TRAPPED
After leaving Holcomb, Yeager walked down to the river-bed, followed the
bank for a couple of hundred yards, and crept forward on all fours
through the alfalfa pasture to the barb-wire fence that paralleled the
road at some distance. He crawled beneath the lowest wire and moved
through the mesquite to a point from which he could see the building
where Farrar and Threewit were held prisoners. Two guards with rifles
across their shoulders paced up and down outside.
Here Steve lay motionless for about half an hour. He believed that
before the poker game began some one of the party would drop around to
see that all was quiet and regular in the camp. His guess was a good
one. Pasquale himself, arm in arm with Ochampa, made the rounds and
stopped for a moment to speak to the sentries in front of the prison.
The man crouched in the bear grass could tell that Gabriel was in high
good-humor. He jested with the men and clapped them on the shoulder
jovially. He laughed as heartily at his own witticisms as they did.
"There shall be mescal to-morrow for the whole army to drink the health
of the Liberator and his bride. See to it, Ochampa," he ordered as they
walked away.
"Viva Pasquale the Liberator," cried the sentries in a fine fervor of
enthusiasm.
Presently the man in hiding stole quietly to the road and advanced down
it at a leisurely pace.
"Promising them mescal, eh?" he murmured. "Well, I'll bet a bird in the
hand is worth twenty or most sixteen in the bush." He patted
affectionately a bottle that lay snug in his pocket.
"Who goes?" demanded one of the prison guards as he approached.
"Pedro Cabenza."
Steve chatted with them for a few moments before he produced his bird in
the hand. They told him of what Pasquale had promised. Slyly he looked
around to see that they were alone and drew from his pocket the bottle.
"Ho, compañero! Behold what I have. Gringo whiskey--better far than
mescal," he cried softly as he handed the treasure to one of the guards.
The man glanced around hurriedly, even as had Cabenza, then tilted the
mouth of the bottle over his lips and let a long stiff drink gurgle down
his throat. He patted his fat paunch contentedly and handed the bottle
to his companion. The second guard also drank deeply.
Cabenza put an arm across the shoulders of each and drew their heads
close while he whispered confidential scandal about Pasquale and Ramon
Culvera. The two men listened greedily, eager for more. It happened that
there was no truth in the salacious tidbits which Pedro retailed, but he
invented glibly and that did just as well.
The heads of his listeners began to nod. They murmured drowsy
interjections and leaned more heavily upon his arms. Ineffectually they
tried to shake off the lassitude that was creeping over their senses.
"Keep watch, brother, while I take just forty winks," begged one, and
fairly thrust his rifle into the hand of Yeager.
The soldier staggered to the adobe wall and slumped down beside the
door. His eyes closed, fluttered open again, shut a second time. They
did not open. He was fast asleep.
The second guard sat down beside him and smiled up sleepily at the
standing man. "Manuel sleeps on duty. He is--a fool. I do--not--sleep.
No, I--I--"
His head drooped on his chest. Steve took the rifle that fell from his
relaxed hand.
Instantly the American was tapping gently on the door.
"Threewit--Farrar!" he called softly. "This is Steve."
There was the sound of quick footsteps. A voice within answered in a
whisper.
"Yes, Steve. This is Frank."
From his pocket the range-rider took a bunch of skeleton keys. It was no
trouble to find one that would unlock the door, but in addition to this
fastening there was a padlock. With a hatchet which he had brought
Yeager pried the staple out. In another moment the door was open.
"Help me drag these fellows inside," ordered the cowpuncher, taking
command promptly. "Frank, tear one of those blankets into strips. We've
got to tie their hands and feet and gag them. Shuck your coat, Threewit.
You've got to wear this fellow's blouse and sombrero. You, too, Frank.
It's Manuel's castaways for you. Move lively, boys. This is surely going
to be our busy evening."
"What's the programme?" asked Farrar, doing what he was told to do.
Steve explained briefly. "Old Pasquale has got Ruth Seymour here at his
house. He intends to marry her to-morrow. I don't mean he shall. A good
friend of mine is entertaining the old scoundrel to-night and some of
the other high moguls in camp. My notion is to slip into old Gabriel's
headquarters and rescue Ruth."
"Has Ruth been here ever since she came down with Harrison that time he
lied to her about you being wounded?" asked Threewit. "We were told you
butted in and took her home."
"I did. Harrison went to Los Robles later and brought her by force. He
was looking for me and bumped into her by chance. His idea was to marry
her as soon as they reached camp. But Pasquale balked. He took a fancy
to Ruth himself."
While Yeager talked his fingers were busy every moment. From long usage
he was expert at roping and tying. Many a time he had thrown the diamond
hitch while packing on mountain trails. His skill served him well now.
He trussed the guards as if they had been packs for the saddle, binding
them hand and feet so that they could not move.
"We heard that an American had been killed in camp to-day. We've been
worried for fear it might have been you, Steve," said the camera man.
"It was Harrison. He tried to sell Pasquale out to Farrugia and the old
fox got his letter. Pasquale accused him of his treachery and had him
assassinated on the spot. Better pull that sombrero lower over your
face, Threewit. And keep your hands out of the light as much as you can.
They're too white for this section of the country."
"What if some one talks to me? I can't put over their lingo."
"Just grunt. I'll do what talking is necessary. All right. We'll make
tracks, boys."
They stepped outside. Yeager relocked the door and drove the staple back
into the wood with the end of his rifle by steady pressure and not by
blows.
Steve led them through the bear grass into the pasture and across it to
the river-bank. Here, under the heavy shadows of the overhanging
cottonwoods, he outlined his plans.
Threewit spoke aloud his fears. "But, good Lord! what chance have we
got? It's a cinch we can't put four more guards out of business without
being seen. And if we are caught--" His voice failed him.
The cowpuncher looked at him, and then at Farrar. The camera man was
pale, but his eyes met those of his friend steadily. Steve judged he
would do to tie to, that his nerve would pull him through. But the
director was plainly shaken with fears. He was not a coward, but the
privations and anxieties of the past ten days had got on his nerves. His
lips twitched and his fat hand trembled. His life had fallen in too soft
and easy places for this sort of thing.
The cowboy reassured him gently, even as he rearranged his plans on the
spot. "We're going to pull it off, but as you say there is a chance we
won't make it. I'm going to leave you in the corral with the horses. If
Frank and I should slip up and get caught you'll still have a chance to
get away."
"I'm going through with it just the same as you boys," insisted the
director shakily.
"You're going to do as I say, Threewit. I'm elected boss of this rodeo.
One of us has got to stay by the horses to make sure they're ready when
we need 'em. That's going to be you. You're to sit right steady on the
job till we come. If you hear shooting,--and if we don't show up in a
reasonable time after that,--light out and save your hide. Keep that
star--see, the bright one close down to the horizon--keep it right in
front of you all night. By daybreak you ought to be across the line."
"I'm not going to ride away and leave you boys and Ruth here. What do
you take me for?" demanded Threewit huskily.
Steve put a hand on the shoulder of the little man. "You're all right,
Billie," he said, with the affectionate smile that men as well as women
loved. "We all know you'll do to take along any time when we need a man
that's on the level. You wait there at the corral. If we show up, good.
If we don't--well, we'll be beyond help. There'll be nothing left for
you to do but burn the wind."
Frank swallowed hard. "What Steve says goes with me, Billie."
"Good." Yeager turned briskly to the business in hand. "We might as well
be on our way, boys. There's no hurry, because I want Pasquale and
Culvera to get settled at their game. But I reckon we'll drift along
easy like."
They waded the river, which at its deepest did not reach to their
calves, and scrambled up the opposite bank to a bench of shale. Yeager,
after a short search, found hidden under the foliage of a prickly pear
the rope he had left there some hours earlier. They were in a large
fenced pasture where were kept the horses of the officers. At one end
could be seen dimly the outline of a little corral.
"You boys head across that way and wait for me. The remuda is at the
other end of the pasture under the care of a boy," explained the
cowpuncher.
"Hadn't I better go along with you in case of trouble?" asked Farrar.
"There isn't going to be any trouble. I'm getting the horses for
Pasquale. See?"
After the others had left him, Steve lit a cigarette and sauntered to
the far end of the field. Presently he gave a call that brought an
answer. The horses were grazing in a loose herd that covered perhaps a
third of an acre. From behind them emerged a youth on horseback.
"I want four horses in a hurry," announced the range-rider.
"What for?"
"Never mind what for, compadre. I didn't ask old Gabriel what for when
he sent me," grumbled the messenger.
"Why didn't you say for Pasquale?" The young man was preparing his rope
swiftly and efficiently. "Did the general say what horses?"
"He named the roan with the white stockings and the white-nosed
buckskin."
"Then he's going to travel fast and far. Why, in the devil's name, since
he is going to be married in the morning?"
"Why does the general always do what isn't expected? The saints know. I
don't," growled Steve.
Both of them were expert ropers. In five minutes the American was
swallowed in the darkness. He was astride the bare back of the buckskin
and was leading the other ponies. As soon as he knew he was safely out
of sight and hearing, he deflected toward the corral.
His friends were waiting for him anxiously. Steve dropped lightly to the
ground.
"Hold the horses a minute, Frank," he said.
Striding to a feed-stall filled with alfalfa, he tossed the hay aside
and dragged to the light a saddle. Presently he uncovered a second, a
third, and a fourth.
"Brought them here last night--stole them from the storehouse," he
explained casually.
"You didn't overlook any bets--thought of everything, even to
saddle-blankets and water-bags already full," contributed Farrar,
digging up these supplies from the alfalfa.
Steve cinched the saddles himself, though Farrar was a fair horseman. If
it came to a pinch the turning of a saddle might spoil everything, and
so far as he could the range-rider was forestalling any accidents that
might be due to carelessness.
"How long am I to wait for you?" asked Threewit.
"We'd ought to be back inside of an hour and a half--if luck's with us.
But we may be delayed by some one hanging around. Give us two hours or
even two and a half--unless hell begins to pop." Steve looked at his
watch in the moonlight. "Say till twelve o'clock. Of course, when you
go, you'll leave the other horses here on the chance that we come later.
You'd better ride that round-bellied bay."
"Am I to follow the star right up the hill?"
"No. Better take the draw. The sentinels will be on the hill. Likely
they'll see you and shoot at you. But don't stop, even if they're
close. Keep a-going. They can't hit a barn door."
"Neither can I," lamented the director.
"Then you'll all be safe." Yeager turned to Farrar. "Come on, Frank."
The two crossed the pasture to the river and waded through the shallow
stream to the other side. They remained in the shadows of the bank,
following the bend of the river as it circled the village. Through the
cottonwoods they crept toward the rear of the two-story house where
Pasquale lived and Ruth was held prisoner.
From a sandy spot at the foot of a cotton wood tree Yeager dug a rope
ladder.
"Been making it while I was night-herding the remuda," he told Farrar in
answer to a surprised question.
"Beats me you didn't make an auto for us to get away in," answered his
admiring friend with a grin.
"Wait here," whispered Steve. "I'm going forward to look the ground
over. Keep your eyes open in case I give a signal."
The range-rider snaked his way toward the house, moving so slowly and
noiselessly that Farrar lost sight of him entirely and began to wonder
where he had gone. It must have been nearly twenty minutes later that he
caught a glimpse of him without his rifle. Yeager was engaged in
confidential talk with a guard in uniform. Frank saw the bottle pass
from his friend to the Mexican, who took a pull at it. A second guard
joined the two presently. He also took a drink.
The three disappeared together into the shadowy darkness of the house
wall. Farrar was wondering what had happened when a single figure
emerged into the moonlight and made a signal for him to come forward.
Yeager did not wait for him, but climbed up the post of the back porch
as he had done once before. The camera man was on hand by the time Steve
reached the roof. He looked up silently while his friend reached across
and rapped on the window of a lighted room. The sash was raised very
gently.
Ruth leaned out. "Is it you, Steve?" Her voice was tremulous and
tearful. It was a safe guess she had been sobbing her misery into a
pillow.
"Yes."
He caught hold of the edge of the window and swung across, working
himself up and in by sheer power of muscle. Rapidly he fastened the end
of the rope ladder to the head of the bed, which he first half lifted
and half dragged to the window. The rest of the ladder he threw out.
"Ready, Ruth?" he asked, turning to her.
She nodded. He was offering his arm to help her through the window when
a frightened call came from below.
"Steve!"
He looked down. A Mexican trooper, one of those set to guard the front
of the house, was approaching. A glance was enough to show that he knew
something to be wrong. His startled eyes passed from Farrar to the rope
ladder. They followed it from the ground to the window. He stopped,
almost under the window. The camera man, taken aback, did not know what
to do. Was he to run the risk of a shot? Even while he hesitated the man
in uniform reached for a revolver.
Yeager knew what to do, and he did it promptly. Sweeping Ruth back from
the window, he clambered through himself and poised his body for the
leap. The sentry looked up again, saw what was about to happen, and let
out a startled scream at the same instant that he flung up an arm and
fired. Steve felt a sharp sting in his leg as he descended through the
air. He landed astride on the shoulders of the Mexican. The man went to
earth, hammered down so hard that the breath was driven from his body.
The arm of the range-rider rose and fell once. In his hand was the blue
barrel of a revolver. The corrugated butt of the .45 had crashed into
the thick matted hair of the Mexican. But it had done its work. Yeager
rose quickly. The soldier lay still.
Already Ruth was coming down the swaying ladder. She dropped the last
few rounds with a rush, plump into the arms of Steve.
"Let us hurry--hurry," she cried.
It was time to be gone, if not too late. Already men were converging
upon them from different sides. Others were bawling orders for soldiers
to turn out.
Steve went down almost as quickly as he had risen. His leg had given way
unexpectedly.
Before he reached his feet again his revolver was out and doing
business.
"Fire at their legs, Frank. All we want to do is to stop them. Ruth, you
run ahead, straight for the trees. We'll be with you in a minute,"
Yeager gave orders quietly.
The girl flashed one look at him, found assurance in his strong, lean
face, and obeyed without a word.
Farrar's rifle was already scattering bullets rather wildly into the
night. Lead spattered against the adobe wall behind them. But the
attackers were checked. Their fire was of a desultory character. There
was such a thing as being too impetuous. Who were these men they were
assailing? Perhaps they were acting under orders of Pasquale. Better
not be too rash. So the mind of the peon soldiers decided.
As soon as Ruth had reached the shelter of the grove her friends moved
to join her. They were halfway across the open when the cowpuncher
plunged to the ground again.
The camera man turned and ran back to him. "What is it, Steve? Have they
hit you?" he asked anxiously.
"Plugged a pill into my laig as I took the elevator down from the second
story. Gimme a hand up."
Frank put an arm around his waist as a support and they reached cover
just as the leg failed for a third time. Yeager crawled forward a few
yards on his knees into the underbrush.
Soft arms slid around his neck and shoulder as someone plumped down
beside him.
"You're wounded. You've been shot," Ruth breathed tremulously.
"Yes," assented Yeager. "Hand me your rifle, Frank."
They exchanged weapons. Steve had already made up his mind exactly what
was best to do.
"I'm going to stay here awhile and hold them back. You go on with Ruth,
Frank. Leave a horse for me. I'll be along later," he explained.
"We're not going away to leave you here," protested Ruth indignantly.
His voice was so matter of fact and his manner so competent that she had
already drawn back, half ashamed, from the caressing support to which
her feelings had driven her.
He turned on her eyes cool and steely. "You're going to do as I say,
girl. You're wasting time for all of us every moment you stay. Take her,
Frank."
Farrar spoke in a low voice of troubled doubt. "But what are you going
to do, Steve? We can't leave you here."
The bullets of the Mexicans were searching the grove for them. Any
moment one might find a mark.
The range-rider made a gesture of angry impatience. "You obey orders
fine, don't you?" His face flashed sudden anger. "Get out. I know my
plans, don't I? Pull your freight. Vamos!"
"And you'll be along later, will you?"
"Of course I will. I've got it all arranged. Hurry, or it will be too
late."
Ruth half guessed his purpose. She began to sob, but let herself be
hurried away by Farrar.
"He's going to stay there. He's not coming at all," she wailed as she
ran.
"Sho! Of course he's coming. You know Steve, don't you? He's always got
something good up his sleeve."
But though her friend reassured her, he could not still his own fears.
Something in him cried out against the desertion of a wounded ally, one
who had risked his life to save them all. Still, there was the girl to
be considered. If Yeager wanted to give his life for hers he had the
right. Many a good man of the Southwest would have done what Steve was
doing, given the same circumstances. It was up to him, Farrar, to back
his friend's play and see it through.
Yeager crawled on his hands and knees into a mesquite thicket from which
he could command a view of the open space back of Pasquale's house. He
broke carefully half a dozen twigs that interfered with the free play of
his rifle. Then he placed his revolver beside him ready for action.
After which he waited, tense and watchful.
Mexicans were swarming about the back of the house. One climbed the rope
ladder, looked in the window, and explained with much gesturing to those
below that the room was empty. Random shots were thrown toward the river
and into the grove. But nobody headed the pursuit. They were waiting for
a leader.
Then Pasquale burst furiously into sight around the house. Culvera,
Ochampa, and Holcomb followed him. The general flung himself into an
excited group, tossing to right and left those who were in his way. He
snapped out questions, gave orders, and stamped over the ground like a
madman.
Called by Culvera, he strode forward to one of the drugged guards. In an
impotent fury he shook the man, trying to waken him from his sleep;
then, raging at his failure, he flung the helpless body against the wall
and turned on his heel.
Order began to evolve out of the mob. Pasquale himself organized the
pursuit. He spread the line out so that as it advanced it would sweep
the whole space to the river. There was no longer any wild firing. Men
brought from the stables eight or ten horses for the officers.
As the line moved forward, Yeager thought it time to let the enemy know
where he was. He drew a bead on the general, moved his rifle slightly to
the left, and fired. Pasquale drew his sword and waved it.
"Take the girl alive. Shoot down the traitor dogs with her," he cried
savagely. "One hundred pesos to the man who kills either of them or
captures her."
Steve answered this by firing twice, once with his revolver and almost
immediately afterward with his rifle. Ochampa sat down suddenly. He had
been hit in the leg.