The Apache had taken but a few steps on the trail toward the east
pasture when Custer reined him in suddenly and wheeled him about.
“I’ll settle this thing now,” he muttered. “I’ll catch her with them.
I’ll find out who the others are. By God, I’ve got her now, and I’ve
got them!”
He spurred the Apache into a lope along the steep and dangerous
declivity leading downward into the basin. The horse was surprised.
Never before had he been allowed to go down hill faster than a
walk--his sound forelegs attested the careful horsemanship of his rider.
Where the trail wound around bushes, he took perilous jumps on the
steep hillside, for his speed was too great to permit him to make the
short turns. He cleared them, and somehow he stuck to the trail beyond.
His iron shoes struck fire from half embedded bowlders.
A rattler crossing the trail ahead coiled, buzzing its warning. The
hillside was steep--there was no footing above or below the snake.
The Apache could not have stopped in time to save himself from those
poisoned fangs. A coward horse would have wheeled and gone over the
cliff; but the Morgan is no coward.
The rider saw the danger at the instant the horse did. The animal felt
the spurs touch him lightly, he heard a word of encouragement from the
man he trusted. As the snake struck, he rose, gathering his four feet
close to his belly, and cleared the danger spot far out of reach of the
needle-like fangs.
The trail beyond was narrow, rocky, and shelving--the thing could not
have happened in a worse place. The Apache lit, stumbled, slipped. His
off hind foot went over the edge. He lunged forward upon his knees.
Only the cool horsemanship of his rider saved them both. A pound of
weight thrown in the wrong direction would have toppled the horse to
the bottom of the rocky gorge; a heavy hand upon the bit would have
accomplished the same result. Pennington sat easily the balanced seat
that gave the horse the best chance to regain his footing. His touch
upon the bit was only sufficient to impart confidence to his mount,
giving the animal’s head free play, as nature intended, as he scrambled
back to the trail again.
At last they reached the safer footing of the basin, and were off in
a straight line for the ravine into which led the mysterious trail.
The Apache knew that there was need for haste--an inclination of his
master’s body, a closing of the knees against his barrel, the slight
raising of the bridle hand, had told him this more surely than loud
cries of the punishment of steel rowels. He flattened out and flew.
The cold rage that gripped Pennington brooked no delay. He was glad,
though, that he was unarmed; for he knew that when he came face to face
with the men with whom Shannon Burke had conspired against him, he
might again cease to be master of his anger.
They reached the foot of the acclivity terminating at the summit of the
ridge beyond which lay the camp of the bootleggers. Again the man urged
his mount to the necessity of speed. The powerful beast leaped upward
along the steep trail, digging his toes deep into the sun-baked soil,
every muscle in his body strained to the limit of its powers.
At the summit they met Baldy, head and tail erect, snorting and
riderless. The appearance of the horse and his evident fright bespoke
something amiss. Custer had seen him just as he was emerging from
the upper end of the dim trail leading down the opposite side of the
hogback. He turned the Apache into it and headed him down toward the
oaks.
Below, Shannon was waging a futile fight against the burly Bartolo.
She struck at his face and attempted to push him from her, but he only
laughed his crooked laugh and pushed her slowly toward the trampled
dust of the abandoned camp.
“Before I kill you----” he repeated again and again, as if it were some
huge joke.
He heard the sound of the Apache’s hoofs upon the trail above, but he
thought it the loose horse of the girl. Custer was almost at the bottom
of the trail when the Mexican glanced up and saw him. With a curse, he
hurled Shannon aside and leaped toward his pony.
At the same instant the girl saw the Apache and his rider, and in
the next she saw Bartolo seize his rifle and attempt to draw it from
its boot. Leaping to her feet, she sprang toward the Mexican, who
was cursing frightfully because the rifle had stuck and he could not
readily extricate it from the boot. As she reached him, he succeeded
in jerking the weapon free. Swinging about, he threw it to his
shoulder and fired at Pennington, just as Shannon threw herself upon
him, clutching at his arms and dragging the muzzle of the weapon
downward. He struck at her face, and tried to wrench the rifle from her
grasp; but she clung to it with all the desperation that the danger
confronting the man she loved engendered.
Custer had thrown himself from the saddle and was running toward them.
Bartolo saw that he could not regain the rifle in time to use it.
He struck the girl a terrible blow in the face that sent her to the
ground. Then he turned and vaulted into his saddle, and was away across
the bottom and up the trail on the opposite side before Pennington
could reach him and drag him from his pony.
Custer turned to the girl lying motionless upon the ground. He knelt
and raised her in his arms. She had fainted, and her face was very
white. He looked down into it--the face of the girl he hated. He felt
his arms about her, he felt her body against his, and suddenly a look
of horror filled his eyes.
He laid her back upon the ground, and stood up. He was trembling
violently. As he had held her in his arms, there had swept over him an
almost irresistible desire to crush her to him, to cover her eyes and
cheeks with kisses, to smother her lips with them--the girl he hated!
A great light had broken upon his mental horizon--a light of
understanding that left all his world in the dark shadow of despair. He
loved Shannon Burke!
Again he knelt beside her, and very gently he lifted her in his arms
until he could support her across one shoulder. Then he whistled to the
Apache, who was nibbling the bitter leaves of the live oak. When the
horse came to him, he looped the bridle reins about his arm and started
on foot up the trail down which he had just ridden, carrying Shannon
across his shoulder. At the summit of the ridge he found Baldy grazing
upon the sparse, burned grasses of late September.
It was then that Shannon Burke opened her eyes. At first, confused
by the rush of returning recollections, she thought that it was the
Mexican who was carrying her; but an instant later she recognized the
whipcord riding breeches and the familiar boots and spurs of the son of
Ganado. Then she stirred upon his shoulder.
“I am all right now,” she said. “You may put me down. I can walk.”
He lowered her to the ground, but he still supported her as they stood
facing each other.
“You came just in time,” she said. “He was going to kill me.”
“I am glad I came,” was all that he said.
She noticed how tired and pinched Custer’s face looked, as if he had
risen from a sick bed after a long period of suffering. He looked
older--very much older--and oh, so sad! It wrung her heart; but she did
not question him. She was waiting for him to question her, for she knew
that he must wonder why she had come here, and what the meaning of the
encounter he had witnessed; but he did not ask her anything, beyond
inquiring whether she thought she was strong enough to sit her saddle
if he helped her mount.
“I shall be all right now,” she assured him.
He caught Baldy and assisted her into the saddle. Then he mounted the
Apache and led the way along the trail toward home. They were halfway
across the basin meadow before either spoke. It was Shannon who broke
the silence.
“You must have wondered what I was doing up there,” she said, with a
backward nod of her head.
“That would not be strange, would it?”
“I will tell you.”
“No,” he said. “It is bad enough that you went there to-day and the
Saturday before I was arrested. Anything more that you could tell
me would only make it worse. Do you remember that girl I told you
about--that friend of Cousin William--who visited us?”
“Yes.”
“I followed you up here to-day to tell you the same thing I told her.”
“I understand,” she said.
“You do not understand,” he snapped, almost angrily. “You understand
nothing. I only said that I followed to tell you that. I have not told
you, have I? Well, I don’t intend to tell you; but my shame that I
don’t is enough without you telling me any more to add to it. There
can be no honorable excuse for your having come here that other time,
or this time, either. There is no reason in the world why a woman
should have any dealings with criminals, or any knowledge that would
make dealings with them possible. That is the reason I don’t want you
to tell me more. Oh, Shannon”--his voice broke--“I don’t want to hear
anything bad about you!... Please!”
She had been upon the verge of just anger until then. Even now she did
not understand--only that he wanted to believe in her, however much he
doubted her, and that their friendship had meant more to him than she
had imagined.
“But I must tell you, Custer,” she insisted. “Now that you have learned
this much, I can see that your suspicions wrong me more than I deserve.
I came here the Saturday before you were arrested to warn them that
you were going to watch for them on the following Friday. Though I did
not know the men, I knew what sort they were, and that they would kill
you the moment they found that they were discovered. It was only to
save your life that I came that other time, and this time I came to try
to force them to go before the grand jury and clear you of the charge
against you; but when I threatened the man, and he found what I knew
about him, he said that he would kill me.”
“You did not know that I was going to be arrested that night?”
“Oh, Custer, how could you believe that of me?” exclaimed Shannon.
“I didn’t want to believe it.”
“I came into all this information--about the work of this gang--by
accidentally overhearing a conversation in Hollywood, months ago. I
know the names of the principals, I know Guy’s connection with them.
To-day I was trying to keep Guy’s name out, too, if that were possible;
but he is guilty and you are not. I cannot understand how he could come
back from Los Angeles without telling them the truth and removing the
suspicion from you.”
“I would not let him,” said Pennington.
“You would not let him? You would go to the penitentiary for the crime
of another?”
“Not for him, but for Eva. Guy and I thrashed it all out. He wanted to
give himself up--he almost demanded that I should let him; but it can’t
be done. Eva must never know.”
“But, Custer, you can’t go! It wouldn’t be fair--it wouldn’t be right.
I won’t let you go! I know enough to clear you, and I shall go before
the grand jury on Wednesday and tell all I know.”
“No,” he said. “You must not. It would involve Guy.”
“I won’t mention Guy.”
“But you will mention others, and they will mention Guy--don’t doubt
that for a minute.” He turned suddenly toward her. “Promise me,
Shannon, that you will not go--that you will not mention what you know
to a living soul. I would rather go to the pen for twenty years than
see Eva’s life ruined. You don’t know her. She’s gay and happy and
frivolous on the outside; but deep within her is a soul of wondrous
sensitiveness and beauty, which is fortified and guarded by her pride
and her honor. Strike down one of these, and you will have given her
soul a wound from which it may never recover. She can understand
neither meanness nor depravity in men and women. Should she ever learn
that Guy had been connected with this gang, and that the money upon
which they were to start their married life was the fruits of his
criminality, it would break her heart. I know that Guy isn’t criminally
inclined, and that this will be a lesson that will keep him straight as
long as he lives; but she wouldn’t look at it that way. Now do you see
why you must not tell what you know?”
“Perhaps you are right, but it seems to me she would not suffer any
more if Guy went than if her brother went. She loves you very much.”
“But she will know that I am innocent. If Guy went, she would know that
he was guilty.”
Shannon had no answer to this, and they were silent for a while.
“You will help me to keep this from Eva?” he asked.
“Yes.”
She was thinking of the futility of her sacrifice, and wondering what
explanation he was putting upon her knowledge of the activities of the
criminals. He had said that there could be no reason in the world why
a woman should have any dealings with such men, or any knowledge that
would make dealings with them possible. What would he think of her if
he knew the truth?
The man’s mind was a chaos of conflicting thoughts--the
sudden realization of a love that was as impossible as it was
unwelcome--recollection of his vows to Grace, which were as binding
upon his honor as the marriage vows themselves would have been--doubts
as to the character and antecedents of this girl who rode at his side
to-day, and whose place in his life had suddenly assumed an importance
beyond that of any other.
Then he turned a little, his eyes rested upon her profile, and he found
it hard to doubt her.
Shannon felt his eyes upon her, and looked up.
“You have been so good to me, Custer, all of you--you can never know
how I have valued the friendship of the Penningtons, or what it has
meant to me, or how I have striven to deserve it. I would have done
anything to repay a part, at least, of what it has done for me. That
was what I was trying to do--that is why I wanted to go before the
grand jury, no matter what the cost to me; but I failed, and perhaps I
have only made it worse. I do not even know that you believe me.”
“I believe you, Shannon,” he said. “There is much that I do not
understand; but I believe that what you did was done in our interests.
There is nothing more that any of us can do now but keep still about
what we know, for the moment one of those actually responsible
is threatened with exposure Guy’s name will be divulged--you may
rest assured of that. They would be only too glad to shift the
responsibility to his shoulders.”
“But you will make some effort to defend yourself?”
“I shall simply plead not guilty, and tell the truth about why I was up
there when the officers arrested me.”
“You will make no other defense?”
“What other defense can I make that would not risk incriminating Guy?”
Custer asked her.
She shook her head. It seemed quite hopeless.