Panting, gasping, the clamped arms around his neck choking him, El Halcón started the downward trip. When he let go with one hand to shove it forward, the strain on the other gripping the rope was almost more than he could bear. He was deaf, blinded, his senses reeling.
Slow hand over slow hand! He must get down the rope a ways or the fall would very likely kill or injure one or both, and his progress seemed that of a rheumatic snail. Voices were shouting something, urgently, but he couldn’t make out what was said. Didn’t matter anyhow. Now his movements were those of an automaton, the purely instinctive urge of self-preservation.
Suddenly he felt the rope slack. No use! They were done for. He and his helpless burden plunged downward.
8
SLADE MUST HAVE FALLEN ALL OF THREE FEET, LANDING ON his feet and staying erect. The arms about his neck loosened and the rescued man, his injured leg refusing to support him, tumbled to the ground, panting and exultant. Slade was instantly surrounded by a whooping crowd that slapped his back, pumped both hands and howled their admiration.
“We were trying to tell you to let go and drop!” a voice boomed above the general uproar. “But you just kept on coming till the rope burned in two. We were scared to slack the rope for fear you might stumble and fall, and we didn’t know how bad Mike was hurt. Feller, you’re a wonder! Ain’t another like you in Texas! Give him three cheers, boys!”
The cheers were given with a will, the rescued man putting in as much of a croak as he could summon from his smoke-seared throat.
Slade smiled at his admirers and turned to the man on the ground, who had propped himself on an elbow and was puffing hard at a cigarette somebody had rolled for him.
“Let’s have a look at your leg,” he suggested. With his sensitive fingers he probed the area of the injury.
“Pretty badly bruised and I’m afraid the small bone is broken, although it may only be cracked,” he said. “Fortunately, it is not a compound fracture and should give you no real trouble. Be okay in a week or so, I’d say. Somebody get a couple of strips for splints, and some string, and we’ll make it easier for him.”
The needed materials were quickly forthcoming and Slade soon had the patient resting easier.
“Much obliged for everything, feller,” he said. “I won’t forget it.”
“Here comes the fire department,” somebody shouted.
“Hell of a lot of good they’ll do,” said another. “That shack’s a goner.”
“Yes, I’m afraid you’ll have all your work to do over,” the Ranger remarked, glancing at the burning building, from which smoke and flame were now spouting in every direction.
The big foreman of the workers muttered an oath and shook his fist at the Mexican shore.
Slade touched him on the shoulder. “Do you know that Mexicans had anything to do with setting off that explosion, whatever the devil it was, and starting the fire?” he asked quietly.
The foreman shook his head. “But who the devil else?” he retorted.
“I don’t know, although I hope to find out,” Slade replied. “But please don’t go jumping at conclusions for which you have no proof.”
“Feller, after what you did for Mike, I won’t jump at anything you tell me not to,” the foreman said. “If you say the sun’s green, I’ll string along with you, and bust anybody who says it ain’t.”
“Thank you,” Slade smiled, “and spread the word among the boys, if you don’t mind.”
“I will,” The foreman promised. “My name’s Guffy, Matt Guffy. Mind telling me yours?”
Slade supplied it and they shook hands. Guffy regarded him with increased interest.
“Done heard that name,” he said. “You’re Sheriff Serby’s new deputy, ain’t you? Understand you’ve done some raunchin’ good chores since you landed here, to say nothing of the one you did today. I’m plumb honored to know you, Mr. Slade. And if ever you want a favor done, even to kickin’ the sheriff in the pants and setting fire to the courthouse, just ask me.”
“Thank you, Mr. Guffy,” Slade laughed. “But I think we’ve had enough fires for a while. And the sheriff would feel plumb hurt if you did such a thing to him.”
“And the chances are I’d get hurt,” chuckled the foreman. “Old Trevis is a salty hombre. Say, maybe you and me could have a drink together some place tonight, after I get this mess here straightened out?”
Slade had an inspiration. “Be fine,” he replied. “I’ll meet you at Pablo Montez’s cantina. You must know where it is, over close to the bridge.”
Guffy looked a bit startled. “Mexican feller, ain’t he?”
“He is,” Slade smiled.
“Oh, all right,” said Guffy. “Anything you say goes with me. I’ll be there, say around eight o’clock?”
“That’ll be okay,” Slade agreed.
Guffy glanced toward the burning building. “See the fire boys are having trouble getting enough hose stretched to do any good,” he observed. “Don’t matter, the shack’s a goner, and there isn’t anything else close enough to catch. We’ll have to start over from scratch, but we’ll make it.”
A makeshift stretcher had been contrived in the tool house and two brawny companions placed the injured Mike Thompson on it, preparatory to packing him to the doctor’s office for further examination.
“Might be a good idea to stop at a saloon and get him a snort or two,” Slade suggested.
“Mr. Slade,” chuckled Mike, who had heard the conversation between El Halcón and the foreman, “everything you think of is just plumb perfect. Sift sand, fellers, I’m dyin’ of thirst.”
“Hey! here comes the sheriff now,” exclaimed Guffy. “Didn’t take him long to hear about it.”
Serby quickly spotted El Halcón’s tall form and hurried to him.
“Well, now what have you been into?” he demanded accusingly.
Guffy told him, in detail. “Never saw anything like it in my life,” he concluded. “He went up that rope like a squirrel up a hickory tree, and came back down it with Mike Thompson hangin’ onto his neck, and Mike ain’t no featherweight. I wouldn’t have believed there was a man livin’ who could do it.”
“Oh, he’s always doing things like that, I ain’t a mite surprised,” said Serby. “Comes nacherel to him. Well I guess there’s nothing I can do here; I’m going back uptown. Coming along, Walt?”
“Yes,” the Ranger replied. “See you at eight, Mr. Guffy.”
“Well, what was it?” the sheriff asked as they walked away.
“Deliberate sabotage,” Slade said. “Somebody set some sort of a time bomb, I’d say. I’ve a notion they used black powder, which would set fire to everything. Anyhow, they did an excellent chore of destruction.”
“And I suppose Guffy and his bunch are blaming the Mexicans,” the sheriff observed.
“He was inclined to, but I’ve a notion I changed his mind for him a bit, and the chances are he’ll change the minds of the others,” Slade answered. “Trevis, we’re up against something out of the ordinary. A dozen men might well have been killed. The only thing that saved them was the lucky chance that nobody was working in the back of the buildings at the moment. Thompson was the only one who was definitely struck by the flying debris. A few others got scratches, nothing serious.”
“Hyderphobia skunks!” growled the sheriff. “Well, if you can win over Matt Guffy from his dislike for Mexicans, you will have accomplished something. He is from the Brownsville section. Was real young when they had the trouble with the Mexicans down there and I guess he saw some things that didn’t set well. Anyhow, he’s had no use for them ever since.”
“Youthful impressions linger, and sometimes become more vivid as the years pass,” Slade said. “I doubt if Guffy has had much contact with Mexicans since then and still judges all by what was done by a few. However, he strikes me as a fair-minded man and not beyond changing his opinions. Well, we’ll see.”
“You’ve got a hold on him,” the sheriff commented. �
�Mike Thompson is from the same part of the country as Guffy and they’re pretty close friends. Thompson is a sort of assistant to him, a good construction man. Guffy won’t forget and will be anxious to please you.”
“I hope so,” Slade replied. “Anything that will tend to ease the tension hereabouts will be a help.”
Serby chuckled. “If you can swing Guffy and his bunch into line, they’ll talk to other folks, and settin’ that fire may have sorta backfired, as you might say, on the hellions who did it.”
“Could be,” Slade agreed.
“Met Nelson Evers as I was hustling down to the fire,” Serby remarked. “He said he’d just come from there and that there was nothing to do about the packing house but there was no danger of it spreading. Said he heard you saved a feller from getting burned up. Sent you regards.”
“That was nice of him,” Slade said, his eyes thoughtful. “Didn’t see anything of Gregory Cole?”
“Nope,” the sheriff replied. “Guess he’s out at his farm or he would have been down there; most everybody else was, or is by now.”
Slade nodded, and let the subject drop.
Promptly at eight o’clock, Matt Guffy put in an appearance at Pablo’s cantina. At a nod from Slade, a smiling and deferential waiter escorted him to the Ranger’s table. Pablo himself, bowing and smiling, hurried forward with a bottle of his special vintage. Guffy’s expression was one of bewilderment. He glanced at Slade, at Pablo, and shook his head.
“Only the best for the amigo of El Halcón,” said Pablo, filling crystal goblets to the brim.
“Heard you were called El Halcón,” Guffy remarked, apparently in search of something to say.
“Been called that,” Slade admitted. “El Halcón, the notorious outlaw.”
“Just let me hear somebody call you an outlaw!” Guffy rumbled, a scowl darkening his ruggedly good-looking face. “Just let me hear ‘em!”
Carmen, charming in her dance-floor costume, came from the back room. Guffy was introduced, and within three minutes she had him hogtied, greatly to Slade’s amusement and satisfaction. He felt pretty sure he could count on Matt Guffy, did the need arise.
They had a very jolly dinner together. Guffy, once he had gotten over his initial bewilderment, proved to be a good conversationalist and full of humorous anecdotes that kept Carmen in stitches.
After they had finished eating and were discussing a glass of wine, Guffy kept glancing at the dance floor.
“Wonder if one of those gals would dance with me?” he asked. “I like to dance.”
“They’ll be glad to,” Carmen replied. “I’ll get you one.”
She beckoned a demure little senorita with very red lips and laughing eyes.
“This is Juana,” she introduced. “Juana, the Senor Guffy would like a dance with you.”
“Of a certainty,” the girl replied, in a softly musical voice.
Somewhat later, as they watched Guffy and his pretty partner doing a third number, Carmen remarked pensively, “I’ve a notion Juana has made a conquest. Well, it would be a good thing. She’s a homebody and would be happier looking after a house full of kids than dancing in a cantina.”
“And I’ve a notion she could do a lot worse,” Slade said. “He’s steady going and would be a good provider.”
“And no doubt wouldn’t go gallivanting off somewhere to show up again goodness only knows when,” commented Carmen. “I envy her.”
“Not really,” he smiled.
“Well, not too much,” Carmen admitted. “Come along, I want to dance, too. One number and I’ll have to leave you for a while; I haven’t finished my work. And don’t go running off somewhere. After what you went through today, you need a rest.”
“I doubt if I’ll get it,” he retorted pointedly as they reached the floor.
Carmen giggled and tossed her curls.
After they had finished a number, Carmen lingered at the table for a moment. Guffy joined them.
“Say, she’s all right,” he said apropos of Juana. “I like her, and I got a notion she sorta likes me.”
“She is honored to dance with the friend of El Halcón,” Carmen replied.
“And I am honored by you calling me a friend of El Halcón’s,” Guffy said soberly.
Carmen trotted off to the back room to finish her paper work. After another dance with Juana and an extended conversation at the edge of the floor, Guffy announced —
“I’m going over to the strip. Some of the boys are working all night to try and clean up the mess and get things ready to start rebuilding right away. The owners should be there by now. They were down at Sierra Blanca today but were expected back on the ten o’clock train. Say! these folks here are all right; I like ‘em. Will be back tomorrow. See you here, I hope.”
Juana let her eyes follow him to the door, where he turned and waved to her. Watching him depart, Slade experienced a feeling of accomplishment; there would be no more trouble between Guffy and his men and the Mexicans. As Sheriff Serby said when he strolled in a little later and was regaled with an account of the evening’s happenings —
“Looks like settin’ the fire sure did sort of backfire; did the hellions more harm than good. Put the owners to a bit of expense, but they’re well heeled with dinero and can take it. Yep, it sure backfired. Now what?”
“Now, after you’ve finished your snort, how about moseying over to the packing house, or what’s left of it, and see how the boys are making out.”
“Suits me,” said the sheriff, emptying his glass. “Let’s go.”
“Tell Carmen I’ll be back in a little while,” Slade said to Pablo.
At the site of the burned building they found the night crew working like beavers — clearing away the thoroughly wetted down ruins, inspecting the foundation stones to make sure they were intact. Slade was not particularly surprised to see Mike Thompson there, hobbling on crutches but bellowing orders interspersed with vivid profanity.
“Doc said there was nothing to it, go get drunk,” he told Slade. “Small bone cracked, but that is all. Figured I’d be better here to make sure the boys are getting along okay. Be seeing you, and thanks a million once again.”
There also were the two owners, Hatch and Friedman, pleasant gentlemen who took their loss philosophically. The shook hands warmly with El Halcón.
“We won’t forget what you did, Mr. Slade,” said Friedman. “We can erect new buildings, but we could not have put together a burned up man. No, we won’t forget it. We would have hated to lose Mike.”
“If I may make a suggestion, Mr. Friedman,” Slade said, “have your property guarded, day and night, from now on.”
“We’ll do that,” put in Hatch. “Looks like somebody is deliberately trying to make trouble.”
“That’s exactly the case,” Slade replied. “So it’s best not to take chances, although I rather doubt they’ll bother you again. What they had in mind didn’t succeed, but I repeat, best not to take chances.”
Satisfied that everything was under control, Slade and the sheriff returned to the cantina.
“Well, I’d say you did a darned good day’s work,” Serby said as he ordered a snort for himself and coffee for Slade.
“Not too bad,” the Ranger admitted. “I don’t seem to be making any headway at running down whoever is responsible for the heck raising, but I do feel that I’ve curbed their activities a mite and frustrated a few attempts at trouble-making.”
“To say nothing of saving a man’s life at the risk of your own, and recovering a herd of stolen cows, and that at the risk of eating lead,” the sheriff added.
“Well, it all worked out,” Slade said. “But I’m afraid I’ll need a new pair of overalls. These are beginning to char off at the bottoms.”
“A wonder your legs didn’t get plumb scorched,” grunted Serby.
“My boots withstood the heat pretty well, and I was in the worst of it for only a moment,” Slade replied. “Mike is quite a bit shorter and I’ve a notion
the flames hardly reached his feet.”
“We’ll charge new overalls to the county treasury,” Serby declared. “Guess you’ve earned ‘em, quite a few times over. Also a new shirt; the sleeve of that one is sorta airy. Slit all the way down to the wrist. Well, here comes your gal in a street dress, so I reckon you’ll be leaving.”
“Yes, I think I’ll call it a day,” Slade agreed.
“And watch your step,” cautioned Serby. “I’ve a notion the sidewinders ain’t feeling a bit friendly toward you about now.”
Slade glanced toward the end of the bar nearest the door and smiled. Lounging there were Gordo Allendes and several more of Pablo’s young men. He rather hoped the outlaws would make a try for him on the way to Kansas Street. If so, they would most certainly end up short a few.
“Oh, by the way,” he remarked, “you said you met Nelson Evers when you were coming down to the fire. Didn’t he say last night when we were talking with him that he planned to ride to his recently purchased spread today?”
“Why, yes, he did,” replied Serby. “Guess he changed his mind.”
“Yes, I guess he did,” Slade said slowly.
The sheriff ambled out. Carmen joined Slade.
“I’m finished for tonight,” she announced. “That is, here.”
9
THE FOLLOWING MORNING, SLADE AND THE SHERIFF AGAIN walked over to the strip, to find Guffy and his men already rebuilding the packing house. Slade noted that several alert looking individuals were doing no work, just walking around, peering in all directions. Their gaze centered on Trevis and himself until they were recognized. Evidently Friedman and Hatch were taking no chances with possible further sabotage, for the gentlemen in question all packed guns and looked ready to use them.
“Well, what do you think of the rukus between the Federal government and the Mexican government?” Serby asked.
“I think,” Slade said thoughtfully, “that ultimately — heaven alone knows when — the dispute will be settled in favor of Mexico. However, there are evidently those who think otherwise and are endeavoring to cash in on their beliefs.”
Horseman of the Shadows Page 6