"I been thinkin' we might as well move on a ways," said McHale. "Here's
old Simon drops in on us. Somebody else might. I don't feel right about
it. I want to git some place, like up in one o' them basins, where
strangers won't be passin' by every day."
"Well, I'll go you," Sandy agreed; "but there's an old bear that I want
first. He's got a foot as big as a fiddle; I'll bet he weighs as much
as a steer."
"What'll you do with a bear? We don't want to go packin' a green hide
about with us. The horses hate the smell of it."
"Let 'em get used to it, then," Sandy returned. "I'm starting after
that bear now. Better come along. If I don't get him I'll go
to-morrow."
But McHale refused to accompany him. He hated climbing. If he could go
on a horse that would be different. Therefore Sandy set out alone.
He ascended a shoulder of the mountain, working his way upward to where
he had located the range of the big bear. It was steady climbing, and
rough as well, but Sandy was in hard, lean condition, with the
limitless wind and springy muscles of youth. He arrived at his
objective point, a spot which gave him a clear view of the mountain
side for a mile on either hand. Somewhere in that area, he had already
decided, the bear would be feeding. He settled down for a long, careful
inspection; first with the naked eye, which yielded nothing, and next
with a pair of binoculars. Sandy, when hunting, possessed unlimited
patience. He settled himself comfortably, and kept the glasses at work.
Finally his patience was rewarded. A mile or more up the hillside a
huge, brown shape shambled into view.
"Lord! he's a big brute," Sandy muttered. "That's a hide worth getting.
I'll wait till he settles down for keeps."
Apparently the bear had found food to his liking. He was busy with paw
and tongue beside a rotten log. Sandy mapped out a route in his mind,
and decided to make a start. It was then noon. As he rose he happened
to look up the valley.
It lay below him, ashimmer in the summer sun, a panorama of green,
light and dark of shade, with the silver ribbon of the Klimminchuck
appearing and disappearing down its length. It was, perhaps, as
beautiful a mountain valley scene as eye ever beheld; but Sandy McCrae
would not have looked at it twice save for a thin, gray thread which
appeared above the treetops some miles away. It became a column,
ballooned, and then was invisible. But he knew that somebody had just
started a fire.
He picked out the spot with the glasses. Smoke was plainly visible
through the powerful lenses. It was close to the river--beside the
bank, in fact--and he could catch glimpses of one or two horses. But,
because of the trees, he could see little more.
"Darn the luck," said Sandy. "There's the biggest hide in the whole
range waiting for me, and somebody has to come butting in. Well,
there's only one thing to do."
That thing being to get back to camp as fast as possible, Sandy
proceeded to do it. He went downhill at a pace that would have shaken
an older and heavier man to pieces; for going downhill is, contrary to
the popular idea, much harder on the human frame than going up. He
broke into camp and roused McHale from a state of somnolence and
tobacco.
"I could 'a' tanned your young hide when you bulled off after that
bear," said the latter. "Now I seem to see what them salvation scouts
calls 'the finger of Providence' in the play. In other words, it's
plumb safe to keep one eye skinned. Do I look like I was scared,
Sandy?"
"Nah!" said Sandy contemptuously.
"Well, you're going to see me act like I was." He rose swiftly, his
laziness falling from him now that there was work to do. "Go and fetch
in them cayuses. I'll break camp."
The horses being on picket caused no delay. When Sandy brought them in,
McHale had their entire outfit in two heaps, ready to pack. With the
skill and swiftness of experience they made the packs, threw the
hitches, drew the lash ropes tight. The result was two compact bundles
which could not work loose.
"I dunno who our friends are," said McHale, as they rode out of camp,
"but if it's this here Dade bunch, say, what a surprise they'd have
give me all by myself. I can just see me gettin' up in time to fall
down."
"They've got no license to chase us all over," said Sandy. "We don't
have to stand for it, do we? How'd it be if we held up their camp? Or
else we could lay for them as they came along, and settle it right
there."
"Bushwhack 'em?" said McHale. "No, I reckon not. We want to keep out of
trouble. If we held 'em up what'd we do with them? We couldn't tie 'em
and leave 'em; and we couldn't pack 'em around. Nothing for it but to
run like men. The country's big enough for both of us."
Sandy grunted disapproval, but said no more. Personally he would have
welcomed a fight. He was a marvellously quick and accurate shot with
either rifle or revolver, and he was ready to make a friend's quarrel
his own. However, he deferred to McHale's views.
Farther down the Klimminchuck they turned up a nameless tributary
creek, following its course with difficulty, for the way was choked
with down timber and slides, until they reached a beautiful little
basin high up above the valley. There the creek had its source or
sources; for the drainings of the basin were collected in a little lake
lying beneath bare cliffs. The water was swarming with trout, so that
one supply of food was assured.
Beside the lake and the cliffs they made camp. They could not see the
valley, neither could they be seen thence; but by walking half a mile
they could look down into it. Sandy, mindful of his disappointment,
began to prospect for bear.
McHale relapsed once more into a morass of sleep and tobacco. But while
Sandy was ranging afield he lay on the edge of the basin drowsing and
watching the valley, for he did not intend to be taken by surprise.
But that was exactly what happened. He had withdrawn from his post of
observation earlier than usual, and he and Sandy were smoking after
supper in the fading light, when a little cavalcade rode into the
basin, preceded by one who walked slowly, studying the ground.
McHale saw them at the same moment that they perceived the camp. He
leaped to his feet with an oath, snatching up his rifle and a gunny
sack, which, among other things, contained their cartridges. His belt
gun he never laid aside.
Sandy also jumped for his gun, slamming the lever down and up as the
weapon came to his shoulder. He stood fairly in the open, covering the
foremost man. But McHale caught his arm.
"Come on and get back among them rocks," he cried. "We can't stand 'em
off here."
Behind them as they ran a sudden yell went up, and a single bullet
buzzed past like a mad bee. But they reached the shelter of the rocks
fallen from the cliff at some remote period, and dropped to cover.
Before them the great slabs formed a natural breastwork; behind them
rose the sheer cliff, gray and weather-stained. Their backs were amply
protected; in front they must take care of themselves.
The newcomers dismounted in the concealment of trees. Five minutes
afterward a man walked leisurely forward. McHale recognized Dade. At
fifty paces he halted him.
"I wouldn't come no nearer, Dade, if I was you."
"I'm coming a heap closer pretty soon."
"All right; you're expected," McHale retorted. "You call a feud on me,
do you? Now you listen here: You call it off and call your bunch off,
or there'll be doin's."
"I'm talkin' to your partner," said Dade. "I s'pose it's young McCrae.
We got nothing against you, McCrae. You come out o' there, take your
horse and your dunnage, and git. Nobody'll hurt you."
"Is that so?" sneered Sandy. "Go plumb to blazes, will you?"
"I'll think about it," said Dade coolly.
"You'll do more than think about it if you crowd in here," Sandy
retorted.
"Nobody wants to crowd you," said Dade. "We're after McHale, and we're
goin' to get him. Don't you mix up in it. If you do you may get hurt."
"That ain't such bad advice, kid," interrupted McHale. "I'm able for
'em, I reckon. Better pull your freight like he tells you. This ain't
your show, nohow, and you've got your folks to think of."
"Do you think I'm a yellow dog, or what?" Sandy snapped back, glaring
at him. "Quit? I think I see myself. I'll smash this Dade's belt buckle
right now." He lifted his rifle.
"Hold on," said McHale. "This kid is some obstinate," he called to
Dade. "His _tumtum_ is that he'll stick. _I_ don't want him in it."
"He's got his chance," said Dade. "It's up to him."
Young McCrae launched a string of epithets at him, the cream of the
vocabularies of certain mule skinners of his acquaintance. Meanwhile
his finger itched on the trigger.
"You're a durn poor persuader," said McHale. "The kid will stick. Far's
I'm concerned, if you want me, come and get me. Don't show your hide no
more. I'm surely done talkin' to you."
Dade turned and walked away. Sandy covered him.
"Not in the back," said McHale.
Immediately afterward a thirty-thirty struck a rock in front of them,
glancing off at an angle, wailing away into the distance. Sandy McCrae,
lying at full length peering along the slim barrel of his weapon,
pressed the trigger and swore in disappointment.
"Centred a stump," he said. "There it is yet. It looked like somebody."
All was quiet for five minutes. Then a sleet of lead pelted their
position, patting against the cliff behind them, and splashing upon the
rocks in front. Splinters and particles of stone, lead, and nickel flew
everywhere.
"Git down low," McHale advised, hugging a bowlder.
"I am down," said Sandy.
"Then dig a hole." McHale laughed, and then swore as a sharp fragment
of rock ripped his cheek.
"Hit you?"
"Nope. Rock sliver. I'll bet their guns is gettin' hot. This won't
last."
The fusillade ceased. McHale shoved his rifle barrel through a crevice.
"Maybe some gent will stick out his head to see how many corpses there
is of us. This light's gettin' durn bad. I wish I had an ivory
foresight, 'stead o' this gold bead. I can't see----"
His rifle muzzle leaped in recoil as he spoke. Two hundred yards away a
man making a rush forward for a closer position winced and half halted.
Instantly Sandy's rifle lanced the dimming light with a twelve-foot
shaft of flame. The man straightened, staggered, and threw both arms
upward as if to shield his face. Sandy fired again as the lever clashed
back into place. The man fell forward.
"Got him!" cried Sandy exultantly. "Centred him twice, Tom!"
"I reckon you did. That's one out of it." He fired again without
result. Sandy shot three times rapidly, and swore at the light.
"You're overshootin'," said McHale. "You can't draw the foresight fine
enough in this light. Hold lower."
"Nothing to hold on," grumbled McCrae. "They're cached close. If one of
them would only come out to fetch in that dead one I wouldn't do a
thing to him."
McHale eyed him speculatively. "Seems like your young soul ain't
swamped by no wave of remorse at killin' a man. Don't make you feel
shaky nor nothin'?"
Young McCrae smiled grimly. "Not that I can notice. All that lead they
slung at us scared remorse clean out of my system. I'm lookin' for a
chance to repeat."
But darkness settled down without that chance, making accurate shooting
impossible. Objects at fifty yards became indistinct. Only the
smoky-red reflection of the sunset remained.
"Think they've got enough?" asked Sandy.
"Why, they ain't got started yet. Lucky we had our supper. We can stand
quite a racket on a full stomach. Might as well smoke, I reckon."
Sandy shivered slightly as the chill of the mountain night air struck
through his thin clothing. "Wish I'd grabbed a blanket or a coat."
"It'll be a heap worse before mornin'," said McHale.
"You're a cheerful devil!"
"Think of how good the sun'll feel. Maybe something will happen to warm
us up before then."
A forty-pound stone suddenly crashed down to one side of them, smashing
in the rocks and bushes with terrific impact. Sandy leaped to his feet,
his revolver streaming continuous fire at the top of the cliff.
"Git down, you durn fool!" cried McHale.
Sandy dropped just in time. A volley came from in front, and a leaden
storm howled overhead.
"Talk about luck!" said McHale. "Don't you take a chance like that
again." He rolled over on his back and put his rifle to his shoulder.
"If I could only git that cuss up there against the sky line----"
But the top of the cliff was fringed with bushes. Another stone bounded
down, struck a projection, leaped out, and hit ten feet in front of
them. McHale fired by guess; but, like most guesswork shooting, without
result. Another stone struck in front. He moved in closer to the cliff
and chuckled grimly.
"We're right under a ledge. Them rocks all bounced off it. Mighty lucky
for us. You feelin' any warmer now?"
"You bet. Summer done come again. I wish I could see to shoot." He
fired at the flash of a gun, and winced suddenly.
"Burned me that time!"
A glancing bullet had ripped the flesh of his left side along the ribs.
McHale made a bandage of the handkerchief he wore around his neck.
"You'll sure have a sore side, kid. Keep down tight. Don't take no more
chances." But a moment afterward he grunted and his rifle clattered
against the rocks.
"What is it?"
"My right arm. Busted above the elbow." He breathed deeply with the
first pain throbs following the shock, and gritted his teeth. "Ain't
this hell? I'm out of it for rifle shootin'. Here, come and cut off my
shirt sleeve and tie her up some. See how much blood she's pumpin'!
Take a turn above the hole and twist her up tight. Blamed if I want to
bleed to death. I got a lot of things to see to first."
Sandy examined the wound by the feeble light of matches, which McHale
held in his left hand, and declared that the arteries were uninjured.
He cut off a leg of his trousers below the knee, and, with McHale's
shirt sleeve, organized a bandage, binding it with the thongs of his
moccasins, swearing steadily below his breath.
McHale leaned back against the rock and demanded his pipe. Sandy filled
it, and held a match to the load. McHale puffed great smoke clouds into
the darkness.
"Tobacco's sure a fine anæsthetic. She beats chloroform and tooth
jerkers' gas. And now, kid, you git!"
"Do what?"
"Make a get-away. Hike. Leak out o' this. You can do it in the dark
just as easy as a weasel."
"Say," said Sandy, "you didn't get hit alongside the head, too, did
you?"
"Not yet. This is straight goods. I mean it. There's no use you
stickin'. There's too many accidents happenin'. Come mornin' maybe you
don't git a chance."
"Come mornin'," Sandy replied, "when I can see my sights, I'll clean
the whole bunch out."
"Other people can see sights then. Kid, they got me rounded up. I ain't
no good except on a horse. If I could make a get-away I would. But I
can't. You can. There's no sense in both of us bein' wiped out. Also,
there's your folks. I ain't got any. And, then, I've lived longer than
you, and I've had a heap more fun. I'm plumb satisfied with the deal.
If I quit the game now I break better'n even. Shake hands and git out
o' here while you can."
"Forget it!" snapped Sandy. "Would _you_ quit _me_? Not any. D'ye think
I could look Casey in the face, or Sheila, or my old dad? Would one of
_them_ quit _you_? You bet they wouldn't. I'll see this through. Here,
gimme what rifle cartridges you got, and shut up that line of talk. I
won't stand for it, and I won't go."
"'Most every family has one blame fool in it," said McHale. "All right,
durn you, stay. If I could chase you out I'd do it. Reach down and pull
my belt gun for me. I can shoot left-handed some."
They passed the night miserably, waiting for an attack which did not
come. The pain of their wounds was added to the discomfort of the cold.
Dawn found them shivering, numbed, weary-eyed, staring through the
lifting gloom, their weapons ready. As the light grew they could see
their own camp, but no one occupied it. Farther off a column of smoke
rose.
"Cookin' breakfast down in a hole," said McHale. "Playin' it plumb
safe. They ain't takin' a chance on your shootin'."
"They'd better not," said Sandy. His young face showed grimed and
pinched in the growing light, but his eyes were hard and clear. "Do you
s'pose I could sneak over and get a stand on them?"
"I wouldn't try. You bet somebody's keeping cases on these rocks."
Half an hour passed, an hour. The sun struck the basin, mottling its
green with gold, striking their chilled bodies with grateful warmth.
"Say," asked Sandy, "don't you want a drink of water?"
"Quit foolin'," McHale replied. "I been thinkin' of it for hours. I
could drink that there lake dry."
Still nothing happened. The waiting began to get on their nerves.
"What d'you s'pose they're framing up?" Sandy asked.
"Don't know. Durn it! I can't do nothin' unless they run in on us,"
McHale grumbled. "Wisht I could hold a rifle."
"Let 'em try to run in," said Sandy grimly. He had McHale's rifle in
addition to his own. "They've got to come two hundred yards without
cover. I'll stop every blamed one of them in one hundred."
Suddenly he lifted his rifle, hesitated, and lay with his cheek to the
stock, staring along the sights.
"See somethin'?" McHale asked.
"Over there past those jack pines. Man on a horse. He'll come out
again."
Far off among the trees they saw not one mounted man, but several. They
could catch glimpses merely. The horsemen appeared to be making for the
valley, but not by the way in which they had come.
"By thunder!" cried McHale, "it looks like they're pullin' out."
His further remarks were lost in a rolling fire as Sandy unhooked his
entire magazine at the retreating figures. He caught up McHale's rifle
and emptied that, too.
"Save some ca'tridges for seed," advised McHale. "What's the use of
snapshootin' at that range? You can't hit nothin'."
"You never know what luck you'll have," said Sandy. "I couldn't draw a
sight with them moving in the brush. How many did you count?"
"Five--near as I could make it."
"Say, how'd it be if I went after them?"
"It'd be one durn young fool the less," McHale replied. "You want to
know when you're well off. Don't stand up yet. There may be some play
to this that we don't savvy."
"Rats! They've got a bellyful, I tell you. Five's the bunch, ain't
it?--all but that one we got. I ain't going to stay cached here all
day. I want some grub."
But McHale persuaded him to wait ten minutes. Then, after exposing a
hat and a rolled-up coat as decoys without the least result, they
emerged from their fortress.
"Didn't rustle our hosses," said McHale. "That's luck. I wonder what
they done with that feller you downed. Let's look at their camp."
Down in the hollow where the besiegers had built their fire they found
what they sought. It lay covered by a blanket. Sandy stripped the
covering away.
"Dade, by thunder!" he exclaimed. McHale looked down thoughtfully at
the dead man.
"I'm sure glad it was him," he observed. "I reckon that settles this
feud business. That's why them fellers pulled out. It was his war, and
when he got downed they didn't see no sense carryin' it on."
"Well, they might have buried him, anyway," Sandy grumbled.
"Maybe they figured you'd want to peel off his scalp," said McHale,
with mild sarcasm. "I'm sure willing to take a little trouble like
buryin' Dade."
"So'm I," Sandy admitted, replacing the blanket. "I guess we're pretty
lucky. Come on while I rustle some grub. We want to pull out of here.
You've got to get to a doctor as soon as you can."
They were eating breakfast when Casey, Farwell, the sheriff, and Simon
rode into the basin, causing Sandy to snatch up his rifle under the
impression that their assailants were returning. The four had made the
best time they could, but had been at a loss to know the exact point
until Sandy's farewell fusillade.
"You sure missed a heap of fun, Casey," said McHale.
"Well, some of it didn't miss you," said Casey. "I'm blame sorry about
that arm, Tom. It'll be a tough ride for you."
"I'm able for it, I reckon. I wish you'd run into them fellers."
"Never saw hair nor hide of them. Just as well, maybe. Now, Tom, this
is Sheriff Dove. He wants you, and I think he wants Sandy. I told him
that you both had too much sense to make things hard for him."
"Far's I'm concerned I'm his meat," said McHale. "I'd have to come in,
anyway, now. Sandy was a durn fool ever to hide out. I shouldn't have
let him. Lucky for me I did, though."
"That's sense," said the sheriff. "You boys will find I'm all right to
get on with. I haven't heard you say anything, McCrae?"
"I guess I don't need to say anything," said Sandy. "Casey came along
with you, didn't he? That's good enough for me."
"I'm right obliged to him, too," said Dove. "He's sure saved me a lot
of trouble. Lemme see that arm of yours, McHale. I savvy a little about
them things. Anyway, I'll fix up some splints for it till you can get
hold of a regular medicine man."