by Matt Rand
The air felt different and the water had ceased dripping. Rance glanced up and saw a narrow strip of stars twinkling in a blue-black sky.
“Looks like I’m darn neah through,” he muttered, “and theah’s the watchman, sho’ as yore a foot high!”
Perched on a narrow shelf that commanded the narrow gorge into which the tunnel opened was a motionless figure. The man was facing north and apparently drowsing.
“Anybody headin’ this way has to pass the fire,” Rance deduced. “Then they’re in plain sight ’fore they can see th guard. One man with a long gun can hold off a army.”
Just as impossible would it be to slip past the fire going north. Rance crouched against the rock wall and thought furiously. He could see where a narrow track sloped upward to the guard’s perch. It was steep and apparently strewn with loose stones. Rance shook his head gloomily as he measured tile distance with his eye. Then he glided forward and went up the track with lithe, sure steps.
He covered half the distance. The guard had not moved. Two-thirds—and still he was undiscovered. Then his foot struck a loose stone and sent it crashing over the edge.
The guard leaped to his feet, whirled about. Rance could easily have shot him, but he feared the possible consequences of the report. For all he knew, there were other guards farther along the cleft. He covered the remaining distance in a panther-like rush and his hand closed on the Mexican’s throat as his mouth opened to yell.
Down went the struggling pair. The guard’s rifle was knocked from his hand to clatter on the rock floor a dozen feet below. Rance clamped a sinewy wrist just in time to stop the flickering thrust of a knife. He ground the man’s knuckles against a jagged stone, the fingers writhed convulsively and the knife tinkled away. Rance let go his hold and whizzed a blow at the other’s jaw.
The guard ducked his head aside and countered with a clawing slap. Rance lunged sideways to avoid it and over the edge went the battling pair.
The fall seemed a long one to Rance. Stars and jagged flames and writhing spears of light blazed before his eyes as he struck the rock. He felt his senses slipping. Black waves of darkness hovered over him. With a tremendous effort of the will he thrust them back and staggered to his feet.
The guard lay motionless where he had fallen, his head lolling grotesquely to one side.
“Busted his neck, sho’ as hell,” muttered the Ranger, rubbing a bleeding lump on the side of his own head. “Now what?”
From the blackness of the cave mouth sounded a faint clicking. Rance instantly recognized it for what it was—horses’ striking the muddy floor. He went into whirlwind action.
Seizing the guard’s body he stuffed it behind a convenient boulder, first striping off the dirty serape. He retrieved the fellow’s rifle and his wide sombrero. Draping the blanket around his shoulders and clapping the sombrero on his head, he raced up the stony track to the lookout’s perch.
Nearer and nearer came the sound of horses. Rance could hear the jingle of bridles and the creak and pop of saddle leather. Low voices speaking. Spanish drifted to him.
“One slip, feller, and yore gonna grow yoreself wings in a hurry,” he murmured. “Heah’s sho’ hopin’ you figger the right thing!”
From the cave mouth rode horsemen. Rance took a chance and challenged them in Spanish: “Alto ahi. Halt where you are!”
The horses did not pause.
“It is we, thou stupid fool!” called an impatient voice. “Rub the sleep from your eyes and see that El Gran General rides in our midst. Remain you at your post until we return. Let no one pass.”
Rance muttered unintelligible Spanish and grounded his rifle. He hunched back against the wall, fearful that the riders would note his greater height, but they paid him scant attention. He counted nine men besides Manuel Cavorca, who was talking earnestly with a man beside him.
The Ranger drew a deep breath of relief as the clicking hoofs died away in the gloom of the gorge. He waited a few minutes and hurried down from his perch.
Alert against the possibility of other guards, he eased along in the wake of the horsemen, but found none. The cleft turned sharply to the right and ran between walls that drew closer and closer together. Finally there was barely room for a single horseman to pass.
Abruptly the left-hand wall fell away and Rance found himself standing at the foot of a tall white cliff with the open prairie rolling northward before his eyes. Due north, hanging dimly in the sky, was the rocky crest of a huge mountain.
“Well, I’ll be damfinoed!” grunted the Ranger. “No wonder nobody could see this hole by ridin’ along the cliff. The rock sorta folds back on itself like a sheet of paper and looks like a bulge. ’Less a feller would walk right up to the cliff, he’d never ’spect theah was a hole heah. And theah goes Cavorca and his sidewinders!”
The horsemen were mere shadowy blotches on the prairie, heading north. As Rance gazed the grove swallowed them up.
Back through the gorge and the cave went the Ranger, as fast as his high-heeled boots would permit. He found his horse, mounted and rode swiftly northward.
“They’re gonna run more guns t’night or I miss my guess a long ways,” he told the cay use. “Feller, this is our big chance to grab off Cavorca. All we got to do is locate him in Brazos.”
Rance found Brazos booming as never before. The streets were crowded. Men lined the bars three deep. So many couples were on the dance floors that they could barely shuffle along. The gamblers were reaping a golden harvest. There were so many fights in progress the watchers got cross-eyed trying to see them all at once.
“What in blazes has come over this town, anyhow?” Rance asked a cowboy with a black eye, and a quart bottle in his hip pocket.
“Wheah you been all year, feller?” demanded the puncher. “Dontcha know it’s Fourth of July—the day Columbus discovered Ameriky? We jest found it out and we’re celebratin’ bein’ discovered. Have a drink?”
Rance had hoped to enlist the aid of the town marshal and possibly swear in a few special deputies; but the marshal was drunk and material for deputies was scarce as cowpokes in church. Rance gave up in disgust and devoted his entire attention to getting a line on Manuel Cavorca.
From saloon to saloon he went, drinking little and seeing much. He prowled the Mexican quarter from end to end, and found nothing. The night was growing steadily wilder and his chances of corralling Cavorca correspondingly less.
“Hell, I’ll go see Doc McChesney,” he finally decided. “Mebbe he can suggest somethin’.”
Doc listened to Rance’s story of the hidden trail without comment. The Ranger asked his advice and Doc gave it without hesitation.
“Looks like Cavorca smelled a rat, or somethin’,” he said. “He ev’dently figgered you might be on the lookout for him heah. If he really is figgerin’ on runnin’ guns t’night, I callate he’s got ’em holed up somewheah outside the town. Don’t fergit, too, he got raided by Zorrilla that fust time. Zorrilla is a tough hombre with brains and like as not he’s got more friends heah ’sides Cristobal. Cavorca’ll keep that in mind, too.”
“Then you don’t figger I got much chance of locatin’ him heah in Brazos?”
“Nope,” said Doc decidedly. “If you jest had a few men you could depend on, the proper idea would be to head him off ’tween heah and the border, now that you know which way he goes.”
Rance started to his feet, his eyes brightening. “Doc, when it comes to brains yore the big lead bull of the herd. That notion of yores is plumb salty. I’ll jest nacherly drop my loop on Señor Cavorca down to that hole through the hills. Doc, it’ll be a pipe!”
“Who all you gonna take with you?” asked Doc.
Rance grinned. “Jest a coupla little fellers what can sho’ talk loud,” he replied, tapping his holsters. “I’d be plumb obliged for a rifle, though, if you got one to spare.”
Doc bellowed protest and tried to talk Rance out of the venture.
“It’s plumb suicide yore committin’,
” he declared. “How you gonna handle ten of them killers? They’ll be loaded for bear and won’t leave even a greese spot of you. Don’t try it, Rance.”
Finally, however, with much grumbling, he got the rifle and handed it to the Ranger.
“I’ll amble out and look for flowers,” he grunted. “Got any last words you wanta speak?”
CHAPTER 27
Less than an hour after Rance had left, Doc had another visitor. Gypsy Carvel, white-faced, breathing hard, pounded on his door.
“Have you seen Rance Hatfield?” she demanded almost before Doc could get the door open.
“Sho’ jest left heah,” Doc told her.
“Where did he go? I must see him at once! Manuel Cavorca is in Brazos, looking for him.
“Sho’ now, that makes it practic’ly unanimous,” said Doc. “Rance is lookin’ for Manuel.”
“But Manuel intends to kill him!” wailed the girl.
“I don’t callate Rance is plannin’ on ’zactly kissin’ Manuel,” observed Doc.
“You don’t understand,” despaired Gypsy. “Manuel has his men with him, nine or ten of the worst. They are taking rifles across the Line tonight and they also intend to get rid of Rance for good.
“And that isn’t all,” she added. “Rosa, my cook, has friends in the Mexican quarter here in Brazos. She visited them today and they told her that the bandit Zorrilla is going to ambush Manuel somewhere and kill him and take the guns away from him.”
“Well, now, that’s plumb fine!” exclaimed Doc. “If they’ll jest manage it right and kill each other. I wonder wheah—”
His voice suddenly trailed away. “Oh, good gosh!” he muttered.
“What’s the matter?” asked Gypsy, her eyes big with apprehension.
“It’s Rance!” yammered Doc. “He’ll be right in the middle of it. Hell, yes, that’s the place Zorrilla’ll drygulch Cavorca. He knows about that hole-in-the-wall too.”
“What in the world are you talking about?” wailed Gypsy.
Doc told her, as Rance had told him. The girl’s breath caught as she listened.
“Yes,” she gasped, “they’ll be waiting for Manuel in the cave. Rance will ride right into their midst and they will kill him. He won’t have a chance!”
“Looks that way,” agreed Doc dully.
Gypsy dashed for the door.
“Hey, wheah you goin’?” yelled Doc.
“I’m going to warn Rance,” she called back as the door slammed.
Old Doc McChesney got creakily to his feet. “Damn this rheumatism, anyway!” he gritted. “I’ll never be able to ride that far, but I’m gonna do it anyhow. Wheah in hell is my hawgleg?”
* * * *
Rance wasted no time getting to the cave. “I gotta make it ’fore daylight,” he repeated over and over, anxiously scanning the eastern sky for the first streaks of dawn. “If they see me ’fore I get holed up, they’ll cut and run for it and if Cavorca has his reg’law they’ll make a clean getaway.”
He sighed with relief as the shimmering white cliff hove into view. It still lacked nearly an hour until dawn. After debating the matter for a moment, he tethered the black horse in a convenient thicket and entered the cleft on foot.
“I’ll jest hang ’round the front door heah till they show up this side the grove,” he decided. “That’ll give me plenty time to ease back into the cave and line on them as they start comin’ in. ’Spect I better slip back and build up that fire a bit, too. They might get suspicious if it’s out. ’Sides, it’ll give me more light to shoot by if shootin’ gets nec’sary.”
The fire had burned down to a few almost cold embers. Rance got it going again with wood he found stacked nearby. Then he returned to the cleft mouth. He jerked his rifle up and lined the sights with a rider tearing across the stony belt that bordered the cliff wall.
“Who the—” he muttered. “Hell’s fire and damnation!
“Gypsy, what you doin’ heah!” he shouted, leaping into view.
The girl pulled her horse to a floundered halt. Her story came out in gasping words. Rance instantly grasped its significance.
“They’ll have us comin’ and goin’,” he agreed. “We’d better get through to the other side this darned hole ’fore one or the other of them shows up.”
“I’m afraid my horse is done for,” said Gypsy.
“Looks it,” nodded Rance. “Turn him into that thicket and we’ll take a chance on them not seein’ him when they pass.” His keen eyes searched the prairie to the north, shimmering ghostly gray in the strengthening dawn.
“Heah comes Cavorca and his outfit,” he said. “See them little black dots jumpin’ up and down jest east of the grove? Let’s get goin’.”
Walking swiftly but carefully they made their way into the cleft. They entered the cave, passed the now brightly burning fire and crept along through the black darkness. Suddenly he gripped the girl’s arm; his keen ears had caught a small stealth sound somewhere in front.
“They’re heah already!” he breathed.
Gypsy’s whisper came back to him. “Yes, and I can hear horses behind us.”
For an instant Rance felt the promptings of panic. Their situation was truly desperate. Hemmed between the rival bandit gangs, they had an excellent chance of being blasted out of existence by the first volley fired by either side. Frantically Rance groped along the dripping wall, seeking some source of concealment.
He found it, such as it was, a shallow, narrow crevice down which water trickled in a steady stream. Cautiously he guided the girl into it and squeezed his own broad shoulders in after her. They were completely hidden, with a foot or two to spare.
“These darn walls are all cracked and seamed,” he explained. “Water in back of ’em, the chances are. Hill caves in this section is generally that way. We stand a purty good chance of them passin’ us up.”
Tensely they waited. From the darkness ahead sounded stealthy shufflings. Then silence, broken only by the steadily loudening click of hoofs from the north.
Cavorca and his men were proceeding cautiously. The missing watchman evidently worried them. Rance felt sure from their steady though slow progress, however, that they did not yet suspect what was in store for them.
Without warning the darkness ahead belched fire and smoke. Yells and shrieks followed the withering blast of lead. The screams of stricken horses added to the hideous turmoil. Manuel Cavorca’s clear voice rang above the tumult:
“Dismount! Take cover. Pedro, Guillermo, the flares!”
Bullets continued to storm out of the darkness. Now they were answered by flashes from where Cavorca’s men hurled themselves to the cave floor. Rance heard the terrified horses thunder away toward the gorge.
A light flashed up, soared through the blackness in a flaming arc and dropped to the floor. It blazed high, a ball of oil soaked rags, making the scene as bright as day.
Crouched behind a rude barricade of stones were a half score of sombreroed Mexicans. The light glinted on their rifle barrels. They blazed away at the remainder of Cavorca’s bandits, who had taken to what scanty cover they could find—small boulders, jutting bulges of rock, shallow holes scooped in the mud. Several quiet forms lay in the space between.
“The Cavorca gang caught hell the first crack,” breathed Rance, peeping cautiously around the edge of his slanting crevice.
The rifles were rolling a regular drumfire. Bullets plunked into the mud, smashed against the walls and caromed from the roof. Yells and curses went up as a hit scored. Cavorca’s voice sounded, encouraging his men.
“Don’t look like the bullet’s run what can do for that hellion,” muttered Rance. “Well, we’ll see. Wonder what he’s got up his sleeve? He keeps tellin’ his men to hold on a minute longer.”
The flare was burning low. Something trailing a stream of sparks went hurtling through the smoke.
“That one ain’t gonna light,” muttered Rance. “It—”
Cr-r-rash!
A ter
rific explosion rocked the cave. In the instant of blinding glare, Rance saw the bodies of Zorrilla’s drygulchers fly in every direction.
“Dynamite!” gasped the Ranger. “Cavorca threw a stick of dynamite among ’em! If he ain’t—”
The words were wiped from his lips by a second terrific growling crash. The very cliffs seemed to rock and reel as great masses of stone came thundering down upon the cave floor. There sounded a horrified shriek that was chopped off as if cut with a knife. For another moment the terrific crashes continued as more and more rocks broke loose. Silence followed, then low mutterings.
CHAPTER 28
Rance could hear men creeping about in the darkness. A light flared and another. A voice rose in terror.
“The cave it is blocked, at both ends! We are dead men!”
Manuel Cavorca’s voice sounded, clear, fearless: “Steady, you fool. This is no time to let yourself go. We’ll dig out some way.”
Rance nodded to himself in-the dark. “Ev’body’s gotta work t’gether this time,” he grunted. His voice rose:
“Cavorca!”
“Yes?” replied the bandit leader. “Who’s calling?”
A fresh flare blazed up, disclosing Cavorca and three of his men still on their feet. The Zorrilla drygulchers were crushed under tons of rock. Rance stepped out of the crevice, rifle at the ready.
“Well I’ll be damned!” exploded Cavorca. “The Ranger! What the hell you doing here?”
“Oh, I come along without a invite,” Rance told him. “Question is, how we gonna get out?”
Cavorca shrugged. “Looks like we are not,” he admitted. “Looks like you and I have run a dead heat. We—good God! Gypsy!”
Rance slipped a long arm about the girl’s slim waist. “Looks like we jest gotta get out some way,” he said.
One of Cavorca’s men spoke up: “Capitan, I am sure the rock fall at this end is of no great thickness. Over there where you hurled the dynamite is where most of it came down.”
Rance laid the rifle aside and strode to where the jumble of splintered stone extended from floor to roof.
“We ain’t got anythin’ much to work with,” he said, “but we might as well make a try at it.”