Jim Waring of Sonora-Town; Or, Tang of Life

by Henry Herbert Knibbs

  Chapter XIX

  _The Fight in the Open_

  Starr was awakened at midnight by the sound of boot-heels on theranch-house veranda. He lighted a lamp and limped to the door. Thelamplight shone on the smooth, young face of a Mexican, whose blacksombrero was powdered with dust.

  "What do you want?" queried Starr.

  "I am look for the Senor Jim. I am Ramon, of his place. From the ranchoI ride to Stacey. He is not there. Then I come here."

  "And you ain't particular about wakin' folks up to tell 'em, either."

  "I would find him," said Ramon simply.

  "What's your business with Jim Waring?"

  "It is that I am his friend. I know that he is ride looking for the menwho killed my patron the Senor Pat. I am Ramon."

  "Uh-uh. Well, suppose you are?"

  "It is not the suppose. I am. I would find Senor Jim."

  "Who said he was here?"

  "The senora at the hotel would think that he was here."

  Starr scratched his grizzled head. Waring had said nothing about theMexican. And Starr did not like Mexicans. Moreover, Waring had said totell no one that he had been at the Starr Ranch.

  "I don't know where Jim Waring is," said Starr, and, stepping back, heclosed the door.

  Ramon strode to his horse and mounted. All gringos were not like theSenor Jim. Many of them hated Mexicans. Ah, well, he would ride back toStacey. The senora at the cantina was a pleasant woman. She would notshut the door in his face, for she knew who he was. He would ask for aroom for the night. In the morning he would search for Senor Jim. Hemust find him.

  Mrs. Adams answered his knock at the hotel door by coming down andletting him in. Ramon saw by the office clock that it was past three.She showed him to a room.

  No, the senor had not been at the Starr Rancho. But he would find him.

  Ramon tiptoed to the open window, and knelt with his arms on the sill. Afalling star streaked the night.

  "And I shall as soon find him as I would find that star," he murmured."Yet to-morrow there will be the sun. And I will ask the Holy Mother tohelp me. She will not refuse, knowing my heart."

  Without undressing, he flung himself on the bed. As he slept he dreamed;a strange, vivid dream of the setting sun and a tiny horseman limnedagainst the gold. The horseman vanished as he rose to follow. If hewere only sure that it was the Senor Jim! The dream had said that thesenor had ridden into the west. In the morning--

  With the dawn Ramon was up. Some one was moving about in the kitchenbelow. Ramon washed and smoothed his long black hair with his hands. Hestepped quietly downstairs. Breakfast was not ready, so he walked to thekitchen and talked with Anita.

  To her, who understood him as no gringo could, he told of his quest. Sheknew nothing of the Senor Jim's whereabouts, save that he had comeyesterday and talked with the senora. Anita admired the handsome youngMexican, whose face was so sad save when his quick smile lightened theshadow. And she told him to go back to the ranch and not becomeentangled in the affairs of the Americanos. It would be much better forhim so.

  Ramon listened patiently, but shook his head. The Senor Jim had beenkind to him; had given him his life down in the Sonora desert. Was RamonOrtego to forget that?

  Mrs. Adams declined to take any money for Ramon's room. He worked forher husband, and it was at Ramon's own expense that he would make thejourney in search for him. Instead she had Anita put up a lunch forRamon.

  He thanked her and rode away, taking the western trail across themorning desert.

  Thirty miles beyond Stacey, he had news of Waring. A Mexican rancherhad seen the gringo pass late in the evening. He rode a big buckskinhorse. He was sure it must be the man Ramon sought. There was notanother such horse in Arizona.

  Ramon rode on next day, inquiring occasionally at a ranch or crossroadstore. Once or twice he was told that such a horse and rider had passedmany hours ago. At noon he rested and fed his pony. All that afternoonhe rode west. Night found him in the village of Downey, where he madefurther inquiry, but without success.

  Next morning he was on the road early, still riding west. No dream hadcome to guide him, yet the memory of the former dream was keen. If thatdream were not true, all dreams were lies and prayer a useless ceremony.

  For three days he rode, tracing the Senor Jim from town to town, butnever catching up with him. Once he learned that Waring had slept in thesame town, but had departed before daybreak. Ramon wondered why no dreamhad come to tell him of this.

  That day he rode hard. There were few towns on his way. He reined inwhen he came to the fork where the southern highway branches from theOverland Road. The western road led on across the mountains past thegreat canon. The other swept south through cattle land and into therough hills beyond which lay Phoenix and the old Apache Trail. He haileda buck-board coming down the southern road. The driver had seen nothingof a buckskin horse. Ramon hesitated, closing his eyes. Suddenly in thedarkness glared a golden sun, and against it the tiny, black silhouetteof a horseman. His dream could not lie.

  Day by day the oval of his face grew narrower, until his cheek-bonesshowed prominently. His lips lost their youthful fullness. Only his eyeswere the same; great, velvet-soft black eyes, gently questioning, veiledby no subtlety, and brighter for the deepening black circles beneaththem.

  The fifth day found him patiently riding west, despite the fact that alltrace of Waring had been lost. Questioned, men shook their heads andwatched him ride away, his lithe figure upright, but his head bowed asthough some blind fate drew him on while his spirit drowsed in stagnanthopelessness.

  To all his inquiries that day he received the same answer. Finally, inthe high country, he turned and retraced his way.

  A week after he had left Stacey he was again at the fork of the highway.The southern road ran, winding, toward a shallow valley. He took thisroad, peering ahead for a ranch, or habitation of any kind. Thatafternoon he stopped at a wayside store and bought crackers and cannedmeat. He questioned the storekeeper. Yes, the storekeeper had seen sucha man pass on a big buckskin cayuse several days ago. Ramon thanked himand rode on. He camped just off the road that evening. In the morning heset out again, cheered by a new hope. His dream had not lied; onlythere should have been another dream to show him the way before he hadcome to the fork in the road.

  That afternoon three men passed him, riding hard. They were in theirshirt-sleeves and were heavily armed. Their evident haste caused Ramonto note their passing with some interest. Yet they had thundered pasthim so fast, and in such a cloud of dust, that he could not see themclearly.

  * * * * *

  Waring, gaunt as a wolf, unshaven, his hat rimmed with white dust,pulled up in front of the weathered saloon in the town of Criswell onthe edge of the desert.

  He dismounted and stepped round the hitching-rail. His face was linedand gray. His eyes were red-rimmed and heavy. As he strode toward thesaloon door, he staggered and caught himself. Dex shuffled uneasily,knowing that something was wrong with his master.

  Waring drew his hand across his eyes, and, entering the saloon, askedfor whiskey. As in a dream, he saw men sitting in the back of the place.They leaned on their elbows and talked. He drank and called for more.The loafers in the saloon glanced at each other. Three men had justridden through town and down into the desert, going over-light for sucha journey. And here was the fourth. They glanced at Waring's boots, hisbelt, his strong shoulders, and his dusty sombrero. Whoever he was, hefitted his clothes. But a man "going in" was a fool to take more thanone drink. The three men ahead had not stopped at the saloon. One ofthem had filled a canteen at the tank near the edge of the town. Theyhad seemed in a great hurry for men of their kind.

  Waring wiped his lips and turned. His eyes had grown bright. For aninstant he glanced at the men, the brown walls spotted with "PoliceGazette" pictures, the barred window at the rear of the room. He drewout his gun, spun the cylinder, and dropped it back into the holster.

  The stranger, wh
oever he was, seemed to be handy with that kind of tool.Well, it was no affair of theirs. The desert had taken care of suchaffairs in the past, and there was plenty of room for more.

  From the saloon doorway they saw Waring ride to the edge of town,dismount, and walk out in the desert in a wide circle. He returned tohis horse, and, mounting, rode at right angles to the course the threeriders had taken.

  One of the men in the doorway spoke. "Thought so," he said withfinality.

  The others nodded. It was not their affair. The desert would take careof that.

  About the middle of the afternoon, Waring rode down a sandy draw thatdeepened to an arroyo. Near the mouth of the arroyo, where it broke offabruptly to the desert level, he reined up. His horse stood with headlowered, his gaunt sides heaving. Waring patted him.

  "Not much longer, old boy," he said affectionately.

  With his last burst of strength, the big buckskin had circled the coursetaken by the three men, urged by Waring's spur and voice. They wereheading in a direct line across the level just beyond the end of thearroyo where Waring was concealed. He could not see them, but as usualhe watched Dex's ears. The horse would be aware of their nearnesswithout seeing them. And Waring dared not risk the chance of discovery.They must have learned that he was following them, for they had riddenhard these past few days. Evidently they had been unwilling to chance afight in any of the towns. And, in fact, Waring had once been ahead ofthem, knowing that they would make for the desert. But that night he hadoverslept, and they had passed him in the early hours of morning.

  Slowly Dex raised his head and sniffed. Waring patted him, afraid thathe would nicker. He had dismounted to tighten the cinches when hethought he heard voices in argument. He mounted again. The men must haveridden hard to have made such good time. Again he heard voices. The menwere near the mouth of the arroyo. Waring tossed his hat to the groundand dropped his gauntlets beside his hat. Carefully he wiped hissweating hands on his bandanna. Dex threw up his head. His nostrilsworked. Waring spoke to him.

  A shadow touched the sand at the mouth of the arroyo. Waring leanedforward and drove in the spurs. The big buckskin leaped to a run as herounded the shoulder of the arroyo.

  The three horsemen, who had been riding close together, spread out onthe instant. Waring threw a shot at the foremost figure even as HighChin's first shot tore away the front of his shirt. Waring fired again.Tony Brewster, on the ground, emptied his gun as Waring spurred overhim. Turning in the saddle as he flashed past High Chin, Waring fired atclose range at the other's belt buckle. Out on the levels, AndyBrewster's horse was running with tail tucked down. Waring threw hisremaining shot at High Chin, and, spurring Dex, stood in his stirrups ashe reloaded his gun.

  The rider ahead was rocking in the saddle. He had been hit, althoughWaring could not recall having shot at him. Suddenly the horse wentdown, and Andy Brewster pitched to the sand. Waring laughed and reinedround on the run, expecting each instant to feel the blunt shock of abullet. High Chin was still sitting his horse, his gun held muzzle up.Evidently he was not hard hit, or, if he were, he was holding himselffor a final shot at Waring. Behind him, almost beneath his horse, hisbrother Tony had raised himself on his elbow and was fumbling with hisempty gun.

  Waring rode slowly toward High Chin. High Chin's hand jerked down.Waring's wrist moved in answer. The two reports blended in a blunt,echoless roar. Waring felt a shock that numbed his thigh. High Chin satstiffly in the saddle, his hand clasping the horn. He turned and gazeddown at his brother.

  "Thought you got him," said Tony Brewster from the ground. "Sit stilland I'll get him from under your horse."

  Waring knew now that High Chin was hit hard. The foreman had let his gunslip from his fingers. Waring saw a slight movement just beneath HighChin's horse. A shock lifted him from the saddle, and he dropped to theground as Tony Brewster fired. But there was no such thing as quit justso long as Waring could see to shoot. Dragging himself to his gun, heshook the sand from its muzzle. He knew that he could not last long.Already flecks of fire danced before his eyes. He bit his lip as heraised himself and drew fine on that black figure beneath High Chin'shorse. The gun jumped in his hand. Waring saw the black figure twitchand roll over. Then his sight grew clouded. He tried to brush away theblur that grew and spread. For an instant his eyes cleared. High Chinstill sat upright in the saddle. Waring raised his gun and firedquickly. As his hand dropped to the sand, High Chin pitched headlong andlay still.

  Then came a soft black veil that hid the glimmering sun and the widedesert reaches.

  High Chin, his legs paralyzed by a slug that had torn through hisabdomen and lodged in his spine, knew that he had made his last fight.He braced himself on his hands and called to his brother Tony. But hisbrother did not answer. High Chin's horse had strayed, and was grazingup the arroyo. The stricken man writhed round, feeling no pain, butconscious of a horrible numbness across his back and abdomen.

  "When it hits my heart I'm done," he muttered. "Guess I'll go over andkeep Tony company."

  Inch by inch he dragged himself across the sand. Tony Brewster lay onhis back. High Chin touched him; felt of the limp arm, and gazedcuriously at the blue-edged hole in his brother's chest. With awfullabor that brought a clammy moisture to his face, he managed to draghimself close to his brother and writhe round to a position where hecould sit up, braced against the other's body. He gazed out across thedesert. It had been a fast fight. Waring was done for. High Chinwondered how long he would last. The sun was near the horizon. It seemedonly a few minutes ago that the sun had been directly overhead and heand his brothers had been cursing the heat. It was growing cold. Heshivered. A long shadow reached out toward him from the bank of thearroyo. In a few minutes it would touch him. Then would come night andthe stars. The numbness was creeping toward his chest. He could notbreathe freely. He moved his arms. _They_ were alive yet. He opened andclosed his fingers, gazing at them curiously. It was a strange thingthat a man should die like this; a little at a time, and not suffer muchpain. The fading flame of his old recklessness flared up.

  "I'm goin' across," he said. "But, by God, I'm takin' Jim Waring withme!"

  He glanced toward the buckskin horse that stood so patiently beside thatsilent figure out there. Waring was done for. High Chin blinked. A longshaft of sunlight spread across the sand, and in the glow High Chin sawthat the horse was moving toward him. He stared for a few seconds. Thenhe screamed horribly.

  Waring, his hand gripping the stirrup, was dragging across the sandbeside the horse that stepped sideways and carefully as Waring urged himon. Dex worked nearer to High Chin, but so slowly that High Chin thoughtit was some horrible phantasy sent to awaken fear in his dulled brain.But that dragging figure, white-faced and terrible--that was real!Within a few paces of High Chin, Dex stopped and turned his head to lookdown at Waring. And Waring, swaying up on his hands, laughed wildly.

  "I came over--to tell you--that it was Pat's gun--" He collapsed and laystill.

  High Chin sat staring dully at the gunman's uncovered head. The horsesniffed at Waring. High Chin's jaw sagged. He slumped down, and layback across the body of his brother.

  * * * * *

  A pathway of lamplight floated out and across the main street ofCriswell. A solitary figure lounged at the saloon bar. The sharp barkingof a dog broke the desert silence. The lounger gazed at the path oflamplight which framed the bare hitching-rail. His companions of theafternoon had departed to their homes. Again the dog barked shrilly. Thesaloon-keeper moved to a chair and picked up a rumpled paper.

  The lounger, leaning on his elbow, suddenly straightened. He pointedtoward the doorway. The saloon-keeper saw the motion from the corner ofhis eye. He lowered his paper and rose. In the soft radiance a riderlesshorse stood at the hitching-rail, his big eyes glowing, his ears prickedforward. Across the horse's shoulder was a ragged tear, black againstthe tawny gold of his coat. The men glanced at each other. It was thehorse of the fourth man; the man who had st
aggered in that afternoon,asked for whiskey, and who had left as buoyantly as though he went tomeet a friend.

  "They got him," said the saloon-keeper.

  "They got him," echoed the other.

  Together they moved to the doorway and peered out. The man who had firstseen the horse stepped down and tied the reins to the rail. He ran hishand down the horse's shoulder over muscles that quivered as heexamined the wound. He glanced at the saddle, the coiled rope, theslackened cinches, and pointed to a black stain on the stirrup leather.

  I came over--to tell you--that it was Pat's gun]

  "From the south," he said. "Maguey rope, and that saddle was made inMexico."

  "Mebby he wants water," suggested the saloon-keeper.

  "He's had it. Reins are wet where he drug 'em in the tank."

  "Wonder who them three fellas was?"

  "Don' know. From up north, by their rig. I'm wonderin' who the fourthfella was--and where he is."

  "Why, he's out there, stiff'nin' on the sand. They's been a fight. And,believe me, if the others was like him--she was a dandy!"

  "I guess it's up to us to do somethin'," suggested the lounger.

  "Not to-night, Bill. You don't ketch me ridin' into a flash in the darkbefore I got time to tell myself I'm a dam' fool. In the mornin',mebby--"

  Their heads came up as they heard a horse pounding down the road. A leanpony, black with sweat, jumped to a trembling stop.

  A young Mexican swung down and walked stiffly up to Dex.

  "Where is Senor Jim?" he queried, breathing hard.

  "Don' know, hombre. This his hoss?"

  "Si! It is Dex."

  'Well, the hoss came in, recent, draggin' the reins."

  "Then you have seen him?"

  "Seen who? Who are you, anyway?"

  "Me, I am Ramon Ortego, of Sonora. The Senor Jim is my friend. I wouldfind him."

  "Well, if your friend sports a black Stetson and a dam' bad eye andperforms with a short-barreled .45, he rode in this afternoon just abouta hour behind three other fellas. They lit out into the dry spot. Reckonyou'll find your friend out there, if the coyotes ain't got to him."

  Ramon limped to the rail and untied Dex. Then he mounted his own horse.

  "Dex," he said softly, riding alongside, "where is the Senor Jim?"

  The big buckskin swung his head round and sniffed Ramon's hand. Then heplodded down the street toward the desert. At the tank Ramon let hishorse drink. Dex, like a great dog, sniffed the back trail on which hehad come, plodding through the night toward the spot where he knew hismaster to be.

  Ramon, burdened with dread and weariness, rode with his hands claspedround the saddle-horn. The Senor Jim, his Senor Jim, had found thosewhom he sought. He had not come back. Ramon was glad that he had filledthe canteen. If the man who had killed his Senor Jim had escaped, hewould follow him even as he had followed Waring. And he would find him."And then I shall kill him," said Ramon simply. "He does not know myface. As I speak to him the Senor Jim's name I shall kill him, and theSenor Jim will know then that I have been faithful."

  The big buckskin plodded on across the sand, the empty stirrupsswinging. Ramon's gaze lifted to the stars. He smiled wanly.

  "I follow him. Wherever he has gone, I follow him, and he will not losethe way."

  His bowed head, nodding to the pace of the pony, seemed to reiterate ingrotesque assertion his spoken word. Ramon's tired body tingled as Dexstrode faster. The horse nickered, and an answering nicker came from thenight. His own tired pony struck into a trot. Dex stopped. Ramon sliddown, and, stumbling forward, he touched a black bulk that lay on thesand.

  Waring, despite his trim build, was a heavy man. Ramon was just able tolift him and lay him across the saddle. A coyote yipped from the brushof the arroyo. As Ramon started back toward town his horse shied atsomething near the arroyo's entrance. Ramon did not know that the bodiesof Tony and Bob Brewster formed that low mound half-hidden by thedarkness.

  A yellow star, close to the eastern horizon, twinkled faintly and thendisappeared. The saloon at Criswell had been closed for the night.

  Next morning the marshal of Criswell sent a messenger to the telegraphoffice at the junction. There was no railroad entering the CriswellValley. The messenger bore three telegraph messages; one to SheriffHardy, one to Bud Shoop, and one to Mrs. Adams.

  Ramon, outside Waring's room in the marshal's house, listened as thelocal doctor moved about. Presently he heard the doctor ask a question.Waring's voice answered faintly. Ramon stepped from the door and foundhis way to the stable. Dex, placidly munching alfalfa, turned his headas Ramon came in.

  "The Senor Jim is not dead," he told the horse.

  And, leaning against Dex, he wept softly, as women weep, with ahappiness too great to bear. The big horse nuzzled his shoulder with hisvelvet-smooth nose, as though he would sympathize. Then he turned tomunching alfalfa again in huge content. He had had a weary journey. Andthough his master had not come to feed him, here was the gentle,low-voiced Ramon, whom he knew as a friend.