Limber, who had been across the Galiuros riding the Sulphur Springs
Valley for a couple of days, decided to go home by the way of Willcox
instead of cutting over the mountain trail, as he was anxious to hear
from Doctor Powell to whom he had written about the hold-up and trial.
Powell was in New York intending to sail for Europe within a few days.
As the cowboy came out of the Chinese restaurant, after having eaten
supper, Jack Green, the station agent, hailed him.
"Hello, Limber! There's been a telegram at the office two days for you,
but I hadn't any chance to send it out your way. I guess it'll be like
the Irishman's letter, for it was to let you know that the doctor was
coming. He arrived this afternoon, and I told him."
"Is he here?" asked Limber eagerly.
"No. He got a horse at the corral and went right out to Hot Springs.
Said he wanted to see you as soon as possible."
"Sorry I missed him. I came in thinkin' I'd hear from him. So I'll get
out as soon as Peanut's had a couple hours' rest."
They walked across the street together. As Green opened the door of the
station, he heard the telegraph instrument calling insistently.
"Just a minute, till I take this call," he said, seating himself at the
table. As the message began coming in rapidly, Green's face was
startled. He jumped up as he closed the message, turning to Limber.
"The whole bunch of train-robbers and all the other prisoners in the
Tombstone jail are loose. Wentz did it. They want a posse to start at
once for Hot Springs."
He and Limber started rapidly. "They think Glendon will try to reach the
Circle Cross, and probably others will be with him. I've got to see the
constable and Judge at once."
Green darted down the street. Limber hurried to the Cowboy's Rest and
saddled Peanut.
"Goin' to be a big storm," said Buckboard. "Why don't you lay over till
mornin', Limber?"
"I been at the Diamond H," Limber replied as he slipped the headstall
over Peanut's ears. "I missed Doctor Powell and want to get out to the
ranch tonight."
He led his pony from the stall as he spoke.
"Wait a minute and I'll lend you a slicker," offered Buckboard,
disappearing in his sleeping quarters and returning with the unwieldy,
yellow, water-proof coat.
"Won't you need it, yourself?"
"I got another in the bunkhouse. You can send it back when it's handy."
Limber thanked him and tied it across the back of his saddle, glancing
up at the threatening sky. "Guess I'll need it before long," he said,
riding to the gate. "Much obliged. So long!"
He turned Peanut's head to the Point of the Mountains, northwest of
town, passing the O T ranch five miles out. Then he struck the road to
Hot Springs, which lay thirty-five miles north of Willcox on a road that
was totally invisible, now. Limber did not hesitate to urge his pony
into a swift gallop, for he knew he could rely on Peanut's wonderful
instinct to carry his rider safely.
"If we kin reach the Springs before Glendon does," the cowboy spoke to
his pony, and the tapering ears went back at the sound of the voice
Peanut knew and loved, "We kin warn Glen the posse's comin' so's he kin
git away in time. She'd had enough troubles without being thar to see
him get killed or kill somebody else, Peanut. Thar's goin' to be
shootin' if they find Glen!"
Steadily the pony swung along, and the storm beat down on them
mercilessly. The constant flashes of lightning revealed a stream of
running water where the road bed, worn deeply by wagon wheels and hoofs
of teams, left a high ridge in the centre. Peanut, with goat-like
agility kept on the top of this ridge. It was the only solid ground
visible. All else was a swamp.
The road had never seemed so long to Limber as when at last, the pony
slipped down into the mouth of the Hot Springs Canon.
"Seven miles more, Peanut!"
It was the only way to reach the Springs or Circle Cross. During the dry
season, there was no water in the bed of the creek, as the Hot Springs
Creek seeped into the ground a short distance from the ranch house, and
the little stream was usually only two or three feet wide and a few
inches deep. Owing to the immense watershed of the canyon, a rain of
short duration often made crossing impossible. The banks of the creek
rose fifteen feet, or more, perpendicularly from constant floods, and
often these banks were over-running.
This knowledge was the basis of Limber's hope as well as his anxiety. If
he could cross the creek before the flood, that very thing might prove
an obstacle to the posse, and give Glendon a chance to get a good start.
If the flood was ahead of him, the cowboy knew he would have to wait and
lose any opportunity of seeing Glendon first. Then the other men would
be there with him.
He listened intently. As the sound he feared--a smothered roar--reached
his ears, he leaned forward in his saddle, and Peanut started with a
snort at the unusual touch of the sharp spurs.
It was a race for life now. Limber knew he must reach the one spot in
the canyon where his pony could scramble up the sheer embankment to the
upper road before the flood could catch them. Stumbling, panting, the
pony tore over the rocks and fallen trees that had been washed down in
previous floods, and crashed among dead limbs in the darkness. Peanut
fell heavily to his knees, but struggled up instantly, while Limber
spurred and called, "Yip! Yip! Yip! Peanut! Go on, you rascal!"
The pony's ears were flattened back. He knew the danger, now. The noise
of approaching water grew louder. Watching for the next flash of
lightning, Limber's eyes measured the distance between himself and the
point where the road struck sharply up the steep incline that led to
safety. With the same glance, he saw the wall of seething water tumbling
close to the crossing. Could they reach it in time?
The sounds became a deafening roar, and Peanut flagged. Limber leaned
over his shoulder and spoke to him, and at the sound of the loved voice,
the little pony made another effort. With a convulsive leap he reached
the slope of the road and scrambled wildly to safety, then stopped with
low drooping head and quivering limbs. Limber jumped from the saddle and
went to the pony's head, putting his arm over the rain-soaked neck, the
cowboy stroked the mane and forelock. They could rest now. No living
thing could cross that canyon until the storm ceased and the flood
subsided.
As the lightning flashed, Limber watched the flood sweep below, carrying
great cottonwood trees like straws, and over-turning immense boulders as
if they were marbles.
Man and pony had ridden against Death that night, and Peanut had won the
race.