CHAPTER XI
ONE TO FOUR
Through the great gray desert with its freakish effects of erosion arider had moved steadily in the hours of star-strewn darkness. He hadcrossed the boundary of that No Man's Land which ran as a neutral stripbetween Texas and its neighbor and was claimed by each. Since the courtshad as yet recognized the rights of neither litigant there was properlyno State jurisdiction here. Therefore those at outs with the law fled tothis strip and claimed immunity.
In the Panhandle itself law was a variable quantity. Its counties hadbeen laid out and named, but not organized. For judicial purposes theywere attached to Wheeler County. Even the Rangers did not pretend topolice this district. When they wanted a man they went in and got him.
The rider swung at last from his saddle and dropped the bridle reins tothe ground. He crept forward to some long, flat sheep-sheds that bulkeddimly in the night shadows. Farther back, he could just make out theghost of a dwelling-hut. Beyond that, he knew, was a Mexican village ofthree or four houses. A windmill reared its gaunt frame in the corral. Along trough was supplied by it with water for the sheep.
The night-rider dipped a bucket of water from the tank that fed thetrough. He carried it to the gate of the corral and poured it slowlyinto the fine dust made by the sharp feet of the sheep, mixing the waterand dust to a thick paste with the end of an old branding-iron. Hebrought bucket after bucket of water until he had prepared a bed ofsmooth mud of the proper consistency.
Before he had quite finished his preparation a dog inside the adobe hutbegan to bark violently. The interloper slipped over the fence andretreated to the darkness of the _barranca_.
From the direction of the hut men poured. The one crouching in thechaparral heard voices. He made out a snatch or two of talk in Spanish.The men were explaining to themselves that the dog must have beenbarking at a wolf or a coyote. Presently they trooped back into thehouse. Silence fell again over the night.
The man in the chaparral once more crept forward and climbed the fence.He made straight for the entrance of the corral. Carefully he examinedthe footprints written in the bed of mud he had prepared. One afteranother he studied them. Some had been crossed out or blotted bysubsequent prints, but a few were perfect. One of these he scrutinizedfor a long time, measuring its dimensions with a tape-line from toe toheel, across the ball of the foot, the instep, and the heel. When atlast he straightened up his eyes were shining with satisfaction. He hadfound what he wanted.
Once more the dog was uneasy with growlings. The man retreated from thecorral, returned to his horse, and rode away across the mesa. A quarterof an hour later he unsaddled, hobbled his horse, and rolled up in ablanket. Immediately he fell into sound sleep.
It was broad day when he wakened. The young morning sun bathed him inwarmth. He lighted a fire of mesquite and boiled coffee. In his frying-pan he cooked flapjacks, after he had heated the jerked beef which hecarried in his saddlebags. When he had eaten, he washed his pan withclean, fine sand, repacked his supplies, and rode forward past thesheep-corral to the village.
In front of a mud-and-log _tendejon_ two Mexicans lounged. Theywatched him with silent hostility as he dismounted, tied his horse to asnubbing-post worn shiny as a razor-strap, and sauntered into the_tendejon_. This stranger wore the broad-rimmed felt hat and thebuckskin suit of a Ranger, and none of that force was welcome here.
Back of a flimsy counter was a shelf upon which were half a dozenbottles and some glasses. One could buy here mescal, American whiskey,and even wine of a sort. The owner of the place, a white man, wastalking to a young Mexican at the time the Ranger entered. Theproprietor looked hard at the Ranger with dislike he did not try toveil. The Mexican in front of the bar was a slim young man with quickeyes and an intelligent face. The Ranger recognized him at once as TonyAlviro.
"_Buenos!_" the Ranger said with the most casual of nods. "I'vecome to take you back with me, Tony."
The other two Mexicans had followed the Ranger into the room. The Texanstood sideways at the end of the bar, quite at his ease, the rightforearm resting on the counter lightly. Not far from his fingers thebutt of a revolver projected from a holster. In his attitude was nothreat whatever, but decidedly a warning.
The four men watched him steadily.
"No, _Senor_ Roberts," answered Alviro. "You can touch me not. I'mout of Texas."
"Mebbeso, Tony. But till I get further orders, this is Texas for me.You're goin' back with me."
Rangers and outlaws held different views about this strip of land. Tothe latter it was a refuge; law ended at its border; they could not betouched here by State constabulary. But the Ranger did not split hairs.He was law in the Panhandle, and if the man he wanted fled to disputedterritory the Ranger went after him.
"Not so," argued Alviro. "If you arrest me in Texas, I say 'Bad luck,'but I go wiz you. There you are an offizer, an' I am oblige' surrender.But in thees No Man's Land, we are man to man. I refuse."
The lift of excitement was in the voice of the young Mexican. He knewthe record of the Texas Rangers. They took their men in dead or alive.This particular member of the force was an unusually tough nut to crack.In the heart of Tony was the drench of a chill wave. He was no coward,but he knew he had no such unflawed nerve as this man. Through his mindthere ran a common laconic report handed in by Rangers returning from anassignment--"Killed while resisting arrest." Alviro did not want RangerRoberts to write that about him.
"Better not, Alviro. I have a warrant for your arrest."
The Texan did not raise his voice. He made no movement to draw a gun.But to Tony, fascinated by his hard, steel-gray eyes, came the certaintythat he must go or fight. They were four to one against the Ranger, butthat would not make the least difference. In the curt alternative ofthis clean-jawed young officer was cold finality.
The worried eyes of the fugitive referred to his companions. They hadagreed to stand by him, and he knew that if it came to a fight theywould. But he wanted more than that. His glance was an appeal for one ofthem to make his decision for him.
The voice of the _tendejon_-keeper interjected itself smoothly."You've played yore hand out, friend. We're four to one. You go back an'report nothin' doin'."
Roberts looked at the man, and a little shiver ran down the barkeeper'sspine. "There won't be four of you when we get through arguin' this,_amigo_, if we ever start," the Ranger suggested gently.
The proprietor of the place dropped his hand to the butt of his gun. Buthe did not draw. Some deep, wise instinct warned him to go slow. He knewthe others would take their cue from him. If he threw down the gage ofbattle the room would instantly become a shambles. How many of themwould again pass alive through the door nobody knew. He was a man whohad fought often, but he could not quite bring himself to such adecision while those chilled-steel eyes bored into his. Anyhow, the gamewas not worth the candle.
"What is it you want Tony for?" he temporized, playing for time and anychance that might arise.
"For killin' Rutherford Wadley last month."
"A mistake. Tony has been here since the full of the moon."
"Oh, no. He was at the dance on Tomichi Creek. He tried to knife youngWadley. He left the house right after him."
"I left--_si, senor_--but to come here," cried the accused man.
"To follow Wadley, Tony. You jumped a camper that night an' didn't knowit. He saw you."
"Wadley was a dog, but I did not kill him," Alviro said gloomily.
"That so? You were on the spot. You left tracks. I measured 'em. Theywere the same tracks you left out in the corral five hours ago."
Tony's eyes flashed with a sudden discovery. "The mud--you meex it toget my footprints."
"You're a good guesser."
Alviro threw up his hands. "I was there. It iss true. But I did not killthe _gringo_ dog. I was too late."
"You can tell me all about that on the way back."
"If I go back they will hang me."
"You'll get a fair trial."
"I can't argue that with you, Tony. My business is to take you toTascosa. That's what I'm here for."
The American behind the bar spoke again. "Listens fine! He's a Mexican,ain't he? They claim he killed a white man. Well, then, the mob wouldtake him from you an' lynch him sure."
"The Rangers don't give up their prisoners, my friend. They take 'em an'they keep 'em. You'd ought to know that."
The _tendejon_-keeper flushed. He had been dragged to justice onceby one of the force.
The eyes of the four consulted again. They were still hesitant. Theshame of letting this youth take from them their companion without afight was like a burr under a saddle-blanket to a bronco. But after all,the Ranger stood for law. If they killed him, other Rangers would cometo avenge his death.
When men are in doubt the one who is sure dominates the situation. Theeye of Roberts carried the compulsion of a deadly weapon. His voice wascrisp.
"Come here, Tony," he ordered, and his fingers slipped into the pocketof his coat.
Alviro looked at him for a long second--swore to himself that he wouldnot come--and came.
"Hold out yore hands."
The Mexican set his will to refuse. There was still time to elect tofight. He told himself that was what he was going to do. But he couldnot hold his own in that steady battle of the eyes. His hands movedforward--empty.
A moment, and the Ranger had slipped and fastened the handcuffs on hiswrists.
Roberts had won. Psychologically it was now too late for the others toresort to arms. The _tendejon_-keeper recognized this with a shrugthat refused responsibility for the outcome. After all, Tony had madehis own decision. He had chosen to take his chances in Tascosa ratherthan on the spot with the Ranger.
"Saddle Tony's horse," ordered Roberts, looking at one of the Mexicans.
The man growled something in his native tongue, but none the less hemoved toward the corral.
Within a quarter of an hour the Ranger and his prisoner were on theirway. Two days later Roberts delivered his man to the deputy sheriff whohad charge of the sod-house jail in the little town.
"There's a message here for you from Cap Ellison," the deputy said. "Hewants you to go to Clarendon. Says you were to jog on down soon as youshow up here."
"All right, Snark."
He rode down next day, changed horses at the halfway station, andreached Clarendon early in the morning. Ellison had been called toMobeetie, but left instructions for him to await his return.
The semi-weekly stage brought two days later a letter, to CaptainEllison from Snark. Jack Roberts, obeying office instructions, openedthe mail. The letter said:
Dere Cap,
They are aiming to lynch that Mexican Roberts brought in. The Dinsmore outfit is stirring up the town. Send a company of your Rangers, for God's sake, quick.
Respectably yours Jim Snark
Jack Roberts was the only Ranger in town. He glanced at the clock. Therewas just time to catch the stage to Tascosa. He reached for his guns andhis hat.
Oh, You Tex! Page 12