like the tearing of a strip of rough cloth. It came from the hill, where the Scarboroughs had hid before, the hill that looked down on the Bassetts'. But why did they shoot when Sharps and Henry were both dead, and Winchester and Bill—— His heart stopped and leapt again, and he knew the answer. Bill Bassett had stayed too long.
CHAPTER XXII
THE FLIGHT
Therenever was a feud, nor yet a war, which did not revert to barbarism; for reprisal invites reprisal, and hot blood breeds new excesses until it ends in a mad swirl of killing. And always the human reason, ever the servant to our passions, finds a way to justify the slaughter. For the object of warfare, of course, is to kill; and why stop short of the absolute? Why leave boys to grow to manhood, or women to breed more boys, or old men to nurse the spark of future wars; why not kill them all, as speedily as possible, and with the least possible danger to ourselves? There we have the justification not only of war, but of feuds and murder from ambush; but the murders come first and reason follows tardily to lull the protests of conscience.
Hall McIvor had killed from ambush, and had been shot down in turn; but the thought of Bill's death, conjured up by the rifle shots, left him sick at the savagery of it all. By a process of reasoning he had brought himself to join this war, in order to end yet another war; but until the last Scarborough, or the last Bassett, was dead he knew therewould be no end. And was it farfetched to kill off the Scarboroughs in order to save the McIvors and Randolphs? He lay hid on his high point like a lion that hears the dogs, undecided whether to stand fast or flee. If he fled they would pursue him—but did he not have a covert? And if he stayed they would send him after Bill. It was a fight to the finish, and yet no fight of his if only he could take Allifair and escape.
But this was not the time to put their fortunes to the touch, he must wait till her brothers were gone. The war was on in Kentucky and they could not be spared long—but when they went they would take Allifair with them! Back to the battle-ground along the Big Sandy, ten times as blood-soaked as here; and there they would guard her like a criminal. For that was the worst crime they knew, to wish to marry a McIvor. No, the time to rescue Allifair was now. But first he must return to his castle in the cliff and prepare it for her coming.
He rode cautiously for two nights, hiding on flat mountain tops by day, and found a way at last to lead his horse up the chasm, which was roaring now with water. The summer rains had come, turning the ravines into torrents and Turkey Creek into a river; and whatever tracks he made were soon washed away, leaving him lost to all the world. He hobbled his horses on the flat below him, where he could guard them from his cave above; and, working feverishly, he bore his provisions up the trail and made camp that night by his castle. The courtwas broad enough, and the smoke from his fire sucked back through the high, gloomy passageway; he made a couch of his lion-skin, flung down in the open, leaving the mud-sealed door unbroken.
Perhaps the imprint in the mud of a hand like a woman's held him back from violating the sanctuary; but in the morning he breached the door, for he, too, had a woman and the dead must give way to the living. The mate of his mountain-lion was still prowling about, and must Allifair lack shelter and retreat from wild animals in order that the dead should sleep undisturbed? He smashed his way in ruthlessly and entered the burial chamber, which was low and dark as a tomb. It had been a dwelling once—there was soot on the rafters and a fireplace over in the corner—but now it was smothered beneath the dust of countless centuries, as fine and impalpable as flour. It rose up at every step, almost choking him with its saltiness and its odor of things long dead; and the sarcophagus against the wall was blanketed over as if with a fall of snow.
At one end of the burial mound he found anollafull of corn left to nourish the departing spirit on its journey; and at the other a secondollawith only a watermark to show where the spirits had drunk; but the thing which impressed him most was a huge bulk against the cliff, anollanearly as high as a man. It too was blanketed in dust and its broad top was sealed, as if to protect some great treasure; but the treasures of the cliffdwellers could wait, what he wanted was their room, toshelter his lady from the mountain lions. He tied together a bundle of switches and began to sweep out the dust, dashing out from time to time to get air; and as he was brushing down the walls he discovered a blackened hole in the corner above the fire. This, too, was sealed with mud, but when he punched it clear the clouds of stinging dust went swirling up and out, leaving the chamber of the cliff-dwellers clear.
So it had been long centuries before, when these dead had still lived and cooked their corn on the flat stones below; for the draft through the low doorway sucked up past the fireplace and went out at the smoke-vent above. Hall set to work again, clearing away the mound with its crumbling skeleton, its prayer-sticks and arrows and clubs; but when he came to the greatollahe found it sunk into the floor and as immovable as the cliff itself. He tried to pierce the seal, but it was anotherolla, set down over the greater one below; and finally, seizing a club, he smashed in the top, only to start back at the sound of a splash. So this was the treasure which the cliff-dwellers had concealed, and yet what treasure was greater? He leaned over the broad rim and tasted the water doubtfully—it was sweet as if it flowed from a spring! But certainly, if it had been stored for centuries and centuries, it would be flat and tainted by the pottery; he splashed it over the rim, wetting down the parched dirt floor, but the water in the basin didnot lower. It was a spring walled up and cupped in theollas, a dimpling fount for Allifair.
Hall wet down the floor and swept it out again, letting it air until the room was sweet and clean; and then in mad haste he set to work to bring in wood and make down a bed of dry grass. He stored his provisions against the wall, and threw down the lion skin by the fire; and, closing the doorway, ran down to catch his horses, for the time for action had come. Here was their dwelling place at last, all set and waiting, lacking only the smile of Allifair to give it the glow of home; and as he spurred back over the trail, dragging the led-horse behind him, he envisioned her sitting by the fireplace. Though the night was dark and the trails sluiced out by rain, when the day dawned he was hidden in the hills where he could look down and watch for Allifair.
She appeared with the dawn, still clad in white, and stood poised against the blackness of the doorway; but this time she did not wave, just stood gazing at the hills until abruptly she turned and went in. Hall was hidden in a thicket of bristling manzanita on the brow of a pineclad ridge; and his horses, staked and hobbled, were concealed in a hollow, where he could keep them under his eye. He slept, for no man could creep up to his hiding place without snapping a thousand rough twigs; and when he awoke it was raining again and the thunder was rolling along the hills. Taking shelterbeneath a tree he threw his slicker over his shoulders and watched the swift rush of the clouds; the lightning that flashed and stabbed, making the earth tremble at its shock, until at last the great pageant rolled past. The sun came out warm, gleaming like silver from the thunder-heads, and down at the Rock House men mounted dancing ponies and went scampering away up the trail.
Hall counted them as they went, eleven cowboys in all, and as he spied a great horse-herd trotting in from the north he guessed the cause of their haste. This was another of those bands of Mormon horses, taken by force from the ranchers above the Rim; and unless he was mistaken the Avenging Angels from Mountain Meadow would not be far behind. They would come riding as before, disguised as raiding Apaches with horse-tails and handkerchiefs on their heads; and every man at the Rock House would be needed that night to hold the herd against them. There might even be a fight, for the Mormons were determined—and while they were drawn away he could ride to the Rock House and steal Allifair in spite of them!
The sun went down behind a bank of angry clouds, every stream-bed in the Basin was awash; and the rumble of the distant waters told of greater floods to be crossed if they endeavored to escape across Turkey Creek. But no sooner was it night than he rode boldly down the ridge, leaving his horses just behind the Indian mound. Men weredashing to and fro but something bade him be venturesome and he stood out boldly against the sky; then he crouched back and waited, for the dogs had begun to bark, and at last she came running up the path. They did not stop, even for a lover's kiss, but hurried away down the hill; and hardly had they left the Rock House behind them than they heard the hue and cry. It started at the house with a succession of six pistol shots and Hall swung from the trail to let the chase go by, for he heard them coming after him.
They had started down the main trail to Jump-off hill, but now he turned east and circled back to the north, with Allifair close behind him. She, too, had brought a slicker, to protect her from the rain, and beneath her man's hat she looked no different from the cowboys who were scouring the trails in search of them. They rode at a trot as if going to the horse-herd and a galloping Texan, riding back to the house, held up his hand as he went splashing by. But that way was too dangerous and Hall turned to the east, taking the trail that led to the Bassetts'.
A black cloud that blotted the east twinkled with flares of heat lightning, the stars seemed to swim through a mist, and as the Bassett dogs rushed out they veered sharply away, taking the trail that led down to Turkey Creek. But there they stopped short for the water, in the pale starlight, seemed to be rushing with resistless force. It rose up in hugewaves, smooth and slick as a ground swell but with logs and writhing branches in its grip; and where it crossed the riffles it roared with shuddering thunder and threw up a white comb of foam.
"Can we cross it?" she asked at last, and he shrugged his shoulders.
"Do you dare to try?" he countered.
"I'll follow you anywhere!" she answered, and took off her slicker; but he sat on his horse, irresolute.
The very rocks at the bottom of the stream seemed to be grinding and rumbling beneath the flood; and yet in his time he had crossed worse torrents than this, though once he had nearly been drowned.
"Can you swim?" he asked, and when she shook her head he turned and looked back across the plain. With the creek roaring in front of them not a hoof-beat could be heard, but he pictured it swarming with horsemen. They would be spurring to the south, knowing that that was where he would flee, but others would be coming to the east; and sooner or later he would have to make a fight, for Miz Zoolah would never give up. She would send out every man, if they had to abandon the horse-herd, to scour the country for Allifair; and, compared to what would follow if he had to give them battle, the creek did not seem so terrible. Its roar was no more than the rush of water past rough snags, the passing of sand-waves through the crests; and ifworst came to worst he might reach her and save her if their horses went down among the rocks.
"Keep your horse's head upstream," he said at last, "and rein him in if he falls; but if he goes down in spite of you try to catch him by the tail, and in that way he may drag you ashore."
He leaned over and kissed her; then, with a last touch of the hand, he edged his horse into the stream. The water was deep, for it was just above a riffle where the flood went pouring over a bar, and as his horse stepped into a hole it plunged and half fell, then rose up and tried to turn back. But Hall only reined him lower, just above the roaring thunder and the splash and spume of the bar; and close behind Allifair's mount followed after him, feeling its way along the treacherous bottom. Hall's horse went down again and came up swimming, only to find himself across the main channel; and, seeing Hall land on the other side, Allifair plunged in after him, coming out in a shower of flying mud. A huge, branching tree bobbed solemnly down the current, swinging about as if to brush them from their foothold; but now the horses were struggling, as eager to get across as before they had been loth to go in. They progressed in great leaps, in swift scramblings and terrifying lunges; and finally, all atremble, they waded out through the shallows and stood limp on the opposite side. The tree swept on past, logs and driftwood bobbed and curtsied, the sand-waves roared terriblythrough the crests; but now it all seemed good for it raised a barrier behind them that the hardiest would hesitate to cross. Hall reined his horse into the washed-out, rocky trail and they began the long ride to Cold Spring.
CHAPTER XXIII
THE EAGLES' NEST
Inancient days, before taking any action, men stopped to consult the oracle or looked for omens in the flight of birds; but now, with equal results, we make our own augeries and follow what we call a psychic hunch. If we feel lucky we play, and if we feel unlucky we quit; and no system has been devised that will bring better results, for all that the fortune-tellers say. Hall had felt a strong hunch the moment he smashed in the sealedollaand found it a fountain of water; it had seemed an intervention, an interposition of that Providence which he believed had raised him from the dead. The hand which he could not see seemed to be leading him again, where before all had been darkness and doubt; to be smoothing out his way and solving the difficulties which before had seemed insuperable. And if it could give him water and a shelter for his beloved, then surely it could guide his footsteps and so order his goings and comings that he would succeed at last in his quest.