CHAPTER XVI
A WATERSPOUT
Almost imperceptibly, Buck Weaver's relation to his jailers changed. Itwas still understood that their interests differed, but the personalbitterness was largely gone. He went riding occasionally with the boys,rather as a guest than as a prisoner.
At any time he might have escaped, but for a tacit understanding that hewould stay until Menendez was strong enough to be sent home from theTwin Star.
One pleasure, however, was denied him. He saw nothing of Phyllis, savefor a distant glimpse or two when she was starting to school orreturning from a ride with Larrabie Keller. He knew that her father andher brother were studiously eliminating him, so far as she wasconcerned. Certain events had been of a nature to induce whisperedgossip. Fortunately, such gossip had been nipped in the bud. Theyintended that there should be no revival of it.
Weaver had sent word to the riders of the Twin Star that there was to benothing doing in the matter of the feud until his return.
He had at the same time ordered from them a change of linen, a box ofhis favorite cigars, and certain papers to be found in his desk. Thesein due time were delivered by Jesus Menendez in person, together with anote from the ranch.
TWIN STAR RANCH, Tuesday Morning.
DERE BUCK: You've sure got us up in the air. The boys was figurring some on rounding up the whole Seven Mile outfit in a big drive, but looks like you got other notions. Wise us if you want the cooperation of
PESKY and the other boys.
With a smile, Weaver showed it to Phil. "Shall I send word to the boysto start on the round-up?"
"It won't be necessary. You don't need their cooperation. Fact is, nowMenendez is back, you're free to go. 'Rastus is getting your horse rightnow."
The cattleman realized instantly that he did not want to go. Businessaffairs at home pressed for his attention, but he felt extremelyreluctant to pull out and leave the field in possession of LarrabieKeller, even temporarily. He could not, however, very well say so.
"Good enough," he said brusquely. "Before I go, we'd better settle thematter of the range. Send for your father, and I'll make him aproposition that looks fair to me."
When Sanderson arrived, he found the cattleman with a map of the countyspread before him upon the table. With a pencil he divided the range ina zigzag, twisting line.
"How about that? I'll take all on the valley side. You take what is inthe hills and the parks."
Sanderson looked at him in astonishment. "That's all we've beencontending for!"
Buck nodded. "Since you get what you want, you ought to be satisfied,"he said gruffly. "Of course, there will have to be some give-and-takeabout this. My cattle will cross the line. So will yours. That can't behelped. I've worked out this problem of the range feed prettythoroughly. My territory will feed just about as many as yours. Eachyear we can arrange together to keep the number of cattle down."
Under his shaggy brows, Sanderson looked at him in perplexity. Theproposition was more than generous. It meant that Weaver would have tosell off about a thousand head of cattle, while the hill-men, on theother hand, could increase their holdings.
"What about sheep?" the old man asked bluntly.
Buck's stony gaze met his steadily. "I'm going to leave those sheep onyour conscience, Mr. Sanderson. You'll have to settle that matter foryourself."
"You mean you'll not stand in the way, if I want to keep them?"
"That's what I mean. It's up to you."
Phil, who was sitting on the porch sewing on a pair of leather chaps,indulged in a grin. "I see this is where we go out of the sheepbusiness," he said.
"The market's good. I don't know but what it would be the right thing tosell," his father agreed. "I want to meet you halfway in settling thistrouble, Mr. Weaver."
The matter was discussed further at some length, after which thecattleman shook hands all round and departed. Out of the tail of his eyehe saw Keller saddling a horse at the stables.
"Think I'll beat you out of that ride with the schoolmarm to-day, myfriend. A steady diet of rides like that is liable to intoxicate a man,"he told himself, with his grim smile. In plain sight of all, he turnedthe head of his horse toward the road that led to the schoolhouse.
Presently he met pupils galloping home, calling to each other joyouslyas they rode. Others followed more sedately in buggies. Nearer theschoolhouse he came on one walking.
After Phyllis had looked over some papers, made up her weekly report,and outlined on the board work for next day, she saddled her pony andset out homeward. Not in ten years had the country been so green andlovely as it was now. There had been many winter snows and spring rains,so that the _alfilaria_ covered the hills with a carpet of grass. Muddylittle rivulets, pouring down arroyos on their way from the mountains,showed that there had been recent rains. These all ran into the Del Oro,a creek which was dry in summer but was now full to its banks.
She followed the river into the canon of the same name, a narrow gulchwith sheer precipitous walls. So much water was in the river that thetrail along the bank scarce gave the pony footing. Half a mile from thepoint where she had entered the Del Oro the trail crept up the wall andescaped to the mesa above. Phyllis was nearing the ascent when a soundstartled her. She swung round in her saddle, to see a wall of waterroaring down the lane with the leap of some terrible wild beast.Somewhere in the hills there had been a waterspout.
She called upon her pony with spur and voice, racing desperately for theplace where the trail rose. Of that wild dash for life she rememberednothing afterward save the overmastering sense of peril. She knew thatthe roan was pounding forward with the best speed in him, and presentlyshe knew too that no speed could save her. The roar of the advancingwater grew louder as it swept upon her. With a cry of terror she draggedthe pony to its haunches, slipped from the saddle, and attempted toclimb the rock face.
Catching hold of outcropping ledges, mesquit, and even cactus bushes,she went up like a mountain goat But the water swept upon her, waisthigh, and dragged at her. She clung to a quartz knob her fingers hadfound, but her feet were swept from her by the suction of the torrent.Her hold relaxed, and she slid back into the river.
Like a flash of light a rope descended over her outstretched arms,tightened at her waist, and held her taut. She felt the pain of atremendous tug that seemed to tear her in two. Dimly her brain reportedthat somebody was shouting. A long time afterward, as it seemed to herthen, a strong arm went round her. Inch by inch she was dragged from thewater that fought and wrestled for her. Phyllis knew that her rescuerwas working up the cliff wall with her. Then her perceptions blurred.
"I'll never make it this way," he told himself aloud, half way up.
In fact, he had come to an _impasse_. Even without the burden of herweight, the sheer smooth wall rose insurmountable above him. He did theone thing left for him to do. Leaving her unconscious body in a sort oftrough formed by the juncture of two strata, he lowered himself into therushing stream, searched with his foot for a grip, and swung to the leftinto the niche formed by a mesquit bush growing from the rock. Fromhere, after stiff climbing, he reached the top.
He found, as he had expected, his cow pony with feet braced to keep therope taut. Old Baldy was practising the lesson learned from scores ofroped steers. No man in the Malpais country was stronger than this one.In another minute he had drawn up the girl and laid her on the grass.
Soon she opened her eyes and looked into his troubled face.
"Mr. Weaver," she breathed in faint surprise. "Where am I?"
But her glances were already answering the question. They took in therope under her arms, followed it to the horn of the saddle, around whichthe other end was tied, and came back to the leathery weather-beatenface that looked down into hers.
"You have saved my life."
"Not me. Old Baldy did it. I never could have got you out alone. When Iroped you, he backed off same as if you had been a steer, and pulled forall there was in
him. Between us we got you up."
"Good old Baldy!" She let it go at that for the moment, while shethought it out. "If you hadn't been right here----" She finished hersentence with a shudder.
She could not guess how that thought stabbed him, for he repliedcheerfully: "I heard you call, and Baldy brought me on the jump."
Phyllis covered her face with her hands. She was badly shaken and couldnot quite control herself. "It was awful--awful." And short staccatosobs shook her.
Buck put his arm around her shoulders, and soothed her gently. "Don'tyou care, Phyllis. It's all past now. Forget it, little girl."
"It was like some tremendous wild beast--a thousand times stronger andcrueller than a grizzly. It leaped at me, and----Oh, if you hadn't beenhere!"
She caught at his sleeve and clung to it with both hands.
"If a fellow sticks around long enough he is sure to come in handy,"Buck told her lightly.
She did not answer, but presently she walked across a little unsteadilyand put her arms around the neck of the white-faced broncho. Her faceshe buried in its mane. Weaver knew she was crying softly, and he wiselyleft her alone while he recoiled the rope.
Presently she recovered her composure and began to pat the white silkennose of the pony.
"You helped him to save my life, Baldy. Even he couldn't have done itwithout you. How can I ever pay you for it?"
Weaver had an inspiration. "He's yours from this moment. You can pay himby taking him for your saddle horse. Baldy will never ride the round-upagain. We'll give him a Carnegie medal and retire him on a good-servicepension so far as the rough work goes."
Without looking at him, the girl answered softly: "Thank you. I know I'mtaking from you the best cow-pony in Arizona, but I can't help it."
"A cow-pony is a cow-pony, but a horse that saves the life of MissPhyllis Sanderson is a gentleman and a hero."
"And what about the man who saves her life?" Her voice was very smalland weepy.
"Tickled to death to have the chance. We'll forget that."
Still she did not look at him. "Never! Never as long as I live," shecried vehemently.
It came to him that if he was ever going to put his fortune to the testnow was the time. He strode across and swung her round till she facedhim.
"As long as you live, Phyllis. And you're only eighteen. Me, I'mthirty-seven. I lack just a year of being twice as old. What about it?Am I too old and too hard and tough for you, little girl?"
"I--don't--understand."
"Yes, you do. I'm asking you to marry me. Will you?"
"Oh, Mr. Weaver!" she gasped.
"I ought to wrap it up pretty, oughtn't I? But there's nothing prettyabout me. No woman should marry me if she can help it, not unless herheart brings her to me in spite of herself. Is it that way with you?"
Never before had she met a man like him, so masterful and virile. Hetook short cuts as if he did not notice the "No Trespassing" sign. Sheread in him a passion clamped by a will of iron, and there thrilledthrough her a fierce delight in her power over this splendid type of themale lover. She lived in a world of men, lean, wide-shouldered fellows,who moved and had their being in conditions that made hickory withes ofthem physically, hard close-mouthed citizens mentally. But even by thefrontier tests of efficiency, of gameness, of going the limit, Weaverstood head and shoulders above his neighbors. She had lifted her gaze tomeet his, quite sure that her answer was not in doubt, but now her heartwas beating like a triphammer. She felt herself drifting from hermoorings. It was as though she were drowning forty fathoms deep in thosecalm, unwinking eyes of his.
"I don't think so," she cried desperately.
"You've got to be sure. I don't want you else."
"Yes--yes!" she cried eagerly. "Don't rush me."
"Take all the time you need. You can't be any too sure to suit me."
"I--I don't think it will be yes," she told him shyly.
"I'm betting it will," he said confidently. "And now, little girl, it'stime we started. You'll ride your Carnegie horse and I'll walk."
Her eyes dilated, for this brought to her mind something she hadforgotten. "My roan! What do you think has become of it?"
He shook his head, preferring not to guess aloud. As he helped her tothe saddle his eyes fell on a stain of red running from the wrist of hergauntlet.
"You've hurt your hand," he cried.
"It must have been when I caught at the cactus."
Gently he slipped off the glove. Cruel thorns had torn the skin in adozen places. He drew the little spikes out one by one. Phyllis winced,but did not cry out. After he had removed the last of them he tied herhandkerchief neatly round the wounds and drew on the gauntlet again. Ithad been only a small service, nothing at all compared to the great onehe had just rendered, but somehow it had tightened his hold on her. Shewondered whether she would have to marry Buck Weaver no matter what shereally wanted to do.
With her left hand she guided Baldy, while Buck strode beside, neverwavering from the easy, powerful stride that was the expression of hissinuous strength.
"Were you ever tired in your life?" she asked once, with a little sighof fatigue.
He stopped in his stride, full of self-reproach. "Now, ain't that likeme! Pluggin' ahead, and never thinking about how played out you are.We'll rest here under these cottonwoods."
He lifted her down, for she was already very stiff and sore from heradventure. An outdoor life had given her a supple strength and a wiryendurance, of which her slender frame furnished no indication, but thereaction from the strain was upon her. To Buck she looked patheticallywan and exhausted. He put her down under a tree and arranged her saddlefor a pillow. Again the girl felt a net was being wound round her, thatshe belonged to him and could not escape. Nor was she sure that shewanted to get away from his possessive energy. In the pleasant sun glowshe fell asleep, without any intention of doing so. Two hours later sheopened her eyes.
Looking round, she saw Weaver lying flat on his back fifty yards away.
"I've been asleep," she called.
He leaped to his feet and walked across the sand to her.
"I suspected it," he said with a smile.
"I feel like a new woman now."
"Like one of them suffragettes?"
"That isn't quite what I meant," she smiled. "I'm ready to start."
Half an hour later they reached her home. It was close to supper time,but Weaver would not stay.
"See you next week," he said quietly, and turned his horse toward theTwin Star ranch.
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