by Grey, Zane
"Howdy. Stayed awake late for me, huh? Just as well, for I shore would have rustled you out."
"Yes, we're up, son, and what else is up?" rejoined Huett, again his relieved and confident self.
"I reckon you'll think hell is up," said Abe frankly. "Cattle raid?"
"Nope, not yet. But we're in for a humdinger."
"Forewarned is forearmed, you know. Come out with it," replied Huett, gruffly.
"Dad, Jim Stillman and his brother, with Tobe Campbell, and two more men I didn't know, are going to raid us."
"Five of them, eh? Well, not if we see them first!" Logan replied grimly.
"All my hiding out for them wasted time!" ejaculated Abe, in disgust.
"They didn't come down through the woods. They came up the road from Pine, and made no bones about piling right down into Turkey. I sneaked up as close as I could get. They camped in an open spot and weren't afraid of a bright fire, but at that I heard a little and guessed a lot... Would it surprise you to learn Tobe Campbell was Hillbrand's right-hand man?"
"Wal, son, nothing can surprise me about that coyote," Logan drawled.
"It's so, and Campbell had taken hold of that Stillman outfit. Tobe is the meanest and the slickest of that Campbell bunch... Tobe had to give it away that he was Hillbrand's man. I heard him. Jim didn't have the guts to hold out against this, and they got together right then and there. I heard your name, Dad, and mine, and something about Sycamore. Tobe drew a map on the ground. I jumped at conclusions, and made up my mind about their deal hours before I found out. They sat there talking till long after midnight--didn't drink anything but coffee. Anybody could have told there was a big deal on... Sure, Jim Stillman shook like a leaf... They were all excited except Tobe. He was cool and bright, like a coiled, greasy rattler."
"Ahuh. And what's his big deal?" queried Logan, sharply. "Campbell aims to drive Sycamore."
"Sycamore!" exploded Huett. George smacked a hard fist in his palm, and Grant, who seldom used expletives, swore lustily. Then Logan found his tongue.
"Abe, if you're not loco, that Campbell hombre is. Drive Sycamore? I never thought of such a thing. It couldn't be done."
"Yes, it could. Bold deal, you bet--but practical to a rustler like Hillbrand. Slow drive up Sycamore before dawn. Some rider will go up and open our gate. They'd have two thousand head climbing out before we got you... You know, it's quite far to where our road starts up the slope.
They figured we might not hear a slow drive. When we did come out--as Tobe is figuring--they'd smoke us up from the slope, and once on top with all the cattle they could drive, they'd be jake. They'd have all the advantage. A couple of men could hold us back and kill us if we tried to get out up the road. The others would drive the cattle hell bent on, once down in the Tonto... And, Paw, we could never prove those unbranded tattle belonged to us."
"My God! Just like that," ejaculated Huett, with a snap of his fingers.
"It might have been just like that, Dad," retorted Abe, cool and hard.
"But I got on to them. Tobe Campbell will sever turn that trick. And some of them won't get out of Sycamore."
"George, how'll we meet this deal?" queried Huett.
"Dad, this Tobe Campbell always was a crafty hombre. If he put a couple of his outfit close to the cabin here they could kill us or drive us back while the rest stole the cattle."
"I thought of that," spoke up Abe, quietly. "We won't be in there when it gets light enough to see. But Maw and Barbara will. And when the fight begins they can shoot out the window as fast as they can pull the trigger."
Huett nodded his shaggy head in approval of that. Plenty of rifle shots would help. "And do you reckon we ought to hide out--let them make the drive up here?... I don't like that plan."
"Neither do I--so damned much. But what're we gonna do better?" rejoined Abe, dubiously.
"It won't do to waste time. After all, my objection to your plan must be the idea of my stock being driven up here. Campbell's outfit will be behind them, and might make a drive up the road in spite of us."
"Dad, they'll walk the tattle, two riders behind, two on each side of the herd, and one--who you can gamble will be Tobe Campbell--out in front.
He'll open the gate."
"Foxy Tobe!" ejaculated George, scornfully. "If we should happen to wake up he'd be out of gunshot."
"Abe, figure the deal quick," said Huett, realizing the imperative need of prompt decision.
"All right," replied Abe, in quick eagerness, showing that he was ready.
"Dad, you stay here in the cabin with Mother and Bab. Keep your eyes peeled. Have your rifles and six-guns loaded, with plenty of shells on hand. When the ball opens, shoot, whether you're in range or not... George, you and Grant hide in the cow-shed. Don't let the cattle be started up the road. Don't wait for me to shoot. I'll go up, chain that gate so it can't be opened pronto. Then I'll work down on the rocky point that sticks farthest out in the canyon. I can cover every place from there. If they drive up under the west wall, well, the ball will be over without any of you getting a dance. But they'll probably drive up the centre. That means a thousand-yard shot for me--pretty far for a moving target. My main object in taking that stand, though, is to make sure Campbell doesn't climb the slope below the road. You know there's only one place. He's sharp enough to know it... I reckon that's all."
George and Grant went round the cabin to their quarters. Huett did not speak to Abe before they returned, rifles in hand, buckling on gun-belts.
In the cool starlight they appeared formidable.
"Paw, it's been comin' a long time," said Abe significantly. The three tall forms vanished in the gloom of the corrals.
A dull, fiery pang gnawed at Huett's vitals. After the many stealings of the rustlers, the consequent pursuits, the running encounters, brushes, and escapes, there was to be a crucial fight. Huett had always longed to get it over with, but now that the hour had come he had a dreadful premonition that one or more of them might be killed. He felt this the darkest hour in his spiritual life as well as:--his physical career as a cattleman. Huett gazed down the weird, opaque canyon and cursed it with all the passion a strong, man could feel in a moment of intense bitterness and regret. He had loved this wilderness valley, he had spent more than the better half of his life there; his early dream, his ambition, his love of Lucinda, and the days of toil and defeat, the coming one by one of his sons, the blessed gift of little Barbara, the years of rain and shine, of struggle and victory--all were inextricably, hopelessly woven of these complex, fateful fibres.
Then, almost magically it seemed, his old practical habit reasserted itself--the habit of facing an obstacle: so powerful had it grown that this rustler raid and the ruts that had seemed so fearful were discounted. Logan paced to and fro until a faint grey showed over the black forest to the east. Dawn was not far away. No doubt the rustlers were already on the move. He went back into the cabin.
"Luce--Bab, wake up," he called.
They were asleep, having lain down fully dressed, and both voiced the same query.
"Abe's all right. He got home long ago. We're in for a fight with that Stillman outfit. Tobe Campbell has thrown in with them. They're going to try to drive Sycamore."
Logan was to learn what a pioneer's daughter could say in the hour of greatest stress. He thrilled to his marrow.
"Tobe Campbell!" exclaimed Barbara, in hot amazement. "Why, that hombre made violent love to me--called his brother Jack a low-down, worthless backwoods loafer--begged me to marry him. And now he sneaks up here with those outcast Stillmans to rob us!... The damned rotten lousy Tonto villain! I hope Abe shoots one of his pop-eyes out!"
"You'll get that chance yourself, maybe," he replied. "I'll want you and Luce to do some shooting when they come. Abe's idea is for us to shoot as much as we can whether we see any rustlers or not."
"I hope we come right close," snapped Barbara, viciously. "Dad, it's just hideous to think that after all we've endured--now when
we've earned peace and rest, we must fight for our cattle and our very lives."
"Hideous is right, Barbara... No, Luce, don't strike a light. It's daybreak now. We'll be able to see pronto."
The open door and window let in the grey gloom. Logan placed a table under the window, and piled it high with firearms and ammunition. He made sure the guns were loaded.
"Stand here and don't talk," whispered Logan, taking his rifle. "I'll watch from the door."
He peered out. The rims of the canyon were black, the space between grey, with outlines of trees and walls dimly showing. Straining his ears, Logan listened for sounds. At last he heard a light thud up in the woods, probably the fall of a pine cone. It quickened his sense. There was a strange, oppressive silence mantling the forest. By looking back at the east he could discern the almost imperceptible brightening and spreading of the light.
Then the indistinct shapes began to take form and familiarity--the path, the bridge and brook, the tall pines to their right, the blur of corrals and sheds, the bulge of slope.
A whistle! It had a low, piercing, human quality. No bird or animal ever emitted a note like that. Barbara, peering out of the window, heard it, for she whispered something. Logan turned to reply: "Must have been George. Abe's too far away... Reckon they hear the drive!"
Logan listened more calmly. As the hour approached its climax his mind and senses seemed to fix. The grey gloom perceptibly lifted or disintegrated. He saw the corrals, and the cow-barn, where George and Grant waited, and the pale-yellow road leading up the slope. A blue jay broke the silence, heralding the dawn. Faint and far away sounded the chatter of a black squirrel. Then Logan heard another faint noise which he could not identify.
The ruddy colour appeared over the eastern pine-fringed rim. A stone rattled down over the ledge opposite the cabin, giving Logan a start. It was not an unusual sound. Weathering of the cliffs was always going on.
He peered up the trail, through the gap in the ledge. It was light enough now for him to see that the gate of peeled poles was open. Seldom of late had it been closed, but now it seemed an oversight. Still, cattle running up the canyon would never find that small, steep opening. He turned towards the canyon.
A curtain of fog hung over the upper part, silvering in the light of breaking day. The ground was white with frost. On the moment he saw a dark moving line come from behind the jutting corner of wall.
"Dad--there!" whispered the sharp-eyed Barbara.
Logan did not reply nor turn. He had felt the gush of hot blood, the leap of passion, the stringing of his nerves. Doubt ceased. What brazen boldness these cattle-thieves showed! To raid a rancher's herd in front of his door! It seemed incredible; but there moved the dark line, ragged with heads and horns, not a half-mile away; and a faint sound of hoofs thudded on the still air. Logan shut his eyes and tried to simulate sleep, to find if that faint trample would wake him. But it was hard to hear even now when he was awake. The cunning Tobe Campbell had learned much from Hillbrand. Cattlemen in that country lived too far apart; they were too indifferent to their neighbours, too jealously intent upon their own business; they made no concerted effort to get rid of rustlers--and this was the result.
"Oh, Dad, they're driving all our herd!" whispered Barbara, indignantly.
"No. But they're sure not stingy with this raid... Barbara, you and Luce keep your nerve now. Hell will be popping pronto. I'll miss my guess, though, if it lasts long."
He watched. When he saw horsemen at each side of the herd and behind, his thoughts ceased whirling and settled into the one cold, hard business at hand. The rustlers drove straight up the canyon, on the right of the brook, over the deeper grass. They had not missed any asset to help them in this raid. No hoof cracked a rock or made a thud in that grass.
Logan counted eight riders. Abe had missed some. The herd drove easily.
They were tame. They passed opposite Abe's stand surely out of rifle range--still Logan listened grimly for a shot. How little these rustlers dreamed that the most unerring rifleman in Arizona had sharp, cold eyes upon them!
"Folks, get ready..." ordered Huett, turning to look at his family.
Barbara stood with her rifle over the window-sill, which was almost up to her shoulder. Her pale face, flashing eyes and compressed lips showed resolute defiance and courage. Strangely Huett remembered her the first time he had ever seen her--a curly-haired, big-eyed little tot. Lucinda held her gun ready, locked in sombre expectancy, as if she could see dreadful issues beyond Huett's ken.
A ringing rifle-shot broke the silent canyon. It came from the wall beyond the corrals. Abe! Huett wheeled to gaze. He almost stepped outside in his eagerness. The herd was across the brook nearing the turn; riders were galloping up on both sides, swinging guns aloft, while hoarse shouts startled the cattle into a run. Another sharp crack from the cliff; it brought puffs of white smoke from the mounted men. The crack of their guns right over the heads of the herd stampeded the cattle. Rapid rifle-fire burst from the sheds. Men appeared swallowed up in a trampling roar and cloud of dust.
Huett levelled his rifle at the melee and waited for a rider to break through the dust. A horse plunged into view, but it was riderless. As Huett stepped out on the porch, peering low, he saw a burst of red flame from the ledge above the cabin, and then simultaneously with a banging gunshot came a violent shock, a burning blow from a bullet that knocked him back against the wall.
"Get away--from window!" he shouted to the women inside. He raised himself on his elbow. Two riders, guns in hands, yelling like Indians, rode down at breakneck pace, and reaching a level, began to shoot.
Bang-bang-bang! Bullets thudded into the logs of the cabin. As the two turned towards the corrals and galloped by, a stream of red fire burst from the cabin window. Huett dropped flat as Barbara's thirty barked spitefully. The foremost horse broke his fast pace, leaped high with horrid snorts, and plunged down, unseating his rider, but as the horse lunged, the rustler hung on grimly to the pommel. He made a magnificent leap from flying feet and just missed the saddle. The crippled horse, mad with pain and fright, dragged him across the brook and kicked free to race among the bellowing, scattering herd.
Barbara ran out of the cabin, working the lever of her rifle. She fired at the second horseman. He emitted a piercing yell of agony and, sagging in his saddle, managed to guide his horse down the canyon on the left side of the brook.
Huett lurched upright from his knees, staggering, and seized hold of the porch post. Just then Barbara wheeled, her face like ashes, her eyes bright with a brilliant light.
"Dad! You're hurt!" she cried, piercingly, and rushed to support him.
"I don't know... Reckon so," he replied, thickly. His senses were not clear. As she helped him over the high door-jam, Lucinda gave him one horrified look and collapsed on the floor. Logan felt hot blood streaming down his face and neck. Barbara helped him to his big chair, and then dashed back to the door, working the lever of her rifle. She peered out.
"What's doing, Bab?" called Logan, hoarsely.
"Oh, I--can't tell," she panted. "Yes... Cattle on the rim--down canyon... Stampede!... I see riders--scattered... Horses running hard... Oh, Dad! I believe we've driven the rustlers off!"
"I'll bet we have--those that could ride!... Bab, come here... Run your finger in this hole over my ear."
"Dad! I--I can't! Oh, the blood is pouring," cried Barbara, suddenly weak.
"Then I'll have to... Augh! Talk about fire!--Aw, that hombre just creased me!"
"Dad, you're not--bad hurt?" faltered Barbara.
"I'm not hurt at all. Bullet ditched my scalp. Gosh, it burns! I'm bleeding like a stuck pig. Well, if the boys get off this easy we're jake... Lucinda's only fainted, I reckon."
"She's coming to," cried Barbara, gladly. Then she ran to the door, and gazing out she cried: "George! He's crippled. Can't see the other boys... Oh, mercy, if they're only safe!"
Barbara bathed Lucinda's face, brought her back to consciousnes
s and helped her to the bed. Logan averted his bloody face, and stood up with an effort. "Luce, I'm all right." He stamped out on to the porch to encounter George, dragging his leg. The healthy tan was gone from his face. At sight of his father he halted short with a grimace.
"Just nicked over the ear, George," announced Logan. "Aw, that's good.
You sure look a sight to scare one into creeps... I stopped a slug, worse luck."
"Grant?"
"God!... I'm afraid, Dad. I saw him get hit--fall--then jump up. Four or five of those thieves bolted for the road. Grant ran out to hold them back. They were using Colts. With his Winchester, Grant had the best of them. I ran out, too. That's when I got stung, from the other direction.
I ducked behind the corral--had two shots at the other two. Didn't miss, either, but they got away... Dad, I counted eight men altogether."
"Eight?--Yes, so did I. There's Abe. He's holding Grant up. They're coming. If he can walk at all he's not hard hit... Aw, thank God!... I reckoned my lot could be no worse, but it could! George, tell the women we're jake, while I wash off this gore."
Logan took a survey of the canyon. The dust had settled. All down the grassy stretch cattle had begun to graze. In the square before the corrals Logan espied two prone figures, one of which moved. Half-way up the road there lay another. Far down under the west wall he saw a crippled horse dragging its bridle.
Striding to the bench, Huett washed the blood from his head. He felt the hot, stinging furrow over his ear. What a narrow escape! Still, an inch or even less was as good as a mile--the Huetts had weathered another vicissitude of pioneer life. The terrible remorse that had clamped him before the fight came back with new strength, but it could not stand before his exultation at the successful repulse of this rustler raid.