He skillfully bent the end of the iron, thrust it into a tub of water
for a couple of seconds, then withdrew and examined it critically, after
which he heated it again. It was a peculiarly shaped iron, and Traynor
dropped on a box and looked with interest, as Loco pressed it on a
board, leaving a mark covering a space four inches each way.
O--O
X X
"That's an odd brand," said Traynor, picking up the burnt board and
scrutinizing it, while the Mexican regarded him closely.
"It is my horse brand," explained Loco. "Apache is leg weary and I am
going to turn him on the range a while. I bought another horse."
"There are plenty good horses in the herd without using your pony,
Loco."
The Mexican shook his head; "Many thanks, Senor, but I can do better
work with my own horse."
"Well suit yourself;" Traynor agreed carelessly. "I want you to go with
me this morning to Mud Springs, so I can show you where I want the ditch
dug and the mill put up."
Loco was studying the iron with the smile of an artisan who recognizes a
satisfactory piece of work. "I will get the horses, Senor;" he said, and
turned to the stable carrying the branding iron in his hand.
If Apache, Loco's pony, was leg-weary, it was not very evident as it
pranced and danced along the road beside gay little Chinati, whose swift
movements had earned his name, "Blackbird." Mud Springs lay twelve miles
away from the Diamond H, in the Galiuros toward Hot Springs. The trail
through Mud Springs was not often used, as the Box Springs trail, a few
miles further north, was more direct and also much easier. It was a
wild, desolate place and the spring in a narrow, rocky canyon, so cattle
preferred the valley during the grass season. This spring was of great
value to the Diamond H and PL ranges, however, giving cattle access to
feed in the mountains that otherwise would be too far from water.
Traynor, having learned wisdom from the drouth, had decided to build a
huge reservoir at the mouth of this canyon for the storage of water that
would otherwise be wasted by spreading.
He explained the details carefully to Loco, pointing out where the ditch
was to be dug to conduct the water to the reservoir site.
"I want the wind-mill put up beside the reservoir, like the one at the
house. I'll get the boys at work next week; but you can go on with the
mill work before then. I am going over to Hot Springs for a few days."
"How long did you live in Mexico, Senor?" asked Loco.
"I have never been there," answered Traynor, wondering at the question.
"Only Americanos who have lived in Mexico speak as you do," persisted
Loco.
"I learned Spanish at college," replied Traynor. "By Jove! What a shot!
It's too far for a pistol!"
He was gazing up at a magnificent blacktail deer which stood like a
statue on a ledge six hundred feet above them. Its head was thrown back,
nostrils dilated, the slender legs were tense and ready for flight as it
sniffed the wind. Then with a snort, it whirled and vanished.
Traynor had been so absorbed in admiration of the buck that he had
momentarily forgotten Loco's presence. The Mexican, fifteen feet in the
rear of Traynor had untied the riata which hung on his saddle and coiled
it cautiously, watching the other man sharply. With a swift movement he
flung the rope about Traynor's body, pinioning his arms firmly. Chinati,
feeling the jerk on his bridle, leaped forward and Traynor fell helpless
to the ground.
The sun was setting when Traynor again became conscious of his
surroundings and saw Loco standing over him.
"What happened, Loco?" he asked stupidly. "Was I thrown?"
Loco made no reply, and as Traynor still dazed from a deep gash on his
head, tried to rise, he realized that he was securely bound, hand and
foot. The loss of blood made him faint and sick, and his brain seemed
incapable of lucid ideas. He had struck his head on a sharp rock in
falling from his horse.
For a while he lay with closed eyes, then he looked up and saw Loco a
short distance away, gathering pieces of dead wood, which he heaped
systematically into a pile. Traynor recalled the Mexican's peculiar ways
and wondered if the man had suddenly become insane. He knew that if such
were the case, the best plan would be to avoid irritating him.
Traynor turned his head. The hope that Chinati had gotten away and might
give the alarm by returning to the ranch riderless died, when he saw his
own pony standing quietly beside Loco's. Then he noticed his pistol
glistening a few feet from him, and wondered if he could worm his way to
it without attracting Loco's attention. Keeping close watch upon the
Mexican, Traynor slowly writhed toward the firearm until he was within a
foot of it. By half turning he believed he could grasp the pistol as his
hands were tied in front of him. Loco lit the fire, and with a fiendish
grin untied the branding iron from his saddle and laid it on the flame.
A thrill of sickening fear shot through Traynor as he strained at the
rope binding him. One more effort and he would be able to touch the
pistol. The Mexican calmly arranged the wood which had fallen, then
walked over to Traynor, who closed his eyes, hoping to throw the man off
his guard; but Loco, with a malicious leer, picked up the pistol and
seated himself on the ground beside his captive.
"I saw you, Senor;" he chuckled.
"What are you going to do, Loco?" asked Traynor, trying to appear
unconcerned. He now understood that he was at the mercy of a maniac, and
thought what a fool he had been to forget the many irrational actions of
the man, whose name, Loco, should have been warning enough in itself.
The loco weed of Arizona and Mexico effects the brains of horses,
causing even the most reliable and well-broken animal to develop sudden
fits of viciousness. Loco's moodiness, his outbursts of anger, had
fastened the nickname on him while he worked for Walton.
Loco rolled a cigarette, which he lighted deliberately.
"So! You have not been in Mexico, Senor?" he drawled sarcastically.
"Never! I have no object in lying typo about it;" said Traynor
earnestly. "Why should I deny it?"
"Oh, no, Senor! You never knew Ramoncita?"
"I never heard of her." Then catching sight of a small crucifix that
hung against Loco's breast where the blue flannel shirt fell apart,
Traynor looked the man steadily in the eyes, and said slowly, "Hold that
crucifix before me, Loco, and I will swear that. I am telling you the
truth."
The man wavered a second, then laughed cunningly, "A crucifix means
nothing to a Gringo, and fear makes liars of all men."
"Let me go, and I will give you money to make life easy for you, Loco.
You can go back to Mexico to your friends and be happy."
The words roused the man to frenzy. He leaped to his feet, murder and
insanity stamped on his distorted features.
"Go back to Mexico, you Gringo dog? Do you know when I will go back
there? When I have killed you, as I swore. You stole her from me. You
rode away laughing, and that night she killed herself!" He jerked the
crucifix from his breast, and shook it in front of Traynor's face. "You
would swear it? On this--? You did not know that I took this Cross from
her dead heart! And I swore on it as I knelt beside her coffin, that I
would leave my country, my friends, and never rest or return until I had
found you, who had made her an outcast. Every one turned from her while
she was alive, and when she killed herself, the Church turned from her,
and she was buried in unconsecrated ground just outside the Church
fence. The Padre said that the Saints and the Holy Angels turn away
because she took her own life."
His voice rose more shrilly, "You did not think I could find you, but
Walton knew you. He saw you with her in Mexico while I was away. Walton
knew you, you Gringo dog! You killed her body! You killed her soul! You
thought you were safe, but Walton knew you!"
"Walton lied to you," Traynor answered furiously, recalling rumours of
Walton's threats of retaliation on the Diamond H owner and cowboys. The
Mexican, Loco, had been Walton's catspaw. Traynor subsided, groping for
some plan to influence the Mexican.
"You cannot escape this time!" gloated Loco, circling about Traynor as
buzzards circle about their prey. "I swore you should pay."
He went to the fire and tested his iron. Then, seeing it was not yet hot
enough, he came back and leaned over the prostrate man.
"They are waiting patiently, Senor! As patiently as I have waited seven
long years."
A number of crows rose from the bushes with discordant caws as he waved
his arms wildly in the air and cried, "Look!" They soon settled down
again, to watch the two men. Higher in the air circled a couple of
buzzards, and the faint, quivering yelp of a coyote disturbed the
silence.
"I shall not kill you, for I want you to live long enough to suffer. I
will leave my brand on your face and shall cut your ears as they do the
calves. Then I will go back to Mexico to my amigos and say, 'I have kept
my oath!' The buzzards and coyotes will keep you company after I have
gone, Senor!"
With a half-suppressed groan, Traynor thought of his wife. He had told
her he would remain a few days at Hot Springs, so there would be no
alarm at his absence. Later, when they missed him, a few tattered shreds
of clothing and fleshless, scattered bones would tell where the buzzards
and coyotes had feasted.
Muttering, the Mexican brought the white hot iron from the embers and
knelt by Traynor's side. He pulled the crucifix from his bosom, kissed
it reverently and replaced it; then he made the sign of the Cross in the
air above Traynor's face. His eyes gleamed exultingly as he clutched
Traynor's hair and brought the hot iron closer and closer.
Traynor could smell and feel the heat, and great beads of anguish broke
out as he made a last convulsive effort to free himself of his bonds. It
was useless! His muscles relaxed, he closed his eyes, clenched his teeth
and waited.
Loco was too intent upon his revenge to notice a cowboy racing toward
them down the side of the canyon, until a wild yell woke the echo of the
rocky walls. The Mexican looked up and recognized Limber. Fearful of
being thwarted in his revenge, Loco stooped quickly over Traynor and
lowered the iron deliberately while a fiendish smile distorted his face,
and a sibilant hiss, like a rattlesnake about to strike, sounded between
the gleaming teeth.
Traynor, too, had heard the yell, but he had no hope that Limber would
reach him in time. His eyes looked into Loco's. The iron almost touched
Traynor's flesh, the grip of the Mexican's hand that clutched his
victim's hair, was so tense that Traynor could feel the quivering
nerves.
A shot rang out. A look of surprise flashed over Loco's face, the iron
slid from his hand, but Traynor jerked suddenly so that it fell against
the ground, while Loco crumpled slowly across the body of the other man.
Weak with reaction Traynor became unconscious once more, and when he
opened his eyes, Limber had slipped his arms under Traynor's shoulders
and held a flask to the white lips of the rancher.
"Drink it," commanded the cowpuncher, who was now, trembling with
nervousness. "That was a mighty close call. Did he hurt you any?"
"I'll be all right in a few minutes," answered Traynor, as Limber cut
the rope and assisted him to his feet. The tight coils had made his body
numb and the cut on his head was an ugly one. Traynor was no coward, but
he felt a spasm of nausea as he looked at the iron which was now turning
from white heat to dull red.
"Better let me fix that cut," suggested Limber.
He helped Traynor to the spring, and washed the ugly wound as tenderly
as a woman, then he bound it with Traynor's white silk handkerchief as
he listened to the explanation of what happened.
"It's a lucky thing for Walton he ain't in the Territory," said the
cowboy tersely. "You can't blame the Greaser for believin' Walton's
lies. He's been off his cabeza a long time and everybody knowed it; but
Loco wouldn't of hurt nobody if Walton hadn't put him up to it. We
wondered why Walton was so all-fired rushed to catch that train, and had
figgered out it was because Billy Saunders ordered him to quit the
country. It's Walton oughter be layin' there instead of Loco."
The two men moved to the side of the dead Mexican, and as they stood
looking down at him, Traynor recalled Loco's words, "and she was buried
in unconsecrated ground, just outside the Church fence, and the Padre
said the Saints and Holy Angels turn away because she took her own
life."
The little crucifix dangling from the cord on Loco's neck had slipped
from the half-open shirt. Traynor knelt down and placed it on the dead
man's breast, then lifted the limp hands and laid them above the
crucifix. Limber took off his coat and covered the Mexican's face.
"I'll send a wagon from the ranch," said Traynor. "It's a mighty lucky
thing for me that you happened across here today. I was on my way to the
Springs to see you about a letter I had from Doctor Powell."
"I was workin' on the Divide, when I seen you and Loco comin' this way;
but I was busy with some cattle and didn't pay much attention. When I
got through and rid up on the Divide I seen Loco with the two horses and
you layin' on the ground. I thought mebbe you'd been throwed till I got
near enough to see what he was up to. I had to shoot him. Thar wasn't
nothin' else to do."
Traynor laid his hand on the cowboy's shoulder, looking at him
earnestly, "I owe you a debt that can never be paid, Limber."
The cowboy flushed with embarrassment. "You ain't got no call to thank
me, Mr. Traynor. Peanut done it, not me. He just busted hisself gettin'
here in time. I never seen him run so fast. Looked like he knowed it was
up to him and he done it."
"Peanut can't have all the credit," responded Traynor. Then he drew a
letter from his pocket. "Doctor Powell has written me that he would like
to make you his partner in the P L ranch and cattle, provided it would
not interfere with my plans."
Limber looked up in open surprise. "I ain't got enough to pay for 'em"
he said. "I only saved up nine hundred dollars, all told."
"Well, Powell says if you won't accept half interest, he will close out
his cattle entirely. The Sanitarium will take all his time and
attention, and he wanted you to handle the stock for him. I wrote him I
would be glad to see you two in partnership."
The cowboy stared at the ground. "I don't say that I wouldn't be glad to
take the chanct, because I've been savin' up hopin' some day I could buy
a bunch of stock; but I can't let him give it to me. I can't owe no
man, Mr. Traynor."
"Neither can I, Limber," was the quick retort. "The debt I owe you can
never be paid; but I can pay part of the interest due on it. Let me buy
the half-interest for you from Powell."
Limber shook his head slowly. "I don't want you to think I'm mulish, or
that I don't appreciate what you and Doctor Powell is offerin' me, but I
just can't do it."
"Then, let me make it a straight business deal, as if we were all
strangers. Give me your note and pay when you feel able. Surely you
can't make any objection to that?"
Limber took the proffered hand, "If you make the note out reg'lar, just
as if it was some one else," he stipulated.
Traynor smiled broadly, "All right, Limber. That's a go. I'll write
Powell about it. Now, I'll hurry down to the ranch and send one of the
boys with the wagon."
Peanut looked up as Chinati galloped away with Traynor, but seeing
Loco's horse, Apache, tethered to a bush, and that Limber was sitting
quietly not far away, the gallant little pony fell contentedly to
cropping the grass.
Limber rose, loosened the cinch and removed the saddle and blanket from
Peanut's lathered back which he rubbed with a wisp of grass. He stroked
the pony's nose absently and looked with pity at the dead Mexican.
"Dern that Walton! The cards was sure stacked against you, Loco. I'm
sorry I had to do it."