WHICH BEGINS WITH A LITTLE SONG AND ENDS WITH TROUBLE BETWEEN FRIENDS
Speculation at this stage was profitless and the day was perfect.
Kendric told himself critically that he was growing fanciful; he had
been cooped up too much. First on board the schooner _New Moon_, then
in four walls of a house. What he needed was day after day, stood on
end, like this. If he didn't look out he'd be growing nerves next. He
grinned widely at the remote possibility, pushed his hat far back and
rode on. And by the time his horse had carried him to the far edge of
the level land and to the first slope of the downward pitch, he was
singing contentedly to himself and his horse and all the world that
cared to listen.
Far below, far ahead, he caught his first glimpse of the ranch houses
marking the Bruce West holdings. From the heights his eye ran down
into valley lands that stretched wide and far away, rolling, grassy,
with occasional clumps of trees where there were water holes. A valley
by no means so prodigally watered as Zoraida's, but none the less an
estate to put a sparkle into a man's eyes. It was large, it was
sufficiently level and fertile; above aught else it was remote. It
gave the impression of a great, calm aloofness from the outside world
of traffic and congestion; it lay, mile after mile, sufficient unto
itself, a place for a lover of the outdoors to make his home. No
wonder that young West had gone wild over it. Hills and mountains shut
it in, rising to the sky lines like walls actually sustaining the blue
cloudless void. As Jim Kendric rode on and down his old song, his own
song, found its way to his lips.
"Where skies are blue
And the earth is wide
And it's only you
And the mountainside!"
"Twenty miles between shacks," he considered approvingly. "And never a
line fence to cut your way through. It's near paradise, this land,
wherever it isn't just fair hell. No half way business; no maudlin
make-believe." But all of a sudden his face darkened. "Poor little
kid," he said. "If Bruce could only loan me half a dozen ready-mixed,
rough and ready, border cowboys; Californians, Arizonans and Texans!"
His hopes of this were not large at any time; when he came upon the
first of Bruce West's riders they vanished entirely. An Indian, or
half breed at the best, ragged as to black stringy hair, hard visaged,
stony eyed. Kendric called to him and the rider turned in his saddle
and waited. And for answer to the question: "Where's the Old Man?
Bruce West?" the answer was a hand lifted lazily to point up valley and
silence.
"_Gracias, amigo_," laughed Kendric and rode on.
There was not a more amazed man in all Lower California when Jim
Kendric rode up to him. Bruce West was out with two of his men driving
a herd of young, wild-looking horses down toward the corrals beyond the
house. For an instant his blue eyes stared incredulously; then they
filled with shining joy. He swept off his broad hat to wave it wildly
about his head; he came swooping down on Kendric as though he had a
suspicion that his visitor had it in his head to whirl and make a bolt
for the mountains; he whooped gleefully.
"Old Jim Kendric!" he shouted. "Old Headlong Jim! Old r'arin',
tearin', ramblin', rovin', hell-for-leather Kendric! Oh, mama! Man,
I'm glad to see you!"
Only a youngster, was Bruce West, but manly for all that, who wore his
heart on his sleeve, his honesty in his eyes and who would rather
frolic than fight but would rather fight than do nothing. When last
Kendric had seen him, Bruce was nursing his first mustache and glorying
in the triumphant fact that soon he would be old enough to vote; now,
barely past twenty-three, he looked a trifle thinner than his former
hundred and ninety pounds but never a second older. He was a boy with
blue eyes and yellow hair and a profound adoration for all that Jim
Kendric stood for in his eager eyes.
"Why all the war paint, Baby Blue-eyes?" Kendric asked as they shook
hands. For under Bruce's knee was strapped a rifle and a big army
revolver rode at his saddle horn.
Bruce laughed, his mood having no place for frowns.
"Not just for ornament, old joy-bringer," he retorted. "Using 'em
every now and then. I'm in deep here, Jim, with every cent I've got
and every hope of big things. Times, a man has to shoot his way out
into the clear or go to the wall. Hey, Gaucho!" he called, turning in
his saddle. "You and Tony haze the ponies in to the corrals. And tell
Castro we've got the King of Spain with us for grub and to put on the
best on the ranch; we'll blow in about noon. Come ahead, Jim; I'll
show you the finest lay-out of a cow outfit you ever trailed your eye
across."
They rode, saw everything, both acreage and water and stock, and
talked; for the most part Bruce did the talking, speaking with quick
enthusiasm of what he had, what he had done, what he meant to
accomplish yet in spite of obstacles. He had bought outright some six
thousand acres, expending for them and what low-bred stock they fed all
of his inherited capital. From the nearest bank, at El Ojo, he had
borrowed heavily, mortgaging his outfit. With the proceeds he had
leased adjoining lands so that now his stock grazed over ten thousand
acres; he had also bought and imported a finer strain of cattle. With
the market what it was he was bound to make his fortune, hand over
fist----
"If they'd only leave me alone!" he exclaimed hotly.
"They?" queried Kendric.
"Of course the country is unsettled," explained the boy. "Ever since I
came into it there has been one sort or another of unrest. When it
isn't outright revolution it's politics and that's pretty near the same
thing. There are prowling bands of outlaws, calling themselves
soldiers, that the authorities can't reach. Look at those mountains
over there! What government that has to give half its time or more to
watching its own step, can manage to ferret out every nest of
highwaymen in every cañon? Those boys are my big trouble, Jim! A raid
from them is always on the books and there are times when I'm pretty
near ready to throw up the sponge and drift. But it's a great land; a
great land. And now you're with me!" His eyes shone. "I'll make you
any sort of a proposition you call for, Jim, and together we'll make
history. Not to mention barrels of money."
Kendric's ever-ready imagination was snared. But he was in no position
to forget that he had other fish to fry.
"What do you know of your neighbors?" he asked.
"Not much," admitted Bruce. "And yet enough to _sabe_ what you're
driving at. The nearest are twenty miles away, at the Montezuma ranch.
The boss of the outfit is your old friend Ruiz Rios. I told you that
in my letter. I haven't the dead wood on him but it's open and shut
that he'd as soon chip in on a cattle-stealing deal as anything else."
"He doesn't own the Montezuma," said Kendric.
"It's the same thing. The owner is a woman, his cousin, I believe.
But she's away most of the time, and Rios does as he pleases."
"You don't know the lady, then?"
"Never saw her. Don't want to, since she's got Rios blood in her."
"Let's get down and roll a smoke and talk," offered Kendric. They were
on a grassy knoll; there were oaks and shade and grass for the horses.
Bruce looked at him sharply, catching the sober note. But he said
nothing until they were lying stretched out under the oaks, holding the
tie ropes at the ends of which their horses browsed.
"Cut her loose, Jim," he said then. "What's the story?"
Kendric told him: Of his quest with Twisty Barlow; of Zoraida Castlemar
and her ambitions; of his own situation in the household, a prisoner
with today granted him only in exchange for his word to return by dawn;
and finally of Betty Gordon.
"Good God," gasped Bruce. "They're going it that strong? Out in the
open, too! And laying their paws on an American girl. Whew!"
Kendric added briefly an account of his being stopped in the pass.
"It's a fair bet," he concluded, "that your raiders get their word
straight from the Montezuma ranch. Which means, straight from the lips
of Zoraida Castlemar."
Bruce fell to plucking at the dry grass, frowning.
"Funny thing, it strikes me, Jim, that if you're right she should give
you the chance to tip me off. How do you figure that out?"
"I haven't figured it out. Here's what we do know: When I was a dozen
miles from her place and naturally would suppose that, if I chose, I
was free to play out my own hand, up popped those three men; a
reminder, as plain as your hat, that through their eyes I was still
under the eyes of Zoraida Castlemar. Further, as innocent as a fool, I
carried a message to them in a cut and tied saddle string. A message
that was a passport for me; what other significance it carried, _quién
sabe_? There's a red tassel on my horse's bridle; that might be
another sign, as far as you and I know. The quirt at my saddle horn,
the chains in my bridle, the saddle itself or the folds of the saddle
blanket--how do we know they don't all carry her word? An easy matter,
if only the signal is prearranged."
"The fine craft of the Latin mind," muttered Bruce.
"Rather the subtlety of the old Aztecs," suggested Kendric.
"But all this could have been done as well, and taking no chances, by
one of the Montezuma riders."
"Of course. Hence, the one thing clear is that it was desired that I
should see you. Since it was obvious that I'd tell you what I knew,
that's the odd part of it."
"Why, it's madness, man! It gives us the chance, if no other, to get
word back home about the little Gordon girl."
"I'd thought of that. Just how would we do it? A letter in the
nearest postoffice?"
"You mean that the postmaster would be on the watch for it? And would
play into her hands? Well, suppose we took the trouble to send a
cowboy to some other, further postoffice? Or, by golly, to send him
all the way to the border? Or, if I should go with the word myself?"
"Answer: If you sent an Indian, how much would you bet that he did not
circle back to the Montezuma ranch with the letter? If you went
yourself, how far do you suppose you'd ever get?"
Bruce's eyes widened.
"Do you suppose they're going that strong, Jim?"
"I don't know, Bruce. But tell me: if it seemed the wise thing to do,
could you drop everything here and make a try to get through with the
word?"
Bruce looked worried.
"It's my hunch," he answered, "that it would be a cheaper play for me
to pay the twenty-five thousand dollar ransom and be done with it! You
don't know how bad things are here, Jim; if I went and came back it
would be to find that I'd been cleaned. No, I'm not exaggerating. And
with the mortgage on the place, the next thing I would know was that it
was foreclosed and in the end I'd lose everything I've got."
"From which I gather you don't put a whole lot of confidence in your
cowboys?"
"That's the plain hell of it! Not only have I got to sleep with one
eye on my stock; I've got to keep the other peeled on the men that are
taking my pay. I never know what other man's pay they're taking at the
same time."
"Or what woman's. Well, I imagine Miss Castlemar knows conditions as
well as we do, if not a good deal better. So it looks as though she
were taking no chances in letting me ride over to see you; and it
remains possible that by so doing I am furthering her purpose. Though
just how, is another thing I don't know."
"She must be some corker of a female," muttered Bruce. "What does she
look like, Jim?"
"Tall. Young and not bad looking. Vain as a peacock and high and
mighty."
"That kind of a girl makes me sick," was young Bruce's quick decision.
"Let's ride back, Jim; it'll be time to eat."
As they rode slowly down toward the ranch house Bruce pointed out how,
living in constant expectation of the operations of cattle and horse
thieves, he took what precautions he could. The pick of his saddle
horses, a dozen of them, were grazed during the day in the fields near
the house and at night were brought in and stabled. A number of the
finest cattle, including a thoroughbred Hereford bull and forty
beautiful Hereford cows, recently purchased, were driven each evening
into the nearest fields where from dark to daylight they were herded by
a night rider.
"I've got to take it for granted," explained West, "that at least some
of my vacqueros are on the level. I pick my best men for jobs like
this. And I've always got night riders out, making their rounds from
one end of the valley to the other. On top of all that I've got my
dogs; look, here they come to meet us."
There were ten of them, big tan and white collies, vying with one
another to come first to their master. Splendid animals all of them,
but at the fore ran the most splendid of them all, the father and
patriarch of his flock. It was his keen nostril and eye that was wont
first to know who came; his superb strength and speed carried him well
in the lead and he guarded his supremacy jealously. His sharp teeth
snapped viciously when a hardy son ran close at his side and the
youngster, though he snarled and bristled, swerved widely and thus fell
back. They barked as they swept on, the sharp, stacatto bark of their
breed.
"They're something I can trust," said Bruce proudly. "No hand but mine
feeds them; if I catch a man carressing one of them he draws his pay
and quits. And I go to sleep of nights reasonably sure that their din
will wake me if an outsider sets foot near the home corrals. Hi!
Monarch! Jump for it."
From his pocket he brought out a bit of dried beef, the "jerky" of the
southwest. He held it out arm's length, sending his horse racing
forward with a sudden touch of his spur. The big dog barked eagerly
and launched his sinewy body into the air; the sunlight flashed back a
moment from the bared sharp teeth; Monarch dropped softly back to earth
with the dried beef already bolted. Bruce laughed.
At the house, like Zoraida's in the matters of age and thick, cool
walls, but much smaller, they found an excellent meal awaiting them.
They ate under a leafy grape arbor on the shady side of the house, half
a dozen of Bruce's men sitting at table with them. Kendric regarded
the men with interest, feeling that their scrutiny of him was no less
painstaking. They were swarthy Indians and half-breeds and little else
did he make of them. Their eyes met his, steady and unwinking, but
gave no clue to what thoughts might lie back of them.
"I'll bet Bruce sleeps with a gun under his pillow," was Kendric's
thought at the end of the meal.
By the well, under some shade trees in the yard, the two friends sat
and smoked, watching the men laze away to the stables. Thereafter they
spoke quietly of the captive in the Hacienda Montezuma.
"It's not to be thought of," said Bruce, "that a scared little kid like
her is to be held that way and we sit like two bumps on a log. Looks
like her troubles were up to you and me, Jim."
In the end they agreed that at least it was unthinkable that Betty
Gordon would suffer any bodily injury in the same house with Zoraida
and her girls; further, that the greatest access of terror had no doubt
passed. One grew accustomed to pretty nearly everything. Kendric,
bound by his parole to return, would seek the girl out and extend to
her what comfort he could; just to know that she was not altogether
friendless would bring hope and its own sort of gladness. Tonight, as
soon as the men came in and it was dark, they would send Manuel,
Bruce's most trustworthy man, to a forty-mile distant postoffice. He
would carry with him two letters: one would be addressed to the
governor of Lower California and one to friends in San Diego.
"It's about the best we can do on short notice," admitted Kendric,
though he was dissatisfied. "I'm not figuring, though, that it's in
the cards for me to stick overlong under the same roof with Rios and
his crowd. There's the schooner down in the gulf and there's you for
us to count on. Never fret, old Baby Blue-eyes; we'll have her out of
that yet."
The letters were written; a little after dusk Manuel set forth,
promised a double month's pay if he succeeded and in return promising
by all the saints he could call to tongue that he would guard the
letters with his life. From their chairs on the porch Kendric and
Bruce saw the man depart. When his figure had dimned and blurred into
the gathering night they still sat on, silent, watching the stars come
out. Bruce had brought out cigars and the red embers glowed
companionably. Presently Bruce sighed.
"It's a great little old land," he said, and the inflection of the
quietly spoken words was that of affection. "A man could ask for no
better, Jim. Conditions right now are damnable; you've got to scrap
all along the line for what's yours. But what do you know that is
worth the having that isn't worth the fighting for? And one of these
fine days when Mexico settles down to business, sort of grows up and
gets past the schoolboy stage, we'll have the one combination now
lacking--law and order."
Kendric, who had been reflecting upon other matters, made no immediate
reply. Bruce had the answer to his suggestion of a new order of things
but it came from the darkness beyond his barns. There was a sudden
sharp bark from one of his dogs, then a rising clamor as the whole pack
broke into excited barking. From so far away that the sound barely
reached them came a man's voice, exclaiming angrily. Then a rifle
shot, a long, shrill whistle, shouts and the sudden thud of many racing
hoofs.
Bruce West toppled over his chair and plunged through the nearest door.
It was dark in the house and Kendric heard him strike against a second
chair, send it crashing to the floor and dash on. In a moment Bruce
was back on the porch, a rifle in each hand. One he thrust out to
Kendric, muttering between his teeth,
"Raiders, or we're in luck. Damned rebel outlaws. Come on!"
He ran out into the yard, Kendric at his heels pumping a shell into the
barrel. As they turned a corner of the house Bruce stopped dead in his
track and Kendric bumped into him and stopped with him. Already the
barns were on fire; two tall flames stabbed upward at the dark; the
hissing of burning wood and fodder must have reached their ears in five
minutes had the pack given no warning. In the rapidly growing light
they saw the dogs where, bunched together, they snarled and snapped and
broke into wilder baying.
Bruce began shouting, calling to his men, three or four of whom came
running out of the house. Beyond the barns they made out vague forms,
whether of cattle or horses or riders it was at first impossible to
know. Again they ran forward; from somewhere in the direction of the
corrals came several rifle reports. With the gun shots a confusion of
shouts through the heavier notes of which rose one voice, as high
pitched as a woman's.
In the barn lofts the flames were spreading in a thousand directions,
each dry stalk serving as a duct of destruction. The fire shot upward
and the roof blossomed in red flames. Bruce groaned and cursed and
prayed wildly for a glimpse of one of the devils who had done this for
him. Big clouds of smoke drifted upward across the stars, shot through
with flying sparks. Swiftly the lurid light spread until the white
walls of the house stood out distinctly and the forms near the corrals
were no longer vague. They were running cattle, Bruce's choice forty
cows; Kendric saw the fine bred Hereford bull's horns glint, heard the
snort of fear and rage, made out the big bulk crushing a way to the
fore among his terrified companions. There were horses, too, running
wild, the animals from the stables and the near corral. And behind
them, shouting and now and then firing into the air to hasten the
laggards, were many horsemen. How many it was impossible to estimate,
a dozen at the least, perhaps fifty.
As the black mass of frightened beasts gathered forward headway and
shot through the area of light, Kendric saw one horseman clearly. On
the instant he threw up his rifle. Already his finger was crooking to
the trigger when, with a mutter of rage, he lowered his arm. There was
no mistaking that great white horse and he thought that there was as
little mistaking its rider, a slender, upright figure leading the rush
of the raiders, calling out sharp orders in the clear ringing voice,
sweeping on recklessly. He cursed her but he held back his fire. Of
women he knew little enough and for women there had been no place
reserved in his life; but, for all that and all that Zoraida Castlemar
might be and might do, he had not learned to lift his hand against her
sex.
But there was nothing in what Bruce saw to restrain him. He fired
while his rifle was rising to his shoulder and again and again with the
stock against his cheek.
"Damn the light!" he growled, and fired again.
Through the tumult Kendric heard her laughter. None other than Zoraida
could laugh like that. Again the suspicion flashed into his quickened
brain that the girl was mad. He heard several shots behind him;
Bruce's men were taking a hand. Then, close behind the white mare came
a second horseman and Kendric thanked God for a man for a target and
fired at it. Luck if he hit it, he told himself, at that distance and
running and in that flickering light. But he fired again, ran in
closer and fired the third time. And just as the white mare passed on
through the illumed area and was lost in the dark with its rider he saw
his man pitch forward and plunge to the ground. Other forms swept by,
other shots were fired both from the outlaws and toward them. The
darkness accepted them all and no other man fell.
Shouts floated back to them above the hammering thud of the fleeing
cows and horses. Into the darkness after them Bruce and Kendric and
Bruce's men sent many questing bullets while now and then an answering
leaden pellet screamed over their heads. Swiftly the clamor of the
receding hoof-beats lessened; no voices returned to them; no wild rider
was to be seen. The night pulsed only to the barks of the dogs and the
roar of the devastating flames.
Bruce was calling loudly to his men to get to horse and follow. But
while he spoke he broke off hopelessly realizing that not a horse was
left to him. Before he and his herders could get into saddle they must
wait for daylight and must waste hours in driving in horses from the
distant pastures, wild brutes for the most part that a man could never
get near enough on foot to rope. He threw out his arms in a wide
gesture of despair. Thereafter he stood, silent and moody, watching
his hay-filled barns burn.
"If I could get my hands on the man that engineered this," he said, his
voice broken, barely carrying to Kendric a few paces away. "That's all
I ask."
Kendric, his rage scarcely less than Bruce's, called back to him:
"I could lead you as straight as a string. It's the handiwork of your
neighbor."
"Rios?" cried Bruce eagerly.
"Zoraida Castelmar."
"Damn her!" cried the boy. In the firelight Kendric saw his steady
eyes glisten and knew that they were filled with tears, the terrible
tears of rage rising above anguish. "Damn her!"
After that he stood silent again looking at the burning buildings.
When a new flame spurted skyward, when a section of roof fell, he
twitched as though his muscles knew physical pain. At last he turned
away and Kendric saw a face that it was hard to recognize as the boyish
face of blue-eyed Bruce West.
"This beats me," said Bruce, quietly. "Best stock gone, new barns and
hay turned to cinders. Ten thousand dollars wiped out in an hour.
Yes; done for, Jim, old man. Clean."
Kendric found no word of answer. He turned away and went down to the
broken corrals where the man behind Zoraida had fallen. If the man
were not dead he might be induced to talk. And in any case, thief
though he was, he was a man and not a dog. He found the huddled body
lying still. Kneeling, he turned it over so that the wavering light
shone on the face. He did not know whether the man was dead or not; he
knew only that it was Twisty Barlow. He squatted there, looking from
the white face to the sky full of stars. And his thought was less on
the instant of Twisty Barlow than of Zoraida Castlemar.
"This is what she has done for two old friends," he said aloud.