“I’m going to drive all the cattle to the mesa an’ work close to the ranch,” said McDonald. “When we’ve got the calves branded, we can run the stock up Lost Cañon into the hills. We can get more hands from across the range before fall an’ be sitting pretty. Are there any more orders?”
“No,” said Farman. Then, as McDonald turned to go, he stopped him. “Tell the men I want to have a talk with them tonight,” he said. “Bring them in here after supper.”
McDonald nodded and, seeing that the rancher had nothing further to say, left to take up his new duties as foreman of Rancho del Encanto with a sadly depleted crew.
Nathan Farman turned to Hope. The smile was again on his face, although it was grim and lacking in its customary humor. “I guess you landed at Encanto at a poor time,” he said in genuine chagrin. “This thing had to come sooner or later, but I didn’t expect it would come until you had had your visit. I’m sorry, Hope, an’ I guess I’ll send you to the county seat for a spell till things get all settled again.”
“But, Uncle, I’m not going to the county seat, or anywhere else,” Hope protested. “I’m going to stay right here. I . . . I can’t help but feel that my coming started . . . started all this trouble.” There was a catch in her voice as she finished.
Her uncle stepped to her and put an arm about her. “Child, you have nothing to do with it. Maybe Brood used your arrival as a means to start things, but I see now it wouldn’t have made any difference whether you an’ Crossley had that accident or not. He had half a dozen of my men with him, all ready to back him up. Maybe he’s got more of ’em for all I know. That’s what I’m going to try to find out tonight. I guess it won’t be necessary for you to go to the county seat, at that. I don’t reckon it would be healthy for anyone to make war on women in this country.”
Hope remembered Channing’s last message. Here was trouble already—a mess, as he had called it. Had he foreseen it? Had he known it was coming? If so, he had deliberately ridden away from it, declining to help her uncle. And that remark about remembering his name if she needed a friend. What did it amount to? Suppose she were to need him, where could she find him? How could she get word to him?
Her uncle patted her on the shoulder and went outside.
“Missus McCaffy, you were right,” she said spiritedly. “It isn’t for us women to worry about what the men are doing. We can help my uncle by making the house as cheerful as possible for him. That will be something and more than that man Channing, who deserted, would do. I’ll help you with the work.”
She had the satisfaction of seeing Juanita’s eyes flash in quick anger, but paid no more attention to the house girl. She helped the housekeeper the rest of the morning. Her uncle seemed his old self at dinner, and he joked about the loss of Brood and the men, saying it was a good riddance. He had Jim Crossley in to dinner, informing him that he could eat in the house while his arm was mending.
“It’s lucky I didn’t break both of ’em,” said the little driver, waving his fork in his left hand and boldly winking at Hope.
But Hope hadn’t forgotten her glimpse of Jim in the doorway of the bunkhouse holding a revolver in that same left hand, and she surmised that he was being kept close to the house for other reasons than the one so subtly given by Nathan Farman.
Mrs. McCaffy was strangely taciturn during the afternoon. She insisted upon treating Hope’s ankle again, although the girl was able to get about very well with the aid of a cane that had been found in the bunkhouse.
They had an early supper and were all sitting on the porch in the gathering twilight when they heard the pound of a horse’s hoofs coming along the trail from the foothills. Nathan Farman had hardly time to rise from his chair when the horseman came around the corner of the house and brought his mount to a stop near the steps. They were dumbfounded to see Brood in the saddle, grinning at them insolently.
“¡Buenos días!” he called, doffing his hat with an exaggerated gesture.
“What are you doing here?” demanded Farman angrily.
“I’m keepin’ a promise,” said Brood, his teeth flashing again. “I told you I’d come back.”
“An’ I told you to stay away,” was the rancher’s swift retort. “You’re not welcome here, Brood.”
For answer, the ex-foreman swung quickly from the saddle. “Maybe I will be when you hear what I’ve got to say, Farman,” he said, his smile vanishing. “I’m here with a proposition that’ll interest you.”
“If you’re aiming to hand me back those men you took away, you’re wasting your time an’ mine,” said the rancher stoutly. “You’ve made your play, Brood, an’ what you’ve started I’m going to finish.”
There was a short laugh from the former foreman. “The finishin’ ain’t in your hands, Farman,” he said in a mean voice. “But if you want the men back, you can have ’em . . . on certain conditions.”
“I’m just curious enough to ask the conditions,” said Farman, “but I’m not promising to take ’em back.”
“You can have ’em,” said Brood with a wave of his hand. “Only . . . I come back with ’em. How’s that? We all come back an’ brand the calves. The boys ain’t particular about the bonus you offered ’em. They’re just foolish enough to be loyal to me, see?”
“Yes, I see. They lit straight for you after you’d got word to ’em to quit. Now you want to use ’em as a club to get your job back. You couldn’t work on this ranch again, Brood, if you was the only man within a million miles of here.”
“That’s the way I figured it,” said Brood coolly. “Didn’t expect you to take us back. No, I didn’t think you’d be interested in that proposition, Farman, but I reckon you’ll be interested in this one. I’m ready to buy the ranch.”
Nathan Farman stared in amazement at the man he had discharged yesterday. Crossley, Mrs. McCaffy, and Hope stared, too. It was an astonishing statement from one who had been working for wages, and not very high wages, at that. Yet, there was a calm air of confidence about Brood that showed he was in deadly earnest. Farman recognized this attitude in Brood.
“You know Encanto isn’t for sale, Brood,” he said with a puzzled frown. “An’ if it was on the market, it would command a big price, more than you think.”
Brood swaggered to the bottom step, placed a booted foot upon it, took tobacco and papers from his shirt pocket, and proceeded to roll a cigarette while he looked up into Farman’s face narrowly. “It’s up to you to name the price,” he said, when he had lit his smoke. “An’ it’s up to me to pay it. All right . . . that’s fair enough. Name it.”
“I told you it wasn’t for sale,” flared the rancher. “I’m not going to let loose of the only home I’ve got. It won’t do you no good to argue or make any offers, Brood, for Rancho del Encanto is not on the market at any price.”
“You ain’t had time to think it over,” said Brood with a crafty grin. “You’ve just heard the proposition. There ain’t many comin’ up here offering to buy this place, stuck off from everywhere like it is, an’ you know it.”
“An’ I know you’re not offering to buy it, Brood,” said Farman harshly. “It’s some kind of a trick, an’, if it isn’t a trick, then somebody else is behind this thing an’ making a bid for the place through you.”
Brood laughed coarsely. “It ain’t a trick,” he said coldly.
“Then my other guess is right,” said Farman with conviction. “In that case I’d have to know the name of the real buyer before I’d consider any offer.”
Brood laughed again. He seemed to be enjoying himself. There was something in his manner that worried the others. He was too confident. His attitude was too much that of a man who holds the whip hand and knows it. “I have a backer,” he confessed shortly, flecking the ash from his cigarette.
“That’s what I thought,” said Farman. He was thoroughly interested now. “I knew you didn’t have money enough to buy this place, Brood.”
“I’m figurin’ on borrowin’ some,” said Brood
, lifting his black brows. “I ain’t ashamed none to borrow from one who has lots of it, an’ can spare it.”
Farman’s face froze into grim lines. He went down the steps and looked Brood squarely in the eyes. “Did this person give you license to tell me his name?”
“Oh, I don’t think he’d care,” said Brood with the trace of a sneer.
“Who is he?” demanded Farman.
“Mendicott!” said Brood in a hissing voice that carried a chill.
Nathan Farman stood still, with clenched palms, his face deathly white in the half light of the first faint stars. His breathing became labored.
Brood had dropped his cigarette as he breathed the dreaded name of the outlaw. The heavy lids had narrowed over his gleaming, black eyes. His hand rested lightly on the butt of his gun.
Crossley had leaned forward in his chair, and Hope saw Mrs. McCaffy stiffen. The girl’s uneasiness increased as she realized it must be something grave and menacing that the mention of that name portended.
“He sent you here?” Nathan Farman asked hoarsely.
“I’ve answered enough questions,” said Brood insolently. “Now you can answer one for me. What do you want for this place?”
Nathan Farman leaped up the steps. “I told you once to get out of here, an’ now I’m telling you again!” he cried, turning as he gained the porch and pointing a shaking forefinger at Brood.
As in answer, Brood drew his gun with lightning like rapidity and fired in the air. Farman ran into the house. Crossley hurried toward the end of the porch, but Brood stopped him with a sharp command. Then a number of riders broke through the trees and shrubbery north of the house. They raced toward the porch, and Mrs. McCaffy stepped beside Hope, who had risen.
Brood shouted something in Spanish to the horsemen, and they gathered in front of the house, two of them flinging themselves from their mounts and running for the porch. Hope screamed as Nathan Farman came out with a gun leveled at Brood. The ex-foreman leaped aside, and red flame darted from his right hip. The rancher stopped, wavered, and fell in a heap as two of the men came up the steps.
The housekeeper rushed toward them and one, with a laugh, rudely flung her aside. Then Hope felt herself grasped in strong hands, and a cloth was flung over her head; she was picked up, fighting as best she could, and carried down the steps. In another moment she was held in a saddle and felt a horse move under her.
From somewhere below the house came shouts, and she thought she recognized McDonald’s voice. He was bringing the men to the house for the conference, she reflected with a choking sob. There was more firing, guns roared to either side of her. She managed to tear the cloth from about her face. It was dark, but she saw they had passed the barns and were in the trail that she knew led into the foothills and the vastnesses of the higher mountains.
She screamed, and the man who held her in the saddle chuckled evilly. The shooting ceased. They were galloping madly, and the girl realized that they were mounted on an excellent horse. She tried to strike the man behind her, and a laugh was the only result. She saw Brood dash past them to take the lead. Undoubtedly McDonald and the others were rapidly being outdistanced. She screamed, and a hand closed roughly over her mouth. Then came darkness.
Chapter Eight
When Hope recovered consciousness, she found herself on the bank of a small stream. Her blouse had been opened at the throat and someone was laving her temples with cold water. The moon had risen and she saw horses and men about the pines in a natural clearing in the hills. She sat up and pushed away the hands of the man who was ministering to her.
“Oh, you’ve come out of it,” he said shortly.
“She’ll be all right,” came a voice she recognized as Brood’s. “Just give her a little time an’ we’ll be on our way.”
To Hope’s own surprise, she laughed. In the reaction from her extraordinary experience upon arriving in the desert country, she felt suddenly cool and collected, and thought of her captors, and possible murderers of her uncle, with infinite contempt. “Will one of you . . . tell me where we are supposed to be going?” she asked coldly.
“That’s the way you feel about it, eh?” She recognized Brood in the moonlight, standing before her, looking down upon her with a half grin. “Well, Miss Farman, if you just keep calm and don’t fly off the handle, you’ll be all right. We don’t attempt to predict what’s goin’ to happen, but we don’t intend to harm you.”
“I don’t suppose a brute who would shoot a man down in cold blood would harm a defenseless girl,” she said sarcastically.
“Your uncle wasn’t defenseless,” replied Brood with growl. “He came out there with a gun an’ wished what happened on himself. It ain’t good policy to try an’ swap words with a man after he pulls his gun.”
“You had no business there,” flared out Hope. “You came there to start trouble in the first place. You are the one who is responsible.”
“Well, now, young lady, there ain’t a bit of use in our arguing. All I’ve got to say is that if your uncle hadn’t flew off at the head, things would have been different, or might have been different even so far as you’re concerned. I’m actin’ under orders, maybe, an’, if I am, you can bet I’m goin’ to carry ’em out. You can have a horse by yourself to ride, if you’ll promise to keep in line an’ not try any funny business. But you’re sure goin’ with us, an’, if you don’t want to come peaceable, we’ll have to use force. That’s all I’ve got to say. I’m through talkin’ about it.”
Hope caught his tone of absolute decision and reflected that it would be better to have as much liberty as possible than to try to circumvent the men under the circumstances. “Bring my horse,” she said coolly, rising in a way to favor her injured ankle.
“Now that’s showin’ some sense,” Brood approved.
He gave an order and a man led up a horse. Hope was compelled to accept Brood’s assistance in mounting, and, when she was in the saddle, he handed up her reins and told her to fall into line behind him.
In a few moments they were again on the trail, climbing higher and higher into the foothills, Brood leading, with Hope riding behind him and the several others bringing up the rear. It was weird, almost uncanny, this experience, thought the girl. She had to struggle to keep back the tears when she thought of her uncle, and she wondered if he were dead. She was cheered somewhat because of the fact that Mrs. McCaffy and others were at the ranch to nurse him, if he had merely been wounded, and to rush him, perhaps, to a doctor, or to send a messenger for one. As for her own plight, she failed to realize that it was serious. She could not conceive of such a melodramatic move as carrying a woman away into the hills except for a ransom. But Hope was struck by another thought, a thought that was more disconcerting. She had known for some time, through letters, that her uncle really thought a great deal of her. He had intimated on more than one occasion that someday she would likely inherit Rancho del Encanto. And this night Brood had offered to buy the ranch and had met with immediate refusal from Nathan Farman. If her uncle had been killed—she caught her breath with a sob at the thought—it was possible that she owned the ranch. In such event, this might be a most serious business, an effort on the part of Brood and the dreaded outlaw he had mentioned to compel her to dispose of Rancho del Encanto. And in her heart she felt that if her uncle were dead, she would not want to live on the ranch. Indirectly this fact might be a potent weapon in the hands of her enemies. She thought more and more of this as the night wore on, with the moon silvering the stands of pine, and a scented wind sighing in the branches that overhung the dim trail they were following. She shuddered instinctively as she recalled Brood’s mention of the name of Mendicott, and the startling effect it had produced. In the dark hour preceding the dawn she came to the disturbing conclusion that she was being taken to the rumored rendezvous of the outlaw. And for the first time she had a real feeling of fear.
They had proceeded over many ridges, each higher than the one before, and they had long si
nce left the worn trails they had first encountered. With the first graying of the eastern sky, Hope saw that they were hardly following any trail at all. They were on a thin ribbon of path that might have been made by wild game; in fact, she had caught a glimpse of an animal she surmised was a deer in a patch of moonlight in a meadow. They had been in water at intervals, too, and she suspected this was to cover their horses’ tracks. She doubted if the men from the ranch would be able to follow them with any degree of certainty, and, if they were headed for Mendicott’s hidden retreat, the force from the ranch would most likely prove inadequate to cope with the outlaws. It might be days, even weeks before a successful attempt could be made to rescue her. This added to her growing sense of misgiving and apprehension.
When the sun came up, she was treated to a wonderful sight. They were riding along the rocky spine of a high ridge. Below them lay the hills, green with their stands of timber, and far to eastward was the shimmering haze of the desert. Above were the towering peaks, crowned with the silver remnants of the winter’s snows. The ridge they were on appeared to be a divide between the lower hills and the sheer cliffs and spires of rock leading up to the summits of the highest mountains.
Brood turned in his saddle and grinned at her. She tossed her head in disdain, although something in his manner convinced her that he meant her no harm. He was probably Mendicott’s agent, had likely been associated with him for some time, and her uncle might have been suspicious of this.
The other men rode stolidly behind. They were mostly unshaven and roughly dressed. They all were armed. Hope could recognize none of the men from the ranch. She decided they looked like outlaws; certainly they fulfilled her conception of what bandits looked like, and their furtive glances served to convince her.
The sight of the far-off desert reminded her of the mysterious Channing. Had he been in earnest when he told her to remember his name if trouble befell her? She doubted it, for he had left no way of communicating with him. But his eyes were far different from Brood’s.
Man of the Desert: A Western Story Page 5