The Strange Case of Cavendish

by Randall Parrish

  CHAPTER XXXI: WITH FORCE OF ARMS

  They were still sitting there cross-legged in the sand when the silencewas suddenly punctuated by the sharp report of a revolver. The soundbarely reached their ears, yet it undoubtedly came from below, and allthree were upon their feet, when a second shot decided the matter.

  Westcott was first at the rim, staring eagerly downward. It wasgrowing dusk down there in the depths, yet was still light enough toenable him to perceive movement, and the outlines of the cabins. For amoment all he noticed was a man lying on the ground in front of thesmall hut, but almost immediately men began to swarm out through thedoor of the bunk-house, and a horseman came spurring from the fieldbeyond.

  The men were armed, several with guns in their hands; all withrevolvers buckled at the waist, and they bunched there, just outsidethe door, evidently startled, but not knowing which way to turn. Thefigure on the ground lifted itself partly, and the fellow must havecalled to the others, although no sound of a voice attained the summitof the cliff, for the whole gang rushed in that direction, andclustered about, gesticulating excitedly.

  An occasional Spanish oath exploded from the mass with sufficientvehemence to reach the strained ears above, and the watchers were ableto perceive the fellows lift the fallen man to his feet, and untie hishands, which were apparently secured behind his back. He must havebeen wounded also, for one sleeve was hastily rolled up, and waterbrought from the stream, in which it was bathed. Not until this hadbeen attended to did the crowd fall away, sufficiently to permit thefellow himself to be distinctly seen. Moore's hand closed convulsivelyon the marshal's arm.

  "It's ol' Mendez, as I'm a livin' sinner,", he announced hoarsely."An' somebody's plunked him. What'd yer make o' that?"

  Brennan never removed his gaze from the scene below, but his face wastense with interest.

  "Blamed if I know; might be a mere row--hold on, there! Whoever did itis in that cabin; watch what they're up to, now."

  The three hung there scanning every movement of those below, toointently interested to talk, yet unable for some time to determineclearly what was impending. Occasionally the sound of a voice reachedthem, shouting orders in Spanish, and men came and went in obedience tothe commands. More guns were brought forth from the bunk-house, anddistributed; the single horseman rode swiftly up the valley, and ahalf-dozen of the fellows lugged a heavy timber up from the corral, anddropped it on the ground in front of the smaller cabin. Mendez, hisarm in a sling, passed from group to group, profanely busy, snappingout orders.

  "They are going to break in the door with that log!" muttered Westcottbetween his clenched teeth. "That white-head down there is boilingwith rage, and whoever the poor devil, or devils, may be, they'll haveto fight."

  "Yes, but who are they?" and Brennan sat up. "The whole gang must beoutside there; I counted fourteen. Then, did you notice? Mendez hadhis hands bound behind his back. He couldn't even get up until thosefellows untied him. That's what puzzles me."

  "It would take more than one to do that job. Maybe we'll find outnow--he's pounding with a revolver butt on the front door."

  They listened breathlessly, hanging recklessly over the rim of thechasm, and staring at that strange scene below, but the man's wordsonly reached them broken and detached. They got enough, however, torealise that he demanded the unbarring of the door, and that he boththreatened and promised protection to whoever was within. It was thelanguage he employed that aroused Westcott.

  "Did you hear that?" he asked shortly. "The man spoke English.Whoever's in there doesn't understand Spanish. Were any Americans downthere when you left, Moore?"

  "Joe Sikes, and a fellow they call 'Shorty,' but they're both outside;that was Joe who bound up ol' Mendez's arm, an' Shorty was helpin'bring up the log."

  The eyes of Brennan and Westcott met understandingly.

  "Yer don't suppose that girl----"

  "Aye, but I do," and Westcott's voice proved his conviction. "There'snothing too nervy for her to tackle if it needed to be done. But shenever could have corralled Mendez alone."

  "Then there must be another along with her--that fellow yer told meabout likely."

  "Fred Cavendish! By Jove, it would be like him. Say, boys, I'm goingdown and take a hand in this game."

  The marshal gripped him.

  "Not yet, Jim! It ain't dark enough. Wait a bit more an' I'm withyer, old man. It'll be blacker than hell down there in fifteenminutes, an' then we'll have some chance. They'd pot us now sure aforewe got as far as that cedar. What is the gang up to now, Matt?"

  "They're a goin' ter bust in the door," and Moore craned his headfarther out over the edge in eagerness to see. "I reckon they didn'tgit no answer that pleased 'em. See ol' Mendez hoppin' about! Lord!he's mad 'nough to eat nails. Thar comes the log--say, they hit thatsome thump; thar ain't no wood that's goin' ter stand agin them blowslong. Do yer hear?"

  They did; the dull reverberation as the log butt crashed against theclosed door was plainly audible. Once, twice, three times it struck,giving forth at last the sharper crackling of splintered wood. Theycould see little now distinctly--only the dim outlines of the men'sfigures, Mendez shouting and gesticulating, the fellows grasping therough battering-ram, a group of others on either side the door,evidently gathered for a rush the moment the latter gave way.

  "My God!" cried Westcott, struggling to restrain himself. "Suppose Itake a crack at them!"

  Brennan caught the hand tugging at the half-drawn revolver.

  "Are you mad, man? You couldn't even hit the house at that distance.Holy smoke! There she goes!"

  The door crashed in; there was a fusillade of shots, the spits of firecleaving the dusk, and throwing the figures of the men into sudden boldrelief. The log wielders sprang aside, and the others leaped forward,yelling wildly and plunging in through the broken doorway. An instantlater three muffled reports rang out from the interior--one deep andbooming, the others sharper, more resonant--and the invaders tumbledbackward into the open, seeking shelter. Westcott was erect, Brennanon hands and knees.

  "Damn me!" ejaculated the latter, his excitement conquering restraint."Whoever they are, Jim, they're givin' ol' Mendez his belly full. Didyer hear them shots? There's sure two of 'em in thar--one's got ashotgun an' the other a revolver. I'll bet yer they punctuated some o'those lads. Lord! They come out like rats."

  Westcott's teeth gripped.

  "I'm going down," he said grimly, "if I have to go alone."

  Brennan scrambled to his feet.

  "Just a second, Jim, an' I'm with yer. Moore, get up yere. Now, whatdo yer say? Can we count you in on this shindig?"

  "Go down thar with yer?"

  "Sure! Y're a man, ain't yer? If yer say y're game, I'll playsquare--otherwise we'll see to your case afore we start. I don't leaveyer up yere to play no tricks--now which is it?"

  Moore stared over the edge into the black depths.

  "Yer want me to show you the way?"

  "Yer say you've made the trip wunst. If yer have, yer kin do it again.I'm askin' yer fer the last time."

  The boy shivered, but his jaw set.

  "I don't give a damn fer you, Dan Brennan," he returned half angrily,"but I reckon that might be the girl down thar, an' I'll risk it ferher."

  "You'll go then?"

  "Sure; didn't I just tell you so?"

  Brennan wheeled about.

  "Give him his gun, Jim, and the belt," he commanded briefly. "I don'tsend no man into a fracas like this unless he's heeled. Leave yercoats here, an' take it slow. Both of yer ready?"

  Not until his dying day will Westcott ever forget the moment he hungdangling over the edge of that pit, following Moore who haddisappeared, and felt gingerly in the darkness for the narrow rockledge below. The young miner possessed imagination, and could notdrive from memory the mental picture of those depths beneath; thehorror was like a nightmare, and yet the one dominant thought was notof an awful death, of falling headl
ong, to be crushed shapelesshundreds of feet below. This dread was there, an intense agony atfirst, but beyond it arose the more important thought of what wouldbecome of her if he failed to attain the bottom of that cliff alive.Yet this was the very thing which steadied him, and brought back hiscourage.

  At best they could only creep, feeling a way blindly from crag to crag,clinging desperately to every projection, never venturing even theslightest movement until either hand or loot found solid support.Moore led, his boyish recklessness and knowledge of the way, giving himan advantage. Westcott followed, keeping as close as possible,endeavouring to shape his own efforts in accordance with the dimlyoutlined form below; while Brennan, short-legged and stout, probablyhad the hardest task of all in bringing up the rear.

  No one spoke, except as occasionally Moore sent back a brief whisper ofwarning at some spot of unusual danger, but they could hear eachother's laboured breathing, the brushing of their clothing against thesurface of the rock, the scraping of their feet, and occasionally thefaint tinkle of a small stone, dislodged by their passage and strikingfar below. There was nothing but intense blackness down there--ahideous chasm of death clutching at them; the houses, the men, thewhole valley was completely swallowed in the night.

  Above it all they clung to the almost smooth face of the cliff,gripping for support at every crevice, the rock under them barely wideenough to yield purchase to their feet. Twice Westcott had to let goentirely, trusting to a ledge below to stop his fail; once he travelleda yard, or more, dangling on his hands over the abyss, his feet feelingfor the support beyond; and several times he paused to assist theshorter-legged marshal down to a lower level. Their progress was thatof the snail, yet every inch of the way they played with death.

  Now and then voices shouted out of the gloom beneath them, and theyhung motionless to listen. The speech was Spanish garnished withoaths, its meaning not altogether clear. They could distinguishMendez's harsh croak easily among the others.

  "What's he saying, Moore?" whispered Westcott to the black shape justbelow.

  "Something 'bout the log. I don't just make it, but I reckon they aimnow to batter in the winder."

  "Well, go on," passed down the marshal gruffly. "What in Sam Hill areyer holdin' us up yere for? I ain't got more'n two inches ter standon."

  Fifty feet below, just as Moore rounded the dead cedar, the guns beganagain, the spits of red flame lighting up the outlines of the cabin,and the dark figures of men. It was as though they looked down intothe pit, watching the brewing of some sport of demons--the movementsbelow them weird, grotesque--rendered horrible by those sudden glaresof light. This firing was all from without, and was unanswered; noboom of shotgun replied, no muffled crack of revolver. Yet it musthave been for a purpose, for the men crouching against the cliff, theirfaces showing ghastly in the flashes of powder, were able to perceive amassing of figures below. Then the shots ceased, and the butt of thegreat log crashed against something with the force of a catapult, and ayell rolled up through the night.

  At last Moore stopped, and waited until Westcott was near enough forhim to whisper in the other's ear.

  "There's a drop yere, 'bout ten er twelve feet, I reckon; an' then justa slope to ther bottom. Don't make no more noise then yer have to, an'give me a chance ter git out of ther way afore yer let go."

  Westcott passed the word back across his shoulder to Brennan who waspanting heavily, and, watched, as best he could on hands and knees,while Moore lowered himself at arm's length over the narrow rock ledge.The boy loosened his grip, but landed almost noiselessly. Westcott,peering over, could see nothing; there was beneath only impenetrableblackness. Silently he also dropped and his feet struck earth, slopingrapidly downward. Hardly had he advanced a yard, when the littlemarshal struck the dirt, with a force that made him grunt audibly. Atthe foot of this pile of debris, Moore waited for them, the night sodark down there in the depths, Westcott's outstretched hand touched thefellow before he was assured of his presence.

  The Mexicans were still; whatever deviltry they were up to, it wasbeing carried on now in silence; the only sound was a muffled scraping.Brennan yet struggled for breath, but was eager for action. He shovedhis head forward, listening.

  "What do yer make o' that noise?" he asked, his words scarcely audible.

  "I heerd it afore yer come up," returned Moore. "'Tain't nuthin'regular. I figure the Mex are goin' in through that winder theybusted. That sound's their boots scaling the wall."

  "Ever been inside?"

  "Wunst, ter take some papers ter Lacy."

  "Well, what's it like? For God's sake speak up--there's goin' ter behell to pay in a minute."

  "Thar's two rooms; ther outside door an' winder are in the front one,which is the biggest. The other is whar Mendez sleeps, an' thar's adoor between 'em."

  "No windows in the rear room?"

  "None I ever see."

  "And just the one door; what sort o' partition?"

  "Just plain log, I reckon."

  "That's all right, Jim," and Westcott felt the marshal's fingers grasphis arm. "I got it sized up proper. Whoever them folks be, they'vebarricaded inter that back room. Likely they've got a dead range onthe front door, an' them Mexes have had all they want tryin' to get to'em in that way. So now they're crawlin' in through the window.There'll be some hellabaloo in there presently to my notion, an' I wantter be thar ter see the curtain go up. Wharabouts are we, Matt?"

  "Back o' the bunk-house. Whar do yer want ter go? I kin travel 'roundyere with my eyes shut."

  "The front o' Mendez's cabin," said the marshal shortly. "Better takethe other side; if that door is down we'll take those fellows in therear afore they know what's happening." He chuckled grimly. "We'vesure played in luck so far, boys; go easy now, and draw yer guns."

  They were half-way along the side wall when the firing began--but itwas not the Mexicans this time who began it. The shotgun barked; therewas the sound of a falling body; two revolver shots and then the sharpping of a Winchester. Brennan leaped past the boy ahead, and roundedthe corner. A Mexican stood directly in front of the shattered doorpeering in, a rifle yet smoking in his hands. With one swift blow of arevolver butt the marshal dropped him in his tracks, the fellow rollingoff the steps onto the ground. With outstretched hands he stopped theothers, holding them back out of any possible view from within.

  "Quick now, before that bunch inside gets wise to what's up. We've got'em cornered. You, Matt, strip the jacket off that Mex, an' get hishat; bunch 'em up together, and set a match to 'em. That's the stuff!Now, the minute they blaze throw 'em in through that doorway. Come on,Westcott, be ready to jump."

  The hat was straw, and the bundle of blazing material landed almost inthe centre of the floor, lighting up the whole interior. Almost beforeit struck, the three men, revolvers gleaming in their hands, had leapedacross the shattered door, and confronted the startled band huddled inone corner. Brennan wasted no time, his eyes sweeping over the arrayof faces, revealed by the blaze of fire on the floor.

  "Hands up, my beauties--every mother's son of yer. Yes, I mean you,yer human catapiller. Don't waste any time about it; I'm the callerfer this dance. Put 'em up higher, less yer want ter commit suicide.Now drop them rifles on the floor--gently, friends, gently. Matt,frisk 'em and see what other weapons they carry. Ever see nicer buncho' lambs, Jim?" His lips smiling, but with an ugly look to hisgleaming teeth, and steady eyes. "Why they'd eat outer yer hand.Which one of yer is Mendez?"

  "He dead, _senor_," one fellow managed to answer in broken English."That heem lie dar."

  "Well, that's some comfort," but without glancing about. "Now kick theguns over this way, Matt, and touch a match to the lamp on that shelfyonder; and, Jim, perhaps you better stamp out the fire; we'll not needit any more. Great Scott! What's this?"

  It was Miss Donovan, her dress torn, her hair dishevelled, a revolverstill clasped in her hand, half levelled as though she yet doubted herrealisation o
f what had occurred. She emerged from the blackness ofthe rear room, advanced a step and stood there hesitating, herwide-open eyes gazing about in bewilderment on the strange scenerevealed by the glow of the lamp. That searching, pathetic glanceswept from face to face about the motionless circle--the cowed Mexicanprisoners with uplifted hands backed against the wall; the three deadbodies huddled on the floor; Moore, with the slowly expiring match yetsmoking in his fingers; the little marshal, erect, a revolver poised ineither hand, his face set and stern. Then she saw Westcott, and herwhole expression changed. An instant their eyes met; then the revolverfell to the floor unnoticed, and the girl sprang toward him, both handsoutstretched.

  "You!" she cried, utterly giving way, forgetful of all else except thesense of relief the recognition brought her. "You! Oh! Now I know itis all right! I was so sure you would come."

  He caught the extended hands eagerly, drawing her close, and lookingstraight down into the depths of her uplifted eyes. To him, at thatmoment, there was no one else in the room, no one else in the wide,wide world.

  "You knew I would come?" he echoed. "You believed that much in me?"

  "Yes; I have never had a doubt. I told him so; that if we could onlyhold out long enough we would be saved. But," her lips quivered, andthere were tears glistening in the uplifted eyes, "you came too latefor him."

  "For him? The man who was with you, you mean? Has he been shot?"

  She bent her head, the lips refusing to answer.

  "Who was he?"

  "Mr. Cavendish--oh!"

  It was a cry of complete reaction; the room reeled about her and shewould have fallen headlong had not Westcott clasped the slender formclosely in his arms. An instant he stood there gazing down into herface. Then he turned toward Brennan.

  "Leave us alone, Dan," he said simply. "Get that gang of blacklegs outof here."