LAWLER'S "NERVE"
When Lawler spoke to Blackburn regarding the news that had been
communicated to him by the horse-wrangler, Blackburn suggested that
himself and several of the Circle L men ride back to ascertain the
object of the trailers.
"We'll ride back an' make 'em talk!" he declared, heatedly.
Lawler, however, would not agree, telling Blackburn that the trail was
free, and that, until the men made some hostile move, there was no
reason why they should be approached.
So the men ate, selected new mounts from their "strings" in the
_remuda_, and again started the big herd forward.
Lawler rode for a time with Garvin, keeping an alert eye on the back
trail. But though he could see far up the cañon, where the trail--white
with dust from the passing of the herd--wound its sinuous way upward
into the dark recesses between the towering mesa walls, he could see no
sign of life or movement.
The nonappearance of the mysterious riders was suspicious, for if their
intentions were friendly they would have come boldly on. In fact, if
they were abroad upon an honest errand, they must have found the
slowness of the herd ahead of them irksome; and they would have passed
it as soon as possible, merely to escape the dust cloud raised by the
cattle.
When the afternoon began to wane the herd was far out in the basin,
traveling steadily toward a point where the little river doubled, where
Blackburn intended to camp for the night. And though both Blackburn and
Lawler scanned the back trail intently at intervals, there was still no
sign of the riders Garvin had mentioned.
Nor did the riders pass the herd in the night. Blackburn threw an extra
guard around the cattle, making the shifts shorter and more frequent;
and when daylight came a short conference among the Circle L men
disclosed the news that no riders had passed. If any riders had passed
the cowboys must have seen them, for there had been a moon, and the
basin afforded in the vicinity of the herd, was clear and unobstructed.
Enraged at the suspicious nature of the incident, Blackburn took half a
dozen cowboys and rode back, while the remainder of the trail crew sent
the herd eastward. It was late in the afternoon when Blackburn returned,
disappointed, grim, and wrathful.
"There's a bunch trailin' us, all right," he told Lawler; "about a
dozen. We seen where they'd stopped back in the cañon a ways--where
Garvin said he'd seen 'em sneakin' back. We lost their tracks there, for
they merged with ours an' we couldn't make nothin' of 'em. But at the
foot of the slope we picked 'em up again. Looks like they separated.
Some of them went north an' some went south. I reckon that durin' the
night they sneaked around the edge of the basin. It's likely they're
hidin' in the timber somewhere, watchin' us. If you say the word I'll
take some of the boys an' rout 'em out. We'll find what they're up to,
damn 'em!"
"As long as they don't bother us we won't bother them," said Lawler.
"It's likely they won't bother us."
Again that night the men worked in extra shifts; and the following
morning the herd climbed out of the basin and straggled up a narrow
trail through some foothills. At noon they passed through a defile
between two mighty mountains; and when twilight came they had descended
some low hills on the other side and went to camp for the night on a big
grass level near the river they had followed for three days.
The level upon which they camped was much lower than the floor of the
big basin, for the water from the river came tumbling out of a narrow
gorge between the hills through which the herd had passed.
They were in a wild section, picturesque, rugged. There was plenty of
water; and Blackburn and Lawler both knew that there would be water
enough for the herd all the way to Red Rock. There was a section of
desert before them, which they would strike before many days; but they
would cross the desert in one day, barring delay; and there seemed to be
no reason why the long drive should not prove successful despite the
mountain trails--most of them hazardous--through which they must still
pass.
And yet the men were restless. The continued presence of an invisible
menace near them, disturbed the men. They had not seen the mysterious
riders again, but there was not a man in the outfit who did not feel
them--not a man but was convinced that the riders were still trailing
them, watching them.
Long ago the younger men had ceased to laugh and joke. During the day
they kept gazing steadily into the gulf of space that surrounded them,
carefully scrutinizing the timber and the virgin brush which might form
a covert; and at night they were sullen, expectant; every man wearing
his gun when he rolled himself in his blanket.
It was not fear that had seized them. They were rugged, hardy,
courageous men who had looked death in the face many times, defying it,
mocking it; and no visible danger could have disturbed them.
But this danger was not visible; it was stealthy, secret, lurking near
them, always threatening, always expected. It might stalk behind them;
it might be flanking them as they rode; or it might creep upon them in
the night.
Blackburn had fallen into a vicious mood. His eyes glowed with the
terrible, futile rage that surged in his veins, it was a reflection of a
wrath that grew more and more intolerant as the days passed and the
danger that portended did not materialize.
"Boss," he said to Lawler on the tenth day following that on which
Garvin had reported the presence of the riders behind them; "the boys is
gettin' jumpy. They're givin' one another short answers, an' they're
growlin' about things they never noticed before.
"I'm gettin' fed up on this thing, too. It's a cinch them riders is
following us. I seen 'em dustin' north of us this mornin'. I ain't said
anything to the boys, but it's likely they've seen 'em, too--for they've
got their eyes peeled. It's gettin' under my skin, an' if they don't
come out into the open pretty soon and give us an idee of what game
they're playin', me an' some of the boys is goin' to drag 'em out!"
Yet Blackburn did not carry out his threat. He knew pursuit of the
riders would be futile, for there were no further signs of them for
several days, and Blackburn knew the riders would have no trouble in
eluding them in the vast wilderness through which the herd had been
passing for a week. They went on, continuing to watch, though there were
no further signs of the men.
They had been on the trail twenty days when at dusk one day they moved
slowly down a wide, gradual slope toward a desert. At the foot of the
slope was a water hole filled with a dark, brackish fluid, with a green
scum fringing its edges. The slope merged gently into the floor of the
desert, like an ocean beach stretching out into the water, and for a
distance out into the floor of the desert there was bunch grass,
mesquite, and greasewood, where the cattle might find grazing for the
night. Beyond the stretch of grass spread the dead, gray dust, of the
desert, desolate in the filmy, mystic haze that was slowly descending.
The cattle came down eagerly, for they had grazed little during the day
in the mountainous region through which they had passed. They were
showing the effects of the drive. They had been sleek and fat when they
started from the Circle L; they were growing lean, wild, and they were
always ravenously hungry.
But where they could feed they required little attention; and the
cowboys, after halting them, helped Garvin establish the lines of a rope
corral into which they drove the _remuda_. Then they built a fire and
squatted wearily around it--at a respectful distance--to watch the
cook--and to listen to him as he complainingly prepared supper.
The men had finished, and the long shadows of the dusk were stealing out
over the desert, when Lawler--sitting on the chuck-box--heard Blackburn
exclaim sharply:
"_Hell's fire! Here they come!_"
Blackburn had sprung to his feet, his eyes blazing with the pent-up
wrath that had been in them for many days. He was tense, his muscles
straining; and his fingers were moving restlessly near the butt of the
huge pistol that swung at his hip. The fingers were closing and
unclosing, betraying the man's passion.
Lawler got to his feet. Following the direction of Blackburn's flaming
eyes, he saw, perhaps a mile away, a large body of horsemen. They were
descending the long slope over which the herd had been driven.
Lawler counted them--thirty-nine. But the menace was no longer
invisible; it was now a material thing which could be met on such terms
as might be, with the law of chance to govern the outcome.
Lawler did not doubt that the on-coming riders were hostile. He had felt
that when he first had been made aware of their presence behind the
herd. He saw, too, that the men of his outfit felt as he did; for they
were all on their feet, their faces grim, their eyes glowing with the
rage that had gripped them over the presence of the unseen menace; their
muscles were tensed and their lips were in the sullen pout which
presages the imminence of action.
Shorty, the tawny giant, was a terrible figure. He seemed to be
outwardly cool, and there was not a sign of passion in his manner. His
hands swung limply at his sides, not a muscle in his body seeming to
move. Unlike the other men, he was calm, seemingly unperturbed. So
striking was the contrast between him and the other men that Lawler
looked twice at him. And the second time he saw Shorty's eyes--they were
gleaming pools of passion, cold, repressed.
"Easy, boys!" Lawler called to the men. "Don't let them suspect you know
they've been trailing us. They've got us two to one, almost--if they
mean trouble we'll have to work easy!"
He saw the men relax; and several of them resumed their former positions
at the fire.
The strange riders were coming steadily onward; they were not more than
a hundred yards distant when Blackburn exclaimed, hoarsely:
"Lawler; it's Blondy Antrim an' his gang! Damn his hide! We're in for
it!"
For the first time since Garvin had told him of the presence of the men
on the trail behind the herd, Lawler's face betrayed passion--the glow
in his eyes rivaled that in the giant's.
During the past year or so word had reached him--rumor unfounded, but
insistent--that more than once Singleton and Blondy Antrim, the outlaw,
had been seen together. He had placed no credence in the rumors,
ascribing them to the imaginations of mischievous brains, prejudiced
against Singleton because of his bluff, dominant manner. He first had
suspected there might be truth in them when Joe Hamlin had told him that
he had rustled cattle for Singleton. He now believed that Singleton had
disposed of the stolen cattle through Antrim and the conviction that
Singleton was behind the action of the outlaw in trailing the herd
through the country seized him.
In an instant--following Blackburn's exclamation--he was aroused to the
danger that confronted himself and his men. As though by previous
arrangement, the men looked at him, noted the tenseness that had come
over him, listened attentively when he spoke.
"Boys; don't offer to throw a gun. I know Antrim. He's a killer, and his
men are like him. Take it easy--keep cool. The man who loses his temper
will be guilty of the wholesale murder that will follow. When Antrim
rides up, send him after me!"
He had not unsaddled Red King. He strode to the horse, swung into the
saddle, and rode eastward, away from the advancing riders.
Blank astonishment, puzzled bewilderment shone in the eyes of the Circle
L men as they watched him, and into the hearts of some of them crept the
conviction that Lawler had deserted them; that he was afraid of the
outlaw chief.
Blackburn saw what they thought, and his burning eyes bored into them
with sarcasm unutterable. He laughed, hoarsely, with a grim mirth that
startled them.
"Don't you worry about Lawler's nerve, boys; he's got more of it than
the bunch of us put together! He's got some scheme in mind. You guys
just set tight until you find out what it is. Do as he told you. Don't
let that scurvy gang know that you're flabbergasted!"
When Lawler rode away there was a noticeable commotion in the group of
advancing horsemen. One of them left the group, spurring his horse in
the direction taken by Lawler. He must have been called back, for he
wheeled his horse after he had ridden a dozen paces or so, and rejoined
the group, which came on as before.
When the horsemen came to a halt near the fire, they were spread in a
semi-circle about the Circle L men, and in their bronzed immobile faces
was no answer to the question that agitated Blackburn and the other men.
They had halted at a little distance from the fire, and one of them, a
tall, slender, keen-eyed, thin-lipped man, urged his horse out of the
circle and insolently inspected Blackburn and his cowboys. He lounged
loosely in the saddle.
There was a sinister light in his eyes, a lurking threat in his manner.
"What outfit is this?" he demanded.
"Circle L, from Wolf River," answered Blackburn.
"Where you headin'?"
"To Red Rock."
"Railroad out of business?" jeered the outlaw.
"Far as the Circle L is concerned, it is, Antrim," smiled Blackburn. "We
had a fuss, an' quit 'em."
The outlaw peered intently at the other. Then he grinned.
"It's Andy Blackburn!" he said. "Glad to meet you, Blackburn. This seems
like old times--before the railroad went through; when old Luke Lawler
used to jam 'em to Red Rock--sometimes--when he didn't pick up too many
strays on the way." He laughed as though pleased over the recollection.
"Got this stock vented, Blackburn?"
"Nary a vent, Antrim; the inspector wasn't feelin' in the humor."
"Ha!" exclaimed Antrim; "so you didn't get no vent. Well, we're aimin'
to look through your herd. We've been missin' cattle all summer--from my
ranch, the Circle Bar. About three thousand head. We've traced 'em as
far as Kinney's cañon, an' lost 'em. But we've been thinkin', Blackburn,
that it ain't no hard job to make a passable Circle L out of a Circle
Bar. That's why we aim to look your cattle over."
He grinned slightly at Blackburn's scowl, aware of the impotent rage the
latter felt over the worst insult that could be offered an honest
cattleman. For an instant he watched Blackburn keenly, his lips
sneering; and then when he saw that Blackburn had mastered his rage, he
said, sharply:
"Who was that guy that rode away as we come up?"
"Lawler," said Blackburn. "He's figurin' on seein' you alone, looks
like. He left word that when you come I was to tell you he wanted to see
you."
The outlaw's eyes glowed with swift suspicion.
"He knowed me, eh?" he said. He glanced keenly over the level floor of
the desert. Dimly, in the dusk, he could see Lawler riding near the
herd. For an instant Antrim hesitated, plainly debating the wisdom of
leaving his men; then he smiled with whimsical recklessness. And his
movements became rapid, jerky.
"Slade," he said, addressing a rider near him; "you're runnin' things
till I get back."
He wheeled his horse and sent him into the dusk toward the herd, riding
cautiously, evidently not entirely convinced of the peaceableness of
Lawler's intentions.
He rode a quarter of a mile before he came upon Lawler; and though the
light was fading he could plainly see Lawler's face, set,
expressionless.
The outlaw brought his horse to a halt within three or four paces of Red
King. Antrim's manner exuded the insolent tolerance of the master, who
has the confidence that comes from thoughts of an overwhelming
advantage.
He knew Lawler; knew him as perhaps no other man in the section knew
him. For he had seen Lawler using his gun. It had been some years
before, when Lawler had been proving himself--proving that he had a
right to the respect and consideration of his fellow-men; proving that
no man could trifle with him.
Antrim had been a witness to the shooting. He had marked Lawler's
coolness, the evenness of his temper; and had noted the deadly swiftness
and precision of his movements when he had drawn his pistol. Lawler had
not been the aggressor--a dozen other men had testified to that.
Antrim had not seen Lawler since, until now. And as he looked at him he
saw that the years had brought a change in the man. He had been a tall,
bold, reckless-looking youth then, with a certain wild waywardness in
his manner that might have destroyed him, had he yielded to it. Now he
was cold, calm, deliberate, imperturbable. The recklessness had
disappeared from his eyes; they were now aglow with quiet determination.
The waywardness had gone--ironlike resolution marked his manner.
And yet behind it all, Antrim could see the threat of those youthful
passions; the lurking eagerness for violent action; the hint of
preparedness, of readiness.
Antrim was startled, uneasy. He saw now that he should not have left his
men; that he had made a mistake in coming alone to meet Lawler.
He was certain of it now, when he heard Lawler's voice, saw the cold,
smiling light in his eyes.
"You're wanting my cattle, Antrim. Your men have been trailing me for
two weeks. You don't get them. You've got thirty-nine men, and there are
only twenty-three Circle L men over there. I'm not getting any of them
killed. This thing is between you and myself. Get your hand away from
your gun or I'll bore you!"
He moved his hand--where it had been--seemingly--lying on Red King's
neck, under the mane; and Antrim saw the dark muzzle of a pistol showing
in the hand.
"I'm not taking any chances, Antrim--you can see that. I'm not going to
take any. If you do anything to attract the attention of your men, I'll
kill you. Drop your guns, using your thumbs and forefingers." He
waited, watching keenly, until the outlaw had complied with the demand,
the two big pistols thudding dully into the sand beside his horse.
Then Lawler resumed, his voice low and even, as before:
"Now we're riding back to the fire, Antrim. Listen hard, for this means
life or death to you.
"We're going back to the fire. You're going to act as though nothing had
happened; and you are to tell your men that you have changed your mind
about the cattle--you are to tell them that you are going with me to Red
Rock; and you are sending them back to where you came from, to wait for
you."
Antrim stiffened, and his face bloated poisonously. But he did not
answer, for there was that in Lawler's eyes that convinced him of the
futility of attempting resistance.
"You're going to Red Rock with me," went on Lawler. "I'm going to be
personally responsible for you. I'm going to watch you; you're going to
ride ahead of me. If you talk, or make any motion that brings any of
your men back, you'll die so quick you won't know it happened! Do you
understand?"
"Damn you, Lawler; you'll pay for this!" muttered the outlaw. "I'll go
on your trail and I'll never let up till I get you!"
Lawler laughed, lowly. "Just be careful not to get any of that poison in
your voice when you tell your men what I told you, Antrim, or you'll
never go on anybody's trail. Get going, now; and be careful."
Antrim wheeled his horse, and Lawler spurred Red King beside him.
"I'll be watching you, Antrim," he warned. "If your men show they
suspect anything wrong you go down, mighty rapid. You don't get off your
horse until your men go. And there is to be no playing for time. You
talk fast and earnest, and carefully. Go ahead."
Riding slightly in Antrim's rear, Lawler followed the outlaw to the
fire. There had come no change in the positions of the outlaws or of the
Circle L men. And when Antrim and Lawler rode up there was a silence
during which the men of both factions looked interrogatively at their
leaders.
Antrim's face was pale, and his voice was vibrant with emotion. But he
did not hesitate.
"Slade," he said to the man he had left in charge; "I've changed my mind
about those cattle. Lawler has given me proof that none of our stock is
with them. I'm hittin' the trail to Red Rock with Lawler. You take the
boys back to the ranch an' wait for me."
Slade's eyes widened; he flushed and peered keenly at Antrim. "You--why,
hell's fire, Antrim; we----"
"Slade, do as I tell you!" said Antrim, coldly. "Are you runnin' my
affairs? You hit the breeze, right now--you hear me!"
Slade grinned venomously, and waved a violent hand around the circle.
"You hear your boss, boys!" he said; "Slope!"
The men hesitated an instant, sending sharp, incredulous glances at
their leader. But Antrim, pale, knowing that if he betrayed the
slightest sign of insincerity his men would suspect, met their looks
steadily. The men wheeled their horses, muttering profanely, and rode
slowly westward into the growing darkness.
When they had disappeared, Lawler smiled faintly at the outlaw chief.
"You can get down, now, Antrim." He drew the pistol from Red King's
mane, where it had been concealed during Antrim's talk with his men, and
sheathed it. And then Blackburn, who had been a silent, amazed witness
to what had occurred, whistled softly, covertly poking Shorty in the
ribs.
"There's one thing that's as good as a vent, ain't there, Shorty?" he
said. "That's a gun in the hand of a man who's got plenty of nerve!"