CHAPTER XXV
THE BATTLE IN THE ARROYO
Straight toward that wavering plume of flame in the north they rodeswiftly, each man with his own thoughts and with few words. Butwhether a man thought of Florrie Engle gone or of the shooting ofSheriff Roberts or of the looting of Las Vegas or of a ranch raided, hewas like his fellows in that he knew that at last Jim Galloway had comeout into the open and that to-night must be Galloway's triumph orGalloway's death. And perhaps he wondered if his own saddle would runempty under the stars before another dawn.
Three or four miles from San Juan Norton made out an approaching rider,one who bent over his horse's mane, racing furiously. The figure,growing rapidly distinct as it drew on from the north, grew erect asthe horseman saw Norton's posse. The rider jerked in his horse,pausing a moment as though in doubt whether he were meeting friend orfoe. Then, when again he came on at the same headlong gallop, Nortonrecognized him. It was Elmer Page.
"They're fighting back yonder!" cried the boy wildly, his eyes shiningwith his excitement. "Brocky Lane sent me. . . . I haven't a rifle,who will give me a rifle? I'll give a man a hundred dollars for arifle!"
"Easy, Elmer," said Norton sharply. "Tell us what Brocky sent you tosay. Where are they?"
"Along the arroyo just off to the east of Mt. Temple. About a milefrom the mountain . . . you know where the biggest boulders are allstrung out along the arroyo? It's there. Brocky and a lot of cowboysare making a stand there, heading off the Kid and del Rio. So theycan't get with the others, you know. . . . Why didn't somebody tell meabout this?" he broke off, his voice shrill. "I haven't a rifle, justa cursed revolver. Who will ..."
Again Norton interrupted sternly.
"Let's have it straight, Elmer," he commanded. "Brocky and his men arealong the arroyo, you say? And they're trying to keep between del Rioand the Kid's crowd and the other crowd? Some of the others are stillon the mountain, then?"
"The mountain is full of them. They're pouring down and shooting asthey come; Brocky's in between. . . ."
"How many men are with him?"
"About twenty. But . . . my God! Rickard's men and del Rio's areshooting from the east and the others are shooting from the west . . .poor old Tommy Rudge got shot in the stomach and Denny Blain is downand . . ."
"Del Rio and Rickard didn't come in machines did they?"
"No. Brocky said tell you they'd left their cars, sent them on filledwith loot toward the south, where a lot of other Greasers are waitingfor them; then the Kid and del Rio and about fifty men altogetherstarted a big herd of horses and cattle this way. Brocky tried tostampede the herds, but the others are more than two to one, so he gothis men in the arroyo and they're giving 'em hell from there."
"Galloway's on the other side?"
"No. Brocky said tell you Galloway hadn't shown up yet. We think hedidn't expect things to get started so soon. One of Brocky's menriding in a little while ago from the other side of San Juan thoughtthat he had seen Galloway and some one that looked like a girl ridingwith him toward the old crossroads where the Denbar place used to be.Brocky thinks maybe you can come in and head Galloway off and bust upthe whole play that way."
So Galloway and "some one who looked like a girl" had ridden toward theold Denbar cross-roads. And Galloway had not yet joined his forces.
"Elmer," said Norton quickly, "ride on to San Juan. Tell John Englewhat you have told me about Galloway. Tell him . . ."
"I won't!" cried Elmer, on the verge of hysteria. "I won't do it. Doit yourself; send some one else. I want to go with you; I want arifle, I tell you! Didn't I see Tommy Rudge go down with a bullet inhis belly? Didn't I see Denny when the Kid shot him?"
Norton laid a hand on Elmer's arm, speaking quietly.
"Listen, Elmer," he said. "We will do what we can where Brocky is.But that isn't all of the devilment to-night. Galloway got Florrieaway somehow; she was the one riding with him toward the crossroads.It's up to you to ride on and ride like the devil and tell JohnEngle. . . . Come on, boys!"
Elmer sagged in his saddle as though he had been struck a heavyphysical blow.
"Galloway got Fluff!" he muttered dully.
His gaze trailed along after the departing posse. Norton on his bigroan was setting the pace, the steady swinging gallop to eat up themiles swiftly and yet not kill the horses before the journey's end.The others followed him, stringing out single file to take advantage ofthe trail. The moon picked them out with clear relief, a grim line ofretribution. And yet the boy, while his eyes wandered after them, sawonly little Fluff struggling in Jim Galloway's arms. . . .
Then suddenly he, too, was riding, but at a pace which took no heed ofa horse's endurance, riding a gallant brute that stretched out itsneck, nostrils flaring, hammering hoofs beating out the very staccatoof urgent speed upon the flying sands. Already his revolver was tightclinched in a lifted hand. Already he had swerved a little from thedistant lights of San Juan. He was taking the shortest line which ledto Denbar's crossroads.
"Galloway's got Fluff," he said over and over, choking on the words.
An hour later Norton heard the first spitting of rifles. Anotherfifteen minutes of shod hoofs pounding through the broken hills and hesaw the first spurts of flame cutting through the shadows where thetrees clung to the arroyo. As he drew in his horse the men behind himclosed up about him. He threw out his arm, pointing.
"Brocky's boys must be right down there," he said sharply. "The Kidand del Rio will be yonder; those are their horses. Young Page saysthere are about fifty of them."
A fusillade of rifle-shots interrupted him. Along a fifty or sixtyyard front the Kid's and del Rio's men had crept in closer to Brocky'sarroyo, worming their way upon their stomachs, and now fired together.There came a rattling reply from the creek, the shouting of cowboys.
"We'll take those fellows first," ordered Norton quickly. "They willsee us when we climb that little rise. Spread out; go easy until weget to the top. Then, boys, let's see who can give them hell first andfastest."
They looked to their rifles for the last time and rode slowly up theshort slope of the low-lying ridge. Then, as the first man topped it,there came a shout from the shadows in front, another shout, and thewhizzing of rifle-balls. Norton used his spurs then; his big roanleaped forward and was racing down the farther slope; his men in a longline rode with him. And as he rode he lifted his own gun and pouredhis lead into the thickest of the shadows.
A wild shout of cheering broke from the arroyo; rifle-barrels grew hotin hot hands. On through the bright moonlight came the sheriff'sposse, some of them firing as they rode, others saving their lead. Tobe seen from afar now, they drew many a shot toward themselves. Andyet the target of a man riding swiftly over uneven ground and in themoonlight is not to be found overreadily by questing lead. When Nortoncalled to his men to stop and dismount, taking advantage of a row ofscattered boulders, not a saddle was empty.
On through the bright moonlight came the sheriff'sposse.]
Every man as he dismounted threw his horsed reins to the ground; theanimals might bolt or they might not, some of them might not stop formany a mile, others would be found a hundred yards away. But they mustall think less of that now than of what lay in front of them.
"That you, Norton?" came a cheery voice booming suddenly through thesilence which had shut down as the newcomers disappeared among theboulders.
"Here, Brocky!" shouted Norton. "All right down there?"
"Pretty well," called Brocky. "They've winged three or four ofus . . . they're damned rotten shots, Roddy. We've popped over a dozenof them."
There were other shouts then, tenor Mexican voices for the most partwith the Kid's unmistakable snarl running through them. Men werecalling in Spanish to their fellows across the arroyo. Whatever it wasthat Brocky was trying to say was lost in the din. And then again camea volley of rifle-shots.
Norton rose slowly to his feet, studying the situation wit
h frowningeyes. A bullet hissed high overhead, another cut by his side, anotherwent shrieking off into the night. But while they whined in his earshe laid his rude plans.
The arroyo wound and twisted this way and that through the brokenuplands. Where Brocky Lane had placed his men so as to defy the unionof the two bands of outlaws it described a wide rude arc curving aboutthe spur from Mt. Temple. Here the cowboys, with some twenty or thirtyfeet separating each man from his nearest fellow, were extended along aline which must be about two hundred yards long. The Mexicans to theeastward, where del Rio and Kid Rickard and Moraga were, were bunchedin the protecting shadows of a field of boulders such as those wherethe sheriff's men lay.
"We could stick here all night and get nothing done," said Norton tothe men close to him. "Rickard's gang could have charged down onBrocky long ago if they'd had the stomach for that sort of thing.They've got the numbers on us; they more than had the count on Brocky'soutfit; with those jaspers on the mountainside they could have turnedthe trick. But that sort hasn't the desire for a scrap unless they canpull it from behind a rock. And, by the same token, they won't lastfive minutes in the face of a charge. Get me?"
"But the ginks on the mountain will pick us off pretty lively as we hitthe trail down the slope here," said a thoughtful voice.
Then Norton explained further. He meant to eliminate the other crowd;it could be done. When he gave the word every man was to jump to hisfeet and make the first half of his charge the bloodless one down intothe arroyo toward Brocky Lane. Then, Norton's men and Brocky's united,they could surge up the creek's banks and make their flying attack,coming in between the two other factions so that the men on themountain must hold their fire or kill as many of their own crowd as ofthe others.
The suggestion was accepted without discussion. When Norton said"Ready," they were ready; when he jumped to his feet and ran downtoward the arroyo, they ran with him. A shout of laughter went up fromeach side of the dry water-course as jeering voices announcedtriumphantly that the Gringoes were afraid. And with the shouts camerifle-shots.
But to the last man of them they reached the arroyo safely, and duckinglow, trotted on to join the cowboys. In a moment more Norton had foundBrocky Lane, had explained his plan, had had Brocky's silent nod for ananswer. In quiet voices the men passed the word along the line. Thosefrom the farther end drew in closer so that their whole body ofsomething better than thirty men occupied but a brief section of thearroyo.
"Get your wind first, boys," Norton admonished them. "Better fill yourclips, too, while you've got the chance. And count on using a six gunbefore you're through. All right? Let's show 'em the sort of a scrapa Gringo _can_ put up."
Then again they were running, the unwavering line of thirty men, butwith a difference which the outlaws might not mistake. And as they ranthey held their fire for a little, knowing how useless and suicidal itwould be to pause half-way. But presently they were answering shotwith shot, pausing, going down upon one knee, taking a moment'sadvantage of a friendly rock, pouring lead into the agitated groupsamong the boulders, springing up, running on again, every man fightingthe fight his own way, the thirty of them making the air tingle withtheir shouts as they bore onward.
Then it was man to man and often enough one man to two or three, darkforms struggling, men striking with clubbed guns, men snatching attheir side-arms, going down, rising or half rising, firing as long as acharge was in a gun or strength in a body. And as they fired andstruck and called out after the fashion of the cowboy in a scrimmagethe body of men before them wavered and broke and began to fall back.
Norton swung his clubbed empty rifle up in both hands and beat down aman firing at him with a revolver. All about him were struggling formsand he was sore beset now and then to know who was who. Afierce-mustachioed, black-browed man thrust a rifle toward his breastand pulled the trigger and screamed out his curses as Norton put arevolver bullet through him. A slender, boyish form sprang up upon arock recklessly, training his rifle upon Brocky Lane. It was the Kid.But the Kid had met a man quicker, surer, than himself, and Brockyfired first. Kid Rickard spun and fell. Norton saw him drop but lostsight of him before the body struck the earth. He had found del Rio;del Rio had found him.
Two smoking revolvers were jerked up, two guns spoke through the clamoras one gun. The men were not ten feet apart as their guns spoke.Norton felt a bullet rip along his outer arm, the sensation that of awhip-lash cutting deep. He saw del Rio stagger back under the impactof a forty-five-caliber bullet which must have merely grazed him, sinceit did not knock him off his feet. Del Rio, his lips streaming hiscurses and hatred, fired again. But his wound had been sorer thanNorton's, his aim was less steady, and now as he gave back it was tofall heavily and lie still.
It had lasted less than five minutes. "It's Jim Galloway's fight andGalloway don't come!" some one had shouted. They broke again, gaveback and back . . . and then were running, every man of them scentingdefeat and much worse than defeat unless he came to a horse beforeanother five minutes. And after them, firing now as they ran, cameBrocky's cowboys and Norton's men.
"They've got all of their horses over there together," yelled Brockyinto Norton's ear. "The horses for those Ginneys who have been hidingout in the mountains, too. That's why I cut in between them that way.Now if we can only scatter their cayuses . . . why, Roddy, we'll haveevery damned one of 'em afoot to be rounded up when we get ready!"
And Brocky, limping as he went, had raced along after the others.
But Norton did not follow. His eyes had gone to the horses which heand the San Juan men had left beyond the little line of boulders. And,travelling that way, he had seen a lone horseman far off to the south,a horseman riding frantically, seeking to come to the lower slopes ofMt. Temple.
The Bells of San Juan Page 26