CHAPTER XXX
BRENT'S MISTAKE
Following the trail that Brevoort and Pete had taken from the Ortezrancho, Arguilla and his men rode north and with them rode Ortez andseveral of his vaqueros. Within a few miles of the Olla the raggedsoldiery swung west to the shelter of the low hills that ran parallelto the Olla line, while Ortez and his men rode directly to the Ollafence and entered a coulee near the big gate, where they waited thearrival of Brent and the herd.
About two hours before sundown one of Arguilla's lieutenants appearedon the edge of the coulee where he could overlook the country. At hissignal the soldiers were to join the Ortez riders, but not until Brentand his men had the cattle delivered.
Arguilla, who was to keep out of sight, had told Ortez to pay theamount stipulated by Brent--and at the old established rate of twentydollars a head--which meant that upon receipt of the cattle Ortez wouldgive the foreman of the Olla four thousand dollars in gold. Ortez knewthat Arguilla contemplated killing Brent and his men and recovering themoney. Although his sympathies were with his own people, Ortez feltthat such treachery was too black, even for a leader of guerillas.
He realized that the first word of warning to Brent would mean his owndoom and the death of his men in the battle which would follow, for heknew the Gringo cowboys would fight to the last man. Against this heweighed the probability of a fight if he did not speak. In eitherevent he would be dishonored in the eyes of the powers who had trustedhim with handling the finances of the cause. It was in this state ofmind that he waited for the arrival of the men whom he considereddoomed, never imagining for a moment that Brent himself anticipatedtreachery.
The sun had almost touched the western sky-line when a solitary riderspurred out from the great gate of the Olla and up to Ortez, whorecognized in him one of the young vaqueros that had escaped fromArguilla's guards the preceding night.
"Here's our tally." Pete handed Ortez a slip of paper. "Two hundredand three head. My patron says to call it two hundred even, and togive you a receipt for the money when you turn it over to me."
Arguilla's lieutenant had expected to see the herd turned over to Ortezbefore the payment of any moneys. He hesitated as to whether or not heshould ride to the rim of the coulee and signal his company tointerfere with the transaction then and there in the name of hissuperior officer. The lieutenant did not believe that Ortez would turnover the money for a mere slip of paper. But Ortez, strangely enough,seemed only too eager to close the transaction. Stepping to his horse,he took two small canvas sacks from his saddle-pockets. Still thelieutenant hesitated. He had had no instructions covering such acontingency.
"I await your receipt, senor," said Ortez as he handed the money toPete.
Pete drew a folded slip of paper from his pocket and gave it quickly toOrtez. "Brent'll push the cattle through muy pronto." And whirlinghis horse round under spur, he was halfway back to the Olla gate beforethe lieutenant thought of signaling to Arguilla.
From the vantage of the higher ground the lieutenant could see that thegate was already open--that the Gringos were slowly pushing the cattlethrough, and out to the desert. He waved his serape. Almost on theinstant Arguilla's men appeared in the distance, quirting their poniesas they raced toward the coulee. The lieutenant turned and gazed atthe herd, which, from bunching through the gateway, had spread outfanwise. Already the Ortez vaqueros were riding out to take charge.But something was happening over near the Olla gate. The Americancowboys had scattered and were riding hard, and behind them faintflashes cut the dusk and answering flashes came from those who fled.The lieutenant shouted and spread his arms, signaling Arguilla to stopas he and his men swung round the mouth of the coulee below. Somethirty riders from the T-Bar-T, the Blue Range, and the Concho sweptthrough the gateway and began shooting at the Ortez vaqueros. Arguillasaw that his own plan had gone glimmering. Ortez had in some wayplayed the traitor. Moreover, they were all on American territory.The herd had stampeded and scattered. In the fading light Arguilla sawone after another of the Ortez vaqueros go down. Did this noblecaptain of Liberty, Equality, and Fraternity rush to the rescue of hiscountrymen? He did not. Cursing, he swung his horse toward the south,followed by his amazed and altogether uncomprehending soldiery. Therehad been too many Gringoes in that wild, shrilling cavalcade to suithis fancy. Meanwhile the Mexican lieutenant wisely disappeared downthe western edge of the coulee and rode wide until he deemed it safe tochange his course and follow in the dusty wake of his noble leader's"strategic retreat."
Only one of the Ortez riders escaped the sudden and furious visitationof the northern cattlemen, and he escaped because his horse, mortallywounded, had fallen upon him. In the succeeding darkness he was passedunnoticed by the returning Americans.
The Olla men, also taken by surprise, had acted quickly. Bettermounted than most of their pursuers, who rode tired horses, the Ollariders spread at the first warning shout. Familiar with the country,they were able to get away unscathed, partly because the attention ofthe pursuers was centered chiefly on the herd.
It had been a case of each man for himself with the Olla riders, theexceptions to this being Brevoort and Pete, who had ridden togetherfrom the moment that Pete had shouted that sudden warning to hiscompanions at the gateway, where they had sat their horses waiting forhim to return from his mission to Ortez. Brent himself had posted alookout at the northern gateway of the ranch, with instructions towatch for any possible pursuit. This cowboy, wise in his generation,had caught sight of a large body of riders bearing down from the north.He knew by the way they rode that they meant business. He knew alsothat they were too many for the Olla men. He focused his glass onthem, got one good look, and calmly turned his horse and rode along theline fence to an arroyo, where he dismounted and waited until thevisiting gentlemen had got well onto the Olla territory. Then hemounted and took his leisurely way toward space. He knew that theOlla, as a safe and paying proposition, had ceased to exist.
Brent, mounted on one of the thoroughbreds, lost no time in heading forSanborn and the railroad, once he had ridden clear of the runningskirmish with the northerners. He surmised that Pete and Brevoortwould make for Sanborn--and they had The Spider's money. Brent alsoknew that he had a faster horse than either of them. If he could reachSanborn ahead of them, he would have the advantage of cover--and oftaking them by surprise . . .
The country was fairly open from the eastern boundary of the Olla towithin a few miles of Sanborn, where a veritable forest of cacti hadsprung up--one of those peculiar patches of desert growth, outlined ina huge square as definitely as though it had been planted by man. Thewagon-road passed close to the northern edge of this freakish forest,and having passed, swung off toward the railroad, which it finallyparalleled. It was in this vantage-ground of heavy shadow that Brenthad planned to waylay Brevoort and Pete. To avoid chance discovery,Brent had ridden considerably out of his way to keep clear of theregular trail from the Olla to Sanborn, and had lost more time than herealized. Brevoort, on the contrary, had taken the regular trail,which joined the main wagon-road.
Pete and Brevoort rode easily, as the local made the Sanborn stop atsix in the morning. Moreover, they did not care to spend any greatlength of time in Sanborn. They had planned to leave their horses atthe livery stable--to be called for later.
At first they talked of the raid, the probable fate of Ortez and hismen, and of Arguilla's flight. And from that they came to consideringtheir own plans which, if successful, would find them in El Paso withseveral thousand dollars which belonged in reality to Arguilla'sbackers. There was an unvoiced but evident understanding between themthat they would keep together so long as safety permitted. Pete hadmade up his mind to look for work on some southern ranch--and have donewith the high trails of outlawry. Brevoort, falling into his mood, asmuch because he liked Pete as anything else, had decided to "throw in"with him. Had Pete suggested robbing a bank, or holding up a train,the big, easy-going Texan would have fall
en in with the suggestionquite as readily, not because Pete had any special influence over him,but purely because Pete's sprightliness amused and interested him.Moreover, Pete was a partner that could be depended upon in fairweather or foul.
Their plan once made, they became silent, each busy with his own moreintimate thoughts: Brevoort wondering what Pete would say if he were tosuggest dividing the money and making for the coast and Alaska--andPete endeavoring to reconcile himself to the idea that The Spider wasactually Boca's father. For Pete had been thinking of Boca, even whilehe had been talking with Brevoort. It seemed that he always thought ofher just before some hidden danger threatened. He had been thinking ofher--even aside from her presence in the patio--that night when theposse had entered Showdown. He had thought of her while riding to theOrtez rancho--and now he was thinking of her again . . . He raised hishead and glanced around. The starlit desert was as soundless as thevery sky itself. The soft creak of the saddles, the breathing of thehorses, the sand-muffled sound of their feet . . . Directly aheadloomed a wall of darkness. Pete touched Brevoort's arm and gesturedtoward it.
"They call it the Devil's Graveyard," said Brevoort. "A sizable bunchof cactus alongside the road. We're closer to Sanborn than I figured."
"Well, we can't go any slower 'less we git off and set down," Peteremarked. "Blue Smoke here is fightin' the bit. He ain't no graveyardhoss."
"I notice he's been actin' nervous--and only jest recent."
"He always runs his fool head off--if I let him," asserted Pete. Andhe fell silent, thinking of Boca and the strange tricks that Fate playson the righteous and wicked alike. He was startled out of his reverieby Brevoort. "Mebby I'm dreamin'," whispered the Texan, "but I'm plumbcertain I seen somethin' drift into that cactus-patch."
"Cattle," said Pete.
"No. No cattle in these parts."
"Stray--mebby."
"I dunno. Jest sit light in your saddle and watch your hoss's ears.He'll tell you right quick if there's another hoss in there."
Pete knew that the Texan would not have spoken without some pertinentreason. They were drawing close to the deeper shadow of the cacti,which loomed strangely ominous in the faint light of the stars.Brevoort's horse, being the faster walker, was a little ahead andseemingly unconscious of anything unusual in the shadows, when BlueSmoke, range-bred and alert, suddenly stopped.
"Put 'em up--quick!" came from the shadows.
Pete's hand dropped to his holster, but before he could jerk out hisgun, Brevoort had fired at the sound--once, twice, three times . . .Pete heard the trampling of a frightened horse somewhere in the brush.
"I got him," Brevoort was saying.
Pete's face was cold with sweat. "Are you hit, Ed?" he said.
"No, he missed me. He was right quick, but I had him lined againstthat openin' there before he said a word. If he'd 'a' stood back andkept still he could have plugged us when we rode past. He was too sureof his game."
"Who was it, Ed?"
"I got one guess. We got the money. And he got what was comin' tohim." Brevoort swung down and struck a match. "I owed you that,Brent," he said as the match flared up and went out.
"Brent!" exclaimed Pete.
Brevoort mounted and they rode on past the sinister place, in the chillsilence of reaction from the tense and sudden moment when death hadspoken to them from the shadows where now was silence and thatvoiceless thing that had once been a man. "Got to kill to live!" Peteshivered as they swung from the shadows and rode out across the open,and on down the dim, meandering road that led toward the faint,greenish light glimmering above the desert station of Sanborn.
The Ridin' Kid from Powder River Page 30