CHAPTER XXVII
THE AMBUSH
Streak had done well, having slightly improved on the limit set for thetrip by Mary Bransford. With no delay whatever, Williams and his menand the Double A cowpunchers were headed for the ranchhouse, theirhorses running hard.
Sanderson was leading them, though close behind came several of theDouble A men, their faces set and grim; and then one of Williams' men,a young fellow who had admired Mary Bransford from afar; then some moreof the Double A men, and Williams and the remainder of his band ofengineers.
There was no word spoken. In a few swift sentences Sanderson had toldthem what had occurred, and there was no need for words as they fledsouthwestward.
For a few miles the trail was hard and smooth, and the posse made goodtime. Then they struck a stretch of broken country, where volcanicaction had split the surface of the earth into fissures and chasms,thus making speed impossible.
It took them long to cross the section, and when it was behind themthey found themselves in a hilly country where the going was not muchbetter than it had been in the volcanic area.
The trail was narrow, and they were forced to travel in single file.Sanderson led the way, Streak thundering along, a living blot splittingthe brown, barren wasteland, followed closely by other blots, rushingover the hazardous trail, the echoes of their passing creating a rumbleas of drumfire reverberating in a canon.
They came to a point where the trail led upward sharply, veering aroundthe shoulder of a hill and dropping precipitously into a valley.
For an instant, as the riders flashed around the shoulder of the hill,they caught a glimpse of a group of riders coming toward them, visibleto Sanderson and the others as they were for a second exposed to viewin a narrow defile. Then the view of them was cut off, and Sandersonand the men following him were in the valley, riding desperately, asbefore.
Still there had been no word said. Sanderson had seen the oncomingriders, but he attached no importance to their appearance, forcowpunchers often rode in groups to some outlying camp, and these menmight belong to some ranch in the vicinity.
There was a straight stretch of hard, smooth trail in the center of thevalley, and Sanderson made Streak take it with a rush. Sandersongrinned grimly as he heard the other men coming close behind him--theywere as eager as he, and as vengeful.
Up out of the valley went Streak, running with long, smooth leaps thatgave no indication of exhaustion; Sanderson patted his neck as he racedupward out of the valley and into the defile where they had seen theriders.
Sanderson was halfway up the defile when he was assailed with thethought that by this time--even before this--they should have met theother riders--had the latter kept the trail.
Struck by a sudden suspicion that there was something strange about thedisappearance of the riders, Sanderson abruptly pulled Streak up. Theother men were some distance behind, and Sanderson slipped out of thesaddle to give Streak a breathing spell.
The movement saved his life, for his feet had hardly struck the groundwhen he heard the thud of a rifle bullet, the sharp crash of theweapon, and saw the leaden missile rip the leather on the cantle of thesaddle.
As though the shot were a signal, there followed others--a ripping,crashing volley. Sanderson saw the smoke spurts ballooning upward frombehind some rocks and boulders that dotted the hills on both sides ofthe defile, he saw several of his men drop from their horses and fallprone to the ground.
He shouted to the men to leave their horses and "take cover," and hehimself sought the only cover near him--a wide fissure in the wall ofthe long slope below the point where the attackers were concealed.
Streak, apparently aware of the danger, followed Sanderson into theshelter of the fissure.
It was an admirable spot for an ambuscade. Sanderson saw that therewere few places in which his men could conceal themselves, for thehostile force occupied both sides of the defile. Their rifles werestill popping, and Sanderson saw two of the Double A force go downbefore they could find shelter.
Sanderson divined what had happened--Dale and his men had overpoweredOwen, and had set this ambuscade for himself and the Double A men.
Dale was determined to murder all of them; it was to be a fight to afinish--that grim killing of an entire outfit, which, in the idiomaticphraseology of the cowpuncher, is called a "clean-up."
Sanderson was aware of the disadvantage which must be faced, but therewas no indication of fear or excitement in his manner. It was not thefirst time he had been in danger, and he drew his belt tighter andexamined his pistols as he crouched against the ragged wall of thefissure. Then, calling Streak to him, he pulled his rifle out of thesaddle holster and examined the magazine.
Rifle in hand, he first surveyed the wall of the defile opposite him.The crevice in which he was hiding was irregular at the entrance, and ajutting shoulder of it concealed him from view from the wall of thedefile opposite him. Another projection, opposite the juttingshoulder, protected him from any shots that might be aimed at him fromhis left.
The fissure ran, with sharp irregularities, clear up the face of thewall behind him. He grinned with satisfaction when he saw that therewere a number of places along the upward line of the fissure whichwould afford him concealment in an offensive battle with Dale's men.
He contemplated making things rather warm for the Dale contingentpresently; but first he must make sure that none of his own men wasexposed to danger.
Cautiously, then, he laid his head close to the ragged wall of thefissure and peered upward and outward. Behind a big boulder on theopposite side of the defile he saw a man's head appear.
Watching for a time, Sanderson made certain the man was not one of hisown outfit, and then he shoved the muzzle of his rifle out, laid hischeek against the stock, and covered the partly exposed head of the manbehind the boulder.
Sanderson waited long with his cheek caressing the rifle stock, whilethe man behind the boulder wriggled farther out, exposing himself moreand more in his eagerness to gain a more advantageous position.
And presently, without moving his head, Sanderson discovered that itwas Williams who was in danger.
Williams had concealed himself behind a jagged rock, which protectedhim from the bullets fired from across the defile, and from the sides.But the rock afforded him no protection from the rear, and the manbehind the boulder was going to take advantage of his opportunity.
"That's my engineer, mister," he said grimly; "an' I ain't lettin' youmake me go to the trouble of sendin' east for another. You're readynow, eh?"
The man behind the boulder had reached a position that satisfied him.Sanderson saw him snuggle the stock of his rifle against his shoulder.
Sanderson's rifle cracked viciously. The man behind the boulder waslying on a slight slope, and when Sanderson's bullet struck him, hegently rolled over and began to slide downward. He came--a grotesque,limp thing--down the side of the defile, past the engineer, slidinggently until he landed in a queer-looking huddle at the bottom, nearthe trail.
Sanderson intently examined other rocks and boulders on the oppositeside of the defile. He had paid no attention to Williams' "Good work,Sanderson!" except to grin and assure himself that Williams hadn't"lost his nerve."
Presently at an angle that ran obliquely upward from a flat, projectingledge, behind which another Double A man lay, partly concealed,Sanderson detected movement.
It was only a hat that he saw this time, and a glint of sunlight on thebarrel of a rifle. But he saw that the rifle, after moving, becamequite motionless, and he suspected that it was about to be used.
Again the cheek snuggled the stock of his rifle.
"This is goin' to be some shot--if I make it!" he told himself justbefore he fired. "There ain't nothin' to shoot at but one of his ears,looks like."
But at the report of the rifle, the weapon that had been so rigid andmotionless slipped from behind the rock and clattered downward. Itcaught halfway between the rock and the bottom
of the defile. Therecame no sound from behind the rook, and no movement.
"Got him!" yelled Williams. "Go to it! There's only two more on thisside, that I can see. They're trying mighty hard to perforate me--I'mlosing weight dodging around here trying to keep them from drawing abead on me. If I had a rifle----"
Williams' voice broke off with the crash of a rifle behind him, thougha little to one side. Talking to Sanderson, and trying to see him,Williams had stuck his head out a little too far. The bullet from therifle of the watching enemy clipped off a small piece of the engineer'sear.
Williams' voice rose in impotent rage, filling the defile with profaneechoes. Sanderson did not hear Williams. He had chanced to be lookingtoward the spot from whence the smoke spurt came.
A fallen tree, its top branches hanging down the wall of the defile,provided concealment from which the enemy had sent his shot atWilliams. Sanderson snapped a shot at the point where he had seen thesmoke streak, and heard a cry of rage.
A man, his face distorted with pain, stood up behind the fallen treetrunk, the upper part of his body in plain view.
His rage had made him reckless, and he had stood erect the better toaim his rifle at the fissure in which Sanderson was concealed. Hefired--and missed, for Sanderson had ducked at the movement. Sandersonheard the bullet strike the rock wall above his head, and goricochetting into the cleft behind him.
He peered out again instantly, to see that the man was lying doubledacross the fallen tree trunk, his rifle having dropped, muzzle down, insome bushes below him.
Sanderson heard Williams' voice, raised in savage exultation:
"Nip my ear, will you--yon measly son-of-a-gun! I'll show you!
"Got him with my pistol!" he yelled to one of the Double A men nearhim. "Come on out and fight like men, you miserable whelps!"
The young engineer's fighting blood was up--that was plain toSanderson. Sanderson grinned, yielded to a solemn hope that Williamswould not get reckless and expose himself needlessly, and began toexamine the walls of the fissure to determine on a new offensivemovement.
He was interrupted, though, by another shout from Williams.
"Got him!" yelled the engineer; "plumb in the beezer!"
Sanderson peered out, to see the body of a man come tumbling down theopposite wall of the defile.
"That's all on this side!" Williams informed the others, shouting."Now let's get at the guys on the other side and salivate them!"
Again Sanderson grinned at the engineer's enthusiasm. That enthusiasmwas infectious, for Sanderson heard some of the other men laughing.The laughing indicated that they now entertained a hope of ultimatevictory--a hope which they could not have had before Williams andSanderson had disposed of the enemies at their rear.
Sanderson, too, was imbued with a spirit of enthusiasm. He began toclimb the walls of the crevice, finding the ragged rock projectionsadmirably convenient for footing.
However, his progress was slow, for he had to be careful not to let hishead show above the edge of the rock that formed the fissure; and so hewas busily engaged for the greater part of half an hour before hefinally reached a position from which he thought he could get a glimpseof the men on his side of the defile.
Meanwhile there had been no sound from the bottom, or the other side ofthe defile, except an occasional report of a rifle, which told thatDale's men were firing, or the somewhat more crashing report of apistol, which indicated that his own men were replying.
From where he crouched in the fissure, Sanderson could see some of thehorses at the bottom of the defile. They were grazing unconcernedly.Scattered along the bottom of the defile were the men who had fallen atthe first fire, and Sanderson's eye glinted with rage when he looked atthem; for he recognized some of them as men of the outfit for whom hehad conceived a liking. Two of Williams' men were lying there, too,and Sanderson's lips grimmed as he looked at them.
Thoroughly aroused now, Sanderson replaced the empty cartridges in therifle with loaded ones, and, finding a spot between two small boulders,he shoved the muzzle of the rifle through.
He had no fear of being shot at from the rear, for the men hadpermitted him to go far enough through the defile to allow the othersfollowing him to come into range before they opened fire.
Thus Sanderson was between the Dale outfit and the Double A ranchhouse,and he had only to look back in the direction from which he andWilliams had come. None of the Dale men could cross the fissure.
Cautiously Sanderson raised his head above the rocky edge of thefissure. He kept his head concealed behind the two small boulders andhe had an uninterrupted view of the entire side of the defile.
He saw a number of men crouching behind rocks and bouldersthat were scattered over the steep slope, and he counted themdeliberately--sixteen. He could see their faces plainly, and herecognized many of them as Dale's men. They were of the vicious typethat are to be found in all lawless communities.
Sanderson's grin as he sighted along the barrel of his rifle was fullof sardonic satisfaction, tempered with a slight disappointment. Forhe did not see Dale among the others. Dale, he supposed, had stayedbehind.
The thought of what Dale might be doing at the Double A ranchhousemaddened Sanderson, and taking quick sight at a man crouching behind arock, he pulled the trigger.
Looking only in front of him, at the other side of the defile whereSanderson's men were concealed, the man did not expect attack from anew quarter, and as Sanderson's bullet struck him he leaped up, howlingwith pain and astonishment, clutching at his breast.
He had hardly exposed himself when several reports from the other sideof the defile greeted him. The man staggered and fell behind his rock,his feet projecting from one side and his head from the other.
Instantly the battle took on a new aspect. It was a flank attack,which Dale's men had not anticipated, and it confused them. Several ofthem shifted their positions, and in doing so they brought parts oftheir bodies into view of the men on the opposite wall.
There rose from the opposite wall a succession of reports, followed byhoarse cries of pain from Dale's men. They flopped back again, thusexposing themselves to Sanderson's fire, and the latter lost not one ofhis opportunities.
It was the aggressors themselves that were now under cross fire, andthey relished it very little.
A big man, incensed at his inability to silence Sanderson, and woundedin the shoulder, suddenly left the shelter of his rock and chargedacross the steep face of the slope toward the fissure.
This man was brave, despite his associations, but he was a Dale man,and deserved no mercy. Sanderson granted him none. Halfway of thedistance between his rock and the fissure he charged before Sandersonshot him. The man fell soundlessly, turning over and over in hisdescent to the bottom of the defile.
And then rose Williams' voice--Sanderson grinned with bitter humor:
"We've got them, boys; we've got them. Give them hell, the damnedbuzzards!"
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