“You’d kill them all?” she whispered.
“They talk often enough of wiping us out like some kind of varmint! And don’t tell me f won’t get away with it, ma’am. Maybe I will and maybe I won’t, but that won’t help them after tomorrow. If it makes me an outlaw, there’s still a lot of country west of here where nobody’ll come after me. I’m gambling the major hasn’t got that many friends to take up for him after he’s dead—that is, if it comes to shooting. That’s up to you, girl.”
“To me?” she breathed. “How?”
“Why,” the big man said gently, “the major will order us to deliver you up—order, not ask. People like the major don’t ask things of people like us. So you and I and young Rufus will show ourselves, and you’ll be looking fresh and pretty after a good night’s sleep. There won’t be a mark on you, so they’ll know Jackman was lying; and you’ll be delighted to see your friends and invite them to the wedding.” Rufus Hannesey took a step toward the cot and rolled the sleeping man over; he fell to the floor with a brutal crash and continued sleeping on his back, a whiskery old man in a grimy black broadcloth suit and a dirty white shirt that jacked a collar. “Miss Maragon, allow me to introduce the Reverend Mister Beemis, who’ll perform the ceremony, drunk or sober. If you do it right and smiling, so your friends never doubt you’re acting of your own free will, maybe those guns up in the rocks won’t have to go into action, it’s up to you.”
Later, she lay on a straw mattress on the crude bunk in the room in which she had been put. Two boards had been fastened across the window with heavy spikes, leaving too little room for a cat to get through, let alone a human being. There was light under the door and she could hear the rumble of voices in the other room. Once she heard Buck Hannesey’s laughter, mocking and mean, and her hands tightened convulsively at her sides. Then the door opened, throwing light across the bunk, and she knew that he had been waiting.
“All right, ma’am,” Buck Hannesey said, “school’s out and teacher’s gone to bed. We can play now.”
She did not move or open her eyes. She heard him at the side of the bunk.
“Don’t play possum with me, you little teaser. You’ve made me wait a long time for this. Just a kiss, now, for a start——”
She felt the touch of his hand, and her body contracted like a coiled spring and lashed out again, driving her feet, still in riding boots, into his stomach. She heard his breath go out in a rush of air and whisky fumes; then he was on the floor and she was up and kicking at him with both feet as if stomping a snake. For a moment she had him at a disadvantage, concerned only with protecting his face; a moment later he had caught her foot and dumped her to the dusty floor beside him.
She tried to scramble away, but the riding skirt slowed her and he caught her; now she was fighting without caution or restraint, using her feet, knees, elbows, fingernails and teeth. She heard him curse, and felt herself flung aside so violently that the impact when she struck the wall knocked the breath from her and she slid to the floor, gasping.
He came toward her deliberately, his small eyes never leaving her. She drew her feet under her and launched herself sideways to avoid him, but the heavy skirt betrayed her again, and he caught her. He shoved her back against the wall and cuffed her hard along the face, so that the tears came and the room reeled around her; then there was the sound of a blow, and she was standing there alone.
She blinked until her vision cleared, and saw Rufus Hannesey before her, holding a revolver poised like a club over his son, who was on hands and knees on the floor like a great, dazed animal.
“Get out!” the older man snapped.
“No, like you are! If you’re going to act like a dog you might as well walk like one!”
He raised the pistol barrel. It was a crazy scene. She watched Buck Hannesey hesitate, weigh his father’s temper, and obediently shuffle out of the room on all fours. There was no humor in the sight at all; she shuddered, knowing that she would be the one to pay for this humiliation if no miracle came to save her.
“I suppose I should thank you,” she gasped, as the older man turned to face her. “But why did you bother? Tonight or tomorrow night, where’s the difference?”
“Why,” Rufus Hannesey said, “I’m not going to have goings on like that under my roof. Tomorrow night it will be all legal and proper.”
TO BE CONCLUDED
“If you do it right and smiling, so your friends never doubt you’re acting of your own free will, maybe those guns up in the rocks won’t have to go into action,” said villainous old Rufus Hannesey. “It’s up to you, girl.”
The Hanneseys held Julie Maragon hostage in their Blanco Canyon stronghold. Rufus hoped to force her into marriage with his son. Buck, in order to obtain the range land she had inherited from her grandfather. Julie did not reveal that she had sold the property to James McKay.
McKay, an Easterner, had come to Texas to marry Pat Terrill, whose father. Major Terrill, owned the Ladder Ranch. The Terrills and the Hanneseys had long been feuding for possession of the Maragon range.
Meanwhile, the Hanneseys made sure that the major would learn of Julie’s abduction. Now, only her consent to the marriage would prevent Major Terrill’s band of rescuers from riding into a deadly ambush.
Earlier, Pat and Jim parted when Jim walked away from a challenge by Steve Leech, foreman of the Ladder Ranch. To Pat, this was final proof that McKay’s repeated reluctance to fight could mean only one thing: cowardice.
The romance shattered, Jim drove into town, where he was soon joined by Ramon Gutierrez, the Mexican ranch hand whose friendship he had won. On the trail Ramon had found the glove which Julie dropped moments before the Hanneseys captured her.
Their suspicions aroused, the two men set off to find her.
CONCLUSION
They found the other buckskin gauntlet just at twilight; ten minutes later it was growing dark, and Ramon checked his horse.
“I can no longer see their trail, Señor.”
McKay said, frowning, “Well, what do you think? Should we go back to town and notify——”
“Notify whom, Señor?”
McKay laughed. “I was forgetting I was in Texas.”
Ramon shifted in his saddle and looked around through the gathering blackness. “If they kept on to the south, they are long since on Hannesey range. In town there is no one to ride against the Hanneseys. Help can only be found at Las Lomas, where the sheriff is, or at Ladder.”
“Las Lomas is two hundred miles away,” McKay said. “And damn if I’m going to give Major Terrill an excuse to start his private war on no more than we know. If the girl is actually in trouble, he’d like as not get her killed with his fire-eating tactics. Well, have you got an extra blanket for me in that roll? I’m pretty green at this business of rescuing maidens in distress; all I brought with me is a pair of pistols that aren’t even loaded.”
“I have enough equipment for both of us,” the Mexican said, dismounting. “But I think you would do well to load the pistols, Señor, while I make us something to eat. I have a bad feeling. That Rufus Hannesey is a lobo wolf; and the son they call Buck, he is a carrion-eating coyote.”
McKay rubbed the back of his head reminiscently. “Well, I’m not very fond of Buck Hannesey myself,” he admitted. “Although I wouldn’t have put it in quite those words.”
After eating, they sat by the little fire for a while, smoking in silence.
“I could get to like this country,” McKay said abruptly.
“It is a fine country. It was better when I was young. Now it is crowded. The buffalo are gone. The Indians are gone to the reservations.” The old man chuckled. “I never thought I would miss the Comanches, who have raided and robbed my people for centuries.”
McKay said, “You ought to go out to Arizona Territory. From what I hear, the Apaches would soon make you feel at home.”
“Ah, the Apaches are sneaking dogs. The Comanches were men.”
McKay said, “I
bought the Lazy M from Miss Maragon yesterday, Ramon.”
The old man glanced at him. “So?”
“It was to be a wedding present for my bride.” He pursed his lips about the stem of his pipe. “That plan hit a snag. Now the sensible thing to do would be to dispose of my purchase, preferably at a profit—with the Terrills and Hanneseys both bidding, I ought to make something on the transaction—and go back East where I belong. It’s the sensible thing to do, wouldn’t you say? Much smarter than losing my shirt in a business I know nothing whatever about. Ramon, what do I need to make the Lazy M a going proposition?”
“You are asking me, Señor McKay? Seriously?”
“Seriously.”
“You would need,” Ramon said slowly, “bulls. Not too many at first, but good ones. Shorthorn bulls—what they call Durham—none of these wild Spanish cattle. Then you would need many heifers. And you would need a hundred miles of fence.”
“Fence?”
“Sí. The barbed-wire fence. It is a hated thing, Señor, but it must come. How can one man keep a fine herd of cattle if other men’s scrub stock mingle with it year after year? And after the fence, Señor, you would need men with guns, tough men, fighting men, to keep that fence from being cut and pulled down by the people who do not want fences in this country. And then you would have a good ranch; a ranch such as Señor Clem Maragon used to speak of to me in his last years, but never tried to build because he knew it was too late for him.”
McKay knocked the ashes from his pipe. “In your opinion, Ramon, could I make a go of it?”
The old man flicked his cigarette into the dying fire. He spoke deliberately. “Señor McKay, I think you are a man who can do most things he wants to do, but I think also that you are a man whose wants are not always the same as those of other men. Why do you want this ranch? To show the woman who had scorned you that she made a bad mistake? Or to build something fine in a new country with no hatred in your heart? . . . It’s time we slept; tomorrow we’ll follow the trail as soon as there’s light to see.”
In the early morning the air was quite cool and clear, but this changed with the sun, and soon the horizon was shimmering and hazy with heat. They saw the loom of the white cliffs first about nine o’clock, but it was close to noon before they could make out the break in the formation that was Blanco Canyon.
“They will have seen us long ago, if they are watching,” Ramon said at last, reining in.
“That’s the place? That crack in the rock? He’s got a regular robber’s roost in there, hasn’t he?” McKay said.
“It is a fitting name, Señor.”
“Well, we might as well knock on the door and see if anybody’s home. They can do no more than shoot us . . . What is it, Ramon?”
“Look over there, Señor.”
McKay turned in the saddle. “Dust,” he said. “It looks as if we had company. Who is it?”
Ramon spat on the ground. “My boss of yesterday. A fine old aristocrat, Señor. In the country of my parents there are many such; and many peons, too, for their daughters to whip.”
McKay said, “Tut-tut. Who’s got hatred in his heart now?”
“It is a hard thing to forget.” The old man rubbed his cheek, watching the column of riders draw closer. “They have ridden fast,” he said. “Their horses are tired.”
McKay urged his mount forward to meet Major Terrill, who threw up his arm in a signal, bringing his crew to a halt. Behind him, the men, all armed, made a grim and warlike picture. Steve Leech rode out to join the major, a little ahead of the rest; they sat waiting for McKay to reach them.
“What are you doing here?” the major demanded.
“Dad, I’m tired and hot and dusty; please take me home!”
McKay, at the outskirts of the group, felt an odd kind of unbelief as he listened; he turned away and walked a little distance and stopped to look at the gateway in the cliffs and the opening beyond. He could see a house with smoke rising from the chimney; it was a peaceful scene. He found himself remembering the way the sunlight had thrown reddish glints from Julie Maragon’s primly arranged dark hair. This seemed like an irrelevant thought, and he dismissed it—after all, he was a man with a broken heart,
“Ramon.” he said.
“Sí, Señor.”
“Take this. Keep it for me. If I shouldn’t come back, it goes to Miss Terrill.” He opened his shirt and unbuckled and drew out the money belt he carried.
“If you go, I go with you,” Ramon said. “I knew the little señorita long before you. Her grandfather was my friend.”
McKay looked at him for a moment, nodded and walked over to the major. “Here, sir,” he said, putting the money belt in the older man’s hand. “Hold this for me while I ride in and have a look. Give me an hour.”
He noticed Patricia looking up quickly from the blanket on which she sat, aware of his presence for the first time. He did not look at her, but climbed into the saddle and rode off with Ramon at his side. Somebody called after him, but he did not turn. It seemed a long ride across the open plain to the entrance of the canyon; then they were riding between the towering white cliffs. He heard a peculiar, soft whistle from the right, high above, answered from the left, and glanced at Ramon, who grinned, his teeth white in his dark face.
“They are ready for visitors, sí? What are you thinking, Señor?”
“I’m thinking,” McKay said, “that this is a hell of a place for a sailor. Well, they’re coming out to greet us; that’s nice of them.”
Ahead of him, a big man in a grizzled red beard had come to the edge of the porch of the largest house in this small and grubby village, which was dominated by the white cliffs and the steep rubble slopes along their base.
Ramon said, “Don’t look up, Señor, but I saw the glint of a gun barrel up there—There’s another! There are men all through the rocks up there, Señor McKay. The major would have had a fine time wiping out this den of wolves!”
McKay had never seen the red-bearded man before, but there was no doubt of his identity. Two other figures came out on the porch; for a moment his eyes, accustomed to the glaring sunlight, could not make them out in the shade; then he recognized the rawboned figure of Buck Hannesey and, standing close, the small shape of Julie Maragon. He heard Ramon’s breath suck in audibly. McKay checked his horse six feet from the house and, having learned this much of the customs of the country, waited for the invitation to dismount, which came.
“Light, stranger,” said Rufus Hannesey. “By your clothes, you’d be this fellow come from the East to marry Major Terrill’s girl—McKay. I’m Rufus Hannesey. I think you’ve met my boy, young Rufus, and Miss Maragon; and that’s Reverend Beemis in the doorway. Yes, sir, we have a man of God with us today. What brings you here, Mr. McKay?”
McKay, having swung to the ground, threw the reins over the nearby rail and walked up to the edge of the porch. He looked for a moment at the girl in the shadow, and transferred his glance to the big, bearded man directly above him.
“There’s some question as to whether Miss Maragon is here of her own free will, Mr. Hannesey,” he said.
“If Major Terrill has a question to put to me, why doesn’t he ask it himself?”
McKay said, “I’m not asking for Major Terrill. I’m asking for myself.”
“Then you have more nerve than sense, boy, that’s all I can say. There are a dozen guns on you this minute.”
McKay said, “That seems like an excessive number, sir.”
“You’re accusing me of abducting a girl? Does she look like she’s been abducted, standing there all demure and smiling? Don’t ask me your questions, young feller, ask her!”
McKay studied the older man’s face for a moment longer, and caught a gleam of amusement in the deep-set eyes. He nodded and stepped up to the porch, and, ignoring the presence of Buck Hannesey, walked up to Julie Maragon, noting that she was wearing the brown riding skirt in which he had last seen her, and a boy’s wool shirt, open at the throat. The
heavy masculine shirt seemed, perversely, to emphasize the grace of the small body beneath more than the feminine shirtwaist had done.
The girl watched him steadily. Her left eye was bruised and discolored. With the freckles, it gave her a tomboy look, but there was no corresponding gaiety in her glance.
“I appreciate your concern, Mr. McKay,” she said, “but I’m really quite all right . . . Oh, this bruise? Why, that’s how I happen to be here. My horse shied at a rattlesnake and threw me. Buck—Mr. Hannesey found me unconscious and brought me here.”
“San Rafael would have been closer, wouldn’t it?” McKay said, watching her as steadily as she was watching him. “And it seems strange that Ramon, who’s quite a good tracker, found no sign of an accident along the road.”
She smiled. “Lots of people use the road, Mr. McKay. Somebody probably erased the marks, riding by. It’s not as if I’d shed a quart of blood.”
He said, “Well, since you seem to be fully recovered, perhaps I can escort you home.”
She shook her head. “Why, no, I’m staying here for a while. You see, Buck and I—Well, it was a very romantic thing, being rescued like that; and finding Mr. Beemis here to perform the ceremony—why, it seemed unnecessary to wait. We are to be married this afternoon. Naturally, we’d love to have you stay for the wedding, Mr. McKay.”
He looked at her for a long moment, and she returned his look without a tremor; then, suddenly, her glance fell away. He saw her throat work. He said, “Well, in that case, there’s nothing for me to do but offer my congratulations to Mr. Hannesey. Naturally you don’t want to be bothered with business matters now.”
She looked up sharply, her eyes suddenly wide and frightened. Buck Hannesey stirred and started to speak, but his father, close behind McKay, broke in upon his words, asking gently, “Business? What business would you be having with our girl, Mr. McKay?”
Ambush at Blanco Canyon Page 8