With Hoops of Steel

by Florence Finch Kelly

  CHAPTER VI

  The jail at Las Plumas was a spreading, one-story adobe building, witha large, high-walled court at the back. This wall was also of adobe,some ten feet high and three feet thick, without an opening, andcrowned with a luxuriant growth of prickly-pear cactus. At certainhours of the day the prisoners were allowed the freedom of this court,while a guard kept on them an occasional eye. Behind the court, andcoming up to its very walls, was a small tract of land planted withvegetables, flowers and fruit trees and worked by an old Mexican wholived alone in a tiny hut at the farther end of the enclosure.

  For two days after the night of Emerson Mead's arrest his friendstried every device known to the law to get him free of the prisonwalls. But each attempt was cleverly met and defeated by the opposingparty, and he was still behind the bars. Then Nick Ellhorn and ThomsonTuttle held a conference, and agreed that Mead must get back to hisranch at once in order to save his affairs from further injury.

  "That's what they are doin' this thing for," said Nick, "so theycan get a good chance to steal all his cattle. And what they don'tsteal they'll scatter over the plains till it will be more thanthey're worth to get 'em together again. They think they can justeverlastingly do him up by keepin' him in jail for a month."

  Tuttle broke out with an indignant oath. "It's the meanest,low-downest, dirtiest, measliest trick they've ever tried to do, andthat's sayin' a whole heap! But they'll find out they've got more tobuck against than they're a-lookin' for now!"

  "You bet they will! They've got to travel mighty fast if they keep upwith this procession! Talk about measly tricks! Tom, that Fillmoreoutfit's the biggest cattle thief in the southwest. It's just plum'ridiculous to hear them talk about Emerson stealin' their cattle! Why,if he'd stayed up nights to steal from them he couldn't have got evenfor what they've taken from him."

  They talked over the plan Ellhorn had proposed and when it was allarranged Tuttle asked, "Shall we tell the judge?"

  "Tell nothin' to nobody!" Nick exclaimed. "The judge will find it outsoon enough, and if we don't tell him he won't bother us with adviceto give it up. We've got some horse sense, Tommy, and I reckon we-allcan run this here excursion without help from any darn fool lawyer inthe territory. If they'd left it to us in the first place, we'd havehad Emerson at home long before this."

  "I guess we-all can play our part of this game if Emerson can playhis."

  "Don't you worry about Emerson. He's ready to ride the devil throughhell to get back to his round-up."

  The next morning Nick Ellhorn hunted up the Mexican who worked thegarden behind the jail and talked through the enclosure with the oldman, who was crippled and half blind. Ellhorn talked with him aboutthe garden and finally said he would like to eat some onions. TheMexican pulled a bunch of young green ones for him, and he sat down ona bench under a peach tree near the wall of the jail-court to eatthem. He sent the Mexican back to his hut for some salt, and at oncebegan whistling loudly the air of "Bonnie Dundee." Presently he brokeinto the words of the song and woke the echoes round about, as he andEmerson Mead had done on many a night around the camp-fire on therange:

  "Come fill up my cup, come fill up my can, Come saddle my horse and call out my men."

  There he stopped and waited, and in a moment a baritone voice on theother side of the wall took up the song:

  "Come ope the west port and let us go free To follow the bonnets of Bonnie Dundee!"

  Ellhorn went on singing as he threw one of his onions, then another,over the wall. One of them came sailing back and fell beside thepeach tree. Then he took a slip of folded paper from his pocket, tiedit to another onion and sent it over the cactus-crowned adobe. TheMexican returned with the salt and they sat down together under thetree, chatting sociably. Presently Mead's voice came floating out frombehind the wall in the stirring first lines of the old Scotch ballad:

  "To the lords of convention, 'twas Claverhouse spoke: 'If there are heads to be crowned, there are heads to be broke!'"

  Nick chuckled, winked at the old Mexican, and hurried off to findTuttle.

  That evening, soon after the full darkness of night had mantled theearth, Nick Ellhorn and Tommy Tuttle rode toward the jail, leading anextra horse. Ellhorn gave Tuttle a lariat.

  "You'd better manage this part," he said in a low tone. "My arm's notstrong enough yet to be depended on in such ticklish matters. I triedit to-day with my gun, and it's mighty near as steady as ever forshooting, but I won't risk it on this."

  They rode into the Mexican's garden and Ellhorn stood with the extrahorse under the drooping branches of the peach tree. They listened andheard the sound of a soft whistling in the _patio_, as if some onewere idly walking to and fro.

  "That's him!" Ellhorn whispered excitedly. "That's what I told him tobe doing at just this time! He's listening for us!" Ellhorn whistledsoftly several bars of the same air, which were at once repeated fromwithin. Tuttle rode beside the wall and threw over it the end of hislariat. He waited until the whistling ceased, and then, winding therope around the pommel, he struck home the spurs and the horse leapedforward, straining to the work. It was a trained cow-pony, Mead's ownfavorite "cutting-out" horse, and it answered with perfect will andknowledge the urging of Tuttle's spurs. With a soft "f-s-s-t" the ropewore over the top of the wall and Mead's tall form stood dimlyoutlined behind the battlement of cactus. He untied the rope from hiswaist, threw it to the ground, and with foot and fist thrust aside thebristling, sharp-spined masses, dropped over the outer edge, hung atfull length by his hands for an instant, and landed in the soft earthat the bottom.

  They heard his name called inside the _patio_. It was the guard, whohad just missed him. As they quickly mounted there came over the wallthe sound of hurrying feet and the rapid conference of excited voices.Mead shot his revolver into the air and Ellhorn, lifting his voice toits loudest and fullest, sang:

  "Come ope the west port and let us go free To follow the bonnets of Bonnie Dundee!"

  "Whoo-oo-oo-ee-ee!"

  Spur met with flank and the three horses bounded forward, over thefence of the Mexican's garden, and up the street at a breakneckgallop. They clattered across the _acequia_ bridge and past Delarue'splace, where Mead, eagerly sweeping the house with a sidewise glance,had a brief glimpse of a brightly lighted room. Instantly his memorywent back, as it had done a thousand times, to that day, more than ayear before, when he had stood at the door of that room and had firstseen Marguerite Delarue. As they galloped up the street the vision ofthe room and of the girl came vividly back--the inviting, homelikeroom, with its easy-chairs, its pictures and shaded lamps, its tableswith their tidy litter of papers and fancy work, its pillowed lounges,and deep cushioned window-seats, and the tall, anxious-eyed girl withthe sick child in her arms, held close to her breast. Unconsciously heturned his head, possessed for the moment by the vision, and lookedback at the dark mass of the house and trees, lighted by the onegleaming window.

  "Think they'll follow us?" asked Tuttle, noticing the movement.

  "Who? Oh! No, I guess not."

  Beyond the town, in the edge of the rising plain, they drew rein andlistened for the sound of pursuing hoof-beats. Facing their horsesroundabout, they bent forward, their hands hollowed behind their ears.Out of the darkness, where it was gemmed by the lights of the town,came the sound of galloping horses.

  "They're after us!" cried Nick. "Three of 'em!"

  Mead took off his sombrero and as his left hand sent it twirlingthrough the air, a vague, black shape in the darkness, his right drewhis revolver from its holster and three quick, sharp explosionsflashed through the night. A pressure of his heels, and he was leaningfar over from his darting horse and snatching the hat as it barelytouched the gray earth. He held it up toward the sky and in thestarlight three bullet holes showed dimly through the crown, insidethe space a silver dollar could cover. Ellhorn waved his hat and senthis peculiar "Whoo-oo-ee-e!" back through the darkness toward thetown. They listened again and hear
d the pursuing horsemen clatteringover the _acequia_ bridge and into the street through which they hadcome.

  "I reckon we could keep ahead of 'em if we wanted to," said Mead, "butwe'll make the pass, and then if they are still following we'll teachthem some manners."

  Ellhorn shouted out again his yell of defiance and clicked the triggerof his gun to follow it with a challenging volley of bullets, but Meadstopped him with a cautioning word that they might need all theircartridges.

  They spurred their horses forward again and galloped over the rollingfoothills, neck to neck and heel to heel. The cool, dry night airstreamed into their faces, braced their nerves and filled their heartswith exultation. Behind them they could hear the hoof-beats of theirpursuers, now gaining on them and again falling behind. On and on theywent, sometimes sending back a defiant yell, but for the most partriding silently. They reached the steep grade leading to the mountainpass and eased their horses, letting them walk slowly up the incline.But the others took it at a furious pace, and presently, at theentrance to the pass, a voice shouted Mead's name and ordered him tohalt. Mead, laughing aloud, sent a pistol ball whizzing back throughthe darkness. Ellhorn and Tuttle followed his example, and their threepursuers discharged a volley in concert. The fugitives put spurs totheir horses, and, turning in their saddles, fired rapidly back at thevague, moving shapes they could barely see in the darkness. Ellhornheard an angry oath and guessed that somebody had been injured. Thebullets whistled past their ears, and now and then they heard the dullping of lead against the rocky walls of the narrow pass. Their horseshad kept their wind through the slow walk up the hill and sprangforward with fresh, willing speed. But the others had been exhaustedby the fierce gallop up the steep ascent, and could not hold the pacethat Mead and his friends set for them. Slowly the officers fell back,until they were so far in the rear that they ceased shooting. Mead,Tuttle and Ellhorn put away their revolvers and galloped on insilence for some distance before they stopped to listen. Far back inthe darkness they could hear the faint footfalls of the three horses.

  "They blowed their horses so bad comin' up the hill," said Mead, "thatthey'll never catch up with us again. I reckon they won't try now.They'll stay in Muletown to-night and go on to the Fillmore ranchto-morrow."

  "If they don't turn round and go back," said Ellhorn. "I don't believethey'll want to try this thing on at the ranch."

  "We'll sure be ready for 'em if they show up there," said Tuttle, thegrim note of battle in his voice.

  Ellhorn laughed joyously. "I guess we're just goin' to everlastinglyget even with that Fillmore outfit!"

  "Well, it will keep us busy, but we'll do our best," Mead cheerfullyassented.

  They galloped down the long eastern declivity of the mountain,stopping once at a miner's camp, a little way off the road, to waterand breathe their horses. A little later they stopped to listen again,but they could not catch the faintest sound of hoof-beats from themountain side. They did not know whether their pursuers had turnedabout and gone back to Las Plumas, or were taking the road leisurely,intending to stop at Muletown until morning.

  On again they galloped, neck to neck and heel to heel, with thestarry sky above and the long level of the plain before them. Meadglanced to the north, where the Big Dipper, pivoted on the twinklingpole star, was swinging its mighty course through the blue spaces ofthe sky, and said, "It's about midnight, boys." The dim, faintlygleaming, dusty gray of the road contracted to a lance-like point infront of them and sped onward, seeming to cleave the wall of darknessand open the way through which they galloped. The three tall,broad-shouldered, straight-backed figures sat their horses withconstant grace, galloping abreast, neck to neck and heel to heel,without pause or slackened pace. The rhythmical, resounding hoof-beatsmade exhilarating music for their ears, and now and again Ellhorn'syell went calling across the empty darkness or the sound of Mead's orTuttle's gun cleft the air. On and on through the night they went,their wiry ponies with ears closely laid and muscles strained inwilling compliance, the starry sky above and the long level of theplain behind them.

  At Muletown they stopped to water their horses at the brimmingpump-trough in the plaza and, as the thirsty creatures drank, Ellhornglanced at the swinging starry Dipper in the northern sky again andsaid, "I reckon it's three o'clock, boys." Then on they went,clattering down the long adobe street, flanked by dim houses, dark andsilent; and out into the rising edge of the plain, where it lifteditself into the uplands. The black silence was unbroken now save as adistant coyote filled the night with its yelping bark, or a low wordfrom one or another of the riders told of human presence. On and onthey galloped, neck to neck and heel to heel, without pause orslackened pace. At last they swerved to the right and began mountingthe low, rolling foothills of the Fernandez mountains. The cold nightair, dry and sharp, stung their faces and cooled the sweating flanksof their horses. The creatures' ears were bent forward, as if theyrecognized their surroundings, and their springing muscles were stillstrong and willing. Over the hills they galloped, the lance-like pointof the road cleaving the black wall in front and the hoof-beatsvolleying into the silence and darkness behind them.

  The gray walls of an adobe house took dim shape in the darkness, andbeyond it a mass of trees, their leaves rustling in the night wind,told of running water. The three men halted and with lowered bridlesallowed their horses to drink.

  "Is this old Juan Garcia's ranch?" Tuttle asked.

  "Yes," Mead replied, "old Juan still lives here. And a very good oldfellow he is, too. He isn't any lazier than he has to be, consideringhe's a Mexican. He keeps his ranch in pretty good order, and he raisesall the corn and _chili_ and wheat and _frijoles_ that he needshimself and has some to sell, which is a very good record for aMexican."

  "What's become of his pretty daughter?" asked Ellhorn. "Is she marriedyet?"

  "Amada? She's still here, and she's about the prettiest Mexican girl Iever saw. She's a great belle among all the Mexicans from Muletown tothe other side of the Fernandez mountains, and with some of theAmericans, too. Will Whittaker used to hang around here a good deal,and Amada seemed to be pretty well stuck on him."

  Again the horses sprang to the pace they had kept so gallantly, and onand on their hoofs flew over the low, rolling hills. The riders sattheir horses as if they were part and parcel of the beasts, horse andrider with one will and one motion, and all galloping on with rhythmichoof-beats, neck to neck and heel to heel, without pause or slackenedpace, while the cold, dry night wind whistled past their ears and thestars measured their courses through the violet blue of the bendingvault above. On they went over the slowly rising hills, and theslender, silver sickle of the old moon shone brightly in the grayingeast. Soon the mountains ranged themselves against the brighteningsky, and as they galloped, on and on, the stars vanished, and from outthe black void below the plain emerged, gray-green and grim, spreadingitself out, miles and miles into the distance, to the rimming mass ofmountains in the west. Still the hoof-beats rang out as the skyblushed with the dawn and the cloud-flecks flamed crimson and thepeaks of the distant mountain range glittered with the first goldenrays.

  Neck to neck and heel to heel they galloped on over the faint trackof the road, which now they could see, winding over the hills in frontof them. The men spoke cheerily to the horses and patted their wetsides, and the spirited beasts still bent willingly to their task. Thethree riders sat erect, straight-shouldered, graceful in their saddlesand the gentle morning breeze bathed their faces as on they rode overthe hills, while the sun mounted above the Fernandez range and floodedall the plain with its soft, early light.

  They swept around the curving bend in the road, where it half-circledthe corrals, and Ellhorn's lusty "Whoo-oo-oo-ee-ee" rang out as theydrew rein at Mead's door; Las Plumas, the night and ninety milesbehind them. Ellhorn's yell brought the cook to the door, coffee-potin hand, with two _vaqueros_ following close behind. One of these tookthe horses to the stables and the three friends stood up against thewall in the sunshine, st
retching themselves. Mead took out hispocket-knife and began cutting the cactus spines from his swollenhands.

  "I'm glad to have a chance to get rid of these things," he said."They've been stinging like hornets all night."