Law laughed grimly, almost mockingly. "Say! He must be a favorite of
yours?"
"N-no! I hardly knew the fellow. But--did you?"
"I didn't say I shot him," he told her, gruffly. "I warned him first,
and he turned on me--blew smoke in my face. Then he took to the brush,
afoot, and--I cut down on him once more to help him along."
"He got away?"
"I reckon so."
"Oh, oh!" Alaire's tone left no doubt of her relief. "He was always a
good man--"
"Good? Didn't he steal my horse? Didn't he aim to get me at the first
chance and free his compadre? That's why he wanted his Winchester. Say!
I reckon he--needs killin' about as much as anybody I know."
"I can't understand it." Alaire sat down weakly. "One of my men, too."
"This fellow behaved himself while I was gone, eh?" Law jerked his head
in Anto's direction. "I was afraid he--he'd try something. If he had--"
Such a possibility, oddly enough, seemed to choke the speaker, and the
ferocity of his unfinished threat caused Mrs. Austin to look up at him
curiously. There was a moment of silence, then he said, shortly: "Well,
we've got a horse apiece now. Let's go."
The stars had thickened and brightened, rounding the night sky into a
glittering dome. Anto, the murderer, with his ankles lashed beneath his
horse's belly, rode first; next, in a sullen silence, came the Ranger,
his chin upon his breast; and in the rear followed Alaire Austin.
In spite of her release from a trying predicament, the woman was
scarcely more eager to go home than was the prisoner, for while Anto's
trail led to a jail, hers led to Las Palmas, and there was little
difference. These last two days in the open had been like a glimpse of
freedom; for a time Alaire had almost lost the taste of bitter
memories. It had required an effort of will to drug remembrance, but
she had succeeded, and had proven her ability to forget. But now--Las
Palmas! It meant the usual thing, the same endless battle between her
duty and her desire. She was tired of the fight that resulted neither
in victory nor defeat; she longed now, more than ever, to give up and
let things take their course. Why could not women, as well as men,
yield to their inclinations--drift with the current instead of
breasting it until they were exhausted? There was David Law, for
instance; he was utterly carefree, no duties shackled him. He had his
horse, his gun, and his blanket, and they were enough; Alaire, like
him, was young, her mind was eager, her body ripe, and her veins full
of fire. Life must be sweet to those who were free and happy.
But the object of her envy was not so completely at peace with himself
as she supposed. Even yet his mind was in a black turmoil from his
recent anger, and of late, be it said, these spells of temper had given
him cause for uneasiness. Then, too, there was a lie upon his lips.
Under the stars, at the break of the arroyo, three hundred yards below
the water-hole, a coyote was slinking in a wide circle around the body
of Panfilo Sanchez.