THE OUTLAWS
In reality, the ranch was a general meeting place, or station, for
cattle rustlers, smugglers, and their kind, from both sides of the
border.
All through these lonely months following the disappearance of Hugh
Edwards, Marta Hillgrove had lived in the firm conviction that the man
she loved would come again. She had nothing to justify her belief. She
could not understand why, if he loved her, he had left no message--no
word of hope. But her woman instinct had persistently swept aside all
the opposing facts and held her to the truth which her heart knew. She
was so sure of Hugh Edwards’ love that nothing could shake her faith in
him or cause her to doubt that he would come again to claim her. With
Saint Jimmy’s help she had endured the long days when there had been no
word from the man to whom she had given, without reserve, the wealth of
her first woman love.
Marta never dreamed what it cost Saint Jimmy to help her. She would
never know. Many, many times Saint Jimmy had told himself that the girl
must never know how hard it was for him to help her through those weeks
of her waiting for Hugh Edwards.
Then, at last, Natachee had come with the explanation of Hugh’s silence,
the story of the hunted man’s innocence of the crime for which he had
been imprisoned, together with the promises of the freedom and happiness
that was now, through the gold her lover had found, so near at hand for
them both.
Every moment of that day her heart had sung:
“To-morrow Hugh is coming. To-morrow he is coming.” The hours were
filled with rosy visions of the days, that were now so near, when she
would be with him, with no fear of another separation. Again and again
she assured herself that it was all true--that it was not another of her
dreams. Hugh _had_ found the gold that meant freedom for him, and
happiness for them both. The Pardners, when they had talked with Saint
Jimmy, were willing to do their part in carrying out the plan, as they
would have been willing to submit to any hardship to insure the
happiness of their daughter. Saint Jimmy was arranging everything.
“To-morrow, to-morrow, Hugh would come.”
There had been a long talk with her two fathers that evening, and when
at last they had said good-night, the girl had not found it easy to
sleep. She was too excited, too thrilled with her happiness. Her mind
was too active with thoughts of what the morning would bring. She heard
the noise at the barn and wondered what mischief Nugget was in. At the
same moment she heard the Pardners stirring in their room, and knew that
they too had been disturbed by the noise that Nugget was making. The
door of her room was open and she could hear Bob muttering about the
pinto as he passed through the living room on his way out to the barn.
The noise at the barn ceased. She waited, listening for Bob’s return.
There was the sound of steps in the kitchen and some one entered the
living room. Thad moved in his room. She caught a whispered word outside
her door. It was not Bob. What did it mean? Sitting up in her bed, she
listened.
Suddenly all was confusion. Thad’s voice rang out, challenging the
intruders. There was a trampling rush of feet toward her door--a tangle
of straining, writhing figures--a spurt of fire accompanied by the
deafening report of a gun--a cry of pain--a dull, sickening blow--a
moaning voice: “Hay mamacita de me vido”--a dreadful silence.
Then another voice spoke sharply in Mexican, followed by a groaning
reply; and then a man stood beside her bed telling her that she must
prepare to go with him and assuring her that no harm should come to her
if she was obedient and made no effort to escape. Dumb with terror, the
girl started to dress and Sonora Jack went back to the wounded Mexican.
Marta heard him call to the Lizard to bring up the horses and the pack
mule, and to saddle the pinto. But when the outlaw went again to the
girl he found her kneeling beside Thad, overcome with grief.
Lifting her to her feet, Sonora Jack said sternly:
“Come, this is no good! The old man, he will be all right when he wake
up. You do what I say an’ make yourself ready to ride your own horse
with me, or I finish him an’ pack you on a mule.”
He drew a knife and stooped over the old prospector.
With a cry, Marta sprang to do his bidding.
* * * * *
In those first hours of her enforced ride in the night with Sonora Jack
and the Lizard, the girl was still too bewildered and frightened to
think clearly. But when the outlaw ordered the Lizard to take the pack
mule and go one way, while he with Marta went another, in order to
confuse any possible pursuers, she caught, from her captors’ words and
actions, a gleam of hope. Hugh Edwards and Natachee would arrive at her
home in the morning. They would not be long in setting out to find her.
With this hope, and the assurance from the outlaws’ manner toward her
that she was in no immediate personal danger, the girl’s courage
returned and she was able to consider her situation with some degree of
calmness. She did not know that Bob had been killed. But certainly he
had not returned after being called from the house by that noise at the
barn; nor had she heard his voice. This, together with the fact that
neither Sonora Jack nor the Lizard had mentioned the old prospector or
referred to him in any way, led her to believe that he was dead. She
could not know how seriously Thad was hurt. Try as she might, she could
find no hint of the outlaw’s purpose in taking her away. When the
Lizard would have talked to her, Sonora Jack ordered him, curtly, to
keep his mouth shut and look after the pack mule.
Morning came and they were in the Vaca Hills. When Sonora Jack and the
Lizard had made camp, and breakfast was over, the outlaw ordered the
girl to rest and sleep because there was a long hard ride before her and
she would need all her strength. Then, telling the Lizard that he would
call him later to take his turn watching for any one following on their
trail, Sonora Jack went to the top of a hill, from which he could
overlook the country to the east.
No sooner had his leader left the camp than the Lizard approached Marta.
With a leering grin twisting his ratlike features, he said:
“You’re a-ridin’ with me after all, ain’t ye?”
The girl, making no effort to hide her disgust, did not answer.
“Still a-feelin’ high an’ mighty, be ye? Wal, you’d best be a-gettin’
over hit. You’re a long way from th’ Cañada del Oro right now an’ you’re
a-goin’ a heap further.”
Marta forced herself to ask calmly:
“Do you know where we are going?”
The Lizard looked back at the hill toward which the outlaw had gone.
“I know whar Sonora Jack _says_ we’re a-goin’--whether we go er not
depends on you.”
“What do you mean?” faltered Marta.
“What do ye reckon I’m here a-mixin’ up in this fer?” retorted the
Lizard.
“I--I am sure I don’t know.”
“Oh, ye don’t, don’t ye? Can’t even make a guess, heh? Wal, I’ll tell
ye, hit’s like this: Sonora Jack, he’s a-aimin’ t’ carry ye into Mexico.
He ’lows he knows whar ther’s a feller what’ll be glad t’ pay an
almighty fancy price fer a likely lookin’ gal like you an’ he’s goin’ t’
sell ye. Onct he’s south of th’ border, he kin work it easy enough. He’s
a-takin’ good care of ye ’cause he’s got t’ deliver ye in first-class
shape. Onct yer delivered an’ th’ other feller has paid Jack’s
price--wal, I reckon you’ll be made t’ earn yer livin’ all right, an’
pay right smart on yer owner’s investment besides.”
The explanation of the outlaw’s purpose in abducting her was so
plausible that Marta was stricken with horror.
After a moment the Lizard spoke again, emphasizing his words with
significant care.
“That’s what Jack _thinks_ he’s a-goin’ t’ do. Jist like he _thinks_ I
come along t’ help him.”
The girl caught the fellow’s suggestion with desperate eagerness.
“But you won’t help him--you--you couldn’t do such a thing. You came to
save me.”
Then, as she saw the expression of the Lizard’s face, her voice broke
and she faltered:
“That is what you mean, isn’t it?”
“What I mean depends on you. When Sonora Jack wanted me t’ come along
an’ help him git you into Mexico, I seen th’ chanct I been a long time
waitin’ fer. Hit’d be plumb easy t’ git shet of that half-breed Mex
anywhere this side of th’ line. With th’ outfit we got, you an’ me could
make hit on west t’ Yuma an’ California easy.”
The girl was watching him as if she were under a spell. The look in his
shifty eyes, the expression of his loose mouth fascinated her.
“But,” he added deliberately, “you’ll have t’ go as my woman.”
With a low cry, the girl hid her face:
“No! no!! no!!!”
“You kin take your choice. I’ll help Sonora Jack sell ye t’ that feller
in Mexico er ye kin go with me.”
Then the girl’s overstrained nerves gave way. Springing to her feet, she
broke into wild laughter.
The hysterical merriment with which she received his proposal maddened
the Lizard beyond reason:
“Hit’s funny, ain’t hit?” he snarled. “I’ve allus been funny t’ you--ye
ain’t never done nothin’ but laugh at me. But I done made up my mind a
long time ago that I’d have ye some day--an’ now--whether ye want t’ go
with me er not--“ he sprang forward and caught her in his arms.
The girl screamed.
A moment later the Lizard was caught by a heavy hand and whirled twenty
feet away. As he recovered his balance and snatched at the gun on his
hip, Sonora Jack said sharply:
“Drop it!”
The Lizard, with his eyes fixed on the outlaw’s steady weapon, raised
his empty hands.
When Sonora Jack, with the coolness of his long experience, had disarmed
his companion, he turned to the girl.
“I’m sorry for this, Señorita. I have said that with me you would be all
right. I don’t want you should be scared like this. Tell me, please,
what did this hombre say?”
“It is nothing,” stammered the girl.
“You don’t cry loud like that for nothin’,” returned the outlaw. “You
don’t get scared so for nothin’.”
For some time the girl, by refusing to answer or by giving evasive
answers to his questions, tried to keep from telling him what the Lizard
had proposed. But Sonora Jack, with persistent and cunning questions,
with adroit suggestions and bold assertions, drew from her, little by
little, the truth.
Then the outlaw faced the cringing Lizard.
“So you think you play a game with Sonora Jack, heh? Don’t I tell you
how the Señorita is worth so much gold to me that she must be guarded
with great care? What am I goin’ to do now? You’re traitor to me. I no
can trust you this much while I’m gone such a little way to watch the
trail. ’Fore we get to the border there’s goin’ to be plenty chances for
you to betray me. I ain’t goin’ to be safe with you, even in Mexico.
Come--the Señorita must not again be scared. Come! You an’ me we take a
little walk over there behind that hill.”
Grasping the Lizard’s arm, he forced the frightened creature to
accompany him.
The terrified girl, watching, saw them disappear over the low ridge.
Trembling, she listened.
There was no sound.
Presently she saw the outlaw coming back over the hill.
Sonora Jack was alone.
Leisurely he approached, and bowing low, said gently:
“I’m sorry, Señorita, you got so scared. It ain’t goin’ to be so no
more.”
All night they rode and in the gray light of the early morning came to
that small adobe ranch house near the Mexican border.
Save for a half-starved dog that slunk from sight behind the house as
they approached, there seemed to be no life about the place. But when
Sonora Jack, riding to within a few feet of the door, shouted, “Buenos
dias, madre,” the door opened and an old Mexican appeared. He greeted
the outlaw with a cordial welcome and came forward to take the horses.
At the same moment an ancient crone hobbled from the house.
“Hijo mio! Gracias a Dios que volviste sin novedad,” she cried. “My son!
Thanks to God you have returned without mishap.”
“Si, madre, sin novedad--Yes, mother, without mishap.”
“You found the Mine with the Door of Iron?”
“No, Mother, but I found something else that will bring much gold to
me.”
He turned toward Marta and bade the girl dismount.
To the old man he said:
“We must eat and go on over the line quickly. Feed and water the animals
but do not remove the saddles.”
Then leading Marta into the house, he took her to a little room and told
her to lie down and rest until their breakfast was ready, and left her.
When she was alone, the girl looked about with wondering interest. She
had felt, even as they were approaching the house, that there was
something strangely familiar about the place. She seemed to have been
there before or else to have seen it all in some dream. That corral--the
well--the water trough--the adobe building--the hard-beaten yard--the
pile of mesquite wood--the heap of old tin cans and rubbish. Surely, she
had seen it all before. The interior of the house, too, was familiar in
every detail. The bed upon which she was lying--the old rawhide bottom
chairs--the cracked mirror on the wall and that print of the Holy
Family. How strange it all was! She was certain that once before she had
been shut in that room, and, lying on that bed, had heard those voices
talking in Mexican on the other side of that door.
In her wanderings with the old prospectors, Marta had picked up enough
of the Mexican language to understand a little of the conversation. She
learned that the old woman was Sonora Jack’s mother. As she listened
now, she gathered that they were discussing her. She caught the words
prospectors, Cañada del Oro, and several times she heard, little girl,
while the old woman and the man who had come in after caring for the
animals exclaimed with astonishment. In a flash, the meaning of it all
came to her. She was the little girl. This was the place from which the
Pardners had taken her.
But try as she might, she could not bring back that childhood experience
with any degree of clearness. It was a hazy fragment--a memory. She
could not recall how she was first brought to that place, nor what her
relationship to those people had been. If only Hugh and Natachee would
come. If only they could be here now. Perhaps--perhaps, they could force
these people to tell what they knew about her.
At breakfast, the old woman and the man treated Marta with great
deference. Again and again, they assured her in Mexican and broken
English that she must not be frightened, that she would come to no harm
if she obeyed Sonora Jack. When, with Sonora Jack, she rode away to the
south, they watched until she passed from sight.
They had ridden two or three hours when the outlaw said:
“Señorita, we goin’ come now to the end of our ride, for a little time.
This is Mexico. The line is ten mile back. Over them hills ahead is a
rancho. We goin’ stop there. It is not so good place as I like for you,
but it is best I can do for now. Many men are goin’ to be
there--vaqueros--all kinds--bad hombres. All the time they come an’ go.
You no want to be scared, ’cause me--I’m goin’ take good care of you. It
is best if we make like you was my wife.”
When the girl cried out with fear and he saw the horror in her eyes he
hastened to explain:
“Señorita, you mistake--it is only that we make believe you are my wife.
You sabe? If I take you to that place as Señorita Hillgrove, you goin’
to be in much danger. I can fight them, yes--they know that I can fight,
but--“ he shrugged his shoulders, then: “Señora Richard would be safe,
sure. Nobody is goin’ make insult to the wife of Sonora Jack. They know
for that Sonora Jack would sure kill.”
When Marta would not, or more literally _could_ not, agree, the outlaw
impatiently spurred his horse forward.
“All right, Señorita, we goin’ to see. I’m goin’ to tell that you are my
wife. I promise it is only a make-believe. If you goin’ to tell it is
not so--that you are not Señora Richards--then I can’t help what comes
next.”
In a few minutes they were at the ranch. The house was a long,
flat-topped, adobe building with several rooms opening on to a long
ramada. In reality, the ranch was a general meeting place, or station,
for cattle rustlers, smugglers and their kind from both sides of the
border.
There were eight or ten men gathered in a group in front of the house as
the outlaw and his prisoner arrived. All of them knew Sonora Jack, and,
with two or three exceptions, greeted him cordially. When the outlaw
told them that his wife was ill from the long ride and must at once
retire, Marta made no protest. Frightened as she was at the villainous
company, worn with the nervous strain and the physical hardship of her
journey, the poor girl’s appearance made Sonora Jack’s statement that
she was ill more plausible.
A room at the end of the building was soon made ready by a mozo who
appeared in answer to a call from one of the men. The pack mule was
relieved of his burden and the things taken inside. The room was rather
large, with two doors--one opening on to the ramada in front and one
connecting the apartment with another. Two windows supplied plenty of
fresh air, and the place was fairly well furnished as a bedroom.
Evidently it was the best apartment that the establishment afforded.
When the mozo was gone and the door was shut, Sonora Jack whispered:
“You done all right, Señorita. Now you goin’ be safe for sure.
Everything goin’ be fine. You make like you too sick to get out of bed.
Me, I bring what you want to eat, myself.” He smiled. “I goin’ tell them
hombres a pretty story ’bout my poor Señora who is so sick. Then I’m
goin’ play cards with them. All night we play an’ you will not be
scared. _Adios_, Señorita, don’t you be scared, rest an’ sleep.”
Marta threw herself on the bed and, in spite of her situation, fell
into a deep sleep. When Sonora Jack brought her dinner, she awoke and,
realizing that she must keep her strength for what might come, forced
herself to eat. Then once more she slept.
When she was again awakened, it was dark. She could not guess the time.
A strip of light shone under the door from that next room and she could
hear the men who were drinking and gambling.
At times, their voices were raised in angry dispute or in boisterous
laughter; again, there was only the slap-slap of cards as they were
thrown on the table with the accompanying thud-thud of heavy hands, the
click of bottle necks against glasses, the scuffling sound of a boot
heel, the jingle of a spur, or the scrape of a chair on the rough floor.
Then a drunken yell of exultation would ring out, accompanied by a heavy
grumbling undertone.
The girl, trembling with fear, listened and waited. Would Sonora Jack
keep his promise? Was the incentive, which led him to protect her from
even himself, strong enough to endure when he had become inflamed by
drink?
Slowly the terrible hours passed. It must be nearly midnight. The voices
of the men in the next room were becoming louder, more quarrelsome and
reckless. Suddenly the frightened girl felt, rather than heard, that
front door opening. In the dim light she saw it swing slowly, inch by
inch.
She held her breath. She wanted to scream but she dared not. The door
swung a little farther and she could see the stars through the opening.
Then a dark form slipped into the room as soundless as a shadow.
Noiselessly the door was closed.
Cold with horror, unable to move a muscle, the girl cowered on the bed.
The shadowy form moved toward her. It stopped--then came a low whisper.
“Miss Hillgrove, do not be frightened, be very still. I, Natachee, have
come for you.”