Desert Conquest; or, Precious Waters

by A. M. Chisholm

  CHAPTER XI

  Some two miles distant from the construction camp at the dam, a littlecavalcade moved slowly through the darkness of a moonless, cloudynight. A southeast wind was blowing, but it was a drying wind, with nopromise of rain. It had blown for days steadily, until it had suckedevery vestige of moisture from the top earth, leaving it merely powderydust. Because of it, too, no dew had fallen; the nights were as dry asthe days.

  In the grain fields, the continued blast had stripped the surface soilaway from the young plants, wrenching and twisting them, desiccatingtheir roots, which, still too feeble to reach what dampness lay lowerdown, sucked ineffectually at the dry breast of the earth. The plantsthey could not feed took on the pale-green hue of starvation. There,among the young grain, the stronger gusts lifted dust clouds acres inextent. Low down along the surface, the soil sifted and shiftedcontinually, piling in windrows in spots, burying the young plants,leaving others bare. Odd little devils of whirlwinds, marked bycolumnar pillars of dust, danced deviously across the fields and alongthe trails. From the standpoint of a disinterested person, theceaseless wind would have been unpleasant in its monotony; but fromthe viewpoint of a rancher it was deadly in its persistence.

  The moving figures were so strung out that it appeared almost as thoughthey were riding in the same direction fortuitously, without relationto each other. First came two horsemen; then, at an interval of fivehundred yards, came a buckboard, with two men and a led horse. In therear, five hundred yards back, were two more riders.

  This order, however, was not the result of accident, but ofcalculation. The buckboard held Oscar and the elder McCrae. Also itcontained a quantity of dynamite. Naturally, it was drawn, not byMcCrae's eager road team, but by a pair of less ambition. And theriders, front and rear, were in the nature of pickets; for, though itwas unlikely that any one would be met at that time of night, it wasjust as well to take no chances.

  The riders in the lead were Casey Dunne and Tom McHale. Each had arifle beneath his leg. In addition, McHale wore two old, ivory-handledColts at his belt, and Dunne's single holster held a long automatic,almost powerful as a rifle. They rode slowly, seldom faster than awalk, peering ahead watchfully, their ears tuned to catch the slightestsuspicious sound.

  "This here is like old times," said McHale. "Durn me if I hadn't aboutforgotten the feel of a gun under my leg. I wish we could have ourphotos took now. We sure look plenty warlike."

  "I don't want any photo," said Casey. "If I can get home withoutmeeting any one, it will suit me down to the ground. I wish we hadn'tbrought these guns. It's safer every way."

  "It's safer for some people," McHale commented. "S'pose we struck hardluck to-night and got backed into a corner or followed up too close--how'dwe look without guns? 'Course, I'd take awful long chances before Ishot _at_ anybody; but all the same a Winchester helps out a retirin'disposition a whole lot."

  "No doubt about that. But the devil of packing a gun is the temptationto use it before you really have to. That accounts for a lot oftrouble. Why, even in the old days, a man who didn't pack a gun wassafe, unless he tracked up with some mighty mean specimen of a killer.And those dirty killers usually didn't last long."

  "That's so in one way," McHale admitted, "but I look at it different.If nobody but the killers had packed guns they'd have run the wholeshow. Some of them gents killed for the fun of it, like a mink in achicken coop. The mean sort'd pick out some harmless, helpless party,and stomp up and down, r'arin' and cussin' till they got up a big mad.The chances was about even they'd shoot. Usual they didn't try themplays on men that wore their artillery in plain sight."

  "Well, we haven't any killers now, anyway," said Dunne. "This is aboutas far as it's safe to go with the horses. We'll wait till the otherscome up."

  In a few minutes, the faint straining of leather, creak of springs, andsubdued clank of axles came to them. The buckboard loomed out of thedarkness, and halted suddenly.

  "That you, boys?" McCrae's voice asked.

  "Yes. We won't take the horses any farther. If that watchman is on thedam to-night he might hear something. We can pack the powder the restof the way ourselves."

  The rear riders, young Sandy McCrae and Wyndham, arrived. Then adispute arose. No one wished to remain with the horses. Casey Dunnesettled it.

  "There's only one man going to plant powder and cut fuses, and that'sOscar," said he. "If we all go messing around with it in the dark, halfthe shots won't fire, and we may have an accident. Outside of thatthere's nothing to do except take care of the watchman if he's there;and he's sure to be. Wyndham, you're not cut out for that sort of work.You will stay with the ponies. Now, McCrae, you'd better turn aroundand drive home."

  McCrae pulled the team around. "Good luck, boys," said he quietly, andwas gone. The spare horse which had been tied to the buckboard remainedfor Oscar.

  The Swede proceeded to load himself with dynamite, placing it aroundhis legs in the high socks he wore, in the breast of his shirt, and inhis pockets. This was the overflow from a gunny sack in which hecarried the rest. He resembled a perambulating mine.

  "Ay ban ready now," he announced.

  "I say, Oscar, don't trip," said Wyndham facetiously.

  "Nor interfere," McHale added. "Plant them number twelves of yoursplumb wide apart, Oscar, and don't try to scratch your ankle with yourboot."

  Oscar grinned at them, his big, white teeth shining in the darkness. Heattempted the repartee of his adopted country.

  "You faller tenk you mek big yoke--vat!" said he. "You go to hal,please."

  "Sure--if you bump anything hard," McHale retorted.

  "Come on, come on!" said Casey impatiently.

  Wyndham remained with the horses. He was to allow the others half anhour, and then bring the animals down nearer the dam, so that no timeshould be lost in getting away. His companions vanished in thedarkness.

  Young McCrae took the lead. In the moccasins he affected he trodnoiselessly, making no more sound than a prowling, nocturnal animal.Casey Dunne followed, almost as light-footed. Behind him Oscar clumpedalong, planting his heavy boots solidly at every step. McHale broughtup the rear. Soon they struck an old cattle trail which wound down ashort coulee and brought them to the bank of the river immediatelybelow the dam. McCrae halted.

  "There she is," he announced.

  Across the river lay the huddled, black shapes of the camp buildings,with here and there a pallid spot which marked a tent. Not a light wasvisible there. Evidently the camp slept, and that was as it should be.But nearer at hand, beside the bank of the river where the bulk of thedam reared itself, a solitary light gleamed.

  "That's the watchman," McCrae whispered. "We're in luck, boys. He's onthis side."

  "Say, Ay sneak up on dat faller," Oscar proposed. "Ay mek vonyump--so!--and Ay gat him in de neck." He uttered a horrible sound,suggestive of death by strangulation.

  "Shut up!" hissed young McCrae fiercely. "_Keep_ him quiet, Tom!"

  "Shut up, Oscar!" growled McHale. "Don't you savvy nothing? You and meain't in on this. Stand right still now, and don't breathe no harderthan you have to. Go to it, boys!"

  If young McCrae had been a prowling animal before, he was now the ghostof one. Casey Dunne, behind him, endeavoured to copy his noiselessmethod of progress. Gradually they drew near the light.

  They could discern the figure of the watchman beside it. He was sittingon a stick of timber, smoking. McCrae drew from his pocket a longcanvas bag, of about the dimensions of a small bologna sausage, andweighed it in his hand. They crept nearer and nearer. They were notmore than ten feet away. The guardian of the dam laid his pipe on thetimber, rose to his feet, and stretched his arms high above his head ina huge, satisfying yawn.

  At that instant McCrae sprang like a lynx on a fawn. The sandbagwhistled as it cut down between the upstretched arms, and the watchmandropped as if hit by lightning.

  "That was an awful crack, Sandy," said Casey reprovingly. He flashedthe lantern at the face, and slipped his f
ingers to the wrist. To hisrelief, the pulse was strong.

  "I had to get through his hat, hadn't I?" said McCrae. "I wasn't takingany chances. He's got a head like a bull. Come on, let's fix him up."

  The watchman came out of their hands trussed up like a fowl forroasting, securely gagged, with a gunny sack drawn over his head andtied at the waist. They lifted him between them and bore him away fromthe dam to what they considered a safe distance.

  "'Watchman, tell us of the night,'" chuckled Casey. "He's all right, bythe way he kicks, and nothing can hit him away out there. They'll seehim first thing in the morning. Hustle up Oscar, now. This is where hegets action."

  Oscar, when he came up, got to work at once. Because the planting ofshots by different men would have been both unsatisfactory anddangerous he worked alone. The others lay flat in the gloom, watchingthe lantern which he had appropriated flitting here and there along thestructure.

  "Oscar's some powder man, you bet," McHale observed. "He don't looklike he had the savvy, but he'll cut them fuses so's the shots'll comemighty near together. Blamed if I know why a Swede takes to powder.Seems to come natural to 'em, like pawin' snow to a cayuse."

  The light blinked and disappeared as Oscar descended. Followed a longinterval of silent waiting. Then across in the camp a dog began tobark, at first uncertainly, with what was almost a note ofinterrogation, and then, as the wind brought confirmation of suspicionto his nostrils, with savage vigour. By the sound, he was apparentlyapproaching the dam.

  Some sleeper, awakened by the noise, yelled a profane command to theanimal, which had no effect. It merely awakened another, who cursed thefirst sleepily.

  "Hey, Kelly," he called, "hit that dog with a rock!" A pause. "Hey,Kelly, wake up, there!"

  "I guess we've got Kelly," Casey whispered to Sandy. He called outhoarsely: "He'll quit in a minute! G'wan to sleep. You don't know yourown luck."

  But the dog continued to bark, jumping up and down frantically. A lightappeared in a window of one of the shacks.

  "Blazes!" muttered McHale, "somebody's getting up."

  A low whistle came from behind them. It was significant of the tensionof the moment that both McHale and McCrae jumped. But Dunne was cooler.

  "That's only Wyndham with the horses," he said.

  Suddenly a long aperture of light appeared in the dark wall of theshack. For a moment it was partially obscured by a figure, and then itvanished utterly. The door had closed. The light from the windowremained.

  "Somebody's come out," said McHale. "That's about where Farwell's shackis. What's keepin' Oscar? He's had time enough. Maybe I'd better goacross and hold up this feller? We don't want----"

  The lantern bobbed into view once more. Oscar was coming at last, buthe was taking his time about it. Had he placed the powder? Had he firedthe fuses? Or had something gone wrong at the last moment? They askedthemselves these questions impatiently. It would be just like him tohave forgotten his matches. It might not occur to him to use thelantern flame. In that case----

  "Come on, hurry up there!" McCrae called softly.

  Oscar clambered up beside them. "Ay tal you somet'ing----" he began.But the dog yelped suddenly. A sharp voice cut across to them:

  "Kelly! What the devil's going on here? What are you about? Who's thatwith you?"

  "Farwell!" Dunne whispered. "Did you light the fuses, Oscar?"

  "Sure t'ing," Oscar replied. Proud of the phrase, he repeated it. "Sheban light, all right."

  "When'll she fire? Quick, now?"

  "Mebbe fema minute. We ban haf lots of time to gat out of har. Say,Kessy, what faller----"

  An oath cracked in the darkness like a rifle shot.

  "You, Kelly, answer me! Come across here at once!" He paused for amoment. "By thunder! Kelly, I'll come over there and----"

  Casey Dunne did not hear the conclusion of the sentence. His mind wasworking swiftly. For, if Farwell tried to come across, he wouldprobably be killed by the coming explosions; and that must be preventedat any cost. The destruction of the dam was justifiable, evennecessary. But homicide with it would never do. To shoot inself-defence or to protect his rights was one thing; to allow a man tobe killed by a blast was quite another. But just how to prevent it wasthe question.

  "Come along, Casey," McHale urged. "We ain't got too much time."

  "Time or not, we can't have Farwell hurt. You go. I'll be after you ina minute."

  "If you stay we all stay," said McHale. "Let him take his chance. Comeon!"

  "Git, I tell you," Casey insisted. "I've got to keep him where he istill the first shot goes." He called out: "All right, Mr. Farwell. Youdon't need to come. I'll be there."

  "That's not Kelly's voice," snapped Farwell. "What deviltry's going onhere?"

  By his voice, Casey guessed that he was advancing. He dropped thepretence as useless. "Get back, there!" he ordered sharply, butendeavouring to disguise his natural voice. "Get back to your shack,you, or I'll drill you!"

  Farwell's response came with surprising promptness in the form of arevolver bullet that sang just above Casey's head. By the momentaryflash of the weapon his big figure was just discernible standing bentforward, legs wide apart, tense and watchful.

  As Casey's hand dropped to his automatic, McHale clutched his wrist."Don't shoot!" he whispered.

  "I'm not going to hit him," Casey replied. "I'm just going to make himstay where he is."

  "Let me," said McHale, and fired as he spoke. Farwell's revolveranswered. They emptied the guns in the darkness; but as one shot highby accident and the other low by design, no damage ensued.

  The camp, aroused by the shooting, buzzed like a hornet's nest. Lightsappeared everywhere. Dark figures streamed out of doorways and throwntent flaps; and, once outside, stood in helpless uncertainty.

  "Coom, coom!" cried Oscar. "Ve gat out of har!" They rose and ran inthe dark.

  A mighty roar drowned the echoes of the pistol shots, as the bassbellow of his sire might dominate the feeble bleatings of a new-borncalf. A vivid flash split the night. In the momentary illuminationdetails were limned sharply--the buildings, the groups of men on oneside, the running figures on the other. And poised, stationary, as itseemed, in mid-air, above the instant eruption, hung a mushroom cloudof smoke and dust, specked with fragments of riven wood and shatteredconcrete. Through the succeeding contrasted blackness the debristhudded upon the earth. With scarcely an interval followed a secondshot, a third, a fourth. The air became alive with hurtling massesraining from the heavens.

  The four dynamiters reached Wyndham, who, cursing in his excitement,was straining every muscle and a comprehensive vocabulary in an effortto hold the frightened horses.

  Casey, McHale, and Sandy seized their nigh stirrups, shot them at theirleft toes, gripped saddle horns, and went up in an instant. Oscar, lessexpert, fumbled for a hold with his toe, hopping on his right leg ashis horse sidled and backed.

  "Stand still, Ay tal you!" he gritted. "By Yudas, Ay club hal from youpurty kvick!"

  Young McCrae wheeled his horse on the off side and gripped theheadstall by the bit. "Up you go!" he cried, and Oscar fell into thesaddle, the horn striking him amidships and momentarily checking atorrent of oaths. "Hang on, now!" McCrae ordered and let go.

  They shot away with a wild plunge and a scurry of panicky hoofs. Thegoing was rough, but luck was with them. They surged up the coulee,emerging on the higher bench land by the trail.

  "Look here, Tom," said Dunne, "what did you want to do the shooting forback there? Afraid I'd get rattled and hit somebody?"

  McHale grinned in the darkness. "Not hardly. Mostly, Casey, you _mamooktumtum_ a heap--you look ahead and savvy plenty. You're foolish--theway an old dog fox is. But onct in a while you overlook a bet. You'retoo plumb modern and up to date."

  "What's that got to do with it?"

  "A lot. I don't know no other man hereabouts that packs a forty-fourautomatic. See, now?"

  "No."

  "Why, Casey," said McHale, "I'm surprised at
you! It's clear as gin.Them guns spits out the empty shells right where you stand. Farwellfinds 'em, and he goes lookin' for a gun to fit 'em. You've got it.There ain't no other gun hereabouts that takes forty-four automaticammunition. Now, my old gun don't leave no trail of ca'tridges tofollow unless I breaks her open. So I just naturally horned in andplayed the hand myself."