All that night as he rode on, with Allifair close behind, he was conscious of a hand that led him on; and at daylight, when he rode down to the crossingat Cold Spring, he did not hesitate to plunge into the flood. Their horses were weak and the creek was still high, but they fought their way through anyhow and led their mounts up the chasm without a slip or a fall. It was a miracle of good luck and as they took shelter in the cave the rain-clouds lowered as if to cover them. The lightning began to play a weird devil's dance along the summit of the eastern ridge, the thunder smote their crags and called for rain; and as they stood in the court of their castle-in-the-air, they saw their pursuers ride into the canyon below.
They were weary and bedraggled but still leaning beside their saddle-horns to trace the line of horse-tracks through the mud; a band of four horsemen, shrouded to the chin in sluicing slickers but following grimly on their trail. Who they were they could not tell in the blinding rain, but as they gazed over their rampart they saw one essay the crossing and go down as if he had stepped into a well. The others shook out their ropes and rode to his rescue, dragging horse and man to the shore; and then in disgust they rode up to the low cliff-dwellings and took shelter from the fury of the storm. Hall glanced down at Allifair who stood clutching his hand and they turned back and entered their new home.
She had held out bravely but now she sank down, bereft of the last of her strength; and after he had made a fire Hall spread her bed beside it, for she was drenched and chilled to the bone. He boiledcoffee over the fireplace and held a cupful to her lips, and after she had drunk she opened her eyes and lay gazing at the strange, tomblike dwelling. No light came in except through the low doorway, the fire cast strange shadows among the rafters; and yet somehow she felt a sweet contentment steal over her as she watched her lover by the fire. He was there, he would provide for her, and no one would ever find them—they were hidden away like twin eagles.
She fell into a deep sleep and when she awoke he was standing above her, smiling. Food was simmering on the fire but there was rain on his hat and he had brought in the breath of outdoors.
"They are looking for us," he said, and smiled again. "But they'll never find us—here."
"No, not here," she answered, and sat up quickly for he had laid a young turkey by the fire.
"Oh, did you shoot it?" she cried, and he stooped down and kissed her, then lifted her quickly to her feet.
"No, sweetheart," he laughed, "I didn't dare to shoot, but I drove it into my trap. And while you were asleep I took our horses up the chasm and hid them in a little lost valley. Now all we have to do is to keep out of sight and let the chase go by."
He drew her closer to him and she leaned against his breast, smiling softly as he told her of his love; and then they sat down to their first meal together while the storm swept by outside. Nothing mattered to them now, they were sheltered and warmedand fed and their dream had at last come true; and far into the night, though sleep made them nod, they sat up and talked of the past. Hall spoke of the time when he had seen her first, when he had crept to the Randolph's very door; and how she had saved him from Ewing and Cal when a word would have meant his death. And from there they drifted on through the maze of their wanderings; since she, like a culprit, had been sent to Arizona and he had followed on her trail. It was a tale of true love, in which neither had ever wavered; until now in the chamber of some ancient cliff-dweller they sat nodding by their fire.
They slept then at last and in the morning the bright sunshine shot a shaft of golden light through the door. All the great world without was awake and on the move but nature had demanded its toll—and when Hall roused up their broad cave was in the shadow and the sun had passed over the crags. He stepped softly to the rampart and looked down into the canyon, where the creek was still roaring in flood; and up and down its course, for he could view it for miles, he saw trailers, out cutting for sign. There was a fire in the fireplace when he came back from his watch, but after they had eaten he covered it with ashes lest the odor of the smoke betray them. They settled down in the broad court, watching their pursuers from the protecting darkness and talking tranquilly as the search went on; and when evening came on they leaned over thelow wall and gazed down at the camp by Cold Spring.
More men had come in, until now there were ten of them, and the flame of their camp-fire illuminated the windows of the lower cliff-dwelling until they glowed like the port-holes of a fort. Even their voices could be heard above the rush of the flood, which had subsided to a tumbling stream. But seeing their pursuers below only added to their contentment and they found time to look up at the stars. It was a soft and balmy night and no lions were abroad to waken the echoes with their yells; all their world seemed at peace and yet now there fell a silence in which each followed out his own thoughts. The past was not enough, nor yet the tranquil present; but each must quest on into the future.
"When these men have all gone," spoke up Allifair at last, "and my brothers have given up the search; shall we—I mean—well, what do you plan to do then?"
"What is there to do?" answered Hall, "except to work out our destiny? But how we can be married is more than I know—are you brave enough to stay here alone?"
"Alone!" she repeated with a catch in her voice; and then she reached for his hand. "No, Hall," she said, "we are too happy, you must not leave me. But I am brave enough to go with you—anywhere!"
"Ours is always the hardest way," he said at last. "Have you thought what is going to become of us? Every day that I stay here I shall eat up by so much the food that should be kept to feed you; and when that is gone can you live on turkeys and acorns, as I was compelled to do for days?"
"I can do what you can do," she answered resolutely. "But why do you have to go? Why can't we stay here together until the search for us is over——"
"Because," he broke in gently, "we are living in the world—and you know what people will say."
"Yes, I know," she sighed, "but why can't we be married? Why can't we ride into Tonto as soon as they leave and be married and start back home?"
"Because the trails will be watched—and your brothers will kill me if they ever find us together."
"Not if we're married!" she protested, but he took her in his arms and his silence questioned even that.
"They are hard men," he said, "and they came out here to kill me—but behind it all is your aunt. She told you in my presence that she would rather shoot you down than see you married to a McIvor; and I believe, Allifair, she would do it. But here you will be safe, and when I have finished with Isham——"
"Oh, Hall!" she reproached, "can't you learn to forgive? Does all that I have suffered count fornothing? I read killing in your eyes, that day that Sharps was shot—but I'll never forgive you if you do! You are determined to kill Isham, I know by your silence; but think what it means to me. He is my uncle after all, because he married Aunt Zoolah, and the McIvors have killed enough of my kin. But it isn't that alone—I want you to stop killing, and the only time to stop is now!"
"God knows," began Hall, and then he paused and sighed. "I am weary of this killing," he said. "God only knows how sick of it I am, but a man must keep his self-respect. I would give my right hand if the circumstances could be different, but it's either him or me. I can forgive him for myself, but for what he has done to others—well, we won't talk about it, dear, any more."
"Yes we will!" she answered back, "because I won't marry a murderer—and that's what you are at heart. Not that I blame you for it, Hall, for I know how you were brought up—all I ask is that now you should stop. Is that too much to ask?"
"No! not too much at all," he replied at length, "provided your uncle will stop. I fled like a coward when I heard your brothers had come, because I would rather be killed than kill them; but I ask you, is it right that I should promise to spare Isham when he is hunting me everywhere like an animal? Who is paying those men who are camped down below us? I tell you they have chased me far enough."
His voice was tense with passion and he drew his hand away, but she reached out and caught it back.
"Hall, dear," she pleaded, "don't you know what I mean? I'm afraid that Isham will kill you."
He laughed softly as she kissed him and crept back into his arms, where she shuddered and laid her head on his breast.
"No," he said, "he will never kill me. I've got too much to live for now."
CHAPTER XXIV
NO TRAIL
Thechase, which had been flung far, swung back towards Deadman Canyon, where the trail of the fugitives had disappeared; and with the others came the Randolphs and Isham Scarborough, riding up the creek from Tonto. Apache trailers came drifting in, drawn like vultures by the crowd; and soon, under their guidance, the search party crossed the creek and came out on the bench below the castle. Hall and Allifair could hear their shouts as they found the marks of his first turkey-trap, in the underbrush above the little spring; and then the chase led on to the cliff-dwellings below them, where Hall had made camp the first time. But the signs were all old and they came back to the spring, where they could look up and see the lost castle. Every word that they said could be heard now perfectly and Allifair trembled as she listened.
"Well, the house is there, ain't it?" argued Isham, trying to bully the Apache trailers. "How'd they git up to it? Well,buscathe trail!"
"No! No tlail!" responded the Apaches, and that was the last heard of them, for the cowboys hadtaken sides on the matter. Some swore that the trail came down from the top, and that they could see a kind of bear-track down the cleft; and the others were just as positive that it had ascended the cliff but had been lost by a cave-off of the rock.
"No! No tlail!" repeated the Apaches when the uproar had subsided, and Isham Scarborough came back at them angrily.
"You're scairt, you black rascals!" he shouted. "Hey, Charley—you take me up that mountain? Well, there now—you see? These danged Injuns are buffaloed—they're afraid Old Man Baker will kill 'em!"
"No! No 'flaid!" grunted the Indians, but they would not go up the chasm, for no Apache ever set foot on Baker Mountain.
"Hey, I'll tell you!" hollered Isham, his voice rising above the babel like the roar of a mountain bull, "I'll tell you where they've gone! Up Devil's Chasm and plumb over the summit—they couldn't get nowhere's else! Didn't we trail 'em to the crick, and ain't we rode clean to Tonto, cutting circles to pick up their tracks? Well, they crossed then I'm telling ye, even if you fellers couldn't, and by this time they're clean to Geronimo!"
"Well, let's go to Geronimo, then," spoke up Cal Randolph's even voice, "what's the use of trying to climb this mountain?"
"They may be hid up there," cried Isham. "But cripes, boys, we know one thing—they never wentdown that crick. And if they didn't go there where else could they go, except——"
He paused as a voice began shouting his name, and Hall peeped over the rampart. A man had ridden down to their camp across the creek and was waving his hat and hallooing.
"What d'ye want?" demanded Isham, walking to the edge of the bench and looking across at the runner, "what's the matter with you, anyhow?"
"Your wife says to come home!" shouted the messenger. "They's been a big raid—all your horses are run off! And three of the boys was found hung!"
"Hung!" echoed Isham, and every man in the party jumped up and ran to the rim.
"What's that?" they clamored, and Hall and Allifair rose up to catch the startling news.
"W'y, they was night-riders," explained the runner. "They wore masks and dressed like Injuns! Yes, come in at night and caught three boys standing guard! We found them hung to a tree! And they run off all your horses!"
"Hell's fire!" exclaimed Isham, and stood staring across the canyon while his men gathered together in groups.
"That was that sheepman, Grimes," whispered Hall to Allifair. "He's organized all those Mormons above the Rim."
"Oh, will he come down here?" asked Allifair aghast. "Because Ewing and Cal——"
"Maybe they'll leave, now," suggested Hall, and they listened again, for Isham was beginning to shout.
"Which way'd they go?" he inquired, and when the man answered north he burst into a fit of cursing.
"It's them dadburned Mormon ranchers!" he exclaimed, and started back for his horse.
"Well, let's go, boys," he said, when they had gathered by the spring, "we can tend to McIvor afterward. But if any one wants to stay here I'll give one thousand dollars to the man that brings me his hair. He's the dirty, doggoned rascal that stirred up all this ruckus, but I can't stop to monkey with him now. Come on, Cal; ain't you coming with me?"
"No!" answered Cal's voice and then, after a silence, "we didn't come out here to help you steal horses."
"Oh, you didn't, eh?" railed Isham, his voice tense with excitement, "well, since when have you got to be so good? Jest the minute they's any trouble——"
"We come out here to get our sister!" broke in Ewing's high voice. "And we're going to hunt till we find her."
"Well, hunt and be damned to ye!" burst out Isham in a fury, and went spurring off down the trail. His cowboys followed after him, talking low among themselves, and Hall and Allifair crouched down and listened.
"Well?" spoke up the voice which they recognized as Cal's; but Ewing did not reply. "Let's ask these Indians," went on Cal, "maybe they know of some trail. Hey!" he called, "come over here!"
"What you want?" demanded the Indian in arrogant tones, and Cal asked about the trail up the chasm. "No good!" replied the Apache. "Go hup—steep! Go hup mo'—mo' steep! Bimby too steep—fall down. Me no likum. Go home."
"Where you think this man go?" spoke up Ewing. "You find him, we give you two hundred dollars."
There was a gutteral conversation in Apache then, and Allifair began to cry softly, but Hall was listening over the wall. If the Apaches took up his trail they would undoubtedly find his horses; and his turkey traps and saddles, too. They might even find the entrance to their cave, with results which he did not care to contemplate; for he could not kill the Randolphs and they were sworn to kill him—but fate turned the shaft away. The Indians were afraid of Old Man Baker and his mountain and they revised their opinions to suit.
"Go hon—down wate'," answered the spokesman at last "Fall in—maybeso both dlown. How much you give—findum body?"
"Nothing!" burst out Cal, "go on away, you dirty devil. By God, Ewing; I believe he's right."
"Well, I told ye!" accused Ewing, his voice high and complaining, "I told you we hadn't ought to come! But you had to have your way, and now who's going to face Dad——"
"Aw, hush up!" returned Cal impatiently.
"You—give—coffee?" asked the Indian with painful distinctness, and Cal flew into a fury.
"No—damn ye!" he cursed. "Git away, before I kill ye. Come on, Ewing; let's quit and go home."
There was a silence then, broken by sonorous Apache as the Indians talked on gravely among themselves; and finally, across the creek, Hall saw the Texans riding north and the Randolphs heading for Tonto. Then he stooped and gathered up Allifair, who had given herself over to weeping, and carried her into the house.
"I can't help it!" she sobbed, "they're all so rough and brutal; and they curse and—oh, I just hate them! And to think of Cal and Ewing offering two hundred dollars——"
"And they'd have found us, too," nodded Hall. "But God looks after His own. I believe He is saving us, to work His will elsewhere—I'll never doubt it again. When I came here to look for you I was sure of my mission. I knew He was leading me to you; and I knew that somehow we should manage to escape, and be united, and unite our own people. But afterwards, when I was hiding like a rabbit among the rocks and the Scarboroughs were prospering so wonderfully—well, I couldn't believe it, it didn't seem possible, it hardly seems possible now. But hatred raises up hatred until it destroys itself; and now this sheepman, Grimes, whose herders they killed, has descended like a destroyingangel upon them. It will all work out now, and when I come back——"
"Are you going?" she asked suddenly, sitting bolt upright. "Oh, Hall, I want you—here with me! I'll live on acorns, I'll do anything—won't you stay?"
"I'll be back soon," he said, and turned away.
CHAPTER XXV
LIVE BAIT
Therewas a day of anxious waiting when they sat and watched the trails and then, in the twilight, Hall led Allifair up the chasm and showed her how to bait and set his traps. He helped her gather acorns, carried in a last load of wood and, late in the evening, they parted. She was brave again now, though she still hoped he would relent; but the traditions of a lifetime were behind his resolve and he left her without a tremor. Even his last kiss seemed cold, as if his mind had leapt ahead and was held by the grim task before him; and his voice, when he spoke, had the sternness of an ascetic who has banished all weakness from his life.
"I must go," he said, "and fight this out with Isham, and they will hunt me through the hills like a wild animal. And your part is to stay, like a wild animal, too, hidden away where no one can find you. But this is our last trial, and when I come back I hope it will be with honor."
He left her then suddenly, before she could answer, and glided away into the darkness; and Allifair clutched the pistol, which he had given her for her safety, and returned to the eagles' nest alone.She was like an eagle now that has lost its chosen mate, and its power to fly as well; and if he did not come back she would be more than lost, for the world would be empty without him. Yet what he said was true—it was her part to wait; the rest was in the hands of God.
As for Hall he rode forth cautiously, scouting around above the Basin; until at last it came over him that the Scarboroughs had taken cover—they were shut up within the Rock House. Around the bunk-house and corrals the Texas gunmen swarmed like flies; but they did not ride abroad, not even to the store—except when some one had called. Then they rode over in threes and fours, probably to get the latest news as it was retailed by the inquisitive store-keeper. After that he moved more freely and on the fourth day he sighted Meshackatee riding south at the head of a posse. But this was no posse of three or four fugitives, scouting anxiously around through the hills; it numbered ten fighting men, and they rode down by the main trail from the north. Winchester Bassett was still with him and Grimes, the sheepman; the others were strangers to Hall.
"Hello!" hailed Meshackatee, when Hall showed himself above them. "Come down and tell us what you know."
They halted on the trail and after Hall had shaken hands Meshackatee drew him aside.
"Where you been?" he said. "Still gunning for Isham? Well, we've got him holed up like a fox.Grimes came down here last week with a bunch of Latter Day Saints; and we busted him, by grab, over night. Or at least, Grimes did—I wasn't in on the deal—not officially. It was a dirty job, anyway—they hung that little kid that we caught up Horse-thief Canyon. No, not the one that cried—that nervy little devil that stood up and told us where to go to. He was too damned nervy—that's the trouble."
"And are you going back?" demanded Hall, "to repeat the performance? Because if you are——"
"Oh, no, no!" protested Meshackatee, "that was too durned raw for me. And besides, I'm an officer of the law. This is a regularly appointed posse of deputy sheriffs, and we're going to serve a warrant on Isham."
"You'll never do it!" declared Hall. "I've been watching him for two days and he never goes away from the Rock House. And he's got twenty-two men, not counting himself and Elmo—that bunch could stand off an army."
"Yes, they could so," admitted Meshackatee, "they's no use denying it. But Grimes and his men are so crazy to git at him that Winchester and me have give up. They're going to storm that house, if it's the last act of their lives—unless we can tole Isham out! Say, there's an idee," he said, stopping to scratch his bearded chin, "I'll tell you how I believe we can work it. We can let you go in first; and, unless I'm greatly mistaken, he'll take after you like a bat out of hell."
"No he won't!" returned Hall. "I know him too well. And besides, I've got a plan of my own. I don't want him to know I'm alive."
"No, but listen," insisted Meshackatee, "what do you care what he knows, as long as we git 'im between the eyes? We'll lay the ambush first and you lead him into it—we don't care, we'll take on the whole bunch of 'em!"
"Well," began Hall, and Meshackatee grabbed him by the shoulder.
"That's the talk!" he said. "Come on!"
"No, I don't agree to that," answered Hall, shaking him off. "But I tell you what I might do."
"Well, go ahead!" cried Meshackatee, dragging him back to the posse. "Hey, boys, here's a man we can rely on. Go ahead, Hall, and tell us your scheme."
"I've noticed," explained Hall as the posse gathered about him, "that all the Scarborough men keep close to the house. They're afraid to go out into the hills. But every time some neutral rides up to the store they go over there, sooner or later, to get the news. Now, if you gentleman will conceal yourself inside the foundation of that burned house——"
"Hooray!" cheered Meshackatee, giving him a slap on the back, "I told you he'd think up some scheme. And in the morning you can show up in the open."
"I'll do more than that," answered Hall, "I'll ride in from the south—alone. They'd be sure toscent a trap if they saw me there already; but if I came in just at dawn, and rode away with some provisions, I feel sure that some of them would follow. There's a thousand dollars reward on my head."
"Aha!" cackled Grimes, who had been wagging his head in approval, "so that's how bad they want ye!"
"Yes," nodded Hall, "but that's the very reason why we'll never lure Isham himself. He'll hold back and let his gunmen do the riding."
"Well, we'll see," asserted Grimes, "and if Isham don't come out we'll damned sure go in there and git him. D'ye remember what I told you when he killed my boss herder? Well, I've got three of his cowboys already. And I ain't started, man, don't you never forgit that—nor these fellers here ain't started. Them Texans of his rode up to their ranches and took the work-horses off of their plows. D'ye think they'll stand for that? Not while there's a man above the Rim that can shoot!"
"Well, come on," broke in Meshackatee, "we'd better git out of here before some neutral comes by and tips our hand. And to make it look convincing, in case any one is watching, we'll turn around and ride back north."
He led the way up the canyon and they camped in a pocket where they could waylay every man that passed by; but the times were troublous and not a soul came or went, to add to the Mormons' grim toll. They were frankly out for blood and Hallmade no protest, even when Grimes taunted him about the boy they had hung. He was a boy, that was true, but he had not heeded their warning; and they had caught him redhanded again. Hall kept away from the posse, talking gravely with Winchester who was now the last of the Bassetts; and that evening after dark they took the trail to Maverick Basin, surrounding the store an hour past midnight.
They found Johnson hiding in bed, trembling and begging for mercy, for he remembered the fate of the night-guard; and long before dawn they had schooled him in the part which he must act in the grim play to come. When Hall rode up, Johnson was to step out and meet him and stand talking so the Scarboroughs could see them; and then he was to retreat and come out with provisions, which were to be tied on the back of Hall's saddle. That was all, except at the end Johnson was to give the watching Scarboroughs a signal—and if the signal did not work, if the Scarboroughs refrained from coming, then the store-keeper was to be hung as a traitor. And the posse meant it, too, as Johnson soon divined; and besides, he had seen the three cowboys.
Hall rode away north with the men who were to guard the horses, and as the false dawn appeared he took to the brush, coming out past the Bassett place at daylight. The hounds, as he had expected, suddenly rushed out at him baying; and as he spurred rapidly away they set up such a barkingthat the Scarborough dogs took up the cry. In the distance he could see them running out from the Rock House and as the uproar continued the kitchen door swung open and a woman stepped boldly out. It was Miz Zoolah, and she would know him by his horse—the stage was set for the play.
He rode up to the store, without glancing at the stone foundation which sheltered Winchester Bassett and three Mormons, and Johnson came tottering out the door. His face was ghastly white and his watery eyes were swimming; but Meshackatee from inside the door was coaching him like a prompter and he stumbled through his part.
"Why, howdy do, Mr. Hall," he fawned. "Git down, git down!" And Hall replied in kind. They held a short conversation, then Hall ordered his provisions and sat watching the Rock House while he waited. There was movement there now and well he knew the glasses that were focussed on his form; but he took the matter coolly, tying the provisions on behind, and motioned Johnson to go back to the store. Then he rode off to the north, leaving the leaven to do its work, yet half hoping that Isham would be spared. For when Isham met his fate Hall wanted to be present—he wanted to launch his black soul into hell; but now he was only the bait of the trap—live bait, to lure the fox from his den.
From his hiding-place inside the store Meshackatee watched through his glasses as the outlaws in the Rock House began to swarm; and when theywent for their horses he relayed the news to Winchester, who was in command of the men behind the wall. Grimes remained in the store, to back up Meshackatee when he called upon the Scarboroughs to surrender; and four men were with the horses, which were hidden behind a hill out of sight from possible raiders. They had learned their parts well, not a man moved or spoke more than to give orders to the terror-stricken Johnson; and as he tottered wretchedly about, chopping wood and drawing water, they waited like cats by a hole.
An hour passed and Johnson came inside, for Meshackatee distrusted him still; and as the Scarboroughs milled about without making any start, Grimes took up a grim watch over the store-keeper. He had been seen to make his signals, which he claimed meant all was well; but the Scarboroughs, instead of coming, were gathered in a bunch, apparently engaged in hot argument. Perhaps after all the store-keeper was nervier than he looked, he might even have signaled them a warning; and in that case the posse would find themselves besieged and left in a perilous state. For the first thing that would happen would be the loss of their horses, and along with the horses four men; and to be set afoot in a strange and hostile country was disaster enough in itself. But if these things should happen Grimes already had the rope which was to hang the treacherous store-keeper.
There was a turmoil at the Rock House, men mounted and stepped down again; and finally, afterstarting in a body for the store, all but two of the gunmen turned back. These came on at a gallop, spurring and swinging their quirts, and as they thundered up the trail Meshackatee focussed his glasses and spoke through the doorway to Winchester.
"Here comes Elmo," he said, "and some other crazy fool. Kill the both of them if they go for their guns. But remember—we're deputies! And don't nobody shoot till I say: 'Surrender, in the name of the law!'"
He put up his glasses and turned to the storekeeper, who stood like a man in a dream.
"Step out, Mr. Johnson," he ordered coldly. "Can't you see them two customers coming?"
"But—but you're going to kill them!" protested Johnson in a frenzy.
"Git out there!" cursed Grimes, grabbing him roughly by the neck, "and you stand up to it, or I'll shoot you in the back!"
Johnson drew a great breath and stepped out the door just as the horsemen came galloping up. In the lead came Elmo, setting his horse up to make a show; but the man who was behind him reined his horse in more warily, glancing quickly about as he stopped. Meshackatee peeped out through a loop-hole, nodded his head at Grimes, and stepped to the side of the doorway.
"Who's in there?" demanded Elmo, hearing the quick stir of feet, and Meshackatee threw up his gun.
"Surrender!" he shouted, "in the name of the——"
Bang!went Grimes' rifle and Elmo lopped forward, shot dead by the heavy .45. The man behind made a grab for his carbine, then whirled his horse to flee; but before he could start there was a volley from the foundation and he pitched off, still clutching at his gun. The horse raced away, pitching and kicking at the saddlegun, which hung flopping, half-drawn from the scabbard; and this was the messenger of defeat for the Scarboroughs—another empty saddle coming home. They who lived by the sword had perished by the sword—the ambushers had run into an ambush. And in this last disaster Isham Scarborough read his doom. When the morning came again he was gone.
CHAPTER XXVI
THE MAN-TRAP
TheScarborough gang disappeared over night, disappeared and was lost track of completely, and its dissolution was as complete as that of a bubble which suddenly explodes and is gone. The outlaws and horse-thieves who had so terrorized the country, carrying their trade as far as Wyoming and Texas, took to the hills and were gone, leaving the stock they had stolen to be rounded up and restored by Meshackatee. In the corrals by the Rock House horses and cattle awaited their owners; and the Rock House itself, once the holdout of the gang, became the abode of Tonto County deputies. But Isham himself, the wolf who had turned fox, was lost and could not be found.
He had started west, taking the trail to the Geronimo, and somewhere on the way he had disappeared. For hundreds of miles along the base of the Rim, and for thousands of square miles along its top, there was a forest of pines as unbroken as the first wilderness, as untracked as the Arctic regions. Once out of the trail a man was lost to all pursuit but, knowing his directions, he was free to ride on as he pleased until he came tothe edge of the forest. Into this covert of trees and brush Isham had slipped like a weasel, leaving his wife to ride on to Geronimo; but McIvor cut his trail at last, and, after a month of hard riding, he too rode into Geronimo. For the wolf, now turned fox, had doubled on his tracks and taken shelter within the shadow of the law.
There had been a time when Isham had scoffed at the law, but that was in Tonto County. Geronimo County was different, and there was also a sharp rivalry between the mountain and valley counties. Geronimo was down in the valley, a land of heat and broad canals and alfalfa fields stretching away for miles, and its people were peaceably inclined; but the mountainous Tonto had achieved an unenviable reputation as the home of horse-thieves and outlaws. The Geronimo papers had made the most of his outlawry but Isham had reckoned well when he depended upon local jealousy to protect him from the hand of the law. No Tonto County deputy could arrest him in Geronimo, and he knew that no Geronimo deputy would. And to add to his security it soon became evident that Tonto was glad to get rid of him. The county was bankrupt already from trying to convict him and it was content to let sleeping dogs lie.
This much McIvor learned before he had been in town an hour—and then he experienced a shock. A tall man that he knew sauntered into the saloon and regarded him out of the tail of his eye—it was Burge Masters, one of the Scarborough gunmen. He took a drink and sauntered out, and as Hall sat at a card table another tall Texan walked in.
"Say," he said, coming over to where Hall sat, "haven't I seen you before around here somewhere?"
"Why, not that I know of," responded Hall, and looked him over carefully. He belonged to a breed that he knew all too well—heavy-jawed, with high cheek-bones and narrowed eyes—he was a gunman, straight from Texas. But what was he doing here in this peaceful farming community? The answer was in his eyes. He was there for a purpose and that purpose, for some reason, was not unconnected with him, Hall.
"That your horse out there?" inquired the Texan abruptly, "blue roan with a slit in one ear? Well, I'll have you to know youstole'im!"
He struck the table and Hall glanced up at him quickly, but he did not make a move.
"You are mistaken, my friend," he answered at last, and the Texan turned away. Hall stepped out the door after him, just in time to see three Texans making a critical examination of his roan. And then it flashed over him, the old Scarborough trick which Isham had attempted at Cold Spring. They were trying to prove him a horse-thief. He stood and watched them, stamping their faces on his memory, and at last they slouched away. But he had the answer now—they were still Scarborough gunmen, and they knew he had come with a purpose. What that purpose was he would admit to no man; but they knew, and Isham would know. He was there to kill the last of the Scarboroughs.
Even if he were not superstitious the appearance of Hall McIvor would send the chill of fear over Isham; for the blue roan which he rode had lured Red to his death, and then horse and man had lured Elmo. It was like the shadow of a raven, the heavy winging of Death itself, to see that drooping roan at the horse-rack, and as McIvor watched the street he was conscious of tense faces that seemed to divine his mission. Perhaps it was his clothes, torn by riding through the brush, or the stern set look in his eyes; but he could tell by their looks that these strangers knew all about him, although now they studiously ignored him. Even the Texans kept away from him, retreating to the saloon across the street; but he knew what was in their hearts. There was a thousand-dollar reward on his head.
Not for nothing had Burge Masters' friend slapped the table insultingly and accused him of being a horse-thief; they were out for the reward and if he refused to fight there were other ways of embroiling him. Hall sensed mischief in the air and yet he was puzzled—they seemed to be prepared for his coming. Where before there had been one Texan now there were eight or ten, all armed and watching him closely; and as he mounted his tired horse and rode him down to the corral he saw two of them swing up and start after him. Then he knew it—he had ridden into a trap. Ishamhad assembled his gunmen and made all things ready, and then let his presence be known; and McIvor, following blindly, had ridden into an ambush, right there in that peaceful, farming town. If he fled, they would follow him; and if he stayed—well, then it would be ten to one.
He rode down to the feed corral and looked it over closely, then summoned the proprietor from his office.
"Put this horse in a box stall," he directed, "and don't let any person go near him. I want to leave him saddled—and I'll hold you personally responsible if he isn't right here when I want him."
"All right, pardner," answered the livery-stable keeper, "I suppose the horse is yours?"
"Yes, and here's the bill of sale."
Hall took out the bill of sale which he had carefully preserved and showed it to the worldly-wise proprietor, who nodded and passed it back.
"Kee-reck," he remarked. "'Be sure you're right,' sez I, 'and then go ahead.' Your horse will be here when you call for him."
The Texans had disappeared when Hall returned to the main street, but he sat with his back to the wall. It was a habit he had acquired in just such towns as this, when the clans had gathered for court-day. But here all was different, the air was furnace-hot and strange birds fluttered about through the palms; there was the smell of desert greasewood, the rank tang of arrow-weed and the fragrance of sun-ripened hay. Heavy wagons dragged past,loaded with wheat for the flour mill which stood at the edge of the river-bottom; long-haired Indians strode by, their bare feet whispering along the sidewalk, and Mexicans sat smoking on their heels. There were ranchers in sweaty shirts and faded-out overalls, and the usual collection of bums; but the Texans were gone and as evening came on Hall retired to his room above the saloon.
Here was a new problem, new conditions, a conspiracy on foot to draw him into a quarrel; and he wondered rather wearily if it would not be better to withdraw and come in again. Isham Scarborough had rented a ranch several miles out of town and was reported to be harvesting his wheat; he was forewarned now and if Hall rode to his ranch he would expose his hand to no purpose. And then the hired gunmen, who even now were dogging his footsteps, would find the opportunity they sought. He would be shot down from ambush, somewhere along the road, and Isham would escape unscathed. Every circumstance was against him, but now he could not flee, for they would hunt him down like a rabbit. All he could do was to stand pat and wait.
In towns like Geronimo there is but one place to wait and Hall found himself back in the saloon. The Keno was the largest by far in the city and there he would find company and friends. It was a protection, in a way, to mingle with the crowd that gathered to gamble and drink; and if the Texans came to gang him these men of the valleywould see that he had fair play. So as the evening came on, making the darkened streets dangerous, he drifted back into the Keno; and to pass away the time he ventured small sums at roulette, always keeping one eye on the door. And then they came in, not eight or ten of them, but fifteen or twenty armed Texans; and a hush settled over the room.
The skitter of the roulette balls sounded with painful distinctness; and drunken men, wrangling in an uproar, heard their voices break through and rise high in the sudden silence. Texans were rare in Geronimo, they almost never came there, and especially in the heat of summer; and these swashbucklers from Tonto were known for what they were, though their purpose that night was still a mystery. All the Arizonans knew was that they were out to make trouble—Hall knew they had come to get him. They called for the drinks and then scattered through the room, some watching the crap-games, others losing a dollar at roulette, but gradually closing in. A hand, coming from nowhere, reached out to steal his pistol; another man jostled him from behind, but as the gang surged towards him Hall slipped between two tables and stood with his back to the wall.
There was a pause, in which crap dealers slid down softly beneath their tables and the rest of the assembly stood frozen, and then Hall spoke to the nearest of the gang.
"What can I do for you, my friend?" he askedwith deceptive quietness, and the nerve of the Texan broke.
"Have a drink!" he guffawed, turning and heading for the bar; but Burge Masters stepped out in his place.
"We want you," he said, "and you might as well come quietly. If you don't——"
"I won't come," stated Hall.
There was another pause, and the crowd by the door suddenly ducked and charged out into the street; then, after an interval, another crowd surged in, and in the lead strode Wahoo Meshackatee. He had a gun in each hand and when he saw the Texans he started, then glanced inquiringly at McIvor.
"Well, hello!" he exclaimed, "what's going on here, anyhow? Have I broke in on a little family party?"
Burge Masters turned his head but he did not speak and his men began to shuffle away.
"Oh, nothing much," he mumbled, and Meshackatee beckoned to Hall, then held up his hand to the bar-keeper.
"Have a drink, boys," he said. "Your faces seem familiar. Long time since I've seen a live Texan."
They looked at him and winced, for they knew what he meant, and suddenly all the fight went out them.
"Well," grumbled Masters, and they drank in stony silence then turned and filed out of the door.
CHAPTER XXVII
WINCHESTER TAKES THE LONG CHANCE
"Whatyou doing down here?" demanded Meshackatee of Hall as soon as he could draw him aside. "And what was that—a Horse-thieves' Reunion?"
"Those are Scarborough gunmen," answered Hall behind his hand. "We're lucky to get off alive."
"You'relucky," corrected Meshackatee. "But say, have you seen Winchester? The rascal is down here, somewhere."
"Let's find him!" exclaimed Hall, and started for the door, but Meshackatee drew him back.
"Keep inside," he advised. "Them Teehannos will pot you if you show yourself in the door. Leave 'im alone—I ain't worried about Winchester."
"But this town is dangerous," protested McIvor. "We three ought to get together. I believe there's a reward—and a big one too—on the head of every one of us."
"Come over here in the corner," beckoned Meshackatee, and they took seats at a table in the rear. "Now listen," he said, "we stay here all night.You're dead right—the damned burg is dangerous. These officers in town, the city marshal and such, have crept plumb under the house. It's Texas Day—or was. But here's the hell of it—I've got it straight enough they're jest waiting for one of us to leave. We're safe, here in town, but the minute we leave—well, I'm thinking about writing my will."
"I can't understand it," said McIvor at last, "and yet, in a way, I can. Miz Zoolah came ahead and hired all these gunmen and then Isham broke cover and joined her. He's got a ranch out here somewhere——"
"That's where Winchester is," whispered Meshackatee. "They don't know he's come down. He's out looking over the ground."
"Just where is this ranch?" asked Hall after a pause, and when Meshackatee told him he fell silent. The night dragged on slowly and the games of chance closed, they watched and slept by turns; but as the morning drew near Hall rose up quietly and slipped out by the back way to the corral. In the box stall he found his horse and led him quickly to the street, then mounted and rode off through the darkness. Something told him to go back, to turn and ride for the hills, to seek out Allifair and never come back; but something else urged him on, something warned him to strike now, before his enemies could kill him by treachery. In the river-bottom silt his horse's feet were muffled, he threaded the ghostly roadways in silence; and at the fourth cross-road south he turned to the west, taking shelter beneath the blackness of tall cottonwoods.
It was the darkness before the dawn when he sighted the place and knew it by the baying of hounds and, finding some waste land nearby covered with mesquite trees and high weeds, he took cover and waited for the light. But now that he was still his heart grew sick and he almost repented of his purpose. A little more patience, a few more days of grace, and Meshackatee or Winchester might kill Isham. But no, that was wrong, for even in one day Isham's gunmen might shoot down all three of them. The time to strike was now, before they had recovered from their surprise and had a chance to lay other plans; and the man to strike was Isham, the head and front of the gang, the man whose cunning and hate urged them on. Three times already Hall had set out to kill him and each time had been diverted from his purpose. This time he would die if he failed.
As the sun came up he crept to the edge of the wild land and searched the Scarborough ranch with his glasses; and already they were astir, loading some wheat sacks on a hay-wagon, rearranging them, making a trench down the middle. He lay watching them curiously, trying to divine their zealous interest in the loading of that grist for the mill; but when the horses were hitched up he was suddenly enlightened, for Isham climbed up on the load. It was a traveling fort, a barricade on wheels; and as he settled down and took the reins theyhanded him up his guns and opened the gate to the road. Men that Hall had not seen now appeared from their ambush, hurrying to catch up their mounts and follow; and while they were saddling Isham drove out the gate and turned his team towards town.
Hall drew back from his lookout and ran to his horse, then hurried to a place by the road; but as the wagon came toward him he could see nothing but Isham's feet—he was concealed behind a wall of solid wheat. He hesitated, for there were loop-holes between the piled-up sacks and Isham would have him at his mercy; and yet, if he allowed this chance to slip by——. He crouched back, confused and distrait. But while he weighed the chances against him there was a stir across the road, a rush and a breaking of brush; and from the cover of the mesquite thicket a horseman burst out and went charging down on the wagon. Isham rose up to scramble back, but the horseman was upon him, he fired twice, never slackening his pace; and then, without a pause he reined back into the brush and went plunging away through the trees. Hall drew back trembling—it was Winchester Bassett, and who ever knew Winchester to miss?
At the shooting the heavy farm-team shied and cramped the wheels, but now with reins dangling they went galloping up the road, spilling off grain-sacks in their terrified flight. There was a yell from the ranch-house, the patter of pursuing hoof-beats; and as the Texans dashed past, Hall ranfor his horse and was lost in the thicket of mesquites. Isham Scarborough was dead and Winchester had killed him, but there was still the law to be reckoned with. There would be a search for the murderer, a hue-and-cry through the wastelands, perhaps later a marking down of tracks; and while Winchester had fired the shots it would go hard with Hall if he were caught near the scene of the crime. Winchester had counted his life as nothing, charging out like a whirlwind and winning by his very audacity; but now he would flee as swiftly as he had come, leaving nothing but his horse-tracks by the road. Hall spurred through the thickets and came out on a section-line, but as he was about to take flight he paused.
Back in the corner of the Keno, watched over only by his dog, the big-hearted Meshackatee was sleeping across the table, unsuspecting of the storm about to burst. In their rage at Isham's death the Texans might shoot him down, or have the officers take him in charge; and the devilish spite of Miz Zoolah was still to be reckoned with—she, too, might hire him killed for revenge. Hall turned his horse towards town and went galloping up a side street just as the first Texans, riding alongside the wagon, came shouting the news up the street. There was a rush of curious people and the saloon was deserted when Hall burst in through the back door. Even the bar-keepers were gone, and if Meshackatee had gone with them——Hall stepped to the swinging doors.
The wagon had stopped in the middle of the street and the people were swarming around it; and up on the broad platform, now cleared of its wheat, Miz Zoolah was standing above Isham.
"He's dead!" she announced, as men scrambled to lift the body, "leave 'im alone, I tell ye; he's dead. But I know who killed him, and if there's an ounce of manhood in any of you, you'll ride till you ketch Hall McIvor. He's riding a blue roan and——"
Hall ducked through the door and made a run out the back way, but as he mounted he took a second thought. He had not killed Isham Scarborough, and it could not be proved—there was no one to stand witness against him; but if he fled for the hills and was pursued and brought back the fact would be used against him. And if the Texans led the posse, as they undoubtedly would, it would end in a fight to the death. He reined his horse back and rode straight to the court-house, where he gave himself up to the sheriff.
CHAPTER XXVIII
THE HONOR OF THE McIVORS
Isham Scarboroughwas dead but the Scarborough gang still lived, and soon what had long been suspected was proven—Miz Zoolah had been its brains. Isham had put up the bluff, the loud talk and the rough work, but she had done the thinking which had directed his coarse violence along the ways of destruction and death. And, since she was its head, the gang still lived on, to carry out her will to the end. She it was who had laid the man-trap at Geronimo, to net the last of her husband's enemies; and though Hall was in jail and so safe from open violence, even there he felt the breath of her hatred. She appeared at his cell door, to positively identify him before she swore out a warrant against him; and the look in her pale eyes was as baleful as a rattlesnake's when it raises its head to strike.
"That's the man," she said, "I'd swear to him anywhere. He's the man that killed my husband."
And before the Justice of the Peace, when he was arraigned for examination, she accused him with passionate hate.
"He's a McIvor!" she cried, "his father killedmy brother and my elder sister's son! And now he's killed my husband—he shot him from ambush, but I reached him before he died. He had fallen from the wagon and when I raised his head he whispered:
"'Hall killed me—Hall McIvor!' And then he fell back, dead!"
That was all her testimony, the only thing that held him and the one thing that could not be shaken; and he was bound over to the Grand Jury, which held him for trial at the pending session of court. ButhadIsham spoken these words before he died? In the dreary days that followed Hall debated it, pro and con; but he knew and she knew that, as long as she swore to it, it might as well be the fact. For Isham was dead, there were no other witnesses; and it was a question of veracity between Miz Zoolah and himself, with the odds in favor of the woman. He was shut up in a cell, without a single friend to consult with or to carry a message to Allifair; but she was at large, with a band of Texas gunmen to see that his friends did not come.
Meshackatee could help him, but Hall knew in his heart that Meshackatee dared not come; the man-trap was still set and he would not escape again as he had when he first came to town. And Allifair could help, for she had heard Isham's threats and his offer of a reward for his death; but the moment she appeared her aunt would seize upon her and make her a virtual prisoner. Winchester Bassett could help most, if he happened to be so minded; but he had escaped to the hills, riding a relay ofswift horses, and established a perfect alibi. On the very day of the killing he had been seen in Maverick Basin, a hundred and twenty miles away. So the whole matter stood and Hall waited in silence until the day of his trial came at last.
A thousand times, as he lay sweltering in the heat, breathing the dead, sickly air of his prison, he thought of Allifair, hidden away in their eagles' nest and watching the empty trail. How many times as the two long months dragged by must she have thought he was wounded or killed; and yet there was no one but Meshackatee that he would trust with a message, for Miz Zoolah was still on the watch. Somewhere, she knew, Hall had hidden away Allifair, and she had her spies even in the jail; and rather than expose her to the wrath of the Randolphs, Hall left Allifair to wait on alone. How she would live he could only guess, for her supplies would be exhausted; but he imagined her at dawn gathering grass-seeds and piñon-nuts or bringing back turkeys from her traps. He imagined her roasting acorns to grind them up for coffee and ranging like a quail to find berries, even gnawing the bark of trees or cooking mescal heads to break the dead monotony of her diet. Yet even that was better he said in his heart than to fall into the clutches of Miz Zoolah.
He went to his trial like a man in a dream following the sheriff up the narrow winding stairs; but when he entered the crowded courtroom with its bank of auditors standing behind he swept thesea of faces with keen eyes. Here were the men that were to try him, the men of Geronimo; for what they thought would be reflected by the jury which would be called to sit on his case. The jury would cast the ballot but The People would decide for thought is as fluid as air. It passes from man to man despite the menace of bailiffs and the charges of the court commanding silence; and the opinion of the majority finds its expression at last when the foreman says: "Guilty" or "Not Guilty."
Hall plead "Not Guilty," and he plead according to fact, for his hand was innocent of the crime; yet so intimate is the connection between what we think and what we are that somehow he felt himself the killer. He had come to Geronimo to kill Isham or be killed; he had ridden to his ranch to waylay him; and only the intervention of Winchester Bassett had kept him from accomplishing his purpose. Not that he held himself to blame, for the teachings of a lifetime made him consider such an act as praiseworthy; but the look in his eyes was that of a man-killer who seeks no excuse for his crime. And the men of Geronimo, being a hardy band of citizens, looked on in grim approval. According to their code he had committed no crime—he had fought a fair fight and won.
Being questioned he admitted that on the morning of the killing he had been present at the scene of the crime, he acknowledged his connection with the Maverick Basin War and his grudge againstthe deceased; but he denied most vigorously that he had fired the shots that had resulted in the death of Isham. All this he did voluntarily, in the form of a statement, and then he sat down and waited. There was a stir in the crowd and Mrs. Scarborough stepped forward, swathed in black to emphasize her widowhood; but when she began to talk she threw back the long veil and her eyes became set with hate. Question after question was asked and answered, the time and place were fully established; and then the District Attorney asked the one crucial question:
"And what did your husband say?"
"He said," she said passionately: "'Hall killed me—Hall McIvor!'"
And then she turned and looked at him.
"That is all," nodded the District Attorney, and rested his case, at which there was another stir in the crowd. Hall turned with the rest, and when he saw Meshackatee's huge head, his broad shoulders and curling black beard, he smiled for the first time that day.
"I call that man for my witness," he said to the Judge, but there was another surprise in store for him. Following close behind Meshackatee and concealed by his great bulk came Allifair Randolph, smiling. He sprang up to meet her, but the bailiff snatched him back, the District Attorney shouted out some protest; and then, still held apart, they gave greeting with their eyes while the crowd roseup and gaped. Here was the woman in the case, the woman we always look for, the one we are directed to find; and when she stepped into the witness box, her face radiant with love, the jury gazed about in wonder. But when they saw the glare in the eyes of Mrs. Scarborough they read the whole story at a glance. This case that they were trying was not a plain killing, it was battle between women as well; and when women are involved, as the jury knew full well, the facts are often thrown to the winds. Even the sanctity of the oath is lightly disregarded and passion pulls down reason from its throne; but now they leaned forward to listen with open mind, as the Judge had so carefully instructed them.
Allifair, being questioned, explained the feud behind a feud—the Randolph-McIvor war and its relation to the battle which had ended in the death of Isham. Hall's lawyer repeated the questions as Hall whispered them into his ear, and after she had told of the opposition to their marriage the lawyer suddenly saw a way out.
"And do I understand," he asked, "that the complaining witness, Mrs. Scarborough, is a member of the Randolph clan? Well, please inform the jury if at any time, to your knowledge, she threatened the life of the defendant."
"Yes," answered Allifair. "One night he came to meet me and while we were talking my aunt crept up behind us and threatened to shoot him with a pistol. And when I interfered she said she wouldkillmebefore she would let me marry a McIvor."
"And do you consider that this prejudice, this clan feeling as a Randolph, would render it impossible for your aunt to give fair testimony where the life of the defendant was at stake?"
"I object!" spoke up the District Attorney; but the judge overruled him and Allifair answered the question.
"I believe she would say anything, or do anything," she replied, "that would keep us from being married."
"That is all," smiled the lawyer, and summoned Meshackatee; but before he took the stand Meshackatee whispered to the bailiff, who turned and looked sharply into the audience.
"Your honor," began Meshackatee, as the bailiff seemed to hesitate, "I have reason to believe that a band of armed men have come into court here to kill me. I refer particularly to that bunch of bad Texans."
He jerked his thumb in the direction of the front seats where the Scarborough gunmen under the direction of Burge Masters sat glaring with narrowed eyes.
"Search the gentlemen," ordered the Judge, "and while you are about it, remove that pistol from the witness."
The bailiff rapped for silence and the Judge went on sternly. "At the first sign of disturbance I will order the courtroom cleared. Any who wish may now leave the room."
The gunmen rose up, drawing their coats over their pistols, and filed sullenly out of court.
"Thank you, Judge," bowed Meshackatee, turning his belt over to the bailiff, and he stepped ponderously up into the witness chair.
"I am a deputy sheriff of Tonto County," he replied to the lawyer's first question. "Yes, I know the defendant well. He served as a deputy during the Maverick Basin trouble, and is a gentleman of the highest integrity. Yes, I have often heard him say that he disapproved of all feuds and especially of the Randolph-McIvor war. His sole object, so he informed me, in entering Maverick Basin was to rescue and marry Miss Randolph. She was being held, practically as a prisoner, by Mrs. Scarborough."
Hall's lawyer was beginning to beam, the jury exchanged glances; and as Meshackatee went on to show Miz Zoolah's prejudice against McIvor, she rose up and left the room. Allifair nodded to Hall and smiled, even the Judge began to unbend; but as he was making a ruling Hall sprang to his feet and pointed towards the door.
"Your Honor!" he cried, "I want that woman restrained. I have reason to believe——"
"Sit down!" ordered the Judge, and as Hall obeyed Mrs. Scarborough came swiftly down the aisle. Her face was half concealed beneath the veil of heavy crêpe that hung from her widow's bonnet, but her right hand was hidden beneath the folds of a black shawl which she had thrown about her shoulders.And something about her step as she came down towards him warned Hall of the murder in her heart.
"This is not Kentucky," went on the Judge severely, "nor is it Maverick Basin. You are safe in the custody of the court."
Hall rose up again and glanced helplessly about, then dropped his hands by his side.
"Very well," he replied, and as Mrs. Scarborough swept by him he turned and met her eye. "I have never struck a woman yet," he said, and her thin lips parted in a sneer.
"No," she answered, and while they gazed at her fascinated she whipped out a pistol, full-cocked. "I'll show you!" she cried, and, pressing it against his breast, she gave the trigger a jerk. But the gun only snapped; for her widow's veil, hanging down from her bonnet, had caught on the hammer and fouled it. She struggled to release it, to cock and fire again; and Hall turned his eyes on the Judge.
"And I never will," he added, "not even to save my life."
"Seize that woman!" shouted the Judge, suddenly roused from the paralysis which had frozen every man in his place; but the bailiff had come to life first. He struck the gun to one side and crushed Miz Zoolah's arms to her sides, and as she fought like a wild-cat others rushed in to help him, while the crowd stampeded through the doors.
"I'll git you!" she shrieked, her pale eyes blazing with rage as McIvor stood smiling before her—but his smile was not for her. Allifair had stood fast and now she came running to throw herself into his arms.
"God has saved you!" she sobbed, and he bowed his head.
"Yes," he said. "Saved me for you."
They stood locked in each other's arms, oblivious of the spectators, unconscious of what was going on; and when they looked about the clerk was piling up his books and the District Attorney was speaking.
"If the court please," he said, "the conduct of the complaining witness has destroyed the value, in my opinion, of her testimony; and I therefore ask the court to direct an acquittal, since no jury would convict on such evidence."
As court was adjourned he came over and shook hands, wishing them all the happiness in life; and Hall and Allifair were still receiving congratulations when Meshackatee came hurrying back.
"Well, come on; come on!" he boomed, "we've got her locked up in jail. And I'll say right now she's half red and the other half stinging scorpion. So if you're going to git married you'd better do it quick, before she breaks down the bars. I'll give the bride away, if you'll excuse these clothes; but by grab if them scoundrels hadn't jinglebobbed my ears I'd've stole Miss Allifair myself. A prettier woman—or a braver woman, either—I never expect to see. She lived up in them cliff-dwellings for nigh onto two months; and when I come bythere——Well, I'll go and git the license. There's the Judge there, trying to flag you."
The Judge indeed was beckoning them to his chambers, and when they had entered he gave Hall his hand while Allifair looked on, smiling.
"Mr. McIvor," he said, "I owe you an apology. And allow me to retract what I said about Kentucky, a state which may well be proud of you. Whatever she may lack in respect for the law, you have learned there a chivalry and a reverence for womankind which I never expected to witness. If you and Miss Randolph will do me the honor I shall be happy to officiate at your marriage."
Hall hesitated a moment and glanced down at Allifair, who blushed and nodded her head.
"We thank you, Judge," he said, "and since you have referred to Kentucky, let me say that our marriage will end the greatest feud that has ever existed in that state. The Randolphs and McIvors have fought for twenty years, and our code may seem different from yours; but despite our lawless acts we McIvors love truth and justice and hold our honor above our lives."
"You have shown," declared the Judge, "that that is no idle phrase—I can see that it comes from your heart. But why, if I may ask, did you refuse to strike that woman? Would you stand there and allow her to kill you?"
"No gentleman——" began Hall, and then he stopped and met Allifair's unbelieving gaze. "She was a Randolph," he said, and bowed."Oh, Hall!" reproached Allifair, suddenly clutching at his hand, and then her eyes softened and she smiled.
"The Randolphs love honor, too," she said. "They will learn to forgive us—now."
END