Delphi Collected Works of Edgar Rice Burroughs (Illustrated) (Series Four Book 26)

by Edgar Rice Burroughs

  “They ben here, but they’s gone,” said Bull as his two friends joined him.

  “They ain’t ben gone long,” said Shorty.

  They found the trail leading down the canyon and followed it, while a few miles ahead Colby and Diana with the six masked men debouched upon the wide fiat at the foot of the hills. Here they halted.

  “One o’ you fellers swap horses with the girl,” commanded Colby, “and then you all circle back to the west an’ north an’ hit the high spots fer Hendersville. Here, Grift, you take her horse.”

  “How come?” demanded Grift.

  “Why to lead the folks back at Hendersville offen the trail, o’ course,” replied Colby. “You’ll tell ’em you found her horse tother side o’ the West Ranch an’ they’ll look there ‘til the cows comes home.”

  Grift, satisfied with this explanation, dismounted and took Diana’s horse, after which she was bound to the one he had quitted.

  “Now beat it!” said Colby. “I’ll take care o’ the girl,” and he started off toward the south, while the others turned westward.

  “I reckon I fooled ‘em,” remarked Colby when the others were out of hearing.

  Diana made no reply.

  “Them three hombres is trailin’ you, Di,” he continued, “an they’ll be jest wise enough to foller Captain’s tracks. I reckon I fooled ’em fine. Grift never would o’ swapped ef he’d a-knowed what my reason was.”

  Diana said nothing. She did not even look at him. They rode on in silence then for some time.

  “Look here, Di,” he exclaimed finally. “You might as well come down offen your high horse. You’re mine now an’ I’m agoin’ to keep you — as long as I want you. I’m rich now. I’ll git all the money I wants from Lillian, but you’re the one I love — you’re the one I want and you’re the one I’m a-goin’ to have. After I gits all o’ Lillian’s money I’ll quit her an’ you an’ me’ll do some travelin’, but in the meantime I gotta marry her to git the money. Sabe?”

  “Cur!” muttered Diana, shuddering.

  “Well, ef you wants to belong to a cur, call me one,” he said, laughing. “‘cause you’re goin’ to belong to me after today. You won’t never want to go back then. You thought you’d turn me down, did you? You wanted that dirty damn bandit, didn’t cha? Well, you won’t never git him. If he isn’t follerin’ you with the three thets behind us he won’t never catch up to us this side o’ the border, an’ after that he couldn’t never find us in a hundred years. If he is with them he’ll foller the Captain’s hoof prints until he catches up with ’em an’ then that bunch o’ bad-uns’ll shoot him full o’ holes. I guess maybe I wasn’t foolin’ the whole bunch on ‘em, eh?”

  Diana Henders looked her unutterable contempt and loathing. Colby fell silent after a bit, seeing that it was impossible to draw the girl into conversation. Thus they continued on for miles. Suddenly, from far away toward the north, came, just barely audible to their ears, faintly the sound of distant firearms.

  Bull and his pals had come upon the six. There had been no preliminary - no questions asked. The three had but put spurs to their horses and overtaken the fleeing abductors, who, their work done, had no desire to enter into an argument with anyone. The moment he thought that he was within safe range Bull had opened with a single gun, and at the first shot a man had tumbled from his saddle. It was a running fight from then on until but a single one of the six remained. Holding one hand far above his head he reined in his jaded mount, at the same time letting his gun fall to the ground. Bull drew up beside him.

  “Where’s Miss Henders?” he demanded.

  “I don’t know nothin’ about her — I ain’t seen her.”

  “You lie,” said Bull, in a low voice. “You’re riding her horse now. Where is she? I’ll give you five seconds to answer before I send you to hell.”

  “Colby taken her — south — toward the border,” cried Grift, and Bull wondered, for he had left the man safely in Hendersville.

  “You take thet horse home, Grift,” said Bull, “to the Bar Y. Ef you’ve lied to me about Miss Henders, or ef thet horse ain’t in a Bar Y corral when I gets back, I bore you. Sabe?”

  Grift nodded.

  “Now beat it,” said Bull, and reined about toward the south.

  Again the hard, pitiless grind commenced. Beneath a scorching sun, over blistering alkali flats, the three urged their weary horses on.

  “You gotta make it, Blazes. You gotta make it,” whispered Bull in the ear of the pony. “She cain’t be much ahead, an’ there ain’t nothin’ can step away from me an’ you, Blazes, forever. We’ll catch up with ’em some day.”

  19. “TELL ME THAT YOU LOVE ME!”

  It was ten o’clock that morning before Bull, Texas Pete and Shorty picked up Colby’s trail and by that time the man and his unwilling companion were a good four hours ahead of them. On tired horses, through the heat of a blazing Arizona day, it seemed hopeless to expect to overhaul their quarry before night had fallen and by that time Colby would have crossed the border. Not however that that meant much to the three who pursued him, to whom international boundary lines were of no more practical import than parallels of latitude or isothermal lines.

  Before noon they were obliged to stop and rest their horses at a water hole that afforded a brackish but refreshing drink for the three jaded animals. In the mud at the border they saw the fresh tracks of Colby’s pony and Diana’s. It was evident that they had stopped here for a considerable time, which, in truth, they had, so positive was Colby that he had thrown their pursuers off the track, leading them into a gun fight with a superior force that might reasonably have been expected to have accounted for them to the last man.

  Five minutes was all the rest that the pursuers allowed their horses. Once again they were in the saddle. “Lookee yender!” exclaimed Texas Pete, pointing toward the south. “Ef it ain’t rainin’ there I’m a siwash.”

  “It’s about a month too early for the rains,” said Bull, “but it shore is rainin’ — rainin’ like hell. Look at thet lightnin’. Say, if they ain’t crossed Salee’s Flats yet they won’t never git acrost, not while thet rain lasts.”

  “‘N’ if they has crossed we won’t never catch ‘em,” said Shorty.

  “I’ll catch ’em ef I hev to ride plumb to hell an’ it takes me a hundred years,” said Bull.

  The rain struck Colby and Diana at the northern edge of the Flats. It came in driving sheets and sometimes in solid masses that almost crushed them. It came with deafening reverberations of Titanic thunder and vivid, almost terrifying, displays of lightning. It was bad where they were, but Colby knew from experience of the country that in the low hills at the upper end of the Flats it was infinitely worse — that there had been a cloudburst. He put spurs to his horse and dragging Diana’s into a gallop urged them both to greater speed, knowing that if he did not cross the wash in the center of the Flats within a few minutes he might not cross it again for days. When they reached it three feet of turbid water tumbled madly down the narrow bed between the precipitous clay walls. The man found a steep path that stock had made for crossing when the bed of the wash was dry and urged his horse downward. The force of the current almost swept the animal from its feet, but with wide-spread legs it stemmed the torrent, while Colby, taking a few turns of the lead rope around his horn, dragged Diana’s pony through in safety after him. At the top of the bank the man turned and looked toward the north and then down at the rising flood.

  “If this rain holds out they won’t nothin’ more cross here fer a spell,” he said, smiling. “In ten minutes she’ll be plumb full. We kin take it easier now.”

  He started off again, but now at a walk, for he knew that there was no longer need for haste, if there had been before, which he had doubted. The horses, cooled and refreshed by the rain, would have been equal to a spurt now, but none was necessary, and so they came after a mile to the dim outlines of an adobe house showing through the driving downpour, directly ahead. Col
by rode close to the door, and leaning from his saddle, pounded upon it. There was no reply.

  “I reckon we’ll stop here a while,” he said, dismounting.

  He opened the door and looked in. The place was deserted. In rear of it was an open shed for stock and to this they rode. Colby helped Diana from her horse, removed the saddles and bridles from the animals and tied them beneath the shed, then he led the girl to the house, her arms still bound by the reata. There was no chance that she could escape now; so the man removed her bonds.

  “We’ll rest here a few hours an’ give the horses a chance, then we’ll hit the trail. We gotta find a place where we kin feed, my belly’s wrapped around my back-bone. Let’s be friends, Di. You might as well make the best of it. You cain’t blame a feller fer lovin’ you, an’ I ain’t so bad — you might a- done a lot worse.” He came toward her and raised his hand as though to place it on her arm.

  “Don’t touch me!” She drew back with an appreciable shudder or revulsion.

  He laughed. “You’ll feel better after a while,” he said. “We’re both too dog tired to be very good company. I’m goin’ to get in a little sleep. You’d better do the same; but I’ll have to tie you up again unless you’ll promise not to try to escape.”

  She made no reply. “All right,” he said, “ef you’d rather be tied.” He came then and tied her hands behind her. Keeping one end of the rope in his own hand he lay down upon the dirt floor and was soon asleep. Diana sat with her back against the wall listening to the rain beating upon the roof and driving against the walls. The roof leaked badly in several places and the water that came through formed puddles on the floor which joined together into a little rivulet that wound to the doorway and disappeared beneath the door.

  How hopeless! Diana stifled a sob. She was tired and hungry and weak from exhaustion. The frightful rain had cut off the frail vestige of a chance of rescue that there had been before. By now no man or beast could cross Salee’s Flats. She knew one man who would try had he known of her predicament, but how was he to know of it — a hunted fugitive hiding in the mountains far to the north.

  Realizing the necessity for haste if they were to cross the Flats before the wash became an impassable torrent, the three pursuers drove their tired horses onward at the top of their diminished speed. The race became at once a test for the survival of the fittest, and Blazes forged steadily farther and farther, ahead of the ponies. Long before Bull reached the Flats the rain was upon him, refreshing both horse and man, and Blazes, as though imbued with new life, increased the distance between himself and the two ponies now far behind. The driving rain was rapidly obliterating the trail that the man followed, yet he managed to cling to it to the very brink of the wash — to the very point where Colby and Diana had crossed, and there Bull drew rein to look down, scowling, upon a seething barrier of yellow water. Twenty feet wide it was and ten feet deep, swirling and boiling like a cauldron of hell. He eyed the greasy, muddy footing of the bank. Had it been firm and dry he had put Blazes to it for a jump, but he knew that it could not be done, nor could he swim the horse. Even could the animal have made the crossing it could not have clambered out upon the top of that perpendicular, constantly caving wall, with the mighty current always dragging at it. But Bull was not hopeless — he was merely devising ways and means. Not an instant had he considered the possibility of giving up the. pursuit, or even of delaying it by waiting for the waters to recede. Taking his rope in hand he dismounted and stepped close to the brink of the torrent, upon both sides of which grew numerous clumps of grease-wood. He seemed already to have formed a plan, for he drew one of his six- guns and hurled it across the wash. He followed it with the second gun and then with his heavy belt of cartridges. Then came his boots, one by one.

  Shaking down the honda he swung a noose at the end of his rope, which, opening up, described a circle that seemed to revolve about his head at an angle of forty-five degrees with the ground, like a rakish halo just for an instant, and then it rose and sailed gracefully across the new-born river to drop around a clump of grease-wood upon the opposite bank.

  “Come here!” said Bull to Blazes, and the horse stepped — to his side, close to the water’s edge. “Stand!” commanded Bull, knowing that Blazes would stand where he was for hours, if necessary, until his master gave a new order.

  Bull drew in his rope until it became taut and then he dragged heavily upon the grease-wood across the channel. It held despite his most strenuous efforts. He tied the loose end about his waist, stepped to the edge of the water and leaped in.

  Hal Colby awoke and looked about him. His eyes fell upon the girl sitting with her back against the wall across the room.

  “Feelin’ better?” he asked. “I am. Nothin’ like sleep, onless it be grub.”

  She did not reply. He rose to his feet and approached her. “You’re shore a sullen little devil, but I’ll take that out o’ you — a little lovin’ll do that. Git up an’ kiss me!”

  “You unspeakable — THING! It would be an insult to a cur to call you that.”

  Colby laughed good-naturedly. “Ef you’d ruther have a bandit, I might turn one,” he said, and again he laughed, this time at his own joke.

  “If you are trying to suggest that I would prefer Bull, you are right. You may thank God that he is not here — but he will come — and you will pay.”

  “Well, you ain’t got up and kissed me yet,” said Colby. “Do you want me to yank you up? You got a lot to learn an’ I’m the hombre what can learn you. I’ve hed a lot o’ experience — I’ve tamed ’em before, as good as you. Tamed ’em an’ made ’em like it. If it cain’t be did one way it can another. Sometimes a quirt helps.” He struck his chaps with the lash of the one he carried. “Git up, you!” He seized her by the arm and jerked her roughly to her feet. Again she struck him, and this time the man struck back — a stinging blow across her shoulders with the quirt. “I’ll learn you!” he cried.

  She tried to free herself, striking him repeatedly, but he held her off and lashed her cruelly, nor did he appear to care where the quirt fell.

  The tumbling waters, engulfing Bull, rolled him over and over before, half-drowned, his powerful strokes succeeded in raising his head above the surface. He had had no conception of the tremendous strength of the current. He was but a bobbing bit of flotsam upon its surface. He could not stem it. He was helpless. The rope about his waist suddenly tautened and he was again dragged beneath the surface. He grasped it with his hands and tried to pull himself in toward shore, but the giant waters held him in their grip, dragging him downward, stronger by far than the strength of many men.

  Suddenly the muddy flood spewed him to the surface once more — this time against the bank to which the opposite end of his rope was fastened and was dragging heavily upon its precarious anchor. He clutched at the slippery, red mud, clawing frantically for a hand-hold. The waters leaped upon him and beat him down, but still he fought on valiantly, not for his life but for the girl he loved, and at last he won, dragging himself slowly out upon the bank. Almost exhausted he rose, staggering, to his feet and looked back across the torrent at Blazes.

  “It ain’t no use, boy,” he said, with a shake of his head. “I was a-goin’ to rope you an’ drag you acrost, but it cain’t be did. Now I reckon I’ll hev to hoof it.”

  He sat down in the mud and pulled on his boots, gathered up his guns and belt, coiled his rope and turned his face southward. “Ef it takes a hundred years an’ I hev to foller him plumb to hell,” he muttered, “I’ll git him!”

  Still spent and blowing from his tremendous exertions against the flood, he staggered on through the sticky clay and the blinding rain, his head bent down against the storm. It was hard work, but never once did a thought of surrender enter his mind. He would find a ranch house somewhere and get a horse — he might even come upon some range stock. He had his lariat and there was a bare chance that he might get close enough to an animal to rope it. But he must have a horse! He felt h
elpless — entirely impotent — without one.

  Imagine yourself thrust into a cold and unfriendly world, if you are a man, without a pocket knife, a bunch of keys, a handkerchief, money, or a pair of shoes and you will be able to appreciate how a cowboy feels without a horse.

  Thus, buffeted by the storm, he shouldered on until suddenly there loomed almost directly in his path the outlines of an adobe house. Fortune smiled upon him! Here he would find a horse! He stepped to the door and was about to knock when he heard the voice of a woman crying out in protestation and pain. Then he flung the door wide and stepped into the interior. Colby, holding Diana’s wrist, was twisting it in an excess of rage, for she had struck him and repulsed him until the last vestige of his thin veneer of manhood had fallen from him, leaving exposed the raw, primordial beast.

  He saw Bull the instant that the latter opened the door and swinging the girl in front of him reached for a gun. Diana, too, saw the figure in the doorway. A great wave of joy swept through her, and then she saw Colby’s gun flash from its holster and knew that Bull could not shoot because of fear of hitting her; but she did not know Bull as well as she thought she knew him, and similarly was Colby deceived, for the man in the doorway fired from the hip the instant that Colby’s gun was raised. The weapon fell from nerveless fingers, the grasp upon Diana’s wrist relaxed, and Hal Colby pitched forward upon his face, a bullet hole between his eyes.

  Diana swayed for an instant, dazed by the wonder of her deliverance, and then as Bull stepped toward her she went to meet him and put her arms about his neck.