"A Ranger."
The fellow Law had addressed let fall his rifle; two pairs of dark
hands rose slowly. Then the Ranger went on in Spanish:
"Anto, lower your left hand and unbuckle your belt." Anto did as he was
told, his revolver and cartridge-belt dropped to the ground. "And you,
compadre, do the same. Mind you, the left hand! Now face about and walk
to the charco, both of you. Good!"
Law stepped into view, his Winchester in the crook of his arm. He
emptied the three discarded weapons, then, walking to Anto's horse, he
removed the second carbine from beneath the saddle-flap and ejected its
shells into his palm.
This done, he addressed the stranger. "Now, friend, who are you, and
why are you riding with this fellow?"
"My name is Panfilo Sanchez, señor. Before God, I have done nothing."
The speaker was tremendously excited.
"Well, Panfilo, that will take some proving," the Ranger muttered.
"What do you say?"
The gist of this statement having been repeated in Spanish, both
prisoners burst into clamorous explanation of their presence together.
Panfilo, it seemed, had encountered his companion purely by chance, and
was horrified now to learn that his newly made friend was wanted by the
authorities. In the midst of his incoherent protestations Mrs. Austin
appeared.
"He is telling you the truth, Mr. Law," she said, quietly. "He is one
of my men."
Both Mexicans looked blank. At sight of the speaker their mouths fell
open, and Panfilo ceased his gesticulations.
Mrs. Austin went on: "He is my horse-breaker's cousin. He couldn't have
had any part in that murder in Jim Wells County, for he was at Las
Palmas when I left."
Panfilo recovered from his amazement, removed his sombrero, and blessed
his employer extravagantly; then he turned triumphantly upon his
captor. "Behold!" cried he. "There you have the truth. I am an
excellent, hard-working man and as honest as God."
"Surely you don't want him," Alaire appealed to Law. "He was probably
helping his countryman to escape--but they all do that, you know."
"All right! If he's your man, that's enough," Dave told her. "Now then,
boys, it will soon be dark and we'll need some supper before we start.
It won't hurt Anto's horse to rest a bit, either. You are under
arrest," he added, addressing the latter. "You understand what that
means?"
"Si, señor!"
"I won't tie you unless--"
"No, señor!" Anto understood perfectly, and was grateful.
"Well, then, build a fire, and you, Panfilo, lend a hand. The señora
will need a cup of tea, for we three have a long ride ahead of us."
No time was lost. Both Mexicans fell to with a will, and in a
surprisingly short time water was boiling. When it came Law's turn to
eat, Alaire, who was eager to be gone, directed her employee to fetch
the Ranger's horse. Panfilo acquiesced readily and buckled on his
cartridge-belt and six-shooter. He was about to pick up his rifle, too,
but finding Law's eyes inquiringly fixed upon him, he turned with a
shrug and disappeared down the arroyo. It was plain that he considered
his friendly relations well established and resented the Ranger's
suspicion.
"How long has that fellow been working for you?" Law jerked his head in
the direction Panfilo had taken.
"Not long. I--don't know much about him," Alaire confessed. Then, as if
in answer to his unspoken question, "But I'm sure he's all right."
"Is he looking up range for you?"
"N--no! I left him at the ranch. I don't know how he came to be here,
unless--It IS rather strange!"
Dave shot a swift, interrogatory glance at Panfilo's traveling
companion, but Anto's face was stony, his black eyes were fixed upon
the fire.
With an abrupt gesture Law flung aside the contents of his cup and
strode to Panfilo's horse, which stood dejectedly with reins hanging.
"Where are you--going?" Alaire rose nervously.
It was nearly dark now; only the crests of the ridges were plain
against the luminous sky; in the brushy bottom of the arroyo the
shadows were deep. Alaire had no wish to be left alone with the
prisoner.
With bridle-rein and carbine in his left hand, the Ranger halted, then,
stooping for Anto's discarded cartridge-belt, he looped it over his
saddle-horn. He vaulted easily into the seat, saying:
"I hid that mare pretty well. Your man may not be able to find her."
Then he turned his borrowed horse's head toward the brush.
Anto had squatted motionless until this moment; he had not even turned
his eyes; but now, without the slightest warning, he uttered a loud
call. It might have served equally well as a summons or as an alarm,
but it changed the Ranger's suspicions into certainty. Dave uttered an
angry exclamation, then to the startled woman he cried:
"Watch this man! He can't hurt you, for I've got his shells." To his
prisoner he said, sharply: "Stay where you are! Don't move!" The next
instant he had loped into the brush on the tracks of Panfilo Sanchez,
spurring the tired gray pony into vigorous action.
It was an uncomfortable situation in which Alaire now found herself.
Law was too suspicious, she murmured to herself; he was needlessly
melodramatic; she felt exceedingly ill at ease as the pony's hoof-beats
grew fainter. She was not afraid of Anto, having dealt with Mexican
vaqueros for several years, yet she could not forget that he was a
murderer, and she wondered what she was expected to do if he should try
to escape. It was absurd to suppose that Panfilo, her own hired man,
could be capable of treachery; the mere suspicion was a sort of
reflection upon her.
Alaire was startled by hearing other hoof-beats now; their drumming
came faint but unmistakable. Yes, there were two horses racing down the
arroyo. Anto, the fugitive, rose to his feet and stared into the dusk.
"Sit down!" Alaire ordered, sharply. He obeyed, muttering beneath his
breath, but his head was turned as if in an effort to follow the sounds
of the pursuit.
Next came the distant rattle of loosened stones--evidently one horse
was being urged toward the open high ground--then the peaceful quiet
evening was split by the report of Law's thirty-thirty. Another shot
followed, and then a third. Both Alaire and her prisoner were on their
feet, the woman shaking in every limb, the Mexican straining his eyes
into the gloom and listening intently.
Soon there came a further echo of dry earth and gravel dislodged, but
whether by Law's horse or by that of Sanchez was uncertain. Perhaps
both men had gained the mesa.
It had all happened so quickly and so unexpectedly that Alaire felt she
must be dreaming, or that there had been some idiotic mistake. She
wondered if the Ranger's sudden charge had not simply frightened
Panfilo into a panicky flight, and she tried to put her thoughts into
words the Mexican would understand, but his answer was unintelligible.
His black scowl, however, was eloquent of uncertainty and apprehension.
Alaire had begun to feel the strain of the situation and was trying to
decide what next to do, when David Law came riding out of the twilight.
He was astride the gray; behind him at the end of a lariat was Bessie
Belle, and her saddle was empty.
Mrs. Austin uttered a sharp cry.
Law dismounted and strode to the prisoner. His face was black with
fury; he seemed gigantic in his rage. Without a word he raised his
right hand and cuffed the Mexican to his knees. Then he leaped upon
him, as a dog might pounce upon a rabbit, rolled him to his face, and
twisted the fellow's arms into the small of his back. Anto cursed, he
struggled, but he was like a child in the Ranger's grasp. Law knelt
upon him, and with a jerk of his riata secured the fellow's wrists;
rising, he set the knot with another heave that dragged the prisoner to
his knees. Next he booted Anto to his feet.
"By God! I've a notion to bend a gun over your head," Law growled.
"Clever little game, wasn't it?"
"Where--? Did you--kill him?" the woman gasped.
Alaire had never beheld such a demoniac expression as Law turned upon
her. The man's face was contorted, his eyes were blazing insanely, his
chest was heaving, and for an instant he seemed to include her in his
anger. Ignoring her inquiry, he went to his mare and ran his shaking
hands over her as if in search of an injury; his questing palms covered
every inch of glistening hide from forelock to withers, from shoulder
to hoof, and under cover of this task he regained in some degree his
self-control.
"That hombre of yours--didn't look right to me," he said, finally.
Laying his cheek against Bessie Belle's neck, as a woman snuggles close
to the man of her choice, he addressed the mare: "I reckon nobody is
going to steal you, eh? Not if I know it. No, sir; that hombre wasn't
any good, was he?"