"A TIMBER WOLF IN HIS OWN COUNTRY"
When The Orphan said good-by to Bill he sat quietly in his saddle for a
minute watching the departing stage and wondered how it was that he had
the decency to avoid a fight with the cowboys in the presence of the
women. Then Helen's words came to him and he smiled at the idea of peace
when he would have to fight the outfit before sundown. The heat of the sun
on his bare head recalled him from his mental wanderings and he wheeled
abruptly and galloped along the trail to where he remembered that a tiny,
blood-stained handkerchief lay in the dust and sand. Soon he espied it
and, swinging over in the saddle, deftly picked it up and regained his
upright position, his head reeling at the effort. Unfolding it he examined
the neat "H" done in silk in one corner and smiled as he put it in his
chaps pocket where he kept his extra ammunition.
"Peace and war in one pocket," he muttered, grinning at his cartridges'
new and unusual companion.
Then he espied a Winchester near a fallen brave, and he procured it as he
had the handkerchief. Describing an arc he picked up another, discarding
it after he had emptied the magazine, for ammunition was what he wanted.
Two Winchesters were all right, but three were too many. As he threw it
from him he glanced through a slight opening in the chaparral and saw the
outfit approach the stage. Then he galloped to where his sombrero lay,
picked it up and turned to the south for the Cimarron Trail. When
thoroughly screened by the chaparral he pushed on with the swinging lope
which his horse could maintain for hours, and which ate up distance in
an astonishing manner. He had lost time in going for his sombrero and
the handkerchief, and every minute before nightfall was precious. His
thoughts now bent to the problem of how either to elude or ambush his
pursuers, and the Winchesters bespoke his forethought, for up to six
hundred yards they were not a pleasant proposition to face. If he
eluded the cowboys in the darkness he was morally certain that they
would take up his trail at dawn, and what distance he had gained would be
at the expense of the freshness of his horse. While he would average ten
miles an hour through the night, their mounts, freshened by a night's
rest, might cut down his gain before the nightfall of the next day.
One of the Winchesters worked loose from its lashings and started to slide
toward the ground. He quickly grasped it and made it secure, smiling at
the number of rifles he had had and lost during the past three weeks.
"Funny how this country has been shedding Winchesters lately," he mused.
"There was the five I got by the big bowlder, which I lost playing tag
with that d----d Cross Bar-8 gang, and here's two more, and I just left
three what I didn't want. Well, they're real handy for stopping a rush,
and I reckons that's what I'm up against this time. If I can find a
likely spot for a scrap before dark I may stop that gang in bang-up
style, d----n them."
Half an hour later he caught sight of a moving body of horsemen to the
southeast of him and his glasses enabled him to make them out.
"'Paches!" he exclaimed, and then he smiled grimly and continued on his
way toward them, taking care to keep himself screened from their sight
by rises and chaparrals. His first thought had been of danger, but now
he laughed at the cards fate had put in his hand, for he would use the
Indians to great advantage later on.
He counted them and made their number to be twenty-two, which accounted
for the five warriors who had pursued the stage coach. The odds were fine
and he laughed joyously, recklessly: "All is fair in love and war," he
muttered savagely.
Before the Indians had come upon the scene he had been alone to face
five angry and vengeful men, and whom he had every reason to believe
were at least fair fighters. Had the positions been reversed they would
not have hesitated to make use of any stratagem to save themselves--and
here were two contingents, both of which would take his life at the first
opportunity. He felt no distaste at the game he was about to play; on
the other hand, it pleased him immensely to know that he was superior
in intellect to his enemies. They both wanted blood, and they should
have it. If they found too much, well and good--that was their lookout.
And no less pleasing was the knowledge that he had sent them north and
that now he could make use of them. He wondered what they had been doing
for the last three weeks and why they were still in that part of the
country, but he did not care, for they were where he wanted them to be.
"Twenty-two mad Apaches on the warpath against five cow-wrastlers!"
he exulted. "More than four to one, and just aching to get square on
somebody! That Cross Bar-8 gang will have something to weep about purty
d----n soon! And I shore hope they don't get tired and quit chasing me."
He stopped and waited when he had gained a screened position from where
he could look back over his trail, and he had not long to wait, for soon
he saw five cowboys galloping hard in his direction. Another look to
the southeast showed him that the war party was now riding slowly toward
him, not knowing of his presence, and they would arrive at his cover
at about the same time the cowboys would come up. Neither the Indians
nor the cowboys knew of the proximity of the other, while The Orphan
could see them both. He glanced at the thicket to the west of him and
saw that it was thin, being a connecting link between the two larger
chaparrals.
"I don't know how you are on the jump, bronch," he said to his mount, "but
I reckon you can get through that, all right."
The cowboys disappeared from his sight behind the northern chaparral,
and as they did so he sunk his spurs into his horse and rode straight at
the prickly screen and, going partly over and partly through it, galloped
westward as the war party and the ranch contingent met. The shots and
yells were as music to his ears, and he bowed in mockery and waved his
hand at the turmoil as he made his escape. The timber wolf had won.