HEELS FOR IT
With a sudden, low command to Sassoon to check his horse, and without
a movement that could be detected in the dawn ten yards away, de Spain
with the thumb and finger of his right hand lifted his revolver from
its scabbard, shifted his lines from his left hand to his right, rode
closer to Sassoon and pressed the muzzle of the gun to his prisoner's
side. "You've got one chance yet, Shike, to ride out of here alive,"
he said composedly. "You know I am a rustler--cousin of John
Rebstock's. My name is 'Frenchy'; I belong in Williams Cache. I rode
in last night from Thief River, and you are riding out with me to
start me on to the Sleepy Cat trail. If you can remember that
much----"
While he spoke to Sassoon his eyes were fixed on the rider halted in
their path. De Spain stopped half-way through his sentence. The figure
revealed in the half-light puzzled him at first. Then it confused and
startled him. He saw it was not a man at all, but a woman--and a
woman than whom he would rather have seen six men. It was Nan
Morgan.
With her head never more decisively set under her mannish hat, her
waist never more attractively outlined in slenderness, she silently
faced de Spain in the morning gray. His face reflected his chagrined
perplexity. The whole fabric of his slender plot seemed to go to
pieces at the sight of her. At the mere appearance of his frail and
motionless foe a feeling of awkward helplessness dissolved his easy
confidence. He now reversed every move he had so carefully made with
his hands and, resentfully eying Nan, rode in somewhat behind Sassoon,
doing nothing further than to pull his kerchief up about his neck, and
wondering what would be likely to happen before the next three minutes
were up. Beyond that flash the future held no interest for him--his
wits had temporarily failed.
Of one thing he felt assured, that it was in no wise up to him to
speak or do first. He could already see Nan's eyes. They were bent
keenly first on him, then on his companion, and again on him. De Spain
kept his face down as much as he dared, and his hat had been pulled
well over it from the beginning. She waited so long before accosting
the two men that de Spain, who was ready to hope any improbable thing,
began to hope she might let them pass unchallenged. He had resolved,
if she did not speak to push past without even looking at her. They
were now almost abreast. His fine resolution went smash overboard. The
very instinctive knowledge that her eyes were bent on his made him
steal a glance at her in spite of himself. The next instant he was
shamefacedly touching his hat. Though nothing was lost on her, Nan
professed not to see the greeting. He even continued to dream she did
not recognize him. Her eyes, in fact, were directed toward Sassoon,
and when she spoke her tone was dry with suspicion.
"Wait a moment, Sassoon. Where are you going?" she demanded. Sassoon
hitched with one hand at his trousers band. He inclined his head
sulkily toward his companion. "Starting a man on the trail for Sleepy
Cat."
"Stop," she exclaimed sharply, for de Spain, pushing his own horse
ahead, had managed without being observed, to kick Sassoon's horse in
the flank, and the two were passing. Sassoon at the resolute summons
stopped. De Spain could do no less; both men, halting, faced their
suspicious inquisitor. She scrutinized de Spain keenly. "What is this
man doing in the Gap?"
"He come up from Thief River last night," answered Sassoon monotonously.
"What is he doing here with you?" persisted Nan.
"He's a cousin of John Rebstock's from Williams Cache," continued
Sassoon. The yarn would have sounded decently well in the circumstances
for which it was intended, but in the searching gaze of the eyes now
confronting and clearly recognizing him, it sounded so grotesque that
de Spain would fully as lief have been sitting between his horse's
legs as astride his back.
"That's not true, Sassoon," said his relentless questioner. Her tone
and the expression of her face boded no friendliness for either of the
two she had intercepted.
De Spain had recovered his wits. "You're right," he interposed without
an instant's hesitation. "It isn't true. But that's not his fault; he
is under arrest, and is telling you what I told him to tell you. I
came in here this morning to take Sassoon to Sleepy Cat. He is a
prisoner, wanted for cutting up one of our stage-guards."
Nan, coldly sceptical, eyed de Spain. "And do you try to tell me"--she
pointed to Sassoon's unbound hands--"that he is riding out of here, a
free man, to go to jail?"
"I do tell you exactly that. He is my prisoner----"
"I don't believe either of you," declared Nan scornfully. "You are
planning something underhand together."
De Spain laughed coolly. "We've planned that much together, but not, I
assure you, with his consent."
"I don't believe your stories at all," she declared firmly.
De Spain flushed. The irritation and the serious danger bore in on
him. "If you don't believe me it's not my fault," he retorted. "I've
told you the truth. Ride on, Sassoon."
He spoke angrily, but this in no wise daunted Nan. She wheeled her
horse directly in front of them. "Don't you stir, Sassoon," she
commanded, "until I call Uncle Duke."
De Spain spurred straight at her; their horses collided, and his knee
touched hers in the saddle. "I'm going to take this man out of here,"
he announced in a tone she never had heard before from a man. "I've no
time to talk. Go call your uncle if you like. We must pass."
"You shan't pass a step!"
With the quick words of defiance the two glared at each other. De
Spain was taken aback. He had expected no more than a war of words--a
few screams at the most. Nan's face turned white, but there was no
symptom even of a whimper. He noticed her quick breathing, and felt,
instinctively, the restrained gesture of her right hand as it started
back to her side. The move steadied him. "One question," he said
bluntly, "are you armed?"
She hated even to answer, and met his searching gaze resentfully, but
something in his tone and manner wrung a reply. "I can defend myself,"
she exclaimed angrily.
De Spain raised his right hand from his thigh to the pommel of his
saddle. The slight gesture was eloquent of his surrender of the issue
of force. "I can't go into a shooting-match with you about this cur.
If you call your uncle there will be bloodshed--unless you drop me off
my horse right here and now before he appears. All I ask you is this:
Is this kind of a cutthroat worth that? If you shoot me, my whole
posse from Sleepy Cat is right below us in the aspens. Some of your
own people will be killed in a general fight. If you want to shoot me,
shoot--you can have the match all to yourself. If you don't, let us go
by. And if I've told you one word that isn't true, call me back to
this spot any time you like, and I'll come at your call, and answer
for it."
His words and his manner confounded her for a moment. She could not at
once make an answer, for she could not decide what to say. Then, of a
sudden, she was robbed of her chance to answer. From down the trail
came a yell like a shot. The clatter of hoofs rang out, and men on
horses dashed from the entrance of the Gap toward them. De Spain could
not make them out distinctly, but he knew Lefever's yell, and pointed.
"There they are," he exclaimed hurriedly. "There is the whole posse.
They are coming!" A shot, followed closely by a second, rang out from
below. "Go," he cried to Nan. "There'll be shooting here that I can't
stop!" He slapped Sassoon's pony viciously with his hand, yelled loud
in answer to Lefever, and before the startled girl could collect
herself, de Spain, crouching in his saddle, as a fusillade cracked
from Lefever's and Scott's revolvers, urged Sassoon's horse around
Nan's, kicked it violently, spurred past her himself, and was away.
White with consternation and anger, she steadied herself and looked
after the fleeing pair. Then whirling in her saddle, she ran her pony
back to the ranch-house to give the alarm.
Yelling like half a dozen men, Lefever and Scott, as de Spain and his
prisoner dashed toward them, separated, let the pair pass, and spurred
in behind to cover the flight and confront any pursuers. None at the
moment threatened, but no words were exchanged until the whole party,
riding fast, were well past El Capitan and out of the Gap. For some
unexpressed reason--so strong is the influence of tradition and
reputation--no one of the three coveted a close encounter with the
Morgans within its walls.
"It's the long heels for it now, boys," cried de Spain. His companions
closed up again.
"Save your horses," cautioned Scott, between strides. "It's a good
ways home."
"Make for Calabasas," shouted Lefever.
"No," yelled Scott. "They would stand us a siege at Calabasas. While
the trail is open make for the railroad."
A great globe of dazzling gold burst into the east above the distant
hills. But the glory of the sunrise called forth no admiration from
the three men hurrying a fourth urgently along the Sleepy Cat trail.
Between breaths de Spain explained his awkward meeting with Nan, and
of the strait he was in when Lefever's strong lungs enabled him to get
away unscratched. But for a gunman a narrow squeak is as good as a
wide one, and no one found fault with the situation. They had the
advantage--the only question was whether they could hold it. And while
they continued to cast anxious glances behind, Scott's Indian eyes
first perceived signs on the horizon that marked their pursuit.
"No matter," declared Lefever. "This is a little fast for a fat man,
anyway." He was not averse, either, to the prospect of a long-range
exchange with the fighting mountaineers. All drew rein a little.
"Suppose I cover the rear till we see what this is," suggested
Lefever, limbering up as the other two looked back. "Push ahead with
Sassoon. These fellows won't follow far."
"Don't be sure about that," muttered Scott. "Duke and Gale have got
the best horses in the mountains, and they'd rather fight than eat.
There they come now."
Dashing across a plain they themselves had just crossed, they could
see three horsemen in hot chase. The pursued men rode carefully, and,
scanning the ground everywhere ahead and behind, de Spain, Scott, and
Lefever awaited the moment when their pursuers should show their hand.
Scott was on the west of the line, and nearest the enemy.
"Who are they, Bob?" yelled Lefever.
Scott scrutinized the pursuers carefully. "One," he called back, "that
big fellow on the right, is Deaf Sandusky, sure. Harvey Logan, likely,
the middle man. The other I can't make out. Look!" he exclaimed,
pointing to the foot-hills on their distant left. Two men, riding out
almost abreast of them, were running their horses for a small canyon
through which the trail led two miles ahead. "Some riding," cried
Scott, watching the newcomers. "That farther man must be Gale Morgan.
They are trying for the greasewood canyon, to cut us off."
"We can't stand for that," decided de Spain, surveying the ground
around them. "There's not so much as a sage-brush here for cover."
Lefever pointed to his right; at some distance a dark, weather-beaten
cone rose above the yellow desert. "Let's make a stand in the lava
beds," he cried.
De Spain hesitated. "It takes us the wrong way." He pointed ahead.
"Give them a run for that canyon, boys."
Urging their horses, the Sleepy Cat men rode at utmost speed to beat
the flanking party to the trail gateway. For a few minutes it looked
an even break between pursuers and pursued. The two men in the
foot-hills now had a long angle to overcome, but they were doing a
better pace than those of the Gap party behind, and half-way to the
canyon it looked like a neck-and-neck heat for the narrow entrance.
Lefever complained of the effort of keeping up, and at length reined
in his horse. "Drop me here on the alkali, boys," he cried to the
others. "I'll hold this end while you get through the canyon."
"No," declared de Spain, checking his pace. "If one stays, all stay.
This is as good a time as any to find out what these fellows mean."
"But not a very good place," commented Scott, as they slowed, looking
for a depression.
"It's as good for us as it is for them," returned de Spain abruptly.
"We'll try it right here."
He swung out of his saddle, Lefever and Scott after an instant's
reconnoissance following. Sassoon they dismounted. Scott lashed his
wrists together, while de Spain and Lefever unslung their carbines,
got their horses down, and, facing the west and south, spread
themselves on the ground.
The men behind lost nothing of the defensive movement of the pursued
party, and slowed up in turn. For the moment the flankers were out of
sight, but they must soon appear on the crest of a rise between them
and the canyon. Lefever was first down and first ready with his rifle
to cover the men behind. These now spread out and came on, as if for a
rush.
Lefever, picking Logan, the foremost, sent a warning shot in front of
him. De Spain fired almost at the same moment toward the big man
making a detour to the right of the leader. The two bullets puffed in
the distant alkali, and the two horsemen, sharply admonished, swerved
backward precipitately. After a momentary circling indecision, the
three rode closer together for a conference, dismounted, and opened a
return fire on the little party lying to.
The strategy of their halt and their firing was not hard to penetrate.
The men from the foot-hills were still riding for the canyon. No views
were exchanged among Sassoon's captors, but all understood that this
move must be stopped. Lefever and Scott, without words, merely left
the problem to de Spain as the leader. He lay on the right of the line
as they faced south, and this brought him nearest to the riders out of
the foot-hills. Taking advantage of a lull in the firing, he pulled
his horse around between himself and the attacking party, and in such
a position that he could command with his rifle the fast-moving riders
to the west.
Something of a predicament confronted him. He was loath to take a
human life in the effort to get a cutthroat jailed, and hated even to
cripple a beast for it, but the two men must be stopped. Nor was it
easy to pick up the range offhand, but meaning that the Morgans, if
they were Morgans, should understand how a rush would be met, he sent
one shot after another, short, beyond, and ahead of the horsemen, to
check them, and to feel the way for closer shooting if it should be
necessary. The two dashed on undaunted. De Spain perceived that
warnings were wasted. He lowered his sights, and, waiting his chance
as the leader of the foot-hill pursuers rode into a favorable range,
he fired for his horse's head. The beast jumped convulsively and
pitched forward, head down in a half somersault, throwing his rider
violently to the ground. Scott and Lefever yelled loudly.
Out of the cloud of dust the man scrambled to his feet, looked coolly
around, and brushed the alkali disgustedly from his eyes just as a
second bullet from de Spain tore up the earth a few feet to one side
of him. He jumped like a rabbit at this summons, and did not even make
a further pretense at composure. Grabbing his hat from the ground, he
ran like mad toward the hills. Meantime his mounted companion had
turned about. De Spain sprang to his feet, jerked up his horse and
cried: "Now for the canyon!" Pushing Sassoon into the saddle and
profiting by the confusion, the railroad men rode hard for their
refuge, and reached it without more molestation than an occasional
shot from their distant pursuers on the main trail. De Spain and his
scouts now felt assured of their escape. The foot-hills contingent was
left far behind, and, though their remaining pursuers rode in at times
with a show of rushing, the chase was a stern one, and could be
checked whenever necessary. Halting at times in this way to breathe
their horses, or to hold off the rear pursuit, de Spain with his two
companions and their prisoner rode into Sleepy Cat, locked Sassoon up,
and went to the Mountain House for breakfast.