Square Deal Sanderson Part 42

"Bluffin'!" scoffed a man who was in plain view of Sanderson; the very man, indeed, upon whom Sanderson had his rifle trained.

"Bluffin', eh?" replied Sanderson grimly. "I've got a bead on you. At the end of one minute--if you don't toss your guns away and step out, holdin' up your hands, I'll bore you--plenty!"

Half a minute pa.s.sed and the man did not move. He was crouching, and his gaze swept the edge of the fissure from which Sanderson's voice seemed to come. His face was white, his eyes wide with the fear of death.

Just when it seemed that Sanderson must shoot to make his statement and threat convincing, the man shouted:

"This game's too certain--for me, I'm through!"

He threw his weapons away, so that they went bounding and clattering to the foot of the slope. Then he again faced the fissure, shouting:

"I know I've caved, an' you know I've caved. But what about them guys on the other side, there? They'll be blowin' me apart if I go to showin' myself."

Sanderson called to Williams and the others, telling them the men were going to surrender, and warning them to look out for treachery.

"If one of them tries any monkey-s.h.i.+nes, nail him!" he ordered.

"There's eleven of them that ain't been touched--an' some more that ain't as active as they might be. But they can bend a gun handy enough. Don't take any chances!"

Sanderson ordered the man to step out. He did so, gingerly, as though he expected to be shot. When he was in plain view of Sanderson's men, Sanderson ordered him to descend the slope and stand beside a huge rock ledge. He watched while the man descended; then he called to the others:

"Step up an' take your medicine! One at a time! Guns first.

Williams!" he called. "You get their guns as fast as they come down.

I'll see that none of them plug you while you're doin' it!"

There was no hitch in the surrender; and no attempt to shoot Williams.

One by one the men dropped their weapons down the slope.

When all the men had reached the bottom of the defile Sanderson climbed down and asked the first man who had surrendered where they had left their horses. The animals were brought, and the men forced to mount them. Then, the Dale men riding ahead, Sanderson and the others behind, they began the return trip.

When they reached the open country above the defile, Sanderson rode close to Williams.

"There's enough of you to take care of this gang," he said, indicating the prisoners; "I'm goin' to hit the breeze to the Double A an' see what's happened there!"

"Sure!" agreed Williams. "Beat it!"

When Streak got the word he leaped forward at a pace that gave Williams an idea of how he had gained his name. He flashed by the head of the moving columns and vanished into the growing darkness, running with long, swift, sure leaps that took him over the ground like a feather before a hurricane.

But fast as he went, he did not travel too rapidly for Sanderson. For in Sanderson's heart also lurked a premonition of evil. But he did not fear it; it grimmed his lips, it made his eyes blaze with a wanton, savage fire; it filled his heart with a bitter pa.s.sion to slay the man who had stayed behind at the Double A ranchhouse.

And he urged Streak to additional effort, heading him recklessly through sections of country where a stumble meant disaster, lifting him on the levels, and riding all the time with only one thought in mind--speed, speed, speed.

CHAPTER x.x.xIII

A MAN LEAVES OKAR

Riding the hard trail through the basin, from its neck at Okar to the broad, upward slope that led to the Double A ranchhouse, came another man, who also was sacrificing everything to speed. His horse was fresh, and he spared it not at all as he swept in long, smooth, swift undulations over the floor of the basin.

Ben Nyland's lips were as straight and hard as were those of the other man who was racing toward the Double A from another direction; his face was as grim, and his thoughts were as bitter and savage.

When he reached the bottom of the long, gentle slope that stretched to the Double A ranchhouse he did not spare his horse. The terrible spurs sank in again and again, stirring the animal to a frenzy of effort, and he rushed up the slope as though it were a level, snorting with pain and fury, but holding the pace his rider demanded of him.

And when he reached the corral fence near the Double A ranchhouse, and his rider dismounted and ran forward, the horse heaved a sigh of relief and stood, bracing his legs to keep from falling, his breath coming in terrific heaves.

An instant after his arrival Ben Nyland was in side the Double A ranchhouse, pistol in hand. He tore through the rooms in the darkness, stumbling over the furniture, knocking it hither and there as it interfered with his progress.

He found no one. Accidentally colliding with the table in the kitchen, he searched its top and discovered thereon a kerosene lamp. Lighting it with fingers that trembled, he looked around him.

There were signs of the confusion that had reigned during the day. He saw on the floor the rope that had encircled Dale's neck--one end of it was tied to the fastenings of the kitchen door.

The tied rope was a mystery to Nyland, but it suggested hanging to his thoughts, already lurid, and he leaped for the pantry. There he grimly viewed the wreck and turned away, muttering.

"He's been here an' gone," he said, meaning Dale; "them's his marks--ruin."

Blowing out the light he went to the front door, paused in it and then went out upon the porch, from where he could look northeastward at the edge of the mesa surmounting the big slope that merged into the floor of the basin.

Faintly outlined against the luminous dark blue of the sky, he caught the leaping silhouette of a horse and rider. He grinned coldly, and stepped back into the shadow of the doorway.

"That's him, d.a.m.n him!" he said. "He's comin' back!"

He had not long to wait. He saw the leaping silhouette disappear, seeming to sink into the earth, but he knew that horse and rider were descending the slope; that it would not be long before they would thunder up to the ranchhouse--and he gripped the b.u.t.t of his gun until his fingers ached.

He saw a blot appear from the dark shadows of the slope and come rus.h.i.+ng toward him. He could hear the heave and sob of the horse's breath as it ran, and in another instant the animal came to a sliding halt near the edge of the porch, the rider threw himself out of the saddle and ran forward.

At the first step taken by the man after he reached the porch edge, he was halted by Nyland's sharp:

"Hands up!"

And at the sound of the other's voice the newcomer cried out in astonishment:

"Ben Nyland! What in h.e.l.l are you doin' here?"

"Lookin' for Dale," said the other, hoa.r.s.ely. "Thought you was him, an' come pretty near borin' you. What saved you was a notion I had of wantin' Dale to know what I was killin' him for! Pretty close, Deal!"

"Why do you want to kill him?"

"For what he done to Peggy--d.a.m.n him! He sneaked into the house an'

hurt her head, draggin' her to Okar--to Maison's. I've killed Maison, an' I'll kill him!"

"He ain't here, then--Dale ain't?" demanded Sanderson.

"They ain't n.o.body here," gruffly announced Nyland. "They've been here, an' gone. Dale, most likely. The house looks like a twister had struck it!"

Sanderson was inside before Nyland ceased speaking. He found the lamp, lit it, and looked around the interior, noting the partially destroyed lounge and the other wrecked furniture, strewn around the rooms. He went out again and met Nyland on the porch.

One look at Sanderson told Nyland what was in the latter's mind, and he said: