CHAPTER XXXIII--RETRIBUTION
Twice descending the long slope leading to the basin, Martha's horsestumbled. The first time the negro woman lifted him to his feet byjerking sharply on the reins, but when he stumbled the second time,Martha was not alert and the horse went to his knees. Unprepared, Marthawas jolted out of the saddle and she fell awkwardly, landing on herright shoulder with a force that knocked the breath out of her.
She lay for a short time, gasping, her body racked with pain, and atlast, when she succeeded in getting to her feet, the horse had strayedsome little distance from her and was quietly browsing the tops of somesaccaton.
It was several minutes before Martha caught the animal--several minutesduring which she loosed some picturesque and original profanity thatcaused the experienced range horse to raise his ears inquiringly.
Then, when she caught the horse, she had some trouble getting into thesaddle, though she succeeded after a while, groaning, and grunting, andwhimpering.
But Martha forgot her pains and misery once she was in the saddle again,and she rode fast, trembling with eagerness, her sympathies and herconcern solely for the white girl who, she supposed, was a prisoner inthe hands of the ruthless and unprincipled man that Martha, with herlimited vocabulary, had termed many times a "rapscallion."
Martha headed her horse straight for the Mullarky cabin, guided by afaint shaft of light that issued from one of its windows.
When she reached the cabin she found no one there but Mrs. Mullarky.Ben, Mrs. Mullarky told Martha, had gone to Dawes--in fact, he had beenin Dawes all day, she supposed, for he had left home early that morning.
Martha gasped out her news, and Mrs. Mullarky's face whitened. WhileMartha watched her in astonishment, she tore off the gingham apron thatadorned her, threw it into a corner, and ran into another room, fromwhich she emerged an instant later carrying a rifle.
The Irishwoman's face was pale and set, and the light of a great wrathgleamed in her eyes. Martha, awed by the woman's belligerent appearance,could only stand and blink at her, her mouth gaping with astonishment.
"You go right on to the Arrow!" she commanded Martha, as she went out ofthe door; "mebbe you'll find somebody there by this time, an' if you do,send them to the big house. I'm goin' over there right this minute totake that dear little girl away from that big brute!"
She started while Martha was again painfully mounting her horse, and thetwo women rode away in opposite directions--Martha whimpering with pain,and Mrs. Mullarky silent, grim, with a wild rage gripping her heart.
* * * * *
Taylor, on Spotted Tail, was approaching the Arrow ranchhouse at a speedslightly greater than that into which the big horse had fallen shortlyafter he had left the gorge. The spirited animal was just warming to hiswork, and he was doing his best when he flashed past the big cattlecorral, going with the noise of rushing wind. In an instant he was atthe long stretch of fence which formed the ranchyard side of the horsecorral, and in another instant he was sliding to a halt near the edge ofthe front porch of the ranchhouse itself. There he drew a deep breathand looked inquiringly at his master, while the latter slid off hisback, leaped upon the porch, and with a bound crossed the porch floor,knocking chairs helter-skelter as he went.
The house was dark, but Taylor ran through the rooms, calling sharplyfor Parsons and Marion, but receiving no reply. When he emerged from thehouse his face, in the light of the moon that had climbed above thehorizon some time before, was like that of a man who has just lookedupon the dead face of his best friend.
For Taylor was convinced that he had looked upon death in theranchhouse--upon the death of his hopes. He stood for an instant on theporch, while his passions raged through him, and then with a laugh ofbitter humor he leaped on Spotted Tail.
Half-way to the Mullarky cabin, with the big horse running like thewind, Taylor saw a shape looming out of the darkness ahead of him. Hepulled Spotted Tail down, and loosed one of his pistols, and approachedthe shape warily, his muscles stiff and taut and ready for action.
But it was only Martha who rode up to him. Her fortitude gone, her painsconvulsing her, she wailed to Taylor the story of the night's tragicadventure.
"An' Carrington's got missy in the big house!" she concluded. "She fithim powerful hard, but it was no use--that rapscallion too much fo'her!"
She shouted the last words at Taylor, for Spotted Tail had received ajab in the sides with the rowels that hurt him cruelly, and, angered, heran like a deer with the hungry cry of a wolf-pack in his ears.
Like a black streak they rushed by Mrs. Mullarky, who breathed afervent, "Oh, thank the Lord, it's Taylor!" and before the good womancould catch her breath again, Spotted Tail and his rider had opened ahuge, yawning space between himself and the laboring horse the womanrode.
Riding with all his muscles taut as bowstrings, and a terrible,constricting pressure across his chest--so mighty were the savagepassions that rioted within him--Taylor reached the foot of the longslope that led to the big house, and sent Spotted Tail tearing upwardwith rapid, desperate leaps.
* * * * *
When Carrington reached the big house soon after he had unknowinglypassed Marion Harlan and Parsons on the river trail, he was in a sullen,impatient mood.
For no word concerning Keats's movements had reached Dawes, andCarrington was afflicted with a gloomy presentiment that something hadhappened to the man--that he had not been able to locate Taylor, or thathe had found him and Taylor had succeeded in escaping him.
Carrington did not go at once into the house, for captive though shewas, and completely within his power, he did not want the girl to seehim in his present mood. Lighting a cigar, and chewing it viciously, hewalked to the stable. There, standing in the shadow of the building, hecame upon the guard Martha had routed. He spoke sharply to the man,asking him why he was not inside guarding the "nigger."
The man brazenly announced that Martha had escaped him, omitting certaindetails and substituting others from his imagination.
"If she hadn't been a woman, now," added the man in self-extenuation.
Carrington laughed lowly. "We didn't need _her_, anyway," he said, andthe other laughed with him.
The laugh restored Carrington's good-nature, and he left the man andwent into the front room of the house. Had he paused on the porch tolisten, or had he glanced toward the big slope that dropped to thebasin, he would not have entered the house just then. And he _would_have paused on the porch had it not been that the intensity of hisdesires drove him to concentrate all his senses upon Marion.
He crossed the porch and entered the room, and then halted, staringdownward with startled eyes at the body of the guard huddled on thefloor, a thin stream of blood staining the carpet beneath his head.
Cursing, Carrington stepped into the other room--the room in which hehad fought with Taylor--the room in which he had left Marion Harlanbound and sitting on a chair. The lamp on the shelf was still burning,and in its light Carrington saw the rope he had used to bind the girl'shands.
A bitter rage seized him as he looked at the rope, and he threw it fromhim, cursing. In an instant he was outside the house and had leaped uponhis horse. He headed the animal toward the long slope leading to theArrow trail, for he suspected the girl would go straight back there,despite any conviction she might have of Taylor's guilt--for there shewould find Parsons, who would give her what comfort he could. Or shemight stop at the Mullarky cabin. Certainly she would not go to Dawes,for she must know that _he_ ruled Dawes--Parsons must have told herthat--and that if she went to Dawes, she would be merely postponing hersurrender to him.
He had plenty of time, even if she were in Dawes, he meditated as hesent his horse over the crest of the slope, for there were no trains outof the town during the night, and if she were not at the Arrow orMullarky's, he was sure to catch her later.
He was half-way down the slope, his horse making slow work of
threadingits way through the gnarled chaparral growth, when, looking downward, hesaw another horse leaping up the slope toward him.
In the glare of the moon that was behind Carrington, he could see horseand rider distinctly, and he jerked his own horse to a halt, cursinghorribly. For the horse that was leaping toward him like a black demonout of the night was Spotted Tail. And Spotted Tail's rider was Taylor.Carrington could see the man's face, with the terrible passion thatdistorted it, and Carrington wheeled his horse, making frenzied effortsto escape up the slope.
Carrington was not more than a hundred feet from the big black horse andits indomitable rider when he wheeled his own animal, and he had nottraveled more than a few feet when he realized that Spotted Tail wasgaining rapidly.
Cursing again, though his face was ghastly with the fear that had seizedhim, Carrington slipped from his horse, and, running around so that theanimal was between him and Taylor, he drew a heavy pistol from ahip-pocket. And when the oncoming horse and rider were withintwenty-five or thirty feet of him, Carrington took deliberate aim andfired.
He grinned vindictively as he saw Taylor reel in the saddle, and hefired again, and saw Taylor drop to the ground beside Spotted Tail.
Carrington could not tell whether his second shot had struck Taylor, andbefore he could shoot again, Taylor dove headlong toward a jagged rockthat thrust a bulging shoulder upward. Carrington threw a snapshot athim as he leaped, but again he could not have told whether the bullethad gone home.
Keeping the horse between himself and the rock behind which Taylor hadthrown himself, Carrington leaped behind another that stood near theedge of the chaparral clump through which he had been riding when he hadseen Taylor coming up the slope. Seeming to sense their danger, bothhorses slowly moved off out of the line of fire and proceededunconcernedly to browse the clumps of grass that dotted the side of theslope.
And now began a long, strained silence. Carrington could see Taylor'srock, but it was at the edge of the chaparral, and Taylor might easilyslip into the chaparral and begin a circling movement that would bringhim behind Carrington. The thought brought a damp sweat out uponCarrington's forehead, and he began to cast fearing glances toward thechaparral at his side. He watched it long, and the longer he watched,the greater grew his fear. And at last, at the end of half an hour, thefear grew to a conviction that Taylor was stalking him in the chaparral.No longer able to endure the suspense, Carrington left the shelter ofhis rock and began to work his way around the edge of the chaparralclump.
Taylor had felt the heat and the shock of Carrington's first bullet, andhe knew it had gone into his left arm. The second bullet had missed himcleanly, and he landed behind the rock, with all his senses alert,paying no attention to his wound.
He had recognized Carrington, and with the cold calm that comes withimplacable determination, Taylor instantly began to take an inventory ofthe hazards and the advantages of his position. And after hisexamination was concluded, he dropped to his hands and knees and beganto work his way into the chaparral.
He moved cautiously, for he knew that should he disturb the rank growthhe would disclose his whereabouts to Carrington, should the latter havegained a vantageous point from where he could watch the thicket for justsuch signs of Taylor's presence.
But Taylor made no such signs; he had not spent the greater part of hislife in the open to be outdone in this grim strategy by an eastern man.He grinned wickedly at the thought.
He suspected that Carrington might try the very trick he himself wastrying, and that thought made him wary.
Working his way into the thicket, he at last reached a point near itscenter, upon a slight mound surrounded by stunt oak and quivering aspen.There, concealed and alert, he waited for Carrington to show himself.
Carrington, though, did not betray his presence in the thicket. ForCarrington was not in the thicket when Taylor reached its center.Carrington had started into the thicket, but he had not proceeded veryfar when he began to be afflicted with a dread premonition of Taylor'spresence somewhere in the vicinity.
A clammy sweat broke out on the big man; a panic of fear seized him, andhe began to creep backward, out of the thicket. And by the time Taylorreached his vantagepoint, Carrington was crouching at the thicket'sedge, near the rock where he had been concealed, oppressed with aconviction that Taylor was working his way toward him through thethicket.
The big man waited, his nerves taut, his muscles quivering and cringingat the thought that any instant a bullet sent at him by Taylor mightstrike him. For he knew that Taylor had come for him; he was nowconvinced that Marion Harlan _had_ gone to the Arrow, that she had toldTaylor what had happened to her, and that Taylor had come straight tothe big house to punish him for his misdeeds.
And Carrington had a dread of the sort of punishment Taylor had dealthim upon a former occasion, and he wanted no more of it. That was why hehad used his pistol instantly upon recognizing Taylor. He wished, now,that he had not been so hasty; for he had taken the initiative, andTaylor would not scruple to imitate him.
In fact, he was so certain that at that moment Taylor was creeping uponhim from some point with the fury of murder in his heart, that he got tohis feet and, looking over the top of the rock, searched with wild eyesfor his horse. And when he saw the animal not more than twenty or thirtyfeet from him, he could not longer resist the panic that had seized him.Crouching, he ran for several yards on his hands and feet and then,nearing his horse, he stood upright and ran for it.
As he ran he cringed, for he expected a pistol-shot to greet hisappearance at the side of his horse. But no report came, and he reachedthe horse, threw himself into the saddle and raced the animal down theslope.
He was conscious of a pulse of elation, for he thought he had eludedTaylor, but just as his horse struck the edge of the big levelCarrington looked back, to see Spotted Tail slipping down the slope witha smooth swiftness that terrified the big man.
He turned then and began to ride as he had never ridden before. Theanimal under him was strong, courageous, and speedy; but Carrington knewhe would have need of all those sterling qualities if he hoped to escapethe iron-hearted horse Taylor bestrode. And so Carrington leanedforward, trying to lighten the load, slapping the beast's neck with thepalm of his hand, urging him with his voice--coaxing him to the bestendeavors. For Carrington knew that somewhere in the vast expanse ofgrass land and spread before him Keats and his men must be. And his onlyhope lay in reaching them before the avenger, astride the big horse thatwas speeding on his trail like a black thunderbolt, could bring hisrider within pistol-shot distance of him.
But Carrington had not gone more than half a mile when he realized thatthe race was to be a short one. Twice after leaving the edge of theslope Carrington looked back. The first time Spotted Tail seemed to befar away; and the next time the big, black animal was so close thatCarrington cried out hoarsely.
And then as Carrington felt the distance being shortened--as he felt thepresence of the black horse almost at the withers of his ownanimal--heard the breathing of the big pursuing beast, he knew that hewas not to be shot.
Before he could swing his own horse to escape, the big, black horse wasbeside his own, and one of Taylor's arms shot out, the fingers grippingthe collar of the big man's coat. Then with a vicious pull, swinging theblack horse wide, Taylor jerked Carrington out of the saddle, so that hefell sidewise into the deep grass--while the black horse, eager for arun, and not immediately responding to Taylor's pull on the reins, ransome feet before he halted and wheeled.
And when he did finally face toward the spot where the big man had beenjerked from the saddle, it was to face a succession of flame-streaksthat shot from the spot where Carrington stood trying his best to sendinto Taylor a bullet that would put an end to the horrible presentimentof death that now filled the big man's heart.
He emptied his pistol and saw the black horse coming steadily towardhim, its rider erect in the saddle, seeming not to heed the savagelybarking weapon. And when the gun
was empty, Carrington threw it from himand began to run. He ran, and with grim mockery, Taylor followed him alittle distance--followed him until Carrington, exhausted, his breathcoming in great coughing gasps, could run no farther. And then Taylorbrought the big black to a halt near him, slid easily out of the saddle,and stepped forward to look into Carrington's face, his own stiff andset, his eyes gleaming with a passion that made the other man groanhopelessly.
"Now, you miserable whelp!" said Taylor.
He lunged forward and the bodies of the two men made a swaying blot outof which came the sounds of blows, bitter and savage.
* * * * *
The little broken-nosed man laughed a little in recollection ofCarrington's words about Martha. The big man had let him off easily, andhe was properly grateful. And yet his gratitude did not prevent him frombetraying curiosity; and he watched the front of the house forCarrington's reappearance, wondering what he meant to do with the whitegirl, now that he had her.
Still watching the front porch, he saw Carrington run for his horse,leap upon it and sink down the side of the slope.
The little man then ran to the front of the house and, concealed amongthe trees, watched the duel that was waged in the moonlight. He sawCarrington break from the thicket, mount his horse and race out into theplain; he saw Taylor--for he had recognized him--send Spotted Tail afterCarrington. But he did not see the finish of the race, nor did he seewhat followed. But some minutes later he saw a big, black horse tearingtoward him from the spot where the race had ended. He mutteredgutturally and profanely, leaped on his horse and sent it plunging downthe trail toward Dawes, his face ghastly with fear.
The Ranchman Page 33