CHAPTER XIV
THE CAVE MEN
Harrison stared at him dumfounded, chin down and jutting, his handhovering longingly close to the butt of a revolver. He stood so for aninstant in silence, crouched and tense.
"Damn you, so you're here," he said at last in a low, hoarse voice.
"Don't make another pass like that or I'll plug you. Unbuckle that beltand drop it. That's right. Now, kick it from you."
"What do you want?" demanded the man under the gun savagely after he hadobeyed instructions.
"You know what I want, you wolf." Steve moved forward till he was aboutfifteen feet from the other. His eyes did not lift for a moment from theman he covered.
They glared at each other, two savage, primeval men with the murder lustin their hearts. All that centuries of civilization had brought them wasjust now quenched.
Then the woman, the third factor in the triangle, stirred restlessly andawoke. She looked at them incuriously from innocent eyes still heavywith slumber. Gradually the meaning of the scene came home to her, andwith it a realization that Steve Yeager was standing before her in theflesh.
"You--here!" she cried, scarce believing.
"The cur lied," explained the cowpuncher. "It was a frame-up to get youin his power."
"But your letter said--"
"Never mind about that now. Go down into the wash and bring up my horse.It needs water."
She hesitated. "You're not going to hurt him, Steve?"
"That's between him and me. Do as I say."
Ruth scarcely recognized in this grim, hard-faced man with the blazingeyes the gay youth whom she knew at home. She felt in his manner thesteel of compulsion. Without further protest she moved to obey him. Shewas fearful of what was about to take place, but her heart leaped withgladness. Steve was alive and strong. It was not true that he lay withthe life ebbing out of him, all the supple strength stolen from hiswell-knit body. For the moment that was happiness enough.
Harrison, watching with narrowed eyes the stone-wall face of his captor,jeered at him hardily.
"Now you got a strangle holt on me, what you aim to do?"
"I'm going to take you back to the boys that are combing these hills foryou. They'll do all that's done."
The prisoner's sneer went out of commission. He did not need to ask whatArizona cowpunchers would do to him under the circumstances.
"I figured your size was about a twenty-two--not big enough to fight itout alone with me. Once is a-plenty."
The cave man's desire to beat down his enemy with his naked handssmouldered fiercely in the cowpuncher's heart.
"Step out in front of me and saddle those horses," he ordered.
Harrison looked at him murderously. His mouth was an ugly, crooked gash.Boiling with rage, he saddled, cinched, and watered the horses.
Ruth had returned with Steve's pony. Her heart beat fast withexcitement. An instinct told her they were about to come to grips inepic struggle.
"You're mighty high-heeled now when you got a gun thrown on me. Put itin the discard and I'll beat the life out o' you," threatened theprizefighter.
Not releasing the other man with his eyes, Yeager lent one hand to helpRuth mount. He gave clear, curt instructions in a level voice.
"Take all three horses and ride to the edge of the mesa. Wait there.One of us--either him or me--will come up there after a while. If it'shim, take all the horses and light out. Keep the moon on your left andride straight forward till daybreak. You'll see a gash in the hillsabout where the sun rises. That's Sieber's Pass. The boys will bewaiting for you. Understand?"
"Yes, but--What are you going to do, Steve?" she cried almost in awhisper.
"That's my business--and I'm going to attend to it. Keep your mind onthe directions I've given. If it's Harrison that comes up over the hill,get right out with all the horses. Gimme your promise on that."
Trembling, she gave it to him.
"Don't you be afraid. No need of that. _It won't be him. It'll be methat comes._ But if it should be him, don't let him get close. Shoot himfirst. It will be to save you from worse than death. Have you got thenerve to do it?"
Something in his manner, in his voice, rang a bell in her heart. Shenodded, her throat too dry for speech.
"All right. Go now. And don't make any mistake whatever you do. Followout exactly what I've told you."
Again she promised. He handed to her the rifle. She rode away, takingthe other horses with her.
When she was out of sight in a dip of the draw, Harrison spoke.
"Well, what is it to be? I see you got your gats yet. Going to shoot medown like a coyote?"
"That's what you deserve. That's what you'd get if the Lazy B boys gothold of you. But I'm going to kill you with my bare hands, you wolf."
With what seemed a single motion of his hands he unbuckled the revolverbelt from his waist and flung it from him. Crouched like a tiger, hemoved slowly forward, the flow of his muscles rhythmic and graceful.
The prizefighter could scarce believe his luck. He threw out his salientchin and laughed triumphantly. "You damned fool! I've got you at last.I've got you."
Light as a panther, Yeager lashed out with his left and caught flush thepoint of that protruding chin. The grinning head went back as if it hadbeen on hinges. Shoulders, buttocks, and heels hit the ground together.The range-rider was on him as a terrier lights on a rat. Jarred thoughhis brains were, the instinct of self-preservation served the manunderneath. He half turned, flung an arm around the neck of his foe, andclung tightly even while he covered up. Steve's fist hammered at theback of the close-cropped head. The prizefighter swung over, face down,rose to his hands and knees by sheer strength, then reached for his neckgrip again.
Yeager eluded him, throwing all his weight forward to force his opponentdown again. Harrison gave suddenly. They rolled over and over, fightingand clawing like wild cats, two bipeds in a death struggle as fierce andruthless as that between wolves or grizzlies. No words were spoken. Theywere back in the primitive Stone Age before speech was invented.Snarling and growling, they fought with an appalling fury.
Presently they were back on their feet again. Toe to toe they stood,rocking each other with sledgehammer blows. Blood poured from the beatenfaces of both. Harrison clinched. They staggered to and fro before theywent down heavily, Yeager underneath. The prizefighter thrust his rightforearm under the chin of his enemy and with his left thumb and middlefinger gouged at the eyes of the man beneath him. Steve's legs moved up,encircled those of the rustler, and swiftly straightened. With a bellowof pain Harrison flung himself free and clambered to his feet. The legsof his trousers had been ripped open for a foot. Blood streamed from hiscalves where the sharp rowels of the range-rider's spurs had torn theflesh.
They quartered over the ground many times as they fought. Sometimesthey were on their feet slogging hard. Once, at least, they crouchedknee to knee. Lying on the ground, they struck no less furiously anddesperately. All sense of fair play, of sportsmanship, was gone. Theystruggled to kill and not be killed.
Their lungs labored heavily. They began to stagger as they moved. Themuscles of their arms lost their resilience. Their legs dragged asthough weighted. Harrison was, if a choice might be made, in worse case.He was the stronger man, but he lacked the tireless endurance of theother. Watching him with animal wariness, Yeager knew that the man whowent down first would stay down. His enemy was sagging at the knees. Hecould with difficulty lift his arms. He fought only in spurts. All thiswas true of himself, too. But somewhere in him was that dynamic will notto be beaten that counted heavily as a reserve.
The prizefighter called on himself for the last attack. He stumbledforward, head down, in a charge. An aimless blow flung Steve against thetrunk of the live-oak. His arms thrashing wildly, Harrison plungedforward to finish him. The cowpuncher ducked, lurched to one side.Against the bark of the tree crashed the fist of the other, swinging himhalf round.
Yeager flung himself on the back of his foe. Human
bone and flesh andmuscle could do no more. The knees of Harrison gave and he sank to theground, his head falling in the spring. His opponent, breathless andexhausted, lay motionless on top of him. For a time both lay withoutstirring. The first to move was Steve. He noticed that the nose andmouth of the senseless man lay beneath the water. By exerting all hisstrength he pulled the battered head almost out of the water. Veryslowly and painfully he got to his feet. Leaning against the tree forsupport, he looked down at the helpless white face of the man he hadhated so furiously only a few minutes earlier. That emotion had entirelyvanished. It was impossible to feel any resentment against that bruisedand bleeding piece of clay. Steve was conscious only of a tremendousdesire to lie down and go to sleep.
He laved his face with water as best he could, picked up the belt he hadthrown away, and drunkenly climbed the hill toward Ruth.
She cried out at sight of him with a heart of joy, but as he lurchednearer she slid from the horse and ran toward him. Could this be the manshe had left but half an hour since so full of vital strength and youth?His vest and shirt were torn to ribbons so that they did not cover themauled and bruised flesh at all. Every exposed inch of his head and bodyhad its wounds to show. He was drenched with blood. The sight of hisface wrung her heart.
"What did he do to you?" she cried with a sob, slipping an arm round hiswaist to support him.
"I said I'd be the one to come," he told her as he leaned against theneck of his pony.
"Oh, why did you do it?" And swiftly on the heels of that cry came thethought of relief for him. "I'll get you water. I'll bathe your wounds."
"No. We've got to get out of here. Any time some of Pasquale's men maycome. His camp is not far."
"But you can't go like that. You're hurt."
"That's all right. Nothing the matter with me. Can you get on alone?"
"Can you?" she asked in turn, after she had swung to the saddle.
He had to try it three times before he succeeded in getting into theseat. So weak was he that as the horse moved he had to cling with bothhands to the pommel of the saddle to steady himself. Ruth rode closebeside him, all solicitude and anxiety.
"You ought not to be riding. I know your wounds hurt you cruelly," sheurged in a grave and troubled voice.
"I reckon I can stand the grief. When I've had a bath and a good sleepI'll be good as new."
She asked timidly the question that filled her mind. "Did you--Whatabout him?"
"Did I kill him? Is that what you mean?"
"Yes," she murmured.
"No, I reckon not. He was lying senseless when I left, but I expecthe'll come to."
"Oh, I hope so ... I do hope so."
He looked at her, asking no questions. Some men would have broken intodenunciation of the scoundrel, would have defended the course they hadfollowed. This man did neither the one nor the other. She might thinkwhat she pleased. He had fought from an inner compulsion, not to win herapplause. No matter how she saw it he could offer no explanations orapologies.
"I hope so because--because of you," she continued. "Now I know him forwhat he is. I'm through with him for always." Then, in a sudden burst offrankness: "I never did trust him, really."
"You've had good luck. Some women find out things too late," hecommented simply.
After that they rode in silence, except at long intervals when she askedhim if he was in pain or too tired to travel. The lightening of the skyfor the coming dawn found them still in the saddle with the jaggedmountain line rising vaguely before them in the darkness like a longshadow. Presently they could make out the gash in the range that wasSieber's Pass.
"Some of the boys will be waiting there for us, I reckon," Steve said."They'll be glad to see you safe."
"If I'm safe, they'll know who brought it about." Her voice trembled asshe hurried on: "I can't thank you. All I can say is that I understandfrom what you saved me."
He looked away at the distant hills. "That's all right. I had the goodluck to be in the right place. Any of the boys would have been glad ofthe chance."
After a time they saw smoke rising from a hollow in the hills. They wereclimbing steadily now by way of a gulch trail. This opened into a draw.A little back from the stream a man was bending over a camp-fire. Heturned his head to call to a second man and caught sight of them. It wasOrman. He let out a whoop of gladness when he recognized Ruth. Otherscame running from a little clump of timber.
Phil lifted his sister from the saddle and kissed her. He said nothing,since he could not speak without breaking down.
Jackson looked at Steve in amazement. "You been wrastling with acircular saw?" he asked.
It hurt Yeager's broken face to smile, but he attempted it. "Had alittle difference of opinion with Chad. We kind o' talked things over."
Nobody asked anything further. It is the way of outdoor Arizona to takea good deal for granted. This man was torn and tattered and bruised. Hisface was cut open in a dozen places. Purple weals and discolorationsshowed how badly his body had been punished. He looked a fit subject fora hospital. But every one who looked into his quiet, unconquered eyesknew that he had come off victor.
"First off, a bath in the creek to get rid of these souvenirs Chad sentto my address. Then it's me for the hay," he announced.
Ruth watched him go, lean, sinewy, and wide-shouldered. His stride wasonce more light and strong, for with the passing hours power had flowedback into his veins. She sighed. He was a man that would go the limitfor his friends. He was gentle, kindly, full of genial and cheerfulcourage. But she knew now there was another side to him, a quality thatwas tigerish, that snarled like a wolf in battle. Why was it that menmust be so?
Old Dan chuckled. "Ain't he the lad? Stove up to beat all get-out. ButI'd give a dollar Mex to see the other man. He's sure a pippin to seethis glad mawnin'."
Something of what was groping in her mind broke from Ruth into words."Why do men fight like that? It's dreadful."
Dan scratched his shiny bald head. "It straightens out a heap of thingsin this little old world. My old man used to say to me when I was a kid,'Son, don't start trouble, but when it's going, play yore hand out.'That's how it is with Steve. He ain't huntin' trouble anywhere, but hece'tainly plays his hand out."
Phil took charge of his sister. He gave her coffee and breakfast, thenarranged blankets so that she could get a few hours' sleep in comfort.Orman rode back to Los Robles to carry the word to Mrs. Seymour thatRuth had been rescued and was all right. The others lounged about campwhile Yeager and the girl slept.
At noon they were wakened. Coffee was served again, after which theyrode down from the pass and started home. Before supper-time they wereback in Los Robles.
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