Tresler started. But Arizona was still staring out at the distant prairie, and the movement escaped him.
“Guess he’d bin around the shack a heap,” he went on, “an’ the day ’fore I got back the two of ’em had drove out wi’ the buckboard loaded, takin’ the trail fer the hills. I put after ’em, but never found a trace. I ’lows the feller had guts. He left a message on the table. It wus one o’ his guns—loaded. Likely you won’t understan’, but I kep’ that message. I ain’t see her sence. I did hear tell she wus bakin’ hash agin. I ’lows she could bake hash. Say, Tresler, I’ve lost hogs, an’ I’ve lost cows, but I’m guessin’ ther’ ain’t nothin’ in the world meaner than losin’ yer wife.”
Tresler made no reply. What could he say? “Tough” McCulloch! the name rang in his ears. It was the name Anton had been known by in Canada. He tried to think what he ought to do. Should he tell Arizona? No. He dared not. Murder would promptly be done, if he knew anything of the American. No doubt the Breed deserved anything, but there was enough savagery at Mosquito Bend without adding to it. Suddenly another thought occurred to him.
“Did you know the man?” he asked.
“Never set eyes on him. But I guess I shall some day.” And Tresler’s decision was irrevocably confirmed.
“And the ‘gun’ message?”
“Wal, it’s a way they have in Texas,” replied Arizona. “A loaded gun is a mean sort o’ challenge. It’s a challenge which ain’t fer the present zacly. Guess it holds good fer life. Et means ‘on sight.’”
“I understand.”
And the rest of the journey to Willow Bluff was made almost in silence.
The wonderful extent of the blind man’s domain now became apparent. They had traveled twenty miles almost as the crow flies, and yet they had not reached its confines. As Arizona said, in response to a remark from his companion, “The sky-line ain’t no limit fer the blind hulk’s land.”
Willow Bluff was, as its name described, just a big bluff of woodland standing at the confluence of two rivers. To the south and west it was open prairie. The place consisted of a small shack, and a group of large pine-log corrals capable of housing a thousand head of stock. And as the men came up they saw, scattered over the adjacent prairie, the peacefully grazing beeves which were to be their charge.
“A pretty bunch,” observed Arizona.
“Yes, and a pretty place for a raid.”
At that moment the doings of the raiders were uppermost in Tresler’s mind.
Then they proceeded to take possession. They found Jim Henderson, a mean looking Breed boy, in the shack, and promptly set him to work to clean it out. It was not a bad place, but the boys had let it get into a filthy condition, in the customary manner of all half-breeds. However, this they quickly remedied, and Tresler saw quite a decent prospect of comfort for their stay there.
Arizona said very little while there was work to be done. And his companion was astonished, even though he knew him so well, at his capacity and forethought. Evening was the most important time, and here the cattleman stood out a master of his craft. The beeves had to be corralled every night. There must be no chance of straying, since they were sold, and liable for transport at any moment. This work, and the task of counting, demanded all the cattleman’s skill. Bands of fifty were rounded up, cut out from the rest, and quietly brought in. When each corral was filled, and the whole herd accommodated for the night, a supply of fresh young hay was thrown to them to keep them occupied during their few remaining hours of waking. Arizona was a giant at the work; and to see his lithe, lean body swaying this way and that, as he swung his well-trained pony around the ambling herd, his arms and “rope” and voice at work, was to understand something of the wild life that claimed him, and the wild, untrained nature which was his.
The last corral was fastened up, and then, but not until then, the two friends took leisure.
“Wal,” said Arizona, as they stood leaning against the bars of the biggest corral, “guess ther’s goin’ to be a night-guard?”
“Yes. These boys are smart enough lads, it seems. We’ll let them take two hours about up to midnight You and I will do the rest.”
“An’ the hull lot of us’ll sleep round the corrals?”
“That’s it.”
“An’ the hosses?”
“We’ll keep them saddled.”
“An’ the sheriff’s fellers?”
“That I can’t say. We’re not likely to see them, anyway.”
And so the plans were arranged, simple, even hopeless in construction. Two men, for they could not depend on the half-breeds, to face possibly any odds should the raider choose this spot for attack. But however inadequate the guard, there was something morally strong in the calm, natural manner of its arranging. These two knew that in case of trouble they had only themselves to depend on. Yet neither hesitated, or balked at the undertaking. Possibilities never entered into their calculations.
The first and second night produced no alarm. Nor did they receive any news of a disturbing nature. On the third day Jacob Smith rode into their camp. He was a patrol guard, on a visiting tour of the outlying stations. His news was peaceful enough.
“I don’t care a cuss how long the old man keeps the funks,” he said, with a cheery laugh. “I give it you right here, this job’s a snap. I ride around like a gen’l spyin’ fer enemies. Guess Red Mask has his uses.”
“So’s most folk,” responded Arizona, “but ’tain’t allus easy to locate.”
“Wal, I guess I ken locate his jest about now. I’m sort o’ lyin’ fallow, which ain’t usual on Skitter Bend.”
“Guess not. He’s servin’ us diff’rent.”
“Ah! Doin’ night-guard? Say, I’d see blind hulk roastin’ ’fore I’d hang on to them beasties. But it’s like you, Arizona. You hate him wuss’n hell, an’ Jake too, yet you’d—pshaw! So long. Guess I’d best get on. I’ve got nigh forty miles to do ’fore I git back.”
And he rode away, careless, thoughtless, in the midst of a very real danger. And it was the life they all led. They asked for a wage, a bunk, and grub; nothing else mattered.
Tresler had developed a feeling that the whole thing was a matter of form rather than dead earnest, that he had been precipitate in sending his message to the sheriff. He wanted to get back to the ranch. He understood only too well how he had furthered Jake’s projects, and cursed himself bitterly for having been so easily duped. He was comfortably out of the way, and the foreman would take particularly good care that he should remain so as long as possible. Arizona, too, had become anything but enlivening. He went about morosely and snapped villainously at the boys. There was no word in answer to the message to the sheriff. They daily searched the bluff for some sign, but without result, and Tresler was rather glad than disappointed, while Arizona seemed utterly without opinion on the matter.
The third night produced a slight shock for Tresler. It was midnight, and one of the boys roused him for his watch. He sat up, and, to his astonishment, found Arizona sitting on a log beside him. He waited until the boy had gone to turn in, then he looked at his friend inquiringly.
“What’s up?”
And Arizona’s reply fairly staggered him. “Say, Tresler,” he said, in a tired voice, utterly unlike his usual forceful manner, “I jest wanted to ast you to change ‘watches’ wi’ me. I’ve kind o’ lost my grip on sleep. Mebbe I’m weak’nin’ some. I ’lows I’m li’ble to git sleepy later on, an’ I tho’t, mebbe, ef I wus to do the fust watch—wal, y’ see, I guess that plug in my chest ain’t done me a heap o’ good.”
Tresler was on his feet in an instant. It had suddenly dawned on him that this queer son of the prairie was ill.
“Rot, man!” he exclaimed. His tone in no way hid his alarm. They were at the gate of the big corral, hidden in the shadow cast by the high wall of lateral logs. “You go and turn in. I’m going to watch till daylight.”
“Say, that’s real friendly,” observed the other, impertur
bably. “But it ain’t no use. Guess I couldn’t sleep yet.”
“Well, please yourself. I’m going to watch till daylight.” Tresler’s manner was quietly decided, and Arizona seemed to accept it.
“Wal, ef it hits you that a-ways I’ll jest set around till I git sleepy.”
Tresler’s alarm was very real, but he shrugged with a great assumption of indifference and moved off to make a round of the corrals, carefully hugging the shadow of the walls as he went. After a while he returned to his post. Arizona was still sitting where he had left him.
There was a silence for a few minutes. Then the American quietly drew his revolver and spun the chambers round. Tresler watched him, and the other, looking up, caught his eye.
“Guess these things is kind o’ tricksy,” he observed, in explanation, “I got it jammed oncet. It’s a decent weapon but noo, an’ I ain’t fer noo fixin’s. This hyar,” he went on, drawing a second one from its holster, “is a ‘six’ an’ ’ud drop an ox at fifty. Ha’r trigger too. It’s a dandy. Guess it wus ‘Tough’ McCulloch’s. Guess you ain’t got yours on your hip?”
Tresler shook his head. “No, I use the belt for my breeches, and keep the guns loose in my pockets when I’m not riding.”
“Wrong. Say, fix ’em right. You take a sight too many chances.”
Tresler laughingly complied “I’m not likely to need them, but still——”
“Nope.” Arizona returned his guns to their resting-place. Then he looked up. “Say, guess I kind o’ fixed the hosses diff’rent. Our hosses. Bro’t ’em up an’ stood ’em in the angle wher’ this corral joins the next one. Seems better; more handy-like. It’s sheltered, an’ ther’s a bit of a sharp breeze. One o’ them early frosts.” He looked up at the sky. “Guess ther’ didn’t ought. Ther’ ain’t no moon till nigh on daylight. Howsum, ther’ ain’t no argyfyin’ the weather.”
Tresler was watching his comrade closely. There was something peculiar in his manner. He seemed almost fanciful, yet there was a wonderful alertness in the rapidity of his talk. He remained silent, and, presently, the other went on again, but he had switched off to a fresh topic.
“Say, I never ast you how you figgered to settle wi’ Jake,” he said. “I guess it’ll be all”—he broke off, and glanced out prairieward, but went on almost immediately,—“a settlin’. I’ve seen you kind o’ riled. And I’ve seen Jake.” He stood up and peered into the darkness while he talked in his even monotone. “Yup,” he went on, “ther’s ways o’ dealin’ wi’ men—an’ ways. Guess, now, ef you wus dealin’ wi’ an honest citizen you’d jest talk him fair. Mind, I figger to know you a heap.” His eyes suddenly turned on the man he was addressing, but returned almost at once to their earnest contemplation of the black vista of grass-land. “You’d argyfy the point reas’nable, an’ leave the gal to settle for you. But wi’ Jake it’s diff’rent.” His hand slowly went round to his right hip, and suddenly he turned on his friend with a look of desperate meaning. “D’you know what it’ll be ’tween you two? This is what it means;” and he whipped out the heavy six that had once been “Tough” McCulloch’s, and leveled it at arm’s length out prairieward. Tresler thought it was coming at him, and sprang back, while Arizona laughed. “This is what it’ll be. You’ll take a careful aim, an’ if you’ve friends around they’ll see fair play, sure. I guess they’ll count ‘three’ for you, so. Jest one, two, an’ you’ll both fire on the last, so. Three!”
There was a flash, and a sharp report, and then a cry split the still night air. Tresler sprang at the man whom he now believed was mad, but the cry stayed him, and the next moment he felt the grip of Arizona’s sinewy hand on his arm, and was being dragged round the corral as the sound of horses’ hoofs came thundering toward him.
“It’s them!”
It was the only explanation Arizona vouchsafed. They reached the horses and both sprang into the saddle, and the American’s voice whispered hoarsely—
“Bend low. Guess these walls’ll save us, an’ we’ve got a sheer sight o’ all the corral gates. Savee? Shoot careful, an’ aim true. An’ watch out on the bluff. The sheriff’s around.”
And now the inexperienced Tresler saw the whole scheme. The masterly generalship of his comrade filled him with admiration. And he had thought him ill, his brain turned! For some reason he believed the raiders were approaching, but not being absolutely sure, he had found an excuse for not turning in as usual, and cloaked all his suspicions for fear of giving a false alarm. And their present position was one of carefully considered strategy; the only possible one from which they could hope to achieve any advantage, for, sheltered, they yet had every gate of the corrals within gunshot.
But there was little time for reflection or speculation. If the sheriff’s men came, well and good. In the meantime a crowd of a dozen men had charged down upon the corrals, a silent, ghostly band; the only noise they made was the clatter of their horses’ hoofs.
Both men, watching, were lying over their horses’ necks. Arizona was the first to shoot. Again his gun belched a death-dealing shot. Tresler saw one figure reel and fall with a groan. Then his own gun was heard. His aim was less effective, and only brought a volley in reply from the raiders. That volley was the signal for the real battle to begin. The ambush of the two defenders was located, and the rustlers divided, and came sweeping round to the attack.
But Arizona was ready. Both horses wheeled round and raced out of their improvised fort, and Tresler, following the keen-witted man, appreciated his resource as he darted into another angle between two other corrals. The darkness favored them, and the rustlers swept by. Arizona only waited long enough for them to get well clear, then his gun rang out again, and Tresler’s too. But the game was played out. A straggler sighted them and gave the alarm, and instantly the rest took up the chase.
“Round the corrals!”
As he spoke Arizona turned in his saddle and fired into the mob. A perfect hail of shots replied, and the bullets came singing all round them. He was as cool and deliberate as though he were hunting jack-rabbits. Tresler joined him in a fresh fusillade, and two more saddles were emptied, but the next moment a gasp told Arizona that his comrade was hit, and he turned only just in time to prevent him reeling out of the saddle.
“Hold up, boy!” he cried. “Kep your saddle if hell’s let loose. I’ll kep ’em busy.”
And the wounded man, actuated by a similar spirit, sat bolt upright, while the two horses sped on. They were round at the front again. But though Arizona was as good as his word, and his gun was emptied and reloaded and emptied again, it was a hopeless contest—hopeless from the beginning. Tresler was bleeding seriously from a wound in his neck, and his aim was becoming more and more uncertain. But his will was fighting hard for mastery over his bodily weakness. Just as they headed again toward the bluff, Arizona gave a great yank at his reins and his pony was thrown upon its haunches. The Lady Jezebel, too, as though working in concert with her mate, suddenly stopped dead.
The cause of the cowpuncher’s action was a solitary horseman standing right ahead of them gazing out at the bluff. The plainsman’s gun was up in an instant, in spite of the pursuers behind. Death was in his eye as he took aim, but at that instant there was a shout from the bluff, and the cry was taken up behind him—“Sheriff’s posse!” That cry lost him his chance of fetching Red Mask down. Before he could let the hammer of his gun fall, the horseman had wheeled about and vanished in the darkness.
Simultaneously the pursuers swung out, turned, and the next moment were in full retreat under a perfect hail of carbine-fire from the sheriff’s men.
And as the latter followed in hot pursuit, Arizona hailed them—
“You’ve missed him; he’s taken the river-bank for it. It’s Red Mask! I see him.”
But now Tresler needed all his friend’s attention. Arizona saw him fall forward and lie clinging to his saddle-horn. He sprang to his aid, and, dismounting, lifted him gently to the ground. Then he turned his own horse loose,
leading the Lady Jezebel while he supported the sick man up to the shack.
Here his patient fainted dead away, but he was equal to the emergency. He examined the wound, and found an ugly rent in the neck, whence the blood was pumping slowly. He saw at once that a small artery had been severed, and its adjacency to the jugular made it a matter of extreme danger. His medical skill was small, but he contrived to wash and bind the wound roughly. Then he quietly reloaded his guns, and, with the aid of a stiff horn of whisky, roused some life in his patient. He knew it would only be a feeble flicker, but while it lasted he wanted to get him on to the Lady Jezebel’s back.
This he contrived after considerable difficulty. The mare resented the double burden, as was only to be expected. But the cowpuncher was desperate and knew how to handle her.
None but Arizona would have attempted such a feat with a horse of her description; but he must have speed if he was going to save his friend’s life, and he knew she could give it.
* * *
CHAPTER XVI
WHAT LOVE WILL DO
The Night Riders Page 22