"Don't blame him. His intentions were good. He meant to blow out your brains."
The convict cursed vilely, but in the midst of his impotent rage the other stopped and dragged him to his feet.
"That's enough. You padlock that ugly mouth and light a shuck."
The girl came forward and the man leaned heavily on her as he limped to the road. The Texan followed with the buckskin she had been riding and tied it to the back of the road-wagon.
"Give me my purse," the girl said to the convict after they were seated.
She emptied it and handed the roll of bills it contained to the owner of the team. He looked at it and at her, then shook his head.
"You'll need it likely. I reckon I can trust you. Schoolmarms are mostly reliable."
"I had rather pay now," she answered tartly.
"What's the rush?"
"I prefer to settle with you now."
"All right, but I'm in no sweat for my money. My team and the wagon are worth two hundred and fifty dollars. Put this plug at forty and it would be high." He jerked his head toward the brush where the other saddle-horse was. "That leaves me a balance of about two hundred and ten. Is that fair?"
She bit her lip in vexation. "I expect so, but I haven't that much with me. Can't I pay this seventy on account?"
"No, ma'am, you can't. All or none." There was a gleam of humor in his hard eyes. "I reckon you better let me come and collect after you get back to Fort Lincoln."
She took out a note-book and pencil. "If you will give me your name and address please."
He smiled hardily at her. "I've clean forgotten them."
There was a warning flash in her disdainful eye.
"Just as you like. My name is Margaret Kinney. I will leave the money for you at the First National Bank."
She gathered up the rains deftly.
"One moment." He laid a hand on the lines. "I reckon you think I owe you an apology for what happened when we first met."
A flood of spreading color dyed her cheeks. "I don't think anything about it."
"Oh, yes, you do," he contradicted. "And you're going to think a heap more about it. You're going to lay awake nights going over it."
Out of eyes like live coals she gave him one look. "Will you take your hands from these reins please?"
"Presently. Just now I'm talking and you're listening."
"I don't care to hear any apologies, sir," she said stiffly.
"I'm not offering any," he laughed, yet stung by her words.
"You're merely insulting me again, I presume?"
"Some young women need punishing. I expect you're one."
She handed him the horsewhip, a sudden pulse of passion beating fiercely in her throat. "Very well. Make an end of it and let me see the last of you," she challenged.
He cracked the lash expertly so that the horses quivered and would have started if his strong hand had not tightened on the lines.
The Westerner laughed again. "You're game anyhow."
"When you are quite through with me," she suggested, very quietly.
But he noticed the fury of her deep-pupiled eyes, the turbulent rise and fall of her bosom.
"I'll not punish you that way this time." And he gave back the whip.
"If you won't use it I will."
The lash flashed up and down, twined itself savagely round his wrist, and left behind a bracelet of crimson. Startled, the horses leaped forward. The reins slipped free from his numbed fingers. Miss Kinney had made her good-by and was descending swiftly into the valley.
The man watched the rig sweep along that branch of the road which led to the south. Then he looked at his wrist and laughed.
"The plucky little devil! She's a thoroughbred for fair. You bet I'll make her pay for this. But ain't she got sand in her craw? She's surely hating me proper." He laughed again in remembrance of the whole episode, finding in it something that stirred his blood immensely.
After the trap had swept round a curve out of sight he disappeared in the mesquite and bear-grass, presently returning with the roan that had been ridden by the escaped convict.
"Whoever would suppose she was the sister of that scurvy scalawag with jailbird branded all over his hulking hide? He ain't fit to wipe her little feet on. She's as fine as silk. Think of her going through what she is to save that coyote, and him as crooked as a dog's hind leg. There ain't any limit to what a good woman will do for a man when she thinks he's got a claim on her, more especially if he's a ruffian."
With this bit of philosophic observation he rolled a cigarette and lit it.
"Him fall into bad company and be led away?" he added in disgust. "There ain't any worse than him. But he'll work her to the limit before she finds it out."
Leisurely he swung to the saddle and rode down into the valley of the San Xavier, which rolled away from his feet in numberless tawny waves of unfeatured foot-hills and mesas and washes. Almost as far as the eye could see there stretched a sea of hilltops bathed in sun. Only on the west were they bounded, by the irregular saw-toothed edge of the Frenchman Hills, silhouetted against an incomparable blue. For a stretch of many miles the side of the range was painted scarlet by millions of poppies splashed broadcast.
"Nature's gone to flower-gardening for fair on the mountains," murmured the rider. "What with one thing and another I've got a notion I'm going to take a liking to this country."
The man was plainly very tired with rapid travel, and about the middle of the afternoon the young man unsaddled and picketed the animal near a water-hole. He lay down in the shadow of a cottonwood, flat on his back, face upturned to the deep cobalt sky. Presently the drowse of the afternoon crept over him. The slumberous valley grew hazy to his nodding eyes. The reluctant lids ceased to open and he was fast asleep.
CHAPTER II
LIEUTENANT FRASER INTERFERES.
The sun had declined almost to a saddle in the Cuesta del Burro when the sleeper reopened his eyes. Even before he had shaken himself free of sleep he was uneasily aware of something wrong. Hazily the sound of voices drifted to him across an immense space. Blurred figures crossed before his unfocused gaze.
The first thing he saw clearly was the roan, still grazing in the circle of its picket-rope. Beside the bronco were two men looking the animal over critically.
"Been going some," he heard one remark, pointing at the same time to the sweat-stains that streaked the shoulders and flanks.
"If he had me on his back he'd still be burning the wind, me being in his boots," returned the second, with a grating laugh, jerking his head toward the sleeper. "Whatever led the durned fool to stop this side of the line beats me."
"If he was hiking for Chihuahua he's been hitting a mighty crooked trail. I don't savvy it, him knowing the country as well as they say he does," the first speaker made answer.
The traveler's circling eye now discovered two more men, each of them covering him with a rifle. A voice from the rear assured him there was also a fifth member to the party.
"Look out! He's awake," it warned.
The young man's hand inadvertently moved toward his revolver-butt. This drew a sharp imperative order from one of the men in front.
"Throw up your hands, and damn quick!"
"You seem to have the call, gentlemen," he smiled. "Would you mind telling me what it's all about?"
"You know what it's all about as well as we do. Collect his gun, Tom."
"This hold-up business seems to be a habit in this section. Second time to-day I've been the victim of it," said the victim easily.
"It will be the last," retorted one of the men grimly.
"If you're after the mazuma you've struck a poor bank."
"You've got your nerve," cried one of the men in a rage; and another demanded: "Where did you get that hawss?"
"Why, I got it—" The young man stopped in the middle of his sentence. His jaw clamped and his eyes grew hard. "I expect you better explain what right you got to ask that question."
&nb
sp; The man laughed without cordiality. "Seeing as I have owned it three years I allow I have some right."
"What's the use of talking? He's the man we want, broke in another impatiently.
"Who is the man you want?" asked their prisoner.
"You're the man we want, Jim Kinney."
"Wrong guess. My name is Larry Neill. I'm from the Panhandle and I've never been in this part of the country till two days ago."
"You may have a dozen names. We don't care what you call yourself. Of course you would deny being the man we're after. But that don't go with us."
"All right. Take me back to Fort Lincoln, or take me to the prison officials. They will tell you whether I am the man."
The leader of the party pounced on his slip. "Who mentioned prison? Who told you we wanted an escaped prisoner?"
"He's give himself away," triumphed the one edged Tom. "I guess that clinches it. He's riding Maloney's hawss. He's wounded; so's the man we want. He answers the description— gray eyes, tall, slim, muscular. Same gun— automatic Colt. Tell you there's nothin' to it, Duffield."
"If you're not Kinney, how come you with this hawss? He stole it from a barn in Fort Lincoln last night. That's known," said the leader, Duffield.
The imperilled man thought of the girl bing toward the border with her brother and the remembrance padlocked his tongue.
"Take me to the proper authorities and I'll answer questions. But, I'll not talk here. What's the use? You don't believe a word I say."
"You spoke the truth that time," said one.
"If you ever want to do any explaining now's the hour," added another.
"I'll do mine later, gentlemen."
They looked at each other and one of them spoke.
"It will be too late to explain then."
"Too late?"
Some inkling of the man's hideous meaning seared him and ran like an ice-blast through him.
"You've done all the meanness you'll ever do in this world. Poor Dave Long is the last man you'll ever kill. We're going to do justice right now."
"Dave Long! I never heard of him," the prisoner repeated mechanically. "Good God, do you think I'm a murderer?"
One of the men thrust himself forward. "We know it. Y'u and that hellish partner of yours shot him while he was locking the gate. But y'u made a mistake when y'u come to Fort Lincoln. He lived there before he went to be a guard at the Arizona penitentiary. I'm his brother. These gentlemen are his neighbors. Y'u're not going back to prison. Y'u're going to stay right here under this cottonwood."
If the extraordinary menace of the man appalled Neill he gave no sign of it. His gray eye passed from one to another of them quietly without giving any sign of the impotent tempest raging within him.
"You're going to lynch me then?"
"Y'u've called the turn."
"Without giving me a chance to prove my innocence?"
"Without giving y'u a chance to escape or sneak back to the penitentiary."
The thing was horribly unthinkable. The warm mellow afternoon sunshine wrapped them about. The horses grazed with quiet unconcern. One of these hard-faced frontiersmen was chewing tobacco with machine-like regularity. Another was rolling a cigarette. There was nothing of dramatic effect. Not a man had raised his voice. But Neill knew there was no appeal. He had come to the end of the passage through a horrible mistake. He raged in bitter resentment against his fate, against these men who stood so quietly about him ready to execute it, most of all against the girl who had let him sacrifice himself by concealing the vital fact that her brother had murdered a guard to effect his escape. Fool that he had been, he had stumbled into a trap, and she had let him do it without a word of warning. Wild, chaotic thoughts crowded his brain furiously.
But the voice with which he addressed them was singularly even and colorless.
"I am a stranger to this country. I was born in Tennessee, brought up in the Panhandle. I'm an irrigation engineer by profession. This is my vacation. I'm headed now for the Mal Pais mines. Friends of mine are interested in a property there with me and I have been sent to look the ground over and make a report. I never heard of Kinney till to-day. You've got the wrong man, gentlemen."
"We'll risk it," laughed one brutally. "Bring that riata, Tom."
Neill did not struggle or cry out frantically. He stood motionless while they adjusted the rope round his bronzed throat. They had judged him for a villain; they should at least know him a man. So he stood there straight and lithe, wide-shouldered and lean-flanked, a man in a thousand. Not a twitch of the well-packed muscles, not a quiver of the eyelash nor a swelling of the throat betrayed any fear. His cool eyes were quiet and steady.
"If you want to leave any message for anybody I'll see it's delivered," promised Duffield.
"I'll not trouble you with any."
"Just as you like."
"He didn't give poor Dave any time for messages," cried Tom Long bitterly.
"That's right," assented another with a curse.
It was plain to the victim they were spurring their nerves to hardihood.
"Who's that?" cried one of the men, pointing to a rider galloping toward them.
The newcomer approached rapidly, covered by their weapons, and flung himself from his pony as he dragged it to a halt beside the group.
"Steve Fraser," cried Duffield in surprise, and added, "He's an officer in the rangers."
"Right, gentlemen. Come to claim my prisoner," said the ranger promptly.
"Y'u can't have him, Steve. We took him and he's got to hang."
The lieutenant of rangers shook his dark curly head.
"Won't do, Duffield. Won't do at all," he said decisively. "You'd ought to know law's on top in Texas these days."
Tom Long shouldered his way to the front. "Law! Where was the law when this ruffian Kinney shot down my poor brother Dave? I guess a rope and a cottonwood's good enough law for him. Anyhow, that's what he gits."
Fraser, hard-packed, lithe, and graceful, laid a friendly hand on the other's shoulder and smiled sunnily at him.
"I know how you feel, Tom. We all thought a heap of Dave and you're his brother. But Dave died for the law. Both you boys have always stood for order. He'd be troubled if he knew you were turned enemy to it on his account."
"I'm for justice, Steve. This skunk deserves death and I'm going to see he gits it."
"No, Tom."
"I say yes. Y'u ain't sitting in this game, Steve."
"I reckon I'll have to take a hand then."
The ranger's voice was soft and drawling, but his eyes were indomitably steady. Throughout the Southwest his reputation for fearlessness was established even among a population singularly courageous. The audacity of his daredevil recklessness was become a proverb.
"We got a full table. Better ride away and forget it," said another.
"That ain't what I'm paid for, Jack," returned Fraser good-naturedly. "Better turn him over to me peaceable, boys. He'll get what's coming to him all right."
"He'll get it now, Steve, without any help of yours. We don't aim to allow any butting in."
"Don't you?"
There was a flash of steel as the ranger dived forward. Next instant he and the prisoner stood with their backs to the cottonwood, a revolver having somehow leaped from its scabbard to his hand. His hunting-knife had sheared at a stroke the riata round the engineer's neck.
"Take it easy, boys," urged Fraser, still in his gentle drawl, to the astonished vigilantes whom his sudden sally had robbed of their victim. "Think about it twice. We'll all be a long time dead. No use in hurrying the funerals."
Nevertheless he recognized battle as inevitable. Friends of his though they were, he knew these sturdy plainsmen would never submit to be foiled in their purpose by one man. In the momentary silence before the clash the quiet voice of the prisoner made itself heard.
"Just a moment, gentlemen. I don't want you spilling lead over me. I'm the wrong man, and I can prove it if you'll give me time. Here'
s the key to my room at the hotel in San Antonio. In my suit-case you'll find letters that prove—"
"We don't need them. I've got proof right here," cut in Fraser, remembering.
He slipped a hand into his coat pocket and drew out two photographs. "Boys, here are the pictures and descriptions of the two men that escaped from Yuma the other day. I hadn't had time to see this gentleman before he spoke, being some busy explaining the situation to you, but a blind jackass could see he don't favor either Kinney or Struve, You're sure barking up the wrong tree."
The self-appointed committee for the execution of justice and the man from the Panhandle looked the prison photographs over blankly. Between the hard, clean-cut face of their prisoner and those that looked at them from the photographs it was impossible to find any resemblance. Duffield handed the prints back with puzzled chagrin.
"I guess you're right, Steve. But I'd like this gentleman to explain how come he to be riding the horse one of these miscreants stole from Maloney's barn last night."
Steve looked at the prisoner. "It's your spiel, friend," he said.
"All right. I'll tell you some facts. Just as I was coming down from the Roskruge range this mo'ning I was held up for my team. One of these fellows— the one called Kinney— had started from Fort Lincoln on this roan here, but he was wounded and broke down. There was some gun-play, and he gave me this scratch on the cheek. The end of it was that he took my team and left me with his worn-out bronc. I plugged on all day with the hawss till about three mebbe, then seeing it was all in I unsaddled and picketed. I lay down and dropped asleep. Next I knew the necktie-party was in session."
"What time was it y'u met this fellow Kinney?" asked Long sharply.
"Must have been about nine or nine-thirty I judge."
"And it's five now. That's eight hours' start, and four more before we can cut his trail on Roskruge. By God, we've lost him!"
"Looks like," agreed another ruefully.
"Make straight for the Arivaca cut-off and you ought to stand a show," suggested Fraser.
"That's right. If we ride all night, might beat him to it" Each of the five contributed a word of agreement.
A Texas Ranger Page 2