That night the Three put up at the _cantina_ in the little adobe town of
Las Bocas, where, by reason of occasional largesses to the leader of the
revolutionary faction that happened to be on top, a welcome was always
certain. Just now it was more particularly so because the present
_jefe-politico_, a Carranzista, varied his political activities by
acting as "fence" in the disposal of their plunder.
In accordance with his advice, the following afternoon found them
approaching the American border at a point far west of their usual
sphere of operations. While they journeyed the sun slid down its western
slant till it hung like a smoky lamp in the far dust of the desert.
Behind them the sea of sage still ran off to distant mountains, but the
sunset glow washed its dust away, draping the land in a royal robe.
Ahead the grade was rising imperceptibly but steadily to a sparse grass
country where the sage, _palo verde_, and yucca gave place to huge
_sahuaros_ that strewed the plain with their fluted barrels like the
jade columns of some vast ruin. Among them roamed the flocks and herds
of a pink-walled _hacienda_ that nestled in a grove of lordly
cottonwoods. As they rode past, the Three noted with appraising glances
the sleek hides of a fine bunch of steers.
"Dress a thousand pounds of beef apiece," Jake opined.
"Worth eighty pesos, gold, on the hoof, in El Paso," Sliver yearningly
added.
But their interest went no further--for reasons that appeared when, at
sundown, they rode past the concrete pillar that marked the
international boundary. Rustler that he was, drunkard and gambler,
utterly worthless if the reports current on the New Mexican ranges were
to be believed, Sliver's eye nevertheless lit up at the sight of it; the
glow on his hard face was not all sunset reflection.
"The good old U.S.," he commented. "_Some_ country!"
"He wasn't talking that way las' time we crossed." Jake winked at Bull.
"Guess not. He was cussing Cristobel Columbo for ever having discovered
it."
"That's right," Sliver admitted. "But I was what you-all might call in a
bit of a hurry with a squad of rangers streaking at my heels. Other
things being ekal--"
"Which they ain't," Jake interrupted. "Mexico's good enough for me.
Mexico an' revolution! For I tell you right now that if Porfirio Diaz
was still boss, his rurales would have taken right holt where the
rangers left off. Instead of dangling from a pine on the American side,
we'd hev' finished with a fusillado on this. But with the government
switching every five minutes between Orozco, Villa, Huerta, Carranza,
an' the jefe-politicos an' governors slaughtering each other
between-whiles, it's nobody's business to look after us. We make our
little sneaks across the border an' return in peace an' quiet. So 'Viva
la revolucion!' That reminds me--where're you heading, Bull?"
"Livingstone _rancho_ on the Little Stoney."
"Say, but that's horses! Don't they run 'em into the corrals at night?"
The big rustler nodded. "All the easier to find, an' after you once get
them moving it don't take three days to run 'em over the line. Besides,
Don Manuel tol' me at Las Bocas yesterday that the Carranzistas are
needing heavy horses for their artillery over on the Coast. He'll pay
fifty pesos apiece an' take his chance on a five-thousand-per-cent
profit after the old gentleman grabs the presidential chair." He
emphatically concluded, "_Horses_, you bet!"
"Some risky, cutting 'em out?" Sliver, too, looked dubious.
"Not as much as you think. Did you never have some flea-bitten son of a
gun rub down the bars while you slept plumb up against the corral an'
wake next morning to find nary a head in sight? A horse don't like a
corral any more'n a man loves prison. The bars once down, you kin trust
'em to soft-foot it out to the open. Why"--his grin at the remembrance
set a flash of good-nature in his hard face--"why, I've seen an old nag
look back at a colt that kicked the bars passing out just like he was
saying, 'You damn young fool! now you've upset the soup!' Leave it to
me. I'll work 'em out on foot while you sit tight an' hold my horse.
Moon's going to be jest about right, too. She'll be taking her first
peep about the time we get 'em out in the clear. It'll be a pipe, then,
to saddle up fresh beasts an' shoot 'em over the border."
The _rancho_ for which they were heading lay still two hours away, and
while they rode the _sahuaro_ pillars gave place in turn to _piñon_ and
juniper thinly strewn over rolling grassland. Before night settled down,
the wandering cattle-trails they had followed drew into the twin ruts of
a wagon-road. Their going was timed by the moon. But it stole out from
behind a low hill a trifle ahead of schedule. By its first dim radiance
they made out the dark mass of the _rancho_ buildings, house, corrals,
stables, in a swale between two hills. It was, however, dark enough for
their purpose, and, leaving his horse with the others, Bull went forward
on foot.
It was nervous work, sitting there watching the buildings take form
under the waxing moon. Their strained senses took every sound, smell,
and sight; a dog's bark, click of horns as a steer scratched his
forehead on the top rail of a corral, the impatient pawing of a horse,
the warm cattle odor that floated on the night breeze. Dim, uncertain
shapes seemed to form and fade in the nearer gloom. They were nervous as
cats by the time a gun suddenly flashed under the dark porch of the
house.
The croupy cough of a child plus the nervous fears of its mother did it.
Not that the woman saw Bull when she drew the curtain and peeped out.
But these days, with a new revolution breaking, as Jake put it, "every
five minutes" over the border, the American ranchers along the
international line slept always with an eye open for possible raids. So
far as Bull was concerned, her whisper was just as fatal as though she
had seen him.
"Pa! get up! I'm sure there's some one out there!"
Perhaps the rancher did see. Educated in objects moving through dusk,
his plainsman's eye may have noticed movement. Or perhaps he shot on
chance. In either case he was quickly informed by the roar and clatter
of hoofs that followed, for though Bull did not expect, now, to get away
with a single head, pursuit would be blinded and divided by stampeding
the beasts. Dropping the bars while the gun continued to flash its
staccato warnings, he started the animals out, leaped on the back of
one; as soon as it cleared the huddle, went shooting down the trail,
guiding the animal with the swing of his body.
Unfortunately, the whim that governs a stampede moved the other beasts
to follow. So when the rancher and his men--in shirts and trousers, but
not one without a gun--pulled their mounts out of the stables, their
pursuit was guided by the distant thunder of hoofs. Neither did Bull's
quick change to his own beast divert the stampede. When the Three
galloped on, the scared animals still followed like dogs at their heels.
"First time my prey ever chased me!" Jake laughed harshly, looking back
at the band. "If old man Livingstone don't follow too close we'll get
'em yet!"
Bull shook his head. "Not with the moon sailing up to her full an' the
critters leaving a trail broad as a pike road. Listen to that!"
A sharp report punctuated the thud and clatter of the stampede; the
first shot of a fusillade that grew hotter and hotter as the horses
trailed off right and left, leaving the rustlers more exposed. As yet
they were running in the shadow of a long hill where the light was poor.
But half a mile ahead lay an open plain unbroken by cover.
"They'll shoot the lights outen us there!" Sliver prophesied. "Better
make a stan' while we can."
"They _are_ getting sassy," Jake agreed, as a bullet whizzed under his
chin. "We'll have to teach 'em this ain't no turkey-shoot."
The deciding word came, as usual, from Bull. "They'd surround an' hold
us for the posse. You ride on while I check 'em. If they try to round me
it'll be up to you to take 'em from the rear. Get behind so's they don't
see me turn."
In the faint light his sudden whirl behind a bush went unnoticed. He had
already unshipped his rifle from the saddle slings, and through the
upper branches he took careful aim. A hundred yards away Livingstone was
coming at full gallop, about the same distance ahead of his men. Bull
waited till he could see the old fellow's hair, silver in the moonlight,
framing his angry red face. Once the sights lined up level between the
eyes. But muttering, "I ked sure spoil your beauty, but--I won't," Bull
lowered them to the horse's chest and fired.
With the report the beast plunged forward, head and neck doubled under,
throwing his rider out in the clear. Though badly shaken, the old man
was up the next instant, and as he ran for cover his sudden change of
expression from anger to flustered surprise drew from Bull a grin.
"Teach you not to get so fresh."
At the crack of the rifle the others had also darted for cover, and as
their guns began to spit and flash from the chaparral along the
hillside, Bull laughed outright. "Not a rifle among 'em. Easy going!
Hasta luego, señores! Some other time!"
One or two bolder spirits emerged from the chaparral as Bull rode out in
the open. But they scuttled back like rabbits as he swung in the saddle
with leveled rifle. Though they followed till the boundary pillar stood
out, two hours later, a shining silver shaft under the brilliant moon,
they preserved always a safe distance, and Bull denied Sliver's
suggestion to "chuck a volley" into the dim mass.
"Kain't you leave your Uncle Samuel sleep? He ain't a-going to be moved
off his 'watchful waiting' by the loss of no horse, but if we go to
killing folks, he's sure going to take time to catch our goat b'twixt
revolutions."
"To-morrow morning," Jake commented, grinning, "the morning papers will
be running scareheads an inch high about the 'Latest Border Outrage!'
Meanwhile we'll be jogging home--"
"--without the horses," Bull dryly finished.
"An' Rosa, back at the roost," Sliver added, "howling for coffee an'
flour an' grease."
Which reminded Jake of their former argument: "I told you we orter ha'
bought more whisky. Nothing left but to ride back to Las Bocas an' hit
Don Miguel for credit."