"It will probably retard his recovery to find us here," he retorted. "If I know Zeb, he will be absolutely furious."
This was a powerful argument; she was well aware that the old man had all the Trenton temper. "What is the reason for the urgent haste to reach Rainbow?" she queried.
This was the question he had been waiting for. "Do you remember my telling you how important the finding of the treasure was to your uncle?"
"Yes, you said it meant keeping or losing the ranch."
"That's the position. The Wagon-wheel and Circle Dot are both deeply in debt to the bank. The mortgages expire in a few_days, and if the money is not paid, the bank will sell the properties."
"But surely Mister Maitland--"
"A branch manager--an insignificant cog in a machine," Garstone said contemptuously. "Had Zeb or I been there, something might have been arranged, but in our absence ..." He finished with an expressive shrug
"I see," she said. "Of course, you found the money?"
"Good Lord, fancy forgetting to mention it," he laughed.
"Yes, we found it, thanks to you, and there it is, strapped to my saddle. About seventy thousand dollars, enough to clear the Wagon-wheel and realize Trenton's dearest ambition, the purchase of the Circle Dot."
"Mister Dover may not wish to sell."
"Possibly, but the bank will," he replied. "We have that young pup where the hair is short."
She was silent, disturbed by a sentiment she did not trace to its source. In spite of his rudeness, she could feel no animosity towards the red-haired young rancher, and no satisfaction in the prospect of his humiliation and ruin. She did not want to dwell on it.
"Uncle Zeb should be very grateful to you," was all she could find to say.
This gave 'him an opportunity to strike another blow, lest she should still be obstinate. "Oh, I'm no philanthropist," he smiled. "I'm working for myself too. You see, when I came toyour uncle, I put all I possessed into the Wagon-wheel, taking a third share. I am not anxious to be a pauper--especially now--but that's what I'll be if we reach Rainbow too late."
She stood up. "We will get away at once," she told him. "I did not understand how much depended on us." '
"Of course not," he rejoined. "These matters of finance are not for pretty heads to worry over, but you're a true Trenton--you have to know, and then you see it through, sink or swim. That's the quality I most admired in Zeb."
They set off. Garstone dispensed with the pack animal, deciding that they could carry sufficient supplies without it.
"Shouldn't take us more than a couple of days," he said. "Bundy gave me the direction."
Quick-witted as he believed himself, it had not occurred to him that the foreman might designedly have pointed out a much longer route than was necessary, and he certainly did not realize that finding a path through the tangled mass of up-ended country which lay ahead of them was no task for a "tenderfoot."
Two days after the rancher had been brought to the cave, Sudden and Yorky were returning along the gorge from a hunting expedition, the spoil being the most toothsome portions of a young buck.
"Say, Jim, this is th' life, ain't it?" the boy said jubilantly. He had shot the deer, under his companion's guidance, and it was his first. "I don't care how long them cripples takes gittin' well."
"Yo're a selfish li'l devil," the puncher replied, with a severity which was only on the surface; he had planned that the lad should love this outdoor life, as he did himself. "So you want Dan to lose his ranch, an' them crooks to win out, huh?"
"Cripes! I didn't think," came the hasty denial.
His companion was not listening--to him. From somewhere near had sounded the call of a horse. Sudden uttered a long, low whistle, and waited. A crash in the undergrowth, and out stepped his own mount--Nigger. An instant it stood, looking at him, and then, with a little whinny, trotted to his side and rubbed its muzzle on his sleeve. The puncher pulled one of the soft ears.
"Where yu been, yu black rascal?" he asked. The animal's head dropped, as though it sensed reproof in the tone, but lifted again when a shrill neigh came from behind; two other horses were standing in the open. "C'mon," the puncher ordered. "Yore va-cation is over; we'll collect them playmates o' yourn afore long."
With never another glance round, Nigger followed its master like a docile dog.
This acquisition greatly improved the position of the party. That afternoon, Sudden rode away carrying three ropes on his saddle-horn. He made no attempt to guide his mount, riding with a slack rein, and, as he expected, Nigger went in search of its companions. In a grassy glade about a mile from the camp they came upon four. Sudden ran down and roped three of them, tying each as it was secured, and after a busy couple of hours, returned with his unwilling captives.
"I got yourn, Dan, Yorky's, an' the big roan that lets Tiny stay on him," he reported, with a grin. "I'll try again tomorrow, an' yu might have a look round their camp; they must 'a' let some go."
So the morning found the rancher combing the neighbourhood on the other side of the basin. He unearthed, and caught two ponies, one he believed to be Trenton's, and the other--still saddled--he surmised to have belonged to Lake. On his way back he stopped at the camp, got down, and entered the tent. Everything had been taken away, no, not quite everything, for a gleam of yellow caught his attention. He picked up the object, an oval locket of gold. From within, a face smiled at him, familiar, yet not the same, and older; a relative, no doubt.
He slipped it into a pocket--he would send it to her. He frowned at the thought that he might have to address her by another name. Well, she would still be a Trenton. And Zeb? He could have left him there to die, but the Dovers fought fairly, even against a treacherous foe. He did not want, or expect, thanks.
"It'll hurt the of devil more the way it is," he reflected.
Arriving at the cave, he found that Sudden had been equally
successful, so their remuda was complete. The question of when they could start for home was the subject at supper. Everything depended on Malachi's report.
"You're all right, Hunch, aren't you?" the doctor asked.
The old man looked up, nodded, and went on feeding. But for his bandaged head he appeared much the same, save that he did not know them, and the big axe, once so carefully tended, was now stained and rusty.
"Possibly Tiny could sit a horse," Malachi said doubtfully.
The cowboy's protest was instant and emphatic. "Say, Doc, I could ride afore I could walk. With one leg an' two arms, I'd stay on top of a blizzard."
"That leaves Zeb," Dover said.
"He's picked up wonderfully, and is in a fever to go," the doctor admitted. "I fancy it may do him just as much harm to wait. With short stages and long rests, we might manage it."
"Ain't there a nearer way, Dan?" Sudden questioned.
"Yeah, we took a twisty trail comin' to fog any who might follow. That place you struck on gettin' outa the tunnel must 'a' been Rainbow Canyon. The stream tannin' through it forks a piece along, an' the right arm is our river. If we keep by that, I reckon we'll cut down the distance quite a bit, which would make up for slow-movin'."
It was decided that,' if the rancher were no worse, the journey should begin in the morning.
Chapter XXIV
Dame Fortune was frowning upon the foreman of the Wagon-wheel. On the morning after he had left the lifeless body of Lake lying in the tent, and set out hot-foot in pursuit of Gar-stone, a calamity which threatened to thwart his schemes befell him. Slithering down the sandy side of a ravine, his horse trod on a loose rock, lurched and went over, Bundy jumped clear, landing on hands and knees. He rose with an evil look, grabbed the rein and savagely jerked at it. The beast struggled to regain its feet, but could not, one leg had snapped. With an oath the man pulled out his gun and sent a bullet crashing into its brain.
"Damn an' blast the mouldy luck," he growled, as, carrying his saddle and rifle, he resumed his way. "Satan hisself must be workin' for Garstone
, but I'll beat him yet."
Further reverses were to come. His own cunning--after the manner of a boomerang--returned to hit him; the roundabout route he had foisted on the Easterner now meant weary miles afoot for himself. And since the cattleman's fondness for humping a saddle is about equal to that of the Devil for holy water, a few hours saw the article hurled into the brush with a curse.
He had little difficulty in following the trail, for Garstone had not the skill to conceal it. This ignorance, however, frequently drove the foreman to frenzy, for the big man had blundered through places hard for a horseman, and doubly so to a pedestrian. Often also, Bundy found himself tramping long miles which he knew were taking him no nearer to Rainbow.
"Hell burn him," he muttered. "I told the fool to head for the sun, but if he's goin' to do it allatime, he'll finish where he started."
Four days passed, and in the early afternoon another blow fell--he lost the trail. It had led him to the verge of a large pine forest. There were no hoof-prints, right or left, and he could only conclude that they had kept on through the gloomy aisles of the trees; but the deep mat of pine-needles would retain no tracks. He spent hours circling the forest in the hope of finding where they had emerged, but without success. Sitting down to rest, he arrived at a decision.
"I'll get me to the Wagon-wheel an' deal with Mister Gar-stone there. Anyways, thirty-five thousand is a sizeable stake, an' mebbe ..." A sinister scowl ended the sentence, and then, "The Rainbow River comes out'n these hills. I gotta find it; I'm fair sick o' traipsin' this Gawd-damned wilderness."
He picked up his rifle and blanket-roll containing his scanty supply of food, and set out, heading south-east. An hour later he was standing on a high bench screened by bushes, whence the ground dropped abruptly, flattening as it reached a great crack in the surface which he guessed to be Rainbow Canyon. He was about to descend and verify this when a horseman came in view. Bundy swore, and ducked under cover; it was Dover. Peering through the sheltering foliage, he watched Tiny, Hunch, and Yorky follow, with a pack animal. Then, after a brief interval, Malachi, with a companion at whom the foreman gazed with bulging eyes.
"Trenton," he whispered, as though afraid they might hear though they were nearly a thousand yards away. The man he had left for dead, riding to Rainbow, with his--Bundy'senemies. Trenton would know all, the murder of Lake, and his own duplicity. The completeness of the catastrophe stunned him. But stay, the rancher might have been unconscious during that last visit to the tent. But if not, they would hang him in Rainbow; Trenton would see to that. It was too big a risk to run.
"I'll have to close yore trap, Zeb," he growled. "Anythin' you've told them others don't signify, an' Garstone can't prove nothin'. But this ain't the place; I gotta have a good getaway.
Rifle in hand, he slunk along after the unsuspecting travellers below, his callous brain at work. With the rancher silenced, he must again seek Garstone.
"Couple o' slugs'll give me the dollars an' a pair o' hosses to carry me out'n the Territory," he told himself. "My luck must 'a' turned or I'd 'a' walked right into Rainbow to git mine."
Considerably cheered by this reflection, he began to watch for a suitable spot. He had no difficulty in keeping up, for the quarry was moving slowly. Presently he noticed that the bench was dipping and bringing him nearer to his target. Gripping his rifle in feverish eagerness, malignant eyes on the man he meant to slay, he suddenly saw the opportunity slipping away. The horsemen had reached a point where the walls of the canyon closed to within forty yards of one another and abruptly widened again. This narrow gap was spanned by a natural bridge of rock, bare, and offering no cover. If they decided to cross this, trailing them would be well-nigh impossible, the land on the far side of the river being open, and almost treeless, offering few chances' of concealment. As he had feared, they turned.
The sight spurred him to action; it must be now or never. The passage across the gulf was narrow, the surface rough; they would ride it in single file. This would give him time to get close--there must be no mistake. He scrambled down from the bench, fighting his way through the scrub until he reached the edge. There he knelt, panting, weapon levelled; he was only two hundred yards distant.
"I'll hold off till they're all over," he decided. "If any o' the rest git curious, I can send 'em after Zeb, one at a lick."
He watched them negotiate the bridge, singly, as he expected, and his lips drew back in an ugly snarl of satisfaction when he saw that Trenton was the last. Sighting full at the broad, bowed shoulders, he steadied himself and pulled the trigger. Through the smoke of the discharge he saw the rancher fall forward on the neck of his horse, which, startled by the report, leapt onwards.
"Got him," he gritted.
Even as he spoke, two quick reports rang out; a bullet shattered twigs just above his head, and a second smashed into the breech of his rifle and ruined the mechanism. With an oath he threw aside the useless weapon and turned his eyes to the right, whence the shots had come. A black horse was thundering down upon him, and the rider, standing in his stirrups, was assiduously pumping lead from his Winchester. Sudden, staying behind with the idea of obtaining fresh meat, had come on the scene just as the assassin fired.
The foreman shivered; he hated, but also feared the hard-featured puncher who had thrashed him so severely. In the moment of triumph, he had met disaster. He must do something. Escape through the brush was hopeless against a mounted man, he would be ridden down, trampled under those iron hooves. The drumming beat grew louder, bullets were humming past his ears; in a moment or two . .. A desperate device suggested itself. The widening of the canyon below the bridge brought the rim of it within a hundred yards. If he could reach that, the cowboy's horse became useless; they would be on equal terms.-- Keeping under cover as long as possible, he then abruptly swerved into the open and raced for the canyon, zigzagging to avoid being picked off. He reached the edge safely, saw, some fifteen feet below, a narrow ledge running along the rock face. A break in the rim enabled him to clamber down and breathe again; he could not be seen from above.
So quickly had the whole affair happened that when he looked across the canyon the rancher's companions were only then lifting him from his saddle. But a bullet which chippedthe cliff below showed that he had been observed. It would also tell the pursuer where he was. Bundy pulled his gun.
"If Green follers me here, I'll nail him," he grated. "An' with his hoss an' rifle ..."
During the brief suspense, doubt crept in. His foe was fast--terribly fast. Bundy remembered that other time, when a lightning draw had foiled a foul trick which few men would have survived, and death had stared at him out of grey-blue eyes. What was it like to die? The violent jarr of the bullet, seconds --perhaps moments--of merciless pain, and then--nothingness. The look of blank amaze on Lake's face returned to him. Would he too--? He strangled the thought. His mind raced. Seventy thousand bucks; there must be a way.
A fiendish look told that he had found one. Changing his gun to his left hand, he picked up a chunk of rock with his right, leaned limply against the cliff so that the missile was hidden, and waited. The scrape of slipping boot-heels on a hard surface warned him that the puncher was descending. A moment and he appeared, six-shooter levelled. The foreman's face was a pasty yellow; he made no attempt to raise his weapon, seeming to be exhausted.
"Don't shoot, Green," he cried hoarsely. "I give in."
"Chuck yore gun towards me, an' put yore paws up," Sudden said sternly.
Bundy obeyed, lifting the left arm only. "Can't manage the other," he whined. "Damn bronc fell, bustin' a leg an' my collar-bone. I had to finish him."
The story was plausible enough; the man was apparently minus mount and rifle. All the same, the cowboy was not convinced. Unhurriedly he moved forward and half-stopped to lift the surrendered weapon. Like a flash, Bundy's "injured" arm flew up and down. Too late, Sudden detected the action and straightened; the great stone struck him on the chest instead of the head. Reeli
ng back under the force of the blow, he lost his foothold on a slippery incline and vanished into the abyss.
Bundy, beads of cold sweat on his forehead, heard a shout of rage from the distant spectators, but no bullets came. Wondering at this, he secured his revolver, and creeping to the edge of the ledge, peered over. What he saw nearly sent him after his victim. Twenty feet below Sudden was clinging to a dwarfed mesquite growing from a tiny cleft in the rock. For a moment the astounding sight paralysed him; then, with a blasphemous imprecation, he prepared to deal the finishing stroke. Sudden saw the threatening muzzle, and nerved himself for an effort of despair.
"Might as well go one way as another," he muttered.
He still had his left-hand gun, and hanging by his right arm only, he swept it out and drove a slug into the evil, gloating face above just as Bundy fired. Sudden felt the wind of the bullet, and then saw the ruffian's body dive past him into the depths. But he was not out of the woods yet. His friends were coming to help him, but an upward glance told that they could not be in time--the root upon which his life depended was loosening. He looked down; there was another bush a little lower, in a direct line; if he could grab that as he fell ... Far below, he could see the red-brown river raging along the bottom of the canyon, hurling itself at the jagged, tooth-like boulders which strove to bar its progress.
Grim of face, he let go, felt the air whistle in his ears, then branches struck him, and he clutched; the bush withstood the shock of his weight. Arms aching until it seemed they must leave their sockets, he dangled there, and waited for aid. It seemed long in coming. Actually, as they told him later, Dan, Hunch, and Yorky were on the ledge less than ten minutes after the daring drop. His first news of them was the loop of a lariat which slid past his face. Slipping his weary arms through, he was hauled up, bruised, but little the worse.
"Shore, I'm all right," he replied to Yorky's shaky enquiry. "Injuns think a lot o' the mesquite; I'm agreein' with 'em. Did he hit Trenton?"
"No, Zeb 'pears to have collapsed just as Bundy fired--the journey's takin' it out of him, an' there ain't much to take," Dan replied. "Thought we'd lost you, Jim. How come?"
Sudden Makes War (1942) Page 22