CHAPTER XVII
THAT MESCAL
"The man who had your horses?" queried Bartley.
Cheyenne nodded. "The one at the end of the bar. The hombre next to himis Lawson, who claims he bought my hosses from a Mexican, down here.Lawson is the one that is huntin' trouble. Sneed don't care nothin'about a couple of cayuses. He won't start anything. He's here just toback up Lawson if things git interestin'."
"But what can they do? We're here, in town, minding our own business.They know well enough that Panhandle stole your horses. And you said thepeople in San Andreas don't like Sneed a whole lot."
"Because they're scared of him and his crowd. And we're strangers here.It's just me and Lawson, this deal. Sneed is sizin' you up, back of hiswhiskers, right now. He's tryin' to figure out who you are. Sneed ain'tone to run into the law when they's anybody lookin' on. He worksdifferent.
"Now, while he is figurin', you just git up easy and step out and slipover to the barn and saddle up Joshua. I'm goin' to need him. Take thetie-rope off Filaree and leave him loose in his stall. Just say 'Adios'to me when you git up, like you was goin' back to the hotel. And ifyou'll settle what we owe--"
"That's all right. But my feet aren't cold, yet."
"You figure to stay in town a spell, don't you? Well, I figure to leave,right soon. I'm tryin' to dodge trouble. It's your chanct to help out."
"Why can't we both walk out?"
"'Cause they'd follow us. They won't follow you."
Bartley glanced at the men ranged along the bar, rose, and, shakinghands with Cheyenne, strode out, nodding pleasantly to the one-eyedproprietor as he went.
Sneed eyed the Easterner sharply, and nudged one of his men as Bartleypassed through the doorway.
"Just step out and see where he goes, Hull," he ordered in an undertone."Keep him in sight."
The man spoken to hitched up his chaps, and, turning to finish hisdrink, strolled out casually.
Bartley saw a row of saddle-horses tied at the rail. He noticed theslickers on the saddles and the carbines under the stirrup leathers. Itwas evident that the riders were not entirely on pleasure bent. Hecrossed the street, wakened the stableman, paid the bill, and saddledJoshua. Then he took the tie-rope off Filaree, as Cheyenne had directed.Bartley led Joshua through the barn to the back, where he was tying himto a wagon wheel when a figure loomed up in the semi-darkness.
"Ridin', stranger?"
The figure struck a match and lighted a cigarette. Bartley at oncerecognized him as one of Sneed's men. Resenting the other's question andhis attitude of easy familiarity, Bartley ignored his presence.
"Hard of hearin'?" queried Hull.
"Rather."
"I said: Was you ridin'?"
"Yesterday," replied Bartley.
Hull blew a whiff of smoke in Bartley's face. It seemed casual, but wasintended as an insult. Bartley flushed, and realizing that the other wasthere to intercept any action on his part to aid Cheyenne, he droppedJoshua's reins, and without the slightest warning of his intent--infact, Hull thought the Easterner was stooping to pick up thereins--Bartley launched a haymaker that landed with a loud crack onHull's unguarded chin, and Hull's head snapped back. Bartley jumpedforward and shot another one to the same spot. Hull's head hit the edgeof the doorway as he went down.
He lay there, inert, a queer blur in the half-light. Bartley licked hisskinned knuckles.
"He may resent this, when he wakes up," he murmured. "I believe I'll tiehim."
Bartley took Joshua's tie-rope and bound Mr. Hull's arms and legs,amateurishly, but securely.
Then he strode through to the front of the barn. He could hear loudtalking in the saloon opposite and thought he could distinguishCheyenne's voice. Bartley wondered what would happen in there, and whenthings would begin to pop, if there was to be any popping. He feltfoolishly helpless and inefficient--rather a poor excuse for a partner,just then. Yet there was that husky rider, back there in the straw. Hewas even more helpless and inefficient. Bartley licked his knuckles, andgrinned.
"There must have been a little mescal in that second punch," he thought."I never hit so hard in my life."
The stableman had retired to his bunk--a habit of night stablemen. Thestable was dark and still, save for the munching of the horses. In thesaloon across the way Cheyenne was facing Sneed and his men, alone.Bartley felt like a quitter. Indecision irritated him, and curiosityurged him to do something other than to stand staring at the saloonfront. He recalled his plan to sojourn in San Andreas a few days, andincidently to ride over to the Lawrence ranch--frankly, to have anothervisit with Dorothy. He shrugged his shoulders. That idea now seemedinsignificant, compared with the present possibilities.
"I'm a free agent," he soliloquized. "I think I'll take a hand in this,myself."
He snapped his fingers as he turned and hastened to Dobe's stall. He ledDobe out to the stable floor, got his saddle from the office, told thesleepy stableman that he was going to take a little ride, and saddledDobe. And he led Dobe back to where Joshua was tied. He had forgottenhis victim on the floor, for a moment, but was aware of him when hestumbled over him in the dark. The other mumbled and struggled faintly.
"I left your gun in the wagon-box," said Bartley. "I wouldn't movearound much, if I were you. One of the horses might step on your faceand hurt his foot."
Mr. Hull was not pleased at this, and he said as much. Bartley tied Dobeto the back of the wagon.
"Just keep your eye on the horses a minute," he told Hull. "I'll be backsoon."
Bartley felt unusually and inexplicably elated. He had not realized theextreme potency of mescal. The proprietor of the hotel was mildlysurprised when Bartley, remarking that he had been called awayunexpectedly, paid the hotel bill. Bartley hastened back to the stable.Across the way the horses of the mountain men drowsed in the faintlamplight. Turning, Bartley saw Joshua and Dobe dimly silhouetted in theopening at the far end of the stable. Cheyenne was still in the saloon.
Bartley grinned. "It might help," he said as he stepped across thestreet. Taking down the rope from the nearest horse, he tied the end ofthe rope in the horse's bridle and threaded the end through the bridlesof all five horses, tying the loose end to the last horse's bridle."Just like stringing fish!" he murmured soulfully. "When those gentlemenfrom the interior try to mount, there'll be something doing."
He had just turned to walk back to the stable when he heard a shot, andthe lighted doorway of the saloon became suddenly dark. Without waitingto see what would happen next, Bartley ran to the rear of the stable anduntied the horses. Behind him he heard the quick trample of feet. Heturned. A figure appeared in the front doorway of the stable, a figurethat dashed toward him, and, with a leap and a swing, mounted Joshua andspurred out and down the alley back of the building.
Bartley grabbed for his own stirrup, missed it, grabbed again and swungup. Dobe leaped after the other horse, turned at the end of the alley,and, reaching into a long, swinging gallop, pounded across thenight-black open. San Andreas had but one street. The backs of itsbuildings opened to space.
Ahead, Cheyenne thundered across a narrow bridge over an arroyo. Dobelifted and leaped forward, as though in a race. From behind came thequick patter of hoofs. One of Sneed's men had evidently managed to gethis horse loose from the reata. A solitary house, far out on the level,flickered past. Bartley glanced back. The house door opened. A ray ofyellow light shot across the road.
"Hey, Cheyenne!" called Bartley.
But Cheyenne's little buckskin was drumming down the night road at apace that astonished the Easterner. Dobe seemed to be doing his best,yet he could not overtake the buckskin. Behind Bartley the patter ofhoofs sounded nearer. Bartley thought he heard Cheyenne call back tohim. He leaned forward, but the drumming of hoofs deadened all othersound.
They were on a road, now--a road that ran south across the spaces,unwinding itself like a tape flung from a reel. Suddenly Cheyenne pulledto a stop. Bartley raced up, bracing himself as the big cow-horse set upi
n two jumps.
"I thought you was abidin' in San Andreas," said Cheyenne.
"There's some one coming!" warned Bartley, breathing heavily.
"And his name is Filaree," declared Cheyenne. "You sure done a good job.Let's keep movin'." And Cheyenne let Joshua out as Filaree drewalongside and nickered shrilly.
"Now I reckon we better hold 'em in a little," said Cheyenne after theyhad gone, perhaps, a half-mile. "We got a good start."
They slowed the horses to a trot. Filaree kept close to Joshua's flank.A gust of warm air struck their faces.
"Ain't got time to shake hands, pardner," said Cheyenne. "Know whereyou're goin'?"
"South," said Bartley.
"Correc'. And I don't hear no hosses behind us."
"I strung them together on a rope," said Bartley.
"How's that?"
"I tied Sneed's horses together, with a rope. Ran it through thebridles--like stringing fish. Not according to Hoyle, but it seems tohave worked."
Cheyenne shook his head. He did not quite get the significance ofBartley's statement.
"Any one get hurt?" queried Bartley presently.
"Nope. I spoiled a lamp, and I reckon I hit somebody on the head, in thedark, comin' through. Seems like I stepped on somethin' soft, out thereback of the barn. It grunted like a human. But I didn't stop to look."
"I had to do it," declared Bartley ambiguously.
"Had to do what?"
"Punch a fellow that wanted to know what I was doing with your horse. Ilet him have it twice."
"Then you didn't hit him with your gun?"
"No. I wish I had. I've got a fist like a boiled ham. I can feel itswell, right now."
"That there mescal is sure pow'ful stuff."
"Thanks!" said Bartley succinctly.
"Got a kick like white lightin'," said Cheyenne.
"And I paid our hotel bill," continued Bartley.
"Well, that was mighty thoughtful. I plumb forgot it."
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