Man of the Desert: A Western Story

by Robert J. Horton

  The people in the house were roused by this time and were up. Hope and the housekeeper, alarmed by the shooting and the shouts, were in the living room with Nathan Farman, who called in Jim Crossley.

  “Get the men that are here out behind that hedge in front of the house.” he ordered, “an’ bring me my Winchester.”

  They did not light the lamp, and Mrs. McCaffy and Hope helped the rancher into his chair and at his repeated command opened the door to the porch and moved him to a place at one side just within the door. Crossley brought the rifle and a box of cartridges and went back to carry out his orders as Farman moved the lever of the gun, slipping a cartridge into place in the barrel of the Winchester.

  Watching from the door and windows they saw the handful of men left at the house creep into position behind the tamarack hedge between the mesa and the ranch dwelling. McDonald came downstairs with his gun in his hand and took up his station near Nathan Farman. The raiders plainly were finding it difficult to accomplish their purpose on the mesa. The milling cattle refused to stampede, despite the firing and the shouts, and there were now Encanto men between the raiders and the cattle.

  “What are they trying to do with the cattle?” Hope asked her uncle.

  “Looks like they figured on stealing ’em,” said the rancher.

  “Oh, it can’t be that!” Hope exclaimed. “They wouldn’t attempt to steal them in such bold fashion as this.”

  Nathan Farman laughed harshly. “They’re on this ranch where they don’t belong an’ they’re molesting the stock,” he said grimly. “I reckon any court in the country would put that under the head of plain rustling.”

  The watchers in the house now saw a stirring sight. One of the Encanto riders spurred his horse straight for the bunched outlaws. From either side of him came spurts of flame—the red flashes of his guns. The other ranch hands with the herd fell in behind him and began pouring lead at the raiders. Hope and the others needed no one to tell them that the leader of this bold charge was Channing. He was the only one of the Encanto men armed with two guns, and the figure he made on his splendid horse in the starlight was unmistakable.

  “That’s him,” muttered Nathan Farman.

  Hope held her breath, expecting to see him shot from his saddle. But nothing like this happened, and he came on with his men at his back, his guns blazing, his horse galloping like mad. The raiders scattered and rode toward the foothills in front of the house. A cheer came from the men behind the hedge, and they loosed their weapons, sending a hail of lead toward the invaders.

  The stillness of the living room was shattered by the roar of the Winchester in Nathan Farman’s hands. One of the raiders toppled from his saddle and the rancher shouted in fierce joy. McDonald leaped out on the porch and emptied his gun. Then the invaders began to fire in the general direction of the house as they swept past.

  “We’ve got ’em on the run!” cried Nathan Farman in great excitement. “They got more’n they were looking for. I don’t reckon Mendicott’s with ’em, or they’d charge the house.”

  He worked the lever of the Winchester rapidly and emptied the rifle at the fleeing riders.

  Channing jumped his horse over the hedge in an effort to cut them off while Crossley, McDonald, and the men by the hedge started for the rear of the house trying to keep within range.

  Hope shared her uncle’s belief that Mendicott was not with the men. There was no doubt in her mind but that the raiders were members of the outlaw band carrying out orders to harass them by interfering with the cattle. In this they had failed and were fleeing for the safety of the hills. Evidently they had no orders to attack the house, or were discouraged by the reception extended to them. By this time the pursuit had reached the edge of the timber on the west side of the mesa beyond the house, barns, and other outbuildings and corrals. Here it ended, and the firing ceased.

  After a time Channing came riding back to the house with his men. He sent those who were mounted back to the mesa to look after the cattle, quiet them, and see about the men who had been shot from their mounts. He ordered the others to saddle their horses.

  A lamp had been lighted in the living room and Channing entered. He found Nathan Farman, McDonald, Mrs. McCaffy, and Hope there and smiled at them gravely.

  “They picked off a couple of our men, and I guess we got a few of theirs,” he announced. “I don’t think they’ll be back,” he added with his queer smile. He stared at the rifle that the rancher still held. Then he looked at Hope, and the girl felt that he had enjoyed the trouble they had just witnessed. Perhaps he welcomed trouble. “Anyway, it’s sure put some spunk in our men,” he said.

  “An’ showed that skunk up in the hills that we mean business,” said Nathan Farman, scowling at him.

  “Well, he means business, too, I take it,” drawled Channing. “I’m wondering if this is a good place for the women.”

  “It’s a matter for the county seat an’ the authorities!” stormed the rancher. “I’ll be able to travel in three or four more days, an’ I aim to go in.”

  “You mean over the range to the county seat?” asked Channing, elevating his eyebrows.

  “That same,” said Farman, putting his rifle aside. “We’ll take the spring wagon.”

  Channing shrugged and got out his tobacco and papers. “Don’t know that would help any,” he said.

  “Look here, Channing,” said Nathan Farman sharply, leaning forward in his chair, “you know the way to Mendicott’s place in the hills, I understand. What’s to stop you from leading a big posse up there?”

  “Nothing but Mendicott,” was the simple reply.

  “Thundering rot!” exclaimed Farman. “He could be surrounded . . .”

  “If you could get the men and knew how to surround him,” Channing broke in. “It isn’t so easy to get men way up there after a bunch like that. And whenever you start anything like that, you’ve got to finish it if you’re coming out with any men.”

  “How would you figure to get him or break up his band?” Farman demanded.

  “I haven’t figured on that end of it so much,” Channing answered easily. “When a man is sort of holed up that way, it might be better to draw him out.”

  It was the first intimation of any definite plan on Channing’s part, and the others looked at him with fresh interest.

  “It would cost every man an’ every head of stock on the ranch to do it,” said the rancher doubtfully.

  Channing stepped to the door and went out on the porch for a few moments.

  “We’re going to have a little spell of weather and I’m goin’ to start with the cattle in the morning,” he announced when he returned. “With the cattle out of the way, maybe it would be a good plan to go to the county seat. Maybe I’ll go with you.”

  Nathan Farman looked at the speaker suspiciously. Hope took the announcement as a point in Channing’s favor. He had no fear of visiting the county seat, then, and there was logic in what he said about an attack on Mendicott’s rendezvous. She remembered the inspiring sight of his charge on the raiders. His life had been in grave peril then. He had foreseen something like this when he gave her the envelope. She wondered what it contained.

  “We can’t do anything now, that’s sure,” Channing was saying. “You all might as well have your sleep out. We’ll be moving the cattle at daybreak.” He turned quickly on his heel and went out.

  * * * * *

  Breakfast was ready for the men before dawn. Hope was up early and insisted on helping in the kitchen. She had been unable to sleep. They learned from Jim Crossly that two of the raiders had been killed and another slightly wounded. The last had been captured. One of the ranch hands also had been killed in the running fight and two others hurt, one breaking his leg when his horse was shot down under him.

  Hope could see that her uncle was much worried. But his manner was more stern and uncompromising than it had been the day before. If Mendicott was endeavoring to throw a bluff into him—as the rancher put it—
he would have his trouble for nothing. It seemed to Hope that a certain stern and unyielding side to her uncle’s character had been brought to the surface by the incident of the night.

  It was now known that Mendicott had not been with the raiders. The wounded outlaw had talked a little to Channing, the latter disclosed. The object of the attack had been to run off the cattle, but the wounded outlaw denied they had intended to steal them.

  “What’ll we do with him?” Nathan Farman asked Channing.

  “Turn him loose,” was the astonishing reply.

  “So he can have another whack at us?” asked Farman in answer.

  “So he can take word back where he came from that I have an option on this ranch,” replied Channing. “That’ll keep Mendicott thinking and planning for a few days while I have a chance to cache the cattle.”

  The rancher nodded, but did not appear convinced.

  Channing turned on him with a frown. “I’m figuring that you’ll begin to see after a time that I’m in this thing against Mendicott,” he said slowly in an earnest voice. “I’m waiting for something. If I were to tell you what, you’d laugh at me. I don’t aim to be laughed at if I can help it. I . . . don’t like it. And I’m trying to play him at his own game. I reckon you’ll have to guess what that game is for the present, Nate.”

  The wounded outlaw was released and rode away into the hills. Channing had been careful to see to it that he heard nothing of their plans for moving the cattle. He suspected they were being watched from vantage points in the hills, and, when he drove the cattle away at dawn, they proceeded in a southeasterly direction, across the ridge separating the mesa from the desert.

  Hope watched them go with an anxious expression on her face. They were left alone on the ranch, except for Jim Crossley and the two wounded men. If Mendicott now wished to attack the ranch house, it would be an excellent opportunity. Again she thought of the envelope Channing had entrusted to her. Would it be all right, she wondered, to open it in such an emergency? But he had said to open it only if something serious were to happen to him. She felt it within her blouse. It revived her confidence. She waved her hand impulsively as the last Encanto rider disappeared over the ridge.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  The day passed quietly enough at Rancho del Encanto. The Chinese cook had gone with the wagon accompanying the cattle, which seemed to please Mrs. McCaffy. The housekeeper’s spirits rose steadily. Jim Crossley attended the wounded men who were made comfortable in the improvised quarters in the barn loft. The rancher was up and walking for the first time. He sat on the porch during the afternoon.

  With the approach of night Channing’s prediction came true, and a rain storm swept down from the northwest.

  “It’ll cover the tracks of the cattle,” the rancher explained to Hope. “I guess he’s hiding ’em in the desert. He ought to know where to put them where they can get feed an’ water for a while, anyway. Well, I’m trusting him with the works, it seems like.”

  “He hinted that the desert would in some way prove our ultimate salvation,” Hope pointed out.

  “He’s desert crazy,” her uncle returned. “I’ve always been afraid of it,” he added with a shrug. “An’ I’ve always been leery of them that’s stuck to it. I’ve seen ’em come an’ go too many years.”

  “But, after all, you never knew very much about Channing,” Hope remarked.

  “An’ I know less now,” said Nathan Farman.

  It rained hard all through the late afternoon and during the early evening. The night settled fast with the sky overcast with clouds and the rain still falling. They had finished supper and were sitting in the living room when Crossley came in with an impressive announcement.

  “Channing’s back,” he said.

  “What’s that?” asked Nathan Farman in surprise.

  “Rode in to be at the house tonight,” said Crossley. “Aims to be on hand, I take it, if there’s any more trouble. He’s getting some sleep in the barn.”

  Farman muttered to himself as Crossley left. Hope experienced a feeling of relief from her worry because they were virtually alone on the ranch. It was a strange sensation, she thought to herself, this sensation of security in the nearness of this man. She cheered her uncle with her animated conversation, mostly one-sided this night. But she said nothing of the envelope that had been entrusted to her care. Later she went to her room and slept soundly through the night. When she awoke, it was day, and the sun was again shining.

  She dressed hurriedly and went downstairs. Channing had left to rejoin the men with the cattle before dawn, not waiting to take breakfast at the ranch or see anyone.

  This day also passed with no untoward incident. Nathan Farman walked about and commented cheerfully on the beneficial effects of the rain on the growing oats and hay. While Rancho del Encanto was under irrigation, any additional moisture helped and rain is far better than artificial watering for crops.

  Channing did not return that night, and Crossley was scouting most of the day in the hills.

  “He’s got the cattle in the desert without bein’ followed as near as I can make out,” said Crossley that night. “He’ll hide ’em where they’ll have a hard time gettin’ to ’em without bein’ seen, I’ll bet on that.”

  Although those in the house did not feel so easy this night, with Channing gone and few men on the place, there was nothing said to indicate their real feelings. Each was beset by the thought that, if Mendicott did not know that the stock had been moved, another raid might result, in which event it was likely that the outlaw chief would himself lead his men to see that his purpose was accomplished. His expeditions, led in person, were notorious for their success and the ruthless cruelty attending them. But, in the past, these raids had been on towns with plunder or revenge as the objective. In the present instance it was apparent to all concerned that Mendicott was engaged in a systematic campaign to obtain possession of Rancho del Encanto. What effect the knowledge that Channing had an option on the place would have, Hope and her uncle could only conjecture.

  But the night passed without disturbance and another day brought renewed hope that the outlaw was holding back until he could arrange his plans, as Channing had predicted. What these plans might portend, however, was a source of worry.

  Late in the afternoon, when Hope and her uncle were sitting on the porch enjoying the cool breeze from the hills, they heard a dull, rumbling report, like distant thunder, in the mountains.

  They looked at each other in wonder. “That’s queer,” said the rancher. “Sounds like blasting. I didn’t know there were any prospectors working back up there an’ there’s no work of any other kind I know of goes on in these hills.”

  He had hardly finished speaking when the echoes of two more reports rolled down on the wind.

  “That’s dynamite, sure as shooting!” he exclaimed. “There must be somebody working up there. It’s a rock blast. I can tell that much by the sound, although I’m no miner.”

  They walked to the end of the porch and looked up at the foothills, but could see nothing.

  “Well, we don’t care, do we, Uncle, if somebody is prospecting around here?” asked Hope. “It doesn’t seem so strange. Didn’t you say prospectors worked in these mountains?”

  “Yes, they do,” he agreed. “But they usually come in from this side, an’ lots of times they stop here overnight on the way in. Still, they could come in over the range, I reckon.”

  “That’s probably what they did,” said Hope. “We don’t care how much they prospect up there. It seems good to know somebody is around besides that Mendicott and his crowd. I’d like to hear some more blasting. It sounds good to hear something.”

  But her cheerful words could not drive the puzzled frown from her uncle’s face. He walked slowly back and forth on the porch while she sat and sewed.

  An hour later they were startled by the pound of hoofs on the foothill trail behind the barn. They hurried to the end of the porch in time to see Jim Crossl
ey gallop into view. He came down the trail at a perilous pace and rode up to the porch.

  “They’ve done it!” he cried, flinging himself from the saddle.

  “What’s the matter, Crossley?” called Nathan Farman.

  Crossley was breathing hard and was greatly excited. He pointed to an irrigating ditch near the hedge in front of the house.

  The water!” he exclaimed. “They’ve stopped the water!”

  “What do you mean?” cried the rancher, his face growing pale. “Speak up, Crossley, an’ make yourself clear.”

  “They’ve blown up the dam, that’s what,” said Crossley, removing his hat to wipe his forehead. “I was scouting around up there an’ heard the shots. It rained fine rock an’ cement clear down to where I was at, an’ I took to cover. Then I saw the water in the big ditch go down an’ water came shootin’ down the hill, an’ I knew they’d blowed up the dam.”

  Nathan Farman stepped to the edge of the porch and turned a white face toward the ditch. Hope looked, too, and it needed no second glance to see that the water had gone down. The supply had been cut off. This explained the mystery of the thundering reports of explosives in the hills behind the ranch.

  Her uncle went back to his chair and dropped into it with a gesture of despair. “I might have guessed it when I heard the shots,” he said wearily. “You say pieces of cement fell, Crossley? An’ water came down the hill? It was the dam all right.” As Crossley nodded, the old man pounded the arms of his chair in a rage. “That’s it!” he exclaimed, his face darkening. “It’s Mendicott’s latest move, an’ his worst. He’s shut off the water an’ let it go at the same time. We couldn’t rebuild that dam in time to save the crops from burning up even if it would fill in time after it was built. That means I’ll have to sell the cattle whether I want to or not. There won’t be enough water for all the stock. I’d be lucky to have enough for the horses alone. An, it’ll mean a scarcity of winter feed.” He groaned. “It’ll spoil the mesa.”