by Zane Grey
Suddenly a string of horses slipped as if by magic into the magnified circle. Laramie sustained a shock. He nearly dropped the glass. What havoc Hallie Lindsay and her sister had worked on his nerves! Stealing himself to recognize the certainty he expected, he found the group again. Six horses, four riders, two packs! That would fit Gaines’ outfit, according to Ted’s calculation. They were traveling slowly. The horses were tired. Laramie’s eyes fixed upon the second rider, small, a mere bright dot in the saddle. That would be Lenta.
Laramie wasted not another second. “My hunch!” he soliloquized. “Funny about thet. . . . I can get ahaid of Gaines.” With swift decision he led his horse back to the trail, and tying on the glass he leaped astride. The big rangy sorrel answered to spur and in a moment Laramie was speeding along the ridge. The trail appeared open and hard. No dust would puff aloft to betray him, and he could not be seen from either valley. The ridge top widened to a big country and the trail kept to the middle of it. Laramie ran the sorrel over the long level reaches and otherwise governed his gait according to the ground. He calculated that a quarter of an hour’s rapid travel had brought him to a point where he should cut across to the slope again. This he did, finding it long but good going.
He came out upon a beautiful prospect. A timbered bench below reached out to the sage, and as luck would have it, there stood the cabin that he thought he might have mistaken for a rock. He did not look for the string of horses. They would be five miles at least down the valley. And at the pace they were moving it would take an hour and a half for them to reach the cabin. That was Gaines’ objective. Laramie meant to be there to meet him.
Without more ado he dismounted and gave his attention to the task of descending from the ridge. He found a place and started down, leading the sorrel. It was steep but passable, and did not concern him. Below, however, he might find difficulties, though he had to take that chance. Zigzagging down through brush and over benches, he came to a slant which bothered him for the reason that, though the sliding down would be easy, he could not retrace his steps. His range of vision here was restricted. He tried to see below. Finally he undertook the descent and made it without mishap. Soon after that he got into rough ground and had to puzzle and toil a way out, up and down, along the shelves and back again. He lost valuable time. Fortunately he had marked his direction by a crag across the valley. The sinking sun had long gone down behind the ridge he had descended. Shadows were thick. He had not miscalculated, but he had encountered bad luck — that factor always impending. Finally he crashed down over the last wooded barrier to a level.
A stream flowed out from under the bluff. Laramie let the sorrel drink. And as there was fresh grass for the taking, he decided to let the horse graze, and push out to the open on foot.
The main timber was spruce, thin and spear-pointed, interspersed with oak and brush. He could see the gold and purple of the valley beyond. The cabin stood out a little from the timber, marked by low-branching oak trees. Laramie was about to leave the woods when he espied the string of horses half a mile below. Turning back, he strode under cover until he had the cabin between him and the approaching riders. Then he ran across the open. When he reached the cabin door he drew his gun in case there were any inmates. He stood panting and peering. Then he rapped. No answer! Like many cabins, it contained one large room and a loft of poles halfway across under the roof. A leaning ladder with steps missing led up to it.
Laramie entered. He would shoot Gaines on sight, then hold up the negro and the Mexican, unless they showed fight. It was Laramie’s idea that he could make the negro talk. With his plan made, he awaited their arrival.
CHAPTER XIV
THROUGH A CHINK between the logs Laramie discerned a flash of white and the next instant heard a thud of hoofs. Gaines’ outfit had no white horse!
The situation demanded quick thinking. If a fight with these other trailers was unavoidable, Laramie felt ready for it, but as he was after Gaines he preferred to meet Gaines first. It might facilitate developments for him to hide up in the loft. He had to be quick, for the horses were close. Gruff voices sounded plainly. Laramie’s hand tightened on his gun. Almost he waited, but that sixth sense of his operated at last.
He ran to the ladder, ascended it, and stealthily lay down, facing the opening. The loft was not dark. Light came through a square hole at the back. This afforded Laramie satisfaction, despite the fact that it rendered detection easier than if the loft had been shrouded. On the other hand, he could not be cornered. If he were discovered he could shoot, then leap through the window and meet anyone on the outside. Plainly the advantage was all his.
Horses thudded up to the cabin. Instead, however, of stopping at the door they went behind, and halted with leathery creaks. Rattling spurs attested to the dismounting of riders. Laramie perceived then that the roof of the cabin extended out on this side, probably over some stalls for horses. He observed also a closed door near the corner on that side, and crude shelves extending from the corner to the rough stone chimney.
Low voices, their content indistinguishable, preceded the flop of saddles on the ground. The door opened to disclose a man in the act of entering. He half turned, looking back.
“Water the hawses, Jude, but don’t turn them loose,” he said, then he stepped high, with spur jangling on the door sill, to come in. His voice was familiar and Laramie knew the coarse dark thin-bearded face. Price! But he had changed markedly in visage, and his once portly form appeared lank. His garb did not lend him a look of prosperity. Close at his heels followed a short man, no longer young, with round, dull, blotched face and leaden eyes.
“I ain’t hankerin’ for this deal,” declared this worthy, in gruff impatience. “What’s your idee, anyway?”
“You never was bright, Beady,” returned Price. “I’ll agree the deal wasn’t so good or safe when we fust doubled back on Gaines’ trail. But we seen thet fellar on a black hawse trackin’ Gaines. An’ thet makes our deal. I’ll tell Gaines we seen he was bein’ trailed an’ thet we rustled over to put him on.”
“Ahuh. Thet’ll go, mebbe. An’ then what?”
“We’ll see what comes off.”
“Price, you want thet girl.”
“I ain’t denyin’ it, Beady.”
“Wal, what fer?”
“Lindsay will pay handsome for thet little lady,” declared Price, rubbing his hands with satisfaction. “Arlidge has left us only some two-bit cattle-rustlin’. Let’s make a stake an’ leave the country.”
“So far your reasonin’ is good,” replied Beady. “But you underrate Gaines an’ ain’t takin’ any stock atall of Nelson an’ his outfit. I’ll bet, by Gawd! thet’s it’s one of his riders trackin’ Gaines right now.”
“I am wonderin’ myself,” said Price, seriously. “I’d as lief meet Nelson himself as thet little cuss Mulhall. Bad blood between us, Beady.”
“Wal, thet won’t help. But if the rider we seen is one of Nelson’s outfit he won’t tackle Gaines alone. He’ll have to go back to the ranch. Thet’ll make a delay, sure, an’ you might pull a trick with Gaines an’ git the girl. But it won’t change the end. Thet gun-throwin’ Texan will trail you till hell freezes over. So if you don’t want the girl jest fer herself, I advise you to pass the deal up.”
“Beady, I swear I don’t want thet kid for herself. It’d be robbin’ the cradle,” protested Price. “But you’re givin’ me a better idee. You sure are. Let’s get the girl if we have to kill Gaines, an’ take her home to her father. He’d sure reward us.”
“Thet’s a better idee. But it ain’t so good, either. Suppose we run plumb into Nelson an’ Mulhall, an’ thet hawk-eyed Williams who tracked us when we stole his hawse?”
“Thet wouldn’t make no difference, if we was on the way home with her.”
“Haw! Haw! Mebbe it wouldn’t,” snorted Beady.
“Wal, enough of this. Are you on — —”
Their colloquy was interrupted by a lanky individual with a sallo
w face and long drooping mustache. A wide-brimmed sombrero hid his eyes.
“They’re comin’,” he announced.
“Where?” queried Price, swiftly, moving toward the door.
“Around thet point of timber. About a quarter, I reckon.”
Price took off his sombrero and guardedly peered out. When he withdrew his head he had the eyes of a ghoul.
“He hasn’t seen us an’ he doesn’t know he’s bein’ trailed. . . . Now, men, let me do the talkin’ an’ if I start anythin’ come in pronto.”
Laramie, listening to this man, contemptuously relegated him to the fifth class of border outlaws. The little man called Beady would bear watching, and the other, Jude, did not look cool and unconcerned enough to be dangerous. He sat down on the side bench beside the table and bounced up to take a seat again; Beady leaned against the chimney, while Price, pulling himself together, went to stand with one spurred boot on the high door sill.
“Like as not this is what’ll happen,” spoke up Beady. “Gaines an’ his outfit will roll in heah. An’ then Nelson’s. It’ll be lovely.”
“How soon?” queried Price, sharply.
“Couldn’t say. Tomorrow at the latest.”
“Thet gives us time.”
“Fer what?”
“There’s only three of them. I’ll shoot Gaines when he’s asleep an’ hold up the greaser an’ nigger. It’ll be easy.”
“In his sleep, huh? . . . Price, how’n hell have you lived this long out heah?”
“Shut up. They’re comin’.”
Soon then Laramie’s strained ears caught a soft pound of hoofs. The sound increased until it reached the cabin, where it slowed and ended. Then followed a creak of leather, a metallic clink, and quick thud of boots hitting the ground.
“Price, I reckoned it was you comin’ off the ridge. What you mean, bracin’ me again this way?”
That ringing, dry voice, with its note of disgust, belonged to Chess Gaines. For Laramie suspense ended. The chance he had taken had been justified. And the worry and doubt it had engendered passed away.
“Chess, I was aimin’ to do you a favor,” replied Price, coolly.
“You call it a favor aggravatin’ me to bore you?”
“Somethin’ aggravated you, sure. Mebbe them bloody scratches on your face. . . . I done you a good turn an’ see what I get for it.”
“Say, you can’t trick me. You never did any man a good turn in your life. An’ damn me if I wouldn’t bore you for two bits. . . . What’d you head me off here for?”
“I seen a rider on a black hawse trailin’ you,” declared Price.
“You’re a damn liar!”
“No, I’m not. Ask Jude an’ Beady in there,” protested Price, sullenly.
“Jude would swear to anythin’ you said. But I don’t know your Beady. Call ’em out.”
Price stepped across the threshold and called his men to follow. Laramie appreciated that these two would be subjected to the gaze of a Westerner who realized he had crossed the pale. After the three men went out there ensued a moment’s silence.
“So you’re Beady, huh?” queried Gaines. “Beady what?”
“Jest Beady,” came the laconic reply.
“Did you see a rider trailin’ me?”
“Nope. Sorry I can’t say so. But I was behind. I’ll say, though, thet I took Price’s word.”
Suddenly a shrill high voice pealed out: “Chess Gaines, you can bet your life that rider was Lonesome Mulhall!”
Laramie thrilled back into his intensity. That was Lenta. It surely did not sound as if her spirit was broken. All Laramie needed more was a peep at her.
“Come off thet hawse, you little spit-fire,” growled Gaines.
“Keep your dirty claws to yourself,” cried the girl. “I told you. . . . I’ll get off myself.”
“An’ I tell you, for the benefit of these grinnin’ apes, thet not so long ago you didn’t mind my dirty claws,” retorted Gaines.
“Let go!” shrieked Lenta. A moment later Laramie saw her clutched in Gaines’ arms, kicking like a little mule. He threw her into the cabin, where she alighted sitting up, to slide until her back came against the corner of the chimney. She had no hat. Her hair was a bright dishevelled mass, her face sunburnt and dust-begrimed, with tear-streaks down her cheeks. No humiliated and shamed maiden could ever have possessed such blazing eyes. Laramie actually jerked in the release of his fear. All Lenta’s shortcomings were as if they had never been, and he revelled in the courage that had sustained her. Tenderfoot? She had all of the West in her heart.
“Nig, throw the packs,” went on Gaines, wearily. “Juan, you look after the hawses. We’re gonna stay here tonight, no matter what comes off.”
Lenta sat still, watching the men through the doorway. She wore overalls, top boots, and a short red coat over a blouse. The coat was soiled, and rent in many places. She looked like a boy, except for her slender shapeliness. Eyes and lips began to lose their fury. Then her face showed the havoc of fright and fatigue. Laramie thought he could estimate what she had endured.
Meanwhile, Laramie ascertained, twilight was falling. This caused him concern for a moment, until he calculated that it was almost a certainty Lonesome and Tracks had either sighted both of these outfits or had been close enough on their trails to be out there now, waiting for night. Moreover, they had, no doubt, been reinforced by Wind River Charlie and Dakota.
“Price, have you fellows got any decent grub?” Gaines was asking.
“Sure, an’ I’m some punkins of a cook myself,” came the reply.
“Throw in with us tonight. We’re out of grub thet dainty tenderfoot will eat.”
“Haw! Haw! I’ll make her pretty mouth water.”
“Rustle some firewood.”
“Plenty stacked inside, Gaines,” spoke up Beady. “Dry pine knots and split oak.”
“Jude, help me with the packs,” added Price.
Dark forms entered the cabin, and presently a sputter of fire followed. Soon a blaze lightened the interior of the cabin, showing Lenta sitting with her back to the wide fireplace, Price and Jude kneeling on the other side, busily preparing supper, and Beady and Gaines on the bench by the stationary table of boughs. Beady’s back was turned to the lynx-eyed Laramie, but Gaines sat full-face to the light. He appeared to be a disgruntled, defeated cow-puncher whose ambitions had mounted beyond his years and discretion. He stood out to Laramie then as a thoroughly evil man, capable of anything desperate, but not great enough to carry this issue to success. If he had been older he would not have been risking so much. But he had a touch of egotism and for some reason he was angry. Looking for that reason, Laramie imagined he detected it in the distinct scratches on his face, and in the smoldering gaze that now and then reverted to the girl. She had fought him like a wildcat. It did not seem impossible to Laramie that Gaines had waylaid Lenta with the old idea of elopement dominating him. Perhaps even with the murder of Stuart on his hands he had still attempted love-making with Lenta. At this hour he entertained dark and sinister motives.
“Gaines, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to ask somethin’,” spoke up Beady.
“Fire away,” rejoined Gaines, wearily. His fiery eyes studied the older man, to that individual’s favor.
“Ain’t it reasonable to expect riders on your trail?”
“Why, yes, but I’m not worryin’ none yet.”
“Wal, you’ll please excuse us fer not bunkin’ with you tonight.”
“Sure I’ll excuse you, an’ my outfit, too. I’m bunkin’ here tonight with my lady friend.”
“Only by force, you yellow cur!” spoke up Lenta, witheringly. “Any big stiff of a hombre like you could manhandle a slip of a girl. I’m worn out now.”
“What’s the idee, Gaines?” queried Beady, coldly. “Price said your deal was ransom. But her talk don’t argue thet.”
“None of your damn business. An’ Price better keep his trap shut,” snapped Gaines.
; Lenta stood up, back to the wall. She made a brave little figure. Only the most hardened of men could have resisted it.
“Say, you they call Beady,” she burst out. “This cow-puncher rode for my Dad. I lost my head over him, same as the other riders. And I flirted with him. I let him kiss me. Then when I suspected he was a cattle-thief, one of Arlidge’s outfit, stealing from the man who hired him, I led him on till I found out sure. Nelson discharged him. Then he hid on the range, laying for me. Yesterday I rode to my old place with a boy named Stuart. They shot him — Gaines and his pards. Murdered him! — Oh, it was ter — rible. . . . Then the idiot tried to talk marriage to me — to run away with him. He’s crazy. He kept wrestling me till I tried to scratch his eyes out. . . . Now, you — any man could see — what he means, the dog! . . . I’m only a tenderfoot, but I’m not afraid of him — or any of you. Lend me your gun — and I’ll show you. . . . You all must be a lot of white-livered brutes — to let — him — —”
“Shet up, or I’ll smack your face,” interrupted Gaines. “You’re sure layin’ hell for yourself, young lady.”
“Gaines, your deal is none of my business, but I’m surprised if you’re ridin’ for Arlidge,” said Beady.
“I’m ridin’ for nobody,” declared Gaines, darkly.
“But you were Arlidge’s right-hand man,” flashed Lenta, pointing an accusing finger at him. “I coaxed that out of Slim Red and Wind River Charlie. You were trying to make them crooked, too. You’re a low-down rustler, Chess Gaines. And if it hadn’t been for my sister, Laramie Nelson would have shot you. And you can bet your sweet life now that Lonesome Mulhall WILL shoot you!”