"But, Carlota, listen. Boston ain't to be next that this is a put-up
job. He's to think it's genuwine. Savvy? And he'll git all the
feelin's of a real kidnap. Now, to fool him right, you got to do one
thing: Be nice t' Pedro when Boston's 'round."
Little nippers again. "I do it," she says.
I started t' go, but she called me back. "He will think another man
loves me so much that he carries me away?" she repeats.
"_Shore,_" I says. And she let me go.
Y' know, _flirtin'_ was Carlota's strong suit. And that very
evenin' I seen her talkin' acrosst the counter to Pedro sweeter'n
panocha,--with a takin' smile on the south end of that cute little
face of hern. But her _eyes_ wasn't smilin'--and a Spanish gal's
eyes don't lie.
But supper was late, and Boston and me was at a table clost by,--him
lookin' ugly tempered. So ole lady Arnaz tole Carlota t' jar loose. And
pretty soon we was wrastlin' our corn-beef, and Pedro was gone.
Rawson sit down nigh us. "Cupid," he says solemn, "reckon we won't
git to play that game of draw t'-night." And he give my foot a kick.
"Why?" I ast.
"Account of Pedro bein' in town. I figger t' stay clost to the
bunk-house."
"So 'll _I_," I says, and begun examinin' my shootin'-iron mighty
anxious.
"Who's this Pedro?" ast Boston.
"Didn't y' see him?" I says. "He's a greaser, and a' awful bad
cuss t' monkey with. If you happen t' go past him and so much as wiggle
a finger, it's like takin' you' life in you' hands. Look at this."
And I showed him a piece that me and Hairoil 'd fixed up fer the last
_EyeOpener_.
"_Pedro Garcia,_" it read, "_was found not guilty by Judge Freeman fer
perforatin' Nick Trotmann's sombrero in a street row last Saturday
night week. Proved that Nick got into Pedro's way and sassed him. Pedro
'd come to town consider'ble the worse fer booze and, as is allus
the case_--" Then they was a inch 'r two without no writin'. Under
that was this: "_As a matter of extreme precaution, we have lifted the
last half of the above article, havin' got word that Garcia is due
in town again. Subscribers will please excuse the gap. I didn't git no
time t' fill it in. Editor._"
"And what's he doin' in _here?_" says Boston, "--talkin' to a young
gal!"
"Half cracked about her," puts in Bill. "And if she won't have him,
'r her maw interferes, I'm feared they'll be a tragedy."
"Low ruffian!" says Boston.
Later on, about ten o'clock, say, I was passin' the rest'rant, and
I heerd a man singin'----
"Luz de mi alma!
Luz de mi vida!"
and that somethin' was "despedosin'" his heart. (I savvy the lingo
pretty good.)
Wal, it was that dog-goned cholo,--under Carlota's winda, and he had a
guitar. Thunderation! that wasn't in our pro_gram!_
"Say, you!" I hollered.
He shut up and come over, lookin' kinda as if he'd been ketched
stealin' sheep, but grinnin' so hard his eyes was plumb closed--the
mean, little, wall-eyed, bow-laigged swine!
"Pedro," I says, "you' boss likely wants you. Hit the ties."
'Cause, mebbe Carlota 'd git mad at his yelpin,' and knock the hull
scheme galley-west.
Talk about you' cheek! Next night, that greaser and his guitar was
doin' business at the ole stand. I let him alone. Carlota seemed t'
like it. Anyhow, she didn't hand him out no hot soap suds through the
winda, 'r no chairs and tables.
I was glad things was goin' so nice. 'Cause lately I'd had t' worry
about Mace a good deal. Her letters had eased up a hull lot. Seems she'd
been under the weather fer a few days.
When she writ again though, she said she was O. K., but a-course Noo York
_was_ lonesome when a person was sick. Op'ra prospects? Aw, they was
_fine!_
Next thing, I was nervouser'n a cow with the heel-fly. _No_ letters
come from the little gal!--leastways, none to Rose. And ev'ry day ole
man Sewell snooped 'round the post-office, lookin' more and more down
in the mouth.
"How's Mace?" Rawson ast him oncet.
"Tol'rable," he answers, glum as all git out.
That kidnappin' was fixed on fer Saturday. We didn't tell Carlota
that was the day. Her maw might git wind of the job; 'r the gal 'd go
dress up, which 'd spoil the real look of the hull thing. Then, on
a Saturday, after five, Pedro was free to come in town--and most allus
showed up with some more of the cholos, pumpin' a hand-car.
This Saturday he come, all right, and went over to Sparks's corral fer a
couple of hosses. (Us punchers 'd tied our broncs over in the corral
too, so's we'd have to run fer 'em when Pedro lit out with the gal.
And I'd picked that strawberry roan of Sparks's fer Boston. It was
the fastest critter on four laigs in the hull country. Y' see, I wanted
Boston t' lead the posse.)
Six o'clock was the time named. It 'd give us more 'n two hours of day
fer the chase, and then they'd be a nice long stretch of dusk--just the
kind of light fer circlin' a' outlaw and capturin' him, dead 'r alive!
Wal, just afore the battle, mother, all us cow-punchers happened into the
Arnaz place. And a-course, Boston was there. Me and him was settin'
'way back towards the kitchen-end of the room. Pretty soon, we seen
Pedro pass the front winda, ridin' a hoss and leadin' another. His
loaded quirt was a-hangin' to his one wrist, and on his right laig
was the gun filled with blanks that we'd left at Sparks's fer him.
He stopped at the far corner of the house, droppin' the bridle over
the broncs' haids so they'd stand. Then he came to the side door,
opened it about a' inch, peeked in at Carlota,--she was behind the
counter--and whistled.
She walked straight over to him, smilin'--the little cut-up!--and outen
the door! Fer a minute, no sound. Then, the signal--a screech.
That screech was so blamed genuwine I almost fergot to stick out my laig
and trip Boston as he come by me. Down he sprawled, them spectacles of
hisn flyin' off and bustin' to smithereens. The boys bunched at the
doors t' cut off the Arnaz boy and the ole lady. Past 'em, I could see
them two broncs, with Pedro and Carlota aboard, makin' quick tracks
up the street.
"Alas! yon villain has stole her!" says Sam Barnes, throwin' up his
arms like they do in one of them the_ay_ter plays.
"Come," yells Rawson. "We will foller and sa-a-ave her." Then he
split fer the corral,--us after him.
When we got to it, we found somethin' funny: Our hosses was saddled and
bridled all right--_but ev'ry cinch was cut!_
Wal, you could 'a' knocked me down with a feather!
That same minute, up come Hank Shackleton on a dead run. "Boys!" he
says, "that greaser was half shot when he hit town. Got six more jolts
at Dutchy's."
Fast as we could, we got some other saddles and clumb on--Bill and
Sam and me and Shackleton, Monkey Mike, Buckshot Milliken and the
sheriff--and made fer Hairoil's shack.
_No Carlota_--but that blamed straw feemale, keeled over woeful, and a
cow eatin' her hair.
Shiverin' snakes! but we was a sick-lookin' bunch!
But we didn't lose no time. A good way ahaid, some dust was travellin'.
We spurred towards it, cussin' ourselves, wonderin' why Carlota
didn't turn her hoss, 'r stop, 'r jump, 'r put up one of her
tiger-cat fights.
"What's his idear?" says Monkey Mike. "Where's he takin' her?"
"Bee line fer the reservation," says Buckshot.
"Spanish church there. Makin' her _e_lope."
"Wo-o-ow!" It was Sheriff Bergin. We'd got beyond the Bar Y
ranch-house, and 'd gone down a slope into a kinda draw, like, and
then up the far side. This 'd brung us out on to pretty high ground,
and we could see, about a mile off, two hosses gallopin' side by
side. "The gal's bronc is lame!" says the sheriff. "And Pedro's
lickin' it. We _got_ him! Pull you' guns."
_Guns_. I got weaker'n a cat. And, all at the same time, the other
fellers remembered--and _such_ a howl. We had guns, _a-course_--_but
they was filled with blanks!_
We slacked a little.
"Is that greaser loaded?" ast Bergin.
"Give him blanks myself," says Bill.
Ahaid again, faster 'n ever. Carlota's hoss was shore givin'
out--goin' on three feet, in little jumps like a jackrabbit. Pedro
wasn't able t' git her on to _his_ bronc, 'r else he was feard the
critter wouldn't carry double. Anyhow, he was behind her, everlastin'ly
usin' his quirt--and losin' ground.
Pretty soon, we was so nigh we made out t' hear him. And when he looked
back, we seen his face was white, fer all he's a greaser. Then, of a
suddent, he come short, half wheeled, waited till we was closter, and
fired.
Somethin' whistled 'twixt me and the sheriff--_ping-ng-ng!_ It was
lead, all right!
And just then, whilst he was pullin' t' right and left, scatterin'
quick, but shootin' off blanks (we was so _ex_cited), that strawberry
roan of Sparks's come past us like a streak of lightnin'. And on her,
with his dicer gone, no glasses, a ca'tridge-belt 'round his neck, and
a pistol in one hand, was Boston!
"Hi, you fool," yells the sheriff, "You'll git killed!"
(Tire Pedro out and then draw his fire was the best plan, y' savvy.)
Boston didn't answer--kept right on.
But the run was up. Pedro 'd reached that ole dobe house that Clay
Peters lived in oncet, pulled the door open, and makin' Carlota lay
flat on her saddle (_she was tied on!_) druv in her hoss. Then, he begun
t' lead in hisn--when Boston brung up his hand and let her go--bang.
Say! that greaser got a surprise. He give a yell, and drawed back,
lettin' go his hoss. Then, he shut the door to, and we seen his weasel
face at the winda.
Boston's gun come up again.
"Look out," I hollered. "You'll hurt the gal."
He didn't shoot then, but just kept goin'. Pedro fired and missed.
Next minute, Boston was outen range on the side of the house where they
wasn't no winda, and offen his hoss; and the cholo was poppin' at us
as we come on, and yellin' like he was luny.
But Boston, it seems, could hear Carlota sobbin' and cryin' and
prayin'. And it got in to his collar. So darned if he didn't run
right 'round to that winda and smash it in!
Pedro shot at him, missed; shot again, still yellin' bloody murder.
Boston wasn't doin' no yellin'. He was actin' like a blamed
jack-in-the-box. Stand up, fire through the winda, duck--stand up,
duck----
He got it. Stayed up a second too long oncet--then tumbled back'ards,
kinda half runnin' as he goes down, and laid quiet.
Pedro didn't lean out t' finish him; didn't even take a shot at us
as we pulled up byside him and got off.
But the gal was callin' to us. I picked up Boston's gun and looked in.
Pedro was on the dirt floor, holdin' his right hand with his left. (No
more shovelin' fer _him_.)
Wal, we opened the door, led Carlota's hoss out, set the little gal
loose, and lifted her down.
At first, she didn't say nothin'--just looked to where Boston was. Then
she found her feet and went towards him, totterin' unsteady.
"Querido!" she calls; "querido!"
Boston heerd her, and begun crawlin' t' meet her. "All right,
sweetheart," he says, "--all right. I ain't hurt much."
Then they kissed--and we got _another_ surprise party!
* * * * *
That night, as I was a-settin' on a truck at the deepot, thinkin' to
myself, and watchin' acrosst the tracks to the mesquite, here come
Boston 'round the corner, and he set down byside me.
"Wal, Cupid?" he says, takin' holt of my arm.
"Boston," I begun. "I--I reckon _you_ don't need me no more."
"No," says Boston, "I don't. And I want t' square with y'. Now,
the boys say you're plannin' t' go to Noo York later on--t' take the
town t' pieces and see what's the matter with it, eh?" And he dug me
in the ribs.
"Wal," I answers, "I've _talked_ about it--some."
"It's a good idear," he goes on. "But about my bill--I hope you'll
think a hunderd and fifty is fair, fer these three weeks."
"Boston!" I got kinda weak all to oncet. "I cain't take it. It
wasn't worth that."
"I got a plot," he says, "and colour, and a bad man, and"--smilin'
awful happy--"a gal. So you get you' trip right away. And don't you
come back _alone._"