The Ridin' Kid from Powder River Part 41

The herd had stampeded and scattered. In the fading light Arguilla saw one after another of the Ortez vaqueros go down. Did this n.o.ble captain of Liberty, Equality, and Fraternity rush to the rescue of his countrymen? He did not. Cursing, he swung his horse toward the south, followed by his amazed and altogether uncomprehending soldiery. There had been too many Gringoes in that wild, shrilling cavalcade to suit his fancy. Meanwhile the Mexican lieutenant wisely disappeared down the western edge of the coulee and rode wide until he deemed it safe to change his course and follow in the dusty wake of his n.o.ble leader's "strategic retreat."

Only one of the Ortez riders escaped the sudden and furious visitation of the northern cattlemen, and he escaped because his horse, mortally wounded, had fallen upon him. In the succeeding darkness he was pa.s.sed unnoticed by the returning Americans.

The Olla men, also taken by surprise, had acted quickly. Better mounted than most of their pursuers, who rode tired horses, the Olla riders spread at the first warning shout. Familiar with the country, they were able to get away unscathed, partly because the attention of the pursuers was centered chiefly on the herd.

It had been a case of each man for himself with the Olla riders, the exceptions to this being Brevoort and Pete, who had ridden together from the moment that Pete had shouted that sudden warning to his companions at the gateway, where they had sat their horses waiting for him to return from his mission to Ortez. Brent himself had posted a lookout at the northern gateway of the ranch, with instructions to watch for any possible pursuit. This cowboy, wise in his generation, had caught sight of a large body of riders bearing down from the north.

He knew by the way they rode that they meant business. He knew also that they were too many for the Olla men. He focused his gla.s.s on them, got one good look, and calmly turned his horse and rode along the line fence to an arroyo, where he dismounted and waited until the visiting gentlemen had got well onto the Olla territory. Then he mounted and took his leisurely way toward s.p.a.ce. He knew that the Olla, as a safe and paying proposition, had ceased to exist.

Brent, mounted on one of the thoroughbreds, lost no time in heading for Sanborn and the railroad, once he had ridden clear of the running skirmish with the northerners. He surmised that Pete and Brevoort would make for Sanborn--and they had The Spider's money. Brent also knew that he had a faster horse than either of them. If he could reach Sanborn ahead of them, he would have the advantage of cover--and of taking them by surprise . . .

The country was fairly open from the eastern boundary of the Olla to within a few miles of Sanborn, where a veritable forest of cacti had sprung up--one of those peculiar patches of desert growth, outlined in a huge square as definitely as though it had been planted by man. The wagon-road pa.s.sed close to the northern edge of this freakish forest, and having pa.s.sed, swung off toward the railroad, which it finally paralleled. It was in this vantage-ground of heavy shadow that Brent had planned to waylay Brevoort and Pete. To avoid chance discovery, Brent had ridden considerably out of his way to keep clear of the regular trail from the Olla to Sanborn, and had lost more time than he realized. Brevoort, on the contrary, had taken the regular trail, which joined the main wagon-road.

Pete and Brevoort rode easily, as the local made the Sanborn stop at six in the morning. Moreover, they did not care to spend any great length of time in Sanborn. They had planned to leave their horses at the livery stable--to be called for later.

At first they talked of the raid, the probable fate of Ortez and his men, and of Arguilla's flight. And from that they came to considering their own plans which, if successful, would find them in El Paso with several thousand dollars which belonged in reality to Arguilla's backers. There was an unvoiced but evident understanding between them that they would keep together so long as safety permitted. Pete had made up his mind to look for work on some southern ranch--and have done with the high trails of outlawry. Brevoort, falling into his mood, as much because he liked Pete as anything else, had decided to "throw in"

with him. Had Pete suggested robbing a bank, or holding up a train, the big, easy-going Texan would have fallen in with the suggestion quite as readily, not because Pete had any special influence over him, but purely because Pete's sprightliness amused and interested him.

Moreover, Pete was a partner that could be depended upon in fair weather or foul.

Their plan once made, they became silent, each busy with his own more intimate thoughts: Brevoort wondering what Pete would say if he were to suggest dividing the money and making for the coast and Alaska--and Pete endeavoring to reconcile himself to the idea that The Spider was actually Boca's father. For Pete had been thinking of Boca, even while he had been talking with Brevoort. It seemed that he always thought of her just before some hidden danger threatened. He had been thinking of her--even aside from her presence in the patio--that night when the posse had entered Showdown. He had thought of her while riding to the Ortez rancho--and now he was thinking of her again . . . He raised his head and glanced around. The starlit desert was as soundless as the very sky itself. The soft creak of the saddles, the breathing of the horses, the sand-m.u.f.fled sound of their feet . . . Directly ahead loomed a wall of darkness. Pete touched Brevoort's arm and gestured toward it.

"They call it the Devil's Graveyard," said Brevoort. "A sizable bunch of cactus alongside the road. We're closer to Sanborn than I figured."

"Well, we can't go any slower 'less we git off and set down," Pete remarked. "Blue Smoke here is fightin' the bit. He ain't no graveyard hoss."

"I notice he's been actin' nervous--and only jest recent."

"He always runs his fool head off--if I let him," a.s.serted Pete. And he fell silent, thinking of Boca and the strange tricks that Fate plays on the righteous and wicked alike. He was startled out of his reverie by Brevoort. "Mebby I'm dreamin'," whispered the Texan, "but I'm plumb certain I seen somethin' drift into that cactus-patch."

"Cattle," said Pete.

"No. No cattle in these parts."

"Stray--mebby."

"I dunno. Jest sit light in your saddle and watch your hoss's ears.

He'll tell you right quick if there's another hoss in there."

Pete knew that the Texan would not have spoken without some pertinent reason. They were drawing close to the deeper shadow of the cacti, which loomed strangely ominous in the faint light of the stars.

Brevoort's horse, being the faster walker, was a little ahead and seemingly unconscious of anything unusual in the shadows, when Blue Smoke, range-bred and alert, suddenly stopped.

"Put 'em up--quick!" came from the shadows.

Pete's hand dropped to his holster, but before he could jerk out his gun, Brevoort had fired at the sound--once, twice, three times . . .

Pete heard the trampling of a frightened horse somewhere in the brush.

"I got him," Brevoort was saying.

Pete's face was cold with sweat. "Are you hit, Ed?" he said.

"No, he missed me. He was right quick, but I had him lined against that openin' there before he said a word. If he'd 'a' stood back and kept still he could have plugged us when we rode past. He was too sure of his game."

"Who was it, Ed?"

"I got one guess. We got the money. And he got what was comin' to him." Brevoort swung down and struck a match. "I owed you that, Brent," he said as the match flared up and went out.

"Brent!" exclaimed Pete.

Brevoort mounted and they rode on past the sinister place, in the chill silence of reaction from the tense and sudden moment when death had spoken to them from the shadows where now was silence and that voiceless thing that had once been a man. "Got to kill to live!" Pete s.h.i.+vered as they swung from the shadows and rode out across the open, and on down the dim, meandering road that led toward the faint, greenish light glimmering above the desert station of Sanborn.

CHAPTER x.x.xI

FUGITIVE

Rodeo, Hachita, Monument--long hours between each town as the local did its variable thirty-five miles an hour across the southern end of New Mexico. It was Pete's first experience in traveling by rail, and true to himself he made the most of it. He used his eyes, and came to the conclusion that they were aboard a very fast train--a train that "would sure give a thoroughbred the run of its life"--Pete's standard of speed being altogether of the saddle--and that more people got on and off that train than could possibly have homes in that vast and uninhabited region. The conductor was an exceedingly popular individual. Every one called him by his "front name," which he acknowledged pleasantly in like manner. Pete wondered if the uniformed gentleman packed a gun; and was somewhat disappointed when he discovered that that protuberance beneath the conductor's bra.s.s-b.u.t.toned coat was nothing more deadly than a leather wallet, pretty well filled with bills and loose silver--for that isolated railroad did a good cash business and discriminating conductors grew un.o.btrusively wealthy. And what was still more strange to Pete was the fact that the conductor seemed to know where each person was going, without having to refer to any penciled notation or other evident data.

The conductor was surprisingly genial, even to strangers, for, having announced that the next station was El Paso, he took the end seat of the combination baggage and smoking car, spread out his report sheet, and as he sorted and arranged the canceled tickets, he chatted with Pete and Brevoort, who sat facing him. Had they heard the news?

Brevoort shook his head. Well, there had been a big fight down along the line, between the northern cattlemen and Arguilla's soldiers. It was rumored that several American cowboys had been killed. He had heard this from the agent at Hermanas, who had "listened in" on the wire to El Paso. Perhaps they had heard about it, though, as they had come up from that way. No? Well, the El Paso papers already had the news, by wire. How was the cattle business going, anyway?

Brevoort said that it was pretty fair.

The conductor knew of a nice little hotel near the station--in fact he stopped there himself. El Paso was the end of his run. If the boys were going to see the town, they couldn't do better than to stop at this hotel. Clean beds, good food, quiet, and reasonable as to rates.

Pete was about to say something when Brevoort touched him gently with his knee.

"We was lookin' for a place like that," said Brevoort, suddenly loquacious. "We sure aim to see this town. We just been paid off--we was workin' for the Bar-Cross--and we figured on seein' a little high life a-fore we went to punchin' again. Is that hotel you was speakin'

about open all night?"

The conductor chuckled. "Ain't been closed a minute for six years that I know. Mostly railroad men. And say, if you figure on being in town more than a couple of days, you can save money by taking your room by the week."

"Thanks," said Brevoort. "We aim to stay a week, anyhow."

"Well, they'll use you all right," a.s.serted the conductor. "And if you're looking for a place to buy anything--clothes or collars or s.h.i.+rts--why, right across from the hotel there's as fine a little clothing-store as you can find in town. The man that runs is a friend of mine, and he'll use you white. Just tell him I sent you. Stokes is his name--Len Stokes."

"Thanks, neighbor," said Brevoort, and Pete thought that Brevoort's tone was the least bit sarcastic.

"That's all right," said the genial conductor. "I always like to see the boys have a good time."

Pete himself was a trifle suspicious of the conductor's solicitude as to their welfare, naturally unaware that that worthy official got a rake-off on all customers mentioning his name at the hotel and clothing-store.

He gathered up his reports and tickets, snapped a rubber band round them, and dropped them in his capacious pocket. "We're eight minutes late," he remarked, glancing at his watch. "Now what--" He rose and made for the end door as the train slowed up and stopped at an isolated siding. Pete glanced out and saw a little red box of a building, four or five empty freight cars, and a curve of rail that swung off south from the main line. No pa.s.sengers got on or off the train, but Pete noticed that the conductor was talking earnestly with a hollow-cheeked, blue-overalled man who had just handed him a slip of paper.

The conductor waved his arm. The train pulled out. A little later he came and took his seat opposite Pete. Conductor Stokes seemed even more genial than ever, elaborating on the opportunities for "a good time" in El Paso, and reiterating the hope that they would make themselves at home at his hotel. He joked and talked familiarly about the more notorious sections of the town, warned them to be on the lookout for thugs, and finally excused himself and entered the baggage compartment.

Pete saw Brevoort lean forward and hastily s.n.a.t.c.h up a crumpled slip of paper which had dropped from the conductor's pocket as he got up.

Brevoort scanned the paper, crumpled it, and tossed it out in the aisle.