THE CAVE MEN
Harrison stared at him dumfounded, chin down and jutting, his hand
hovering longingly close to the butt of a revolver. He stood so for an
instant in silence, crouched and tense.
"Damn you, so you're here," he said at last in a low, hoarse voice.
"Don't make another pass like that or I'll plug you. Unbuckle that belt
and drop it. That's right. Now, kick it from you."
"What do you want?" demanded the man under the gun savagely after he had
obeyed instructions.
"You know what I want, you wolf." Steve moved forward till he was about
fifteen feet from the other. His eyes did not lift for a moment from the
man he covered.
They glared at each other, two savage, primeval men with the murder lust
in their hearts. All that centuries of civilization had brought them was
just now quenched.
Then the woman, the third factor in the triangle, stirred restlessly and
awoke. She looked at them incuriously from innocent eyes still heavy
with slumber. Gradually the meaning of the scene came home to her, and
with it a realization that Steve Yeager was standing before her in the
flesh.
"You--here!" she cried, scarce believing.
"The cur lied," explained the cowpuncher. "It was a frame-up to get you
in his power."
"But your letter said--"
"Never mind about that now. Go down into the wash and bring up my horse.
It needs water."
She hesitated. "You're not going to hurt him, Steve?"
"That's between him and me. Do as I say."
Ruth scarcely recognized in this grim, hard-faced man with the blazing
eyes the gay youth whom she knew at home. She felt in his manner the
steel of compulsion. Without further protest she moved to obey him. She
was fearful of what was about to take place, but her heart leaped with
gladness. Steve was alive and strong. It was not true that he lay with
the life ebbing out of him, all the supple strength stolen from his
well-knit body. For the moment that was happiness enough.
Harrison, watching with narrowed eyes the stone-wall face of his captor,
jeered at him hardily.
"Now you got a strangle holt on me, what you aim to do?"
"I'm going to take you back to the boys that are combing these hills for
you. They'll do all that's done."
The prisoner's sneer went out of commission. He did not need to ask what
Arizona cowpunchers would do to him under the circumstances.
"I figured your size was about a twenty-two--not big enough to fight it
out alone with me. Once is a-plenty."
The cave man's desire to beat down his enemy with his naked hands
smouldered fiercely in the cowpuncher's heart.
"Step out in front of me and saddle those horses," he ordered.
Harrison looked at him murderously. His mouth was an ugly, crooked gash.
Boiling with rage, he saddled, cinched, and watered the horses.
Ruth had returned with Steve's pony. Her heart beat fast with
excitement. An instinct told her they were about to come to grips in
epic struggle.
"You're mighty high-heeled now when you got a gun thrown on me. Put it
in the discard and I'll beat the life out o' you," threatened the
prizefighter.
Not releasing the other man with his eyes, Yeager lent one hand to help
Ruth mount. He gave clear, curt instructions in a level voice.
"Take all three horses and ride to the edge of the mesa. Wait there.
One of us--either him or me--will come up there after a while. If it's
him, take all the horses and light out. Keep the moon on your left and
ride straight forward till daybreak. You'll see a gash in the hills
about where the sun rises. That's Sieber's Pass. The boys will be
waiting for you. Understand?"
"Yes, but--What are you going to do, Steve?" she cried almost in a
whisper.
"That's my business--and I'm going to attend to it. Keep your mind on
the directions I've given. If it's Harrison that comes up over the hill,
get right out with all the horses. Gimme your promise on that."
Trembling, she gave it to him.
"Don't you be afraid. No need of that. _It won't be him. It'll be me
that comes._ But if it should be him, don't let him get close. Shoot him
first. It will be to save you from worse than death. Have you got the
nerve to do it?"
Something in his manner, in his voice, rang a bell in her heart. She
nodded, her throat too dry for speech.
"All right. Go now. And don't make any mistake whatever you do. Follow
out exactly what I've told you."
Again she promised. He handed to her the rifle. She rode away, taking
the other horses with her.
When she was out of sight in a dip of the draw, Harrison spoke.
"Well, what is it to be? I see you got your gats yet. Going to shoot me
down like a coyote?"
"That's what you deserve. That's what you'd get if the Lazy B boys got
hold of you. But I'm going to kill you with my bare hands, you wolf."
With what seemed a single motion of his hands he unbuckled the revolver
belt from his waist and flung it from him. Crouched like a tiger, he
moved slowly forward, the flow of his muscles rhythmic and graceful.
The prizefighter could scarce believe his luck. He threw out his salient
chin and laughed triumphantly. "You damned fool! I've got you at last.
I've got you."
Light as a panther, Yeager lashed out with his left and caught flush the
point of that protruding chin. The grinning head went back as if it had
been on hinges. Shoulders, buttocks, and heels hit the ground together.
The range-rider was on him as a terrier lights on a rat. Jarred though
his brains were, the instinct of self-preservation served the man
underneath. He half turned, flung an arm around the neck of his foe, and
clung tightly even while he covered up. Steve's fist hammered at the
back of the close-cropped head. The prizefighter swung over, face down,
rose to his hands and knees by sheer strength, then reached for his neck
grip again.
Yeager eluded him, throwing all his weight forward to force his opponent
down again. Harrison gave suddenly. They rolled over and over, fighting
and clawing like wild cats, two bipeds in a death struggle as fierce and
ruthless as that between wolves or grizzlies. No words were spoken. They
were back in the primitive Stone Age before speech was invented.
Snarling and growling, they fought with an appalling fury.
Presently they were back on their feet again. Toe to toe they stood,
rocking each other with sledgehammer blows. Blood poured from the beaten
faces of both. Harrison clinched. They staggered to and fro before they
went down heavily, Yeager underneath. The prizefighter thrust his right
forearm under the chin of his enemy and with his left thumb and middle
finger gouged at the eyes of the man beneath him. Steve's legs moved up,
encircled those of the rustler, and swiftly straightened. With a bellow
of pain Harrison flung himself free and clambered to his feet. The legs
of his trousers had been ripped open for a foot. Blood streamed from his
calves where the sharp rowels of the range-rider's spurs had torn the
flesh.
They quartered over the ground many times as they fought. Sometimes
they were on their feet slogging hard. Once, at least, they crouched
knee to knee. Lying on the ground, they struck no less furiously and
desperately. All sense of fair play, of sportsmanship, was gone. They
struggled to kill and not be killed.
Their lungs labored heavily. They began to stagger as they moved. The
muscles of their arms lost their resilience. Their legs dragged as
though weighted. Harrison was, if a choice might be made, in worse case.
He was the stronger man, but he lacked the tireless endurance of the
other. Watching him with animal wariness, Yeager knew that the man who
went down first would stay down. His enemy was sagging at the knees. He
could with difficulty lift his arms. He fought only in spurts. All this
was true of himself, too. But somewhere in him was that dynamic will not
to be beaten that counted heavily as a reserve.
The prizefighter called on himself for the last attack. He stumbled
forward, head down, in a charge. An aimless blow flung Steve against the
trunk of the live-oak. His arms thrashing wildly, Harrison plunged
forward to finish him. The cowpuncher ducked, lurched to one side.
Against the bark of the tree crashed the fist of the other, swinging him
half round.
Yeager flung himself on the back of his foe. Human bone and flesh and
muscle could do no more. The knees of Harrison gave and he sank to the
ground, his head falling in the spring. His opponent, breathless and
exhausted, lay motionless on top of him. For a time both lay without
stirring. The first to move was Steve. He noticed that the nose and
mouth of the senseless man lay beneath the water. By exerting all his
strength he pulled the battered head almost out of the water. Very
slowly and painfully he got to his feet. Leaning against the tree for
support, he looked down at the helpless white face of the man he had
hated so furiously only a few minutes earlier. That emotion had entirely
vanished. It was impossible to feel any resentment against that bruised
and bleeding piece of clay. Steve was conscious only of a tremendous
desire to lie down and go to sleep.
He laved his face with water as best he could, picked up the belt he had
thrown away, and drunkenly climbed the hill toward Ruth.
She cried out at sight of him with a heart of joy, but as he lurched
nearer she slid from the horse and ran toward him. Could this be the man
she had left but half an hour since so full of vital strength and youth?
His vest and shirt were torn to ribbons so that they did not cover the
mauled and bruised flesh at all. Every exposed inch of his head and body
had its wounds to show. He was drenched with blood. The sight of his
face wrung her heart.
"What did he do to you?" she cried with a sob, slipping an arm round his
waist to support him.
"I said I'd be the one to come," he told her as he leaned against the
neck of his pony.
"Oh, why did you do it?" And swiftly on the heels of that cry came the
thought of relief for him. "I'll get you water. I'll bathe your wounds."
"No. We've got to get out of here. Any time some of Pasquale's men may
come. His camp is not far."
"But you can't go like that. You're hurt."
"That's all right. Nothing the matter with me. Can you get on alone?"
"Can you?" she asked in turn, after she had swung to the saddle.
He had to try it three times before he succeeded in getting into the
seat. So weak was he that as the horse moved he had to cling with both
hands to the pommel of the saddle to steady himself. Ruth rode close
beside him, all solicitude and anxiety.
"You ought not to be riding. I know your wounds hurt you cruelly," she
urged in a grave and troubled voice.
"I reckon I can stand the grief. When I've had a bath and a good sleep
I'll be good as new."
She asked timidly the question that filled her mind. "Did you--What
about him?"
"Did I kill him? Is that what you mean?"
"Yes," she murmured.
"No, I reckon not. He was lying senseless when I left, but I expect
he'll come to."
"Oh, I hope so ... I do hope so."
He looked at her, asking no questions. Some men would have broken into
denunciation of the scoundrel, would have defended the course they had
followed. This man did neither the one nor the other. She might think
what she pleased. He had fought from an inner compulsion, not to win her
applause. No matter how she saw it he could offer no explanations or
apologies.
"I hope so because--because of you," she continued. "Now I know him for
what he is. I'm through with him for always." Then, in a sudden burst of
frankness: "I never did trust him, really."
"You've had good luck. Some women find out things too late," he
commented simply.
After that they rode in silence, except at long intervals when she asked
him if he was in pain or too tired to travel. The lightening of the sky
for the coming dawn found them still in the saddle with the jagged
mountain line rising vaguely before them in the darkness like a long
shadow. Presently they could make out the gash in the range that was
Sieber's Pass.
"Some of the boys will be waiting there for us, I reckon," Steve said.
"They'll be glad to see you safe."
"If I'm safe, they'll know who brought it about." Her voice trembled as
she hurried on: "I can't thank you. All I can say is that I understand
from what you saved me."
He looked away at the distant hills. "That's all right. I had the good
luck to be in the right place. Any of the boys would have been glad of
the chance."
After a time they saw smoke rising from a hollow in the hills. They were
climbing steadily now by way of a gulch trail. This opened into a draw.
A little back from the stream a man was bending over a camp-fire. He
turned his head to call to a second man and caught sight of them. It was
Orman. He let out a whoop of gladness when he recognized Ruth. Others
came running from a little clump of timber.
Phil lifted his sister from the saddle and kissed her. He said nothing,
since he could not speak without breaking down.
Jackson looked at Steve in amazement. "You been wrastling with a
circular saw?" he asked.
It hurt Yeager's broken face to smile, but he attempted it. "Had a
little difference of opinion with Chad. We kind o' talked things over."
Nobody asked anything further. It is the way of outdoor Arizona to take
a good deal for granted. This man was torn and tattered and bruised. His
face was cut open in a dozen places. Purple weals and discolorations
showed how badly his body had been punished. He looked a fit subject for
a hospital. But every one who looked into his quiet, unconquered eyes
knew that he had come off victor.
"First off, a bath in the creek to get rid of these souvenirs Chad sent
to my address. Then it's me for the hay," he announced.
Ruth watched him go, lean, sinewy, and wide-shouldered. His stride was
once more light and strong, for with the passing hours power had flowed
back into his veins. She sighed. He was a man that would go the limit
for his friends. He was gentle, kindly, full of genial and cheerful
courage. But she knew now there was another side to him, a quality that
was tigerish, that snarled like a wolf in battle. Why was it that men
must be so?
Old Dan chuckled. "Ain't he the lad? Stove up to beat all get-out. But
I'd give a dollar Mex to see the other man. He's sure a pippin to see
this glad mawnin'."
Something of what was groping in her mind broke from Ruth into words.
"Why do men fight like that? It's dreadful."
Dan scratched his shiny bald head. "It straightens out a heap of things
in this little old world. My old man used to say to me when I was a kid,
'Son, don't start trouble, but when it's going, play yore hand out.'
That's how it is with Steve. He ain't huntin' trouble anywhere, but he
ce'tainly plays his hand out."
Phil took charge of his sister. He gave her coffee and breakfast, then
arranged blankets so that she could get a few hours' sleep in comfort.
Orman rode back to Los Robles to carry the word to Mrs. Seymour that
Ruth had been rescued and was all right. The others lounged about camp
while Yeager and the girl slept.
At noon they were wakened. Coffee was served again, after which they
rode down from the pass and started home. Before supper-time they were
back in Los Robles.