Onward through the dense foliage the two friends wound. Now and then
they stopped to listen, but the rain was heavy enough to drown all
other noises. Encountering fresh tracks finally, Dave leaned from his
saddle and studied them. What he saw caused him to push forward with no
diminution of stealth.
He had gone perhaps half a mile when Bessie Belle raised her head, and
he noted that her nostrils were working sensitively. A few yards
farther on Law fancied that he could detect the smell of a wood fire.
Almost without a signal from him the mare halted in her tracks until he
had satisfied himself. Still farther along they came to a place where
the brush was low, and there, rising through the tree-tops beyond, they
saw a wavering plume of blue smoke.
The Ranger rode into sight of the branding-fire with his Winchester
across his saddle-horn and his thumb upon the hammer; what followed
came with almost the blinding suddenness of a lightning crash, though
afterward the events of that crowded moment lingered as a clear-cut
memory. First there was the picture of a sandy glade in the center of
which burned a fire with branding-irons in it, and a spotted calf tied
to a tree, but otherwise no sign of life. Then, without warning, Bessie
Belle threw up her head in that characteristic trick of hers, and
simultaneously Dave saw a figure rise out of the grass at his left with
rifle leveled. The Ranger remembered afterward the odd foreshortening
of the weapon and the crooked twist of the face behind it. With the
first jerk of his horse's head his own gun had leaped to his
shoulder--he was not conscious of having willed it to do so--and even
as he pressed the trigger he beheld a jet of smoke spurt from the
muzzle aimed at him. With the kick of his carbine he felt Bessie Belle
give way--it seemed to Dave that he shot while she was sinking. The
next instant his feet, still in the stirrups, were on the ground and
his horse lay between them, motionless. That nervous fling of her head
had saved Dave's life, for the rustler's bullet had shattered her skull
in its flight, and she lay prone, with scarcely a muscular twitch, so
sudden had been her end. The breath escaped slowly from her lungs; it
was as if she heaved a lingering sigh; one leg contracted and then
relaxed.
For a moment the Ranger was dazed. He stood staring down at his pet;
then the truth engulfed him. He realized that he had ridden her to her
death, and at the thought he became like a woman bereft of her child,
like a lover who had seen his sweetheart slain.
A shout--it was a hoarse, inarticulate cry; a swift, maddened scrutiny
that searched the sodden scene of the ambush; then he was down beside
the mare, calling her name heartbrokenly, his arms around her neck, his
face against her warm, wet, velvet hide.
Law knew that two men had entered the thicket, and therefore one still
remained to be reckoned with, but he gave no thought to that. Nor did
he rise to look after the grotesquely huddled figure that had been a
cattle thief only a moment before--both he and his assailant had been
too close to miss. From the corner of his eye he could see a pair of
boot-soles staring at him out of the grass, and they told him there was
no need for investigation. Near the body he heard a calf stirring, but
he let it struggle.
Bessie Belle's bright eyes were glazing; she did not hear her lover's
voice. Her muzzle, softer than any satin, was loose, her lips would
never twitch with that clumsy, quivering caress which pleased her
master so. One front hoof, washed as clean as agate, was awkwardly bent
under her, the other had plowed a furrow in the soft earth as she sank,
and against this leg her head lay tipped.
Don Ricardo and his son burst out of the brush from opposite directions
almost at the same moment, to find the Ranger with his face buried in
his horse's mane.
"Caramba! What is this?" The old man flung himself from the saddle and
came running. "You are injured?"
Pedro, too, bent over the officer, his brown face pale with
apprehension. "Mother of God!" breathed the latter. "It was a wild
thing to do, to ride alone---"
"I'm all right," Law said, rising stiffly, whereupon both Mexicans
voiced their relief.
"The saints be praised!"
"Si! What happened? There was a shot! Did you see nothing?"
Law jerked his head in the direction of the fallen man at his back, and
Pedro uttered a loud cry.
"Look!" Father and son ran through the grass, then recoiled and broke
into a jargon of oaths and exclamations.
Law followed them with his eyes. "Is he dead?" he inquired, coldly.
"God! Yes."
"Right in the mouth! The fellow was in hell before he realized it."
"See! It is as we thought, Pedro; one of Lewis's! Tse! Tse! Tse! What a
sight!"
"Who is he?" queried the officer.
"Pino Garza, one of the worst!" chimed the two Guzmans.
Ricardo was dancing in his excitement. "I told you that Lewis knew
something. The other one got past me, but he rode like the devil, and I
cannot shoot like--this."
"Wait!" exclaimed Pedro. "This is beyond my understanding. I heard but
one shot from here, then after an instant my father's gun. And yet here
is a dead horse and a dead man."
"This fellow and I fired at about the same instant," Dave explained,
but even when he had related the history of the encounter his
companions could scarcely believe that such quick shooting was possible.
It was difficult to secure a connected story from Ricardo, but he
finally made it plain that at the first report the other thief had
fled, exposing himself only long enough for the old man to take a quick
shot in his direction. Ricardo had missed, and the miscreant was
doubtless well away by this time. He had ridden a sorrel horse, that
was all Ricardo could remember.
Law looked only briefly at the gruesome results of his marksmanship,
then he turned back to the body of his beloved mare. Ricardo noticed at
length that he was crying; as the Ranger knelt beside the dead
thoroughbred the old Mexican whispered to his son:
"Valgame Dios! This is a strange fellow. He weeps like a woman. He must
have loved that horse as a man loves his wife. Who can understand these
Gringos?" After a time he approached cautiously and inquired: "What
shall we do with this hombre, señor? Pedro has found his horse."
Law roused himself. With his own hands he gently removed Bessie Belle's
saddle, bridle, and blanket, then he gave his orders.
"I'll take your horse, Ricardo, and you take--that fellow's. Get a
wagon and move him to Jonesville."
"And you?"
"I'm going to follow that man on the sorrel."
The dead man's saddle was left beside the body; then when the exchange
of mounts had been effected and all was ready, Law made a request that
amazed both father and son.
"If I'm not back by morning, I want you to bury my mare." His voice
broke; he turned away his face. "Bury her deep, Ricardo, so--the
coyotes can't dig her up; right here where she fell. I'll be back to
see that it's done right. Understand?"
"Bueno! I understand perfectly. She was a pretty horse. She was
your--bonita, eh? Well, you have a big heart, señor, as a brave man
should have. Everything shall be done as you wish; I give you my hand
on it." Ricardo reached down and gripped Law's palm. "We will name our
pasture for her, too, because it is plain you loved her dearly. So,
then, until to-morrow."
Law watched his two friends ride away, then he wiped his Winchester and
saw to his cinch. This done he raised Bessie Belle's head and kissed
the lip that had so often explored his palm for sugar. With a miserable
ache in his throat he mounted and rode off to pick up the trail of the
man on the sorrel pony.
Fortunately this was not difficult, for the tracks of a running horse
are plain in soft ground. Finding where his quarry had broken cover,
Law set out at a lope.
The fellow had ridden in a wide semicircle at first, then, finding he
was not pursued, he had slackened pace, and, in consequence, the signs
became more difficult to follow. They seemed to lead in the direction
of Las Palmas, which Dave judged must be fully twelve miles away, and
when they continued to maintain this course the Ranger became doubly
interested. Could it be, he asked himself, that his quarry would have
the audacity to ride to the Austin headquarters? If so, his
identification promised to become easy, for a man on a sorrel cow-pony
was more than likely to be observed. Perhaps he thought himself secure
and counted upon the assistance of some friend or confederate among the
Las Palmas ranch-hands in case of pursuit. That seemed not
unreasonable, particularly inasmuch as he could have no suspicion that
it was a Ranger who was on his trail.
Dave lost the hoof-prints for a time, but picked them up again at the
pasture gate a few miles farther on, and was able to trace them far
enough to assure himself that his quarry was indeed headed for the
Austin house and had no intention of swinging southward toward the
Lewis headquarters.
By this time the rain had done its work, and to follow the tracks
became a matter of guesswork. Night was coming on also, and Dave
realized that at this rate darkness would find him far from his goal.
Therefore he risked his own interpretation of the rider's intent and
pushed on without pausing to search out the trail step by step. At the
second gate the signs indicated that his man was little more than an
hour ahead of him.
The prospect of again seeing the ruddy-haired mistress of Las Palmas
stirred Law more deeply than he cared to admit. Alaire Austin had been
seldom out of his thoughts since their first meeting, for, after the
fashion of men cut off from human society, he was subject to insistent
fancies. Dave had many times lived over those incidents at the
water-hole, and for the life of him he could not credit the common
stories of Alaire's coldness. To him, at least, she had appeared very
human, and after they had once become acquainted she had been
unaffected and friendly.
Since that meeting Dave had picked up considerable information about
the object of his interest, and although much of this was palpably
false, it had served to make her a still more romantic figure in his
eyes. Alaire now seemed to be a sort of superwoman, and the fact that
she was his friend, that something deep within her had answered to him,
afforded him a keen satisfaction, the greater, perhaps, because of his
surprise that it could be so. Nevertheless, he was uncomfortably aware
that she had a husband. Not only so, but the sharp contrast in their
positions was disagreeable to contemplate; she was unbelievably rich,
and a person of influence in the state, while he had nothing except his
health, his saddle, and his horse---
With a desperate pang Law realized that now he had no horse. Bessie
Belle, his best beloved, lay cold and wet back yonder in the weeping
mesquite. He found several cubes of sugar in his pocket, and with an
oath flung them from him. Don Ricardo's horse seemed stiff-gaited and
stubborn.
Dave remembered how Mrs. Austin had admired the mare. No doubt she
would grieve at the fate that had befallen her, and that would give
them something to talk about. His own escape would interest her, too,
and--Law realized, not without some natural gratification, that he
would appear to her as a sort of hero.
The mist and an early dusk prevented him from seeing Las Palmas itself
until he was well in among the irrigated fields. A few moments later
when he rode up to the out-buildings he encountered a middle-aged
Mexican who proved to be Benito Gonzalez, the range boss.
Dave made himself known, and Benito answered his questions with
apparent honesty. No, he had seen nothing of a sorrel horse or a
strange rider, but he had just come in himself. Doubtless they could
learn more from Juan, the horse-wrangler, who was somewhere about.
Juan was finally found, but he proved strangely recalcitrant. At first
he knew nothing, though after some questioning he admitted the
possibility that he had seen a horse of the description given, but was
not sure. More pressure brought forth the reluctant admission that the
possibility was almost a certainty.
"What horse was it?" Benito inquired; but the lad was non-committal.
Probably it belonged to some stranger. Juan could not recollect just
where or when he had seen the pony, and he was certain he had not laid
eyes upon the owner.
"Devil take the boy! He's half-witted," Benito growled.
But Dave changed his tactics. "Oiga!" he said, sternly. "Do you want to
go to jail?" Juan had no such desire. "Then tell the truth. Was the
horse branded?"
"Yes."
"With what brand?"
Juan had not noticed.
"With the 'K.T.' perhaps?" That was the Lewis brand.
"Perhaps!"
"Where is it now?"
Juan insolently declared that he didn't know and didn't care.
"Oh, you don't, eh?" Law reached for the boy and shook him until he
yelled. "You will make a nice little prisoner, Juanito, and we shall
find a way to make you speak."
Gonzalez was inclined to resent such high-handed treatment of his
underling, but respect for the Rangers was deep-rooted, and Juan's
behavior was inexplicable.
At last the horse-boy confessed. He had seen both horse and rider, but
knew neither. Mr. Austin and the stranger had arrived together, and the
latter had gone on. That was the truth.
"Bueno!" Law released his prisoner, who slunk away rubbing his
shoulder. "Now, Benito, we will find Mr. Austin."
A voice answered from the dusk: "He won't take much finding," and Ed
Austin himself emerged from the stable door. "Well, what do you want?"
he asked.
"You are Mr. Austin, I reckon?"
"I am. What d'you mean by abusing my help?" The master of Las Palmas
approached so near that his threatening scowl was visible. "I don't
allow strangers to prowl around my premises."
Amazed at this hostile greeting, Law explained in a word the reason for
his presence.
"I don't know anything about your man. What d'you want him for, and who
are you?"
Dave introduced himself. "I want him for stealing Guzman calves. I
trailed him from where he and his partner cut into your south pasture."
Benito stirred and muttered an oath, but Austin was unmoved. "I reckon
you must be a bad trailer," he laughed. "We've got no thieves here.
What makes you think Guzman lost any calves?"
Dave's temper, never too well controlled at best, began to rise. He
could not imagine why a person of Ed Austin's standing should behave in
this extraordinary manner, unless perhaps he was drunk.
"Well, I saw the calves, and I left the fellow that was branding them
with a wet saddle-blanket over his face."
"Eh? What's that?" Austin started, and Gonzalez uttered a smothered
exclamation. "You killed him? He's dead?"
"Dead enough to skin. I caught him with his irons in the fire and the
calves necked up in your pasture. Now I want his companero."
"I--hope you don't think we know anything about him," Ed protested.
"Where's that man on the sorrel horse?"
Austin turned away with a shrug.
"You rode in with him," Dave persisted.