CHAPTER XVI
There was no general resistance. We tumbled pell mell through the breachinto the courtyard, encountering only terror-stricken wretches whocowered still dazed by the unexpectedness and force of the explosion. Inthe excitement order and command were temporarily lost. The men swarmedthrough the ranch buildings like locusts. Senor Buck Johnson and theother old timers let them go; but I noticed they themselves scatteredhere and there keeping a restraining eye on activities. There was to beno looting: and that was early made plain.
But before matters had a chance to go very far we were brought up allstanding by the sound of shots outside. A rush started in thatdirection: but immediately Buck Johnson asserted his authority and tookcommand. He did not intend to have his men shot unnecessarily.
By now it was pitch dark. A reconnaissance disclosed a little battlegoing on down toward the water corrals. Two of our men, straying in thatdirection, had been fired upon. They had promptly gone down on theirbellies and were shooting back.
"I think they've got down behind the water troughs," one of these mentold me as I crawled up alongside. "Cain't say how many there is. Theyshore do spit fire considerable. I'm just cuttin' loose where I see theflash. When I shoot, you prepare to move and move lively. One of thosehorned toads can sure shoot some; and it ain't healthy to linger nonebehind your own flash."
The boys, when I crawled back with my report, were eager to pile in andrush the enemy.
"Just put us a hoss-back, senor," pleaded Windy Bill, "and we'll runright over them like a Shanghai rooster over a little green snake. Theycan't hit nothing moving fast in the dark."
"You'll do just what I say," rejoined Buck Johnson, fiercely. "Cow handsare scarce, and I don't aim to lose one except in the line of business.If any man gets shot to-night, he's out of luck. He'd better get shotgood and dead; or he'll wish he had been. That goes! There can't be buta few of those renegades out there, and we'll tend to them in due order.Watkins," he addressed that old timer, "you tend to this. Feel aroundcautious. Fill up the place full of lead. Work your men around throughthe brush until you get them surrounded, and then just squat and shootand wait for morning."
Watkins sent out a dozen of the nearest men to circle the water troughsin order to cut off further retreat, if that were projected. Then hewent about methodically selecting others to whom he assigned variousstations.
"Now you get a-plenty of catteridges," he told them, "and you lay lowand shoot 'em off. And if any of you gets shot I'll sure skin himalive!"
In the meantime, the locomotive lantern had been lit so that theinterior of the courtyard was thrown into brilliant light. Needless tosay the opening blown in the walls did _not_ face toward the watercorrals. Of Artie Brower and the Morgan stallion we found hardly atrace. They had been literally blown to pieces. Not one of us who hadknown him but felt in his heart a kindly sorrow for the strange littleman. The sentry who had fired at him and who had thus, indirectly,precipitated the catastrophe, was especially downcast.
"I told him to stop, and he kep' right on a-going, so I shot at him," heexplained. "What else was I to do? How was I to know he didn't belong tothat gang? He acted like it."
But when you think of it how could it have come out better? Poor, weak,vice-ridden, likeable little beggar, what could the future have held forhim? And it is probable that his death saved many lives.
The prisoners were brought in--some forty of them, for Old Man Hoopermaintained only the home ranch and all his cow hands as well as hispersonal bravos were gathered here. Buck Johnson separated apart sevenof them, and ordered the others into the stables under guard.
"Bad _hombres_, all of them," he observed to Jed Parker. "We'll justnat'rally ship them across the line very _pronto_. But these seven areworse than bad _hombres_. We'll have to see about them."
But neither Andreas, Ramon, nor Old Man Hooper himself were among thosepresent.
"Maybe they slipped out through our guards; but I doubt it," said Buck."I believe we've identified that peevish lot by the water troughs."
The firing went on quite briskly for a while; then slackened, andfinally died to an occasioned burst, mainly from our own side. Under ourleader's direction the men fed their horses and made themselvescomfortable. I was summoned to the living quarters to explain on thespot the events that had gone before. Here we examined more carefullyand in detail the various documents--the extraordinary directions toRamon; the list of prospective victims to be offered at the tomb, so tospeak, of Old Man Hooper; and the copy of the agreement between Emoryand Hooper. The latter, as I had surmised, stated in so many words thatit superceded and nullified an old partnership agreement. This startedus on a further search which was at last rewarded by the discovery ofthat original partnership. It contained, again as I had surmised, thenot-uncommon clause that in case of the death of one or the other of thepartners without direct heirs the common property should revert to theother. I felt very stuck on myself for a good guesser. The only troublewas that the original of the second agreement was lacking: we had only acopy, and of course without signatures. It will be remembered thatBrower said he had deposited it with a third party, and that third partywas to us unknown. We could not even guess in what city he lived. Ofcourse we could advertise. But Windy Bill who--leaning his long figureagainst the wall--had been listening in silence--a pretty fair youngmiracle in itself--had a good idea, which was the real miracle, in myestimation.
"Look here," he broke in, "if I've been following the plot of this yeredime novel correctly, it's plumb easy. Just catch Jud--Jud--you know,the editor of the _Cochise Branding Iron_, and get him to telegraph apiece to the other papers that Artie Brower, celebrated jockey etceterer, has met a violent death at Hooper's ranch, details as yetunknown. That's the catch-word, as I _savey_ it. When this yere thirdparty sees that, he goes and records the paper, and there you are!"
Windy leaned back dramatically and looked exceedingly pleased withhimself.
"Yes, that's it," approved Buck, briefly, which disappointed Windy, whowas looking for high encomium.
At this moment a messenger came in from the firing party to report thatapparently all opposition had ceased. At least there had been for sometime no shooting from the direction of the water troughs; a factconcealed from us by the thickness of the ranch walls. Buck Johnsonimmediately went out to confer with Watkins.
"I kind of think we've got 'em all," was the latter's opinion. "Wehaven't had a sound out of 'em for a half hour. It may be a trick, ofcourse."
"Sure they haven't slipped by you?" suggested the senor.
"Pretty certain. We've got a close circle."
"Well, I wouldn't take chances in the dark. Just lay low 'till morning."
We returned to the ranch house where, after a little further discussion,I bedded down and immediately fell into a deep sleep. This was more andlonger continued excitement than I was used to.
I was afoot with the first stirrings of dawn, you may be sure, and outto join the party that moved with infinite precaution on the watertroughs as soon as it was light enough to see clearly. We found themriddled with bullets and the water all run out. Gleaming brasscartridges scattered, catching the first rays of the sun, attested thevigour of the defence. Four bodies lay huddled on the ground under thepartial shelter of the troughs. I saw Ramon, his face frowning andsinister even in death, his right hand still grasping tenaciously thestock of his Winchester; and Andreas flat on his face; and two otherswhom I did not recognize. Ramon had been hit at least four times. But ofHooper himself was no hide nor hair! So certain had we been that he hadescaped to this spot with his familiars that we were completely takenaback at his absence.
"We got just about as much sense as a bunch of sheepmen!" cried BuckJohnson, exasperated. "He's probably been hiding out somewhere about theplace. God knows where he is by now!"
But just as we were about to return to the ranch house we were arrestedby a shout from one of the cowboys who had been projecting around theneighbourhood. He came running to
us. In his hand he held a blade of_sacatone_ on which he pointed out a single dark spot about the size ofthe head of a pin. Buck seized it and examined it closely.
"Blood, all right," he said at last. "Where did you get this, son?"
The man, a Chiracahua hand named Curley something-or-other, indicated a_sacatone_ bottom a hundred yards to the west.
"You got good eyes, son," Buck complimented him. "Think you can make outthe trail?"
"Do'no," said Curley. "Used to do a considerable of tracking."
"Horses!" commanded Buck.
We followed Curley afoot while several men went to saddle up. On theedge of the two-foot jump-off we grouped ourselves waiting while Curley,his brows knit tensely, quartered here and there like a setter dog. Hewas a good trailer, you could see that in a minute. He went at it right.After quite a spell he picked up a rock and came back to show it. Ishould never have noticed anything--merely another tiny black spot amongother spots--but Buck nodded instantly he saw it.
"It's about ten rods west of whar I found the grass," said Curley."Looks like he's headed for that water in Cockeye Basin. From thar hecould easy make Cochise when he got rested."
"Looks likely," agreed Buck. "Can't you find no footprints?"
"Too much tramped up by cowboys and other jackasses," said Curley."It'll come easier when we get outside this yere battlefield."
He stood erect, sizing up the situation through half-squinted eyes.
"You-all wait here," he decided. "Chances are he kept right on up thebroad wash."
He mounted one of the horses that had now arrived and rode at a lope toa point nearly half a mile west. There he dismounted and tied his horseto the ground. After rather a prolonged search he raised his hand overhis head and described several small horizontal circles in the air.
"Been in the army, have you?" muttered Buck; "well, I will say you're ahandy sort of leather-leg to have around. He gave the soldier signal for'assemble'," he answered Jed Parker's question.
We rode over to join Curley.
"It's all right; he came this way," said the latter; but he did nottrouble to show us indications. I am a pretty fair game trailer myself,but I could make out nothing.
We proceeded slowly, Curley afoot leading his horse. The directioncontinued to be toward Cockeye. Sometimes we could all see plainfootprints; again the trail was, at least as far as I was concerned, atotal loss. Three times we found blood, once in quite a splash.Occasionally even Curley was at fault for a few moments; but in generalhe moved forward at a rapid walk.
"This Curley person is all right," observed Windy Bill after a while, "Iwas brung up to find my way about, and I can puzzle out most anywhere acritter has gone and left a sign; but this yere Curley can track ahumming bird acrost a granite boulder!"
After a little while Curley stopped for us to catch up.
"Seems to me no manner of doubt but what he's headed for Cockeye," hesaid. "There ain't no other place for him to go out this way. I reckon Ican pick up enough of this trail just riding along. If we don't find nosign at Cockeye, we can just naturally back track and pick up where heturned off. We'll save time that-away, and he's had plenty of time toget thar and back again."
So Curley mounted and we rode on at a walk on the horse trail that ledup the broad, shallow wash that came out of Cockeye.
Curley led, of course. Then rode Buck Johnson and Watkins and myself. Ihad horned in on general principles, and nobody kicked. I suppose theythought my general entanglement with this extraordinary series of eventsentitled me to more than was coming to me as ordinary cow hand. For along time we proceeded in silence. Then, as we neared the hills, Buckbegan to lay out his plan.
"When we come up on Cockeye," he was explaining, "I want you to take ahalf dozen men or so and throw around the other side on the Cochisetrail----"
His speech was cut short by the sound of a rifle shot. The country wasstill flat, unsuited for concealment or defence. We were ridingcarelessly. A shivering shock ran through my frame and my horse plungedwildly. For an instant I thought I must be hit, then I saw that thebullet had cut off cleanly the horn of my saddle--within two inches ofmy stomach!
Surprise paralyzed us for the fraction of a second. Then we charged therock pile from which the shot had come.
We found there Old Man Hooper seated in a pool of his own blood. He hadbeen shot through the body and was dead. His rifle lay across a rock,trained carefully on the trail. How long he had sat there nursing thevindictive spark of his vitality nobody will ever know--certainly forsome hours. And the shot delivered had taken from him the last flickerof life.
"By God, he was sure game!" Buck Johnson pronounced his epitaph.
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