His heart beating with new happiness, yet conscious of the stern dutystill confronting him, Keith joined the others, giving them, in awhisper, a hurried account of Hope's release from the cabin, and of whatshe had to report.
"It's old Juan Sanchez in the front room, boys," he added soberly, "andthere is ten thousand dollars reward out for him, dead or alive."
Joe of the "Bar X" drew in his breath sharply.
"It'll sure be dead then," he muttered, "that cuss will never be got noother way."
They went at it in the grim silent manner of the West, wasting littletime, feeling no mercy. One by one the unconscious sleepers werearoused, each waking to find a steel barrel pressing against hisforehead, and to hear a stern voice say ominously, "Not a move, Johnny;yes, that's a gun; now get up quietly, and step out here." Resistancewas useless, and the five, rendered weaponless, were herded back towardthe corral. They all belonged to Hawley's outfit; one, a black-whiskeredsurly brute Bristoe remembered having seen in Sheridan. There was notime to deal with them then, and a "Bar X" man was placed on guard, withorders to shoot at the slightest suspicious movement.
The Indian, then, would be guarding the front of the house, and Sanchezsleeping inside. Well, the former could be left alone; his chance ofescape would be small enough with Fairbain and Neb on the opposite bank.Old Sanchez was the villain they wanted--dead or alive. With this inview, and anxious to make a quick job of it, the three entered the backroom, and, revolvers in hand, groped their way across to the connectingdoor. As Hope had described, this had been securely fastened by a stoutwooden bar. Bristoe forced it from the sockets, not without some slightnoise, and Keith, crouching down at one side, lifted the latch. "Keepdown low, boys," he cautioned, "where he can't hit you."
With one quick push he flung the door wide open, and a red flash lit theroom. There were two sharp reports, the bullets crashing into the wallbehind them, the sudden blaze of flame revealing the front door open,and within it the black outline of a man's figure. Two of the men firedin instant response, leaping recklessly forward, but were as quicklyleft blind in the darkness, the outer door slammed in their faces.Outside there was a snarl of rage, another shot, a fierce curse inSpanish; then Keith flung the door wide open, and leaped down the step.As he did so he struck a body, and fell forward, his revolver knockedfrom his hand. Rising to his knees, the dim light of the stars revealeda man already half across the stream. Suddenly two sparks of fire leapedforth from the blackness of the opposite bank; the man flung up hishand, staggered, then went stumbling up the stream, knee deep in water.He made a dozen yards, reeling as though drunk, and fell forward, facedown across a spit of sand. Keith stared out at the black, motionlessshape, felt along the ground for his lost gun, and arose to his feet.Bristoe had turned over the dead body at the foot of the steps, and waspeering down into the upturned face.
"It's the Indian," he said grimly, "Sanchez must 'a' mistook him fer oneof us, and shot the poor devil."
"And Sanchez himself is out yonder on that sand-spit," and Keithpointed; then lifted his voice to make it carry across the stream. "Comeon over, Doctor, you and Neb. We've got the gang. Bring that body outthere along with you."
The "Bar X" man waded out to help, and the three together laid the deadMexican outlaw on the bank beside the Indian he had shot down in hiseffort to escape. Keith stood for a moment bending low to look curiouslyinto the dead face--wrinkled, scarred, still featuring cruelty, the thinlips drawn back in a snarl. What scenes of horror those eyes hadgazed upon during fifty years of crime; what suffering of men, women,children; what deeds of rapine; what examples or merciless hate. JuanSanchez!--the very sound of the name made the blood run cold. "Dead oralive!" Well, they had him at last--dead; and the plainsman shuddered,as he turned away.
Taking Fairbain with him, and hastily reviewing late occurrences tohim, Keith crossed over to the corral, realizing that their work--hiswork--was not wholly done until Hawley had been located. With this questin mind he strode straight to the black-bearded giant who had guardedHope from Sheridan.
"What is your name?" he asked sharply.
The man looked up scowling.
"Hatchett," he answered gruffly.
"Well, Hatchett, I am going to ask you a question or two, and adviseyou to reply just about as straight as you know how. I am in no moodto-night for any foolishness. Where is 'Black Bart' Hawley?"
"How in hell should I know?"
"You do know, just the same. Perhaps not to an inch, or a mile, butyou know near enough where he is, and where he has been since you leftSheridan."
"If I do, I'm damned if I'll tell you."
"No? Well now, Hatchett, listen to me," and Keith's voice had in it theclick of a steel trap. "You'll either answer, and answer straight, orwe'll hang you to that cottonwood in about five minutes. If you wanta chance for your miserable life you answer me. We have our way oftreating your kind out in this country. Sit up, you brute! Now where didHawley go after he left you?"
"To Fort Larned."
"After those fresh horses?"
"Yes."
"He didn't bring them to you; I know that. Where has he been since?"
"Topeky and Leavenworth."
"How do you know?"
"He writ me a note the boss herder brought."
"Hand it over."
Keith took the dirty slip of paper the man reluctantly extracted fromhis belt, and Fairbain lit matches while he ran his eyes hastily overthe lines. As he ended he crushed the paper between his fingers, andwalked away to the end of the corral. He wanted to be alone, to think,to decide definitely upon what he ought to do. Hawley, according to theschedule just read, must have left Larned alone early the day before;this night he would be camped at the water-hole; with daybreak heexpected to resume his lonely journey across the desert to the SaltFork. For years Keith had lived a primitive life, and in some ways histhought had grown primitive. His code of honor was that of the border,tinged by that of the South before the war. The antagonism existingbetween him and this gambler was personal, private, deadly--not anaffair for any others--outsiders--to meddle with. He could waithere, and permit Hawley to be made captive; could watch him rideunsuspectingly into the power of these armed men, and then turn him overto the law to be dealt with. The very thought nauseated him. That wouldbe a coward's act, leaving a stain never to be eradicated. No, he mustmeet this as became a man, and now, now before Hope so much as dreamedof his purpose--aye, and before he spoke another word of love to Hope.He wheeled about fully decided on his course, his duty, and met Fairbainface to face.
"Jack," the latter said earnestly, "I read the note over your shoulder,and of course I know what you mean to do. A Southern gentleman couldnot choose otherwise. But I've come here to beg you to let me have thechance."
"You?" surprised and curious. "What greater claim on that fellow's lifehave you than I?"
The pudgy hands of the doctor grasped the plainsman's shoulders.
"It's for Christie," he explained brokenly. "She was the one he tried torun away with. You--you know how I feel."
"Sure, I know," shaking the other off, yet not roughly. "But it happenedto be Miss Waite he took, and so this is my job, Fairbain. Besides, I'vegot another score to settle with him."
He wasted little time upon preparations,--a few brief words ofinstruction to Bristoe; a request to the doctor not to leave Hope alone;the extracting of a promise from the two "Bar X" men to return to Larnedwith the prisoners. Then he roped the best horse in the corral, saddledand bridled him, and went into the cabin. She had a light burning, andmet him at the door.
"I thought you would never come, but they told me you were unhurt."
"Not a scratch, little girl; we have been a lucky bunch. But I have hada great deal to look after. Now I shall be obliged to ride ahead as faras the water-hole, and let you come on with the others a little later,after you get breakfast. You can spare me a few hours, can't you?"
His tone was full of good humor, and his lips smiling, yet
somehow shefelt her heart sink, an inexplicable fear finding expression in hereyes.
"But--but why do you need to go? Couldn't some of the others?"
"There is a reason which I will explain later," he said, more gravely."Surely you can trust me, Hope, and feel that I am only doing what itseems absolutely necessary for me to do?" He bent down, and kissed her."It will be only for a few hours, and no cause for worry. Good-bye now,until we meet to-night at the water-hole."
The east was gray with coming daylight as he rode plashing across thestream and up the opposite bank. She watched hint, rubbing the blindingmist from her eyes, until horse and man became a mere dark speck,finally fading away completely into the dull plain of the desert.
Chapter XXXVI. The Duel in the Desert
Keith of the Border: A Tale of the Plains Page 35