ANTRIM STRIKES
From the doorway of the cabin on the Rabbit Ear, Antrim had watched
Slade and his men ride away. His gaze followed them until they vanished
over the edge of the big plain above the river valley. Then, smiling
crookedly, he turned back into the cabin.
Two men--one of them the tall man who had ridden away to return with the
news that Lawler and the sheriff were riding northward--were draped on
chairs watching the outlaw chief. They were expectant, eager; there was
covert satisfaction in their eyes.
Like Selden, the other man wore two guns. There was about both men an
atmosphere that suggested stealth and violence. It lurked over them,
hinting of something sinister and deadly.
Selden wore a mustache that drooped at the corners of his mouth. It was
the color of old straw--a faded, washed-out blonde, darkened here and
there from tobacco stains. His mouth was large, the lower lip sagging in
the center, giving it a satiric appearance, increased by the bleared,
narrowed eyes that always seemed to be glowing with a questioning,
leering light.
Krell, the other man, was smooth of face, with a strong, bold, thrusting
jaw and thick, pouting lips. His eyes were big, but they had a
disquieting habit of incessant watchfulness--a crafty alertness, as
though their owner was suspicious of the motives of those at whom he
looked.
Selden and Krell had been recruited from the southern border, they
represented an element that the ranger service was slowly and surely
eliminating--and driving northward into states whose laws were less
stringent for the evil-doer--the professional gunmen who took life for
the malicious thrill it gave them.
Krell and Selden were "killers." They were Antrim's constant companions,
except when the necessities of his trade drove the outlaw to work alone.
They knew his whims and understood his methods.
Now, as Antrim paused near the table and looked at them, Krell smiled
evilly.
"I reckon we'll be settin' here twirlin' our thumbs till the outfit gits
back?" he suggested.
Antrim laughed.
"We're trailin' the outfit right now," he told the other.
Antrim extinguished the light, and the three went out and mounted their
horses. Their movements were deliberate, unhurried. They crossed the
river, gaining the plains above it, and rode at a slow lope in the
direction taken by the others who had preceded them.
They talked as they rode, lowly, earnestly--planning the night's work,
speculating upon the probable outcome of the raid upon the Circle L by
the men under Slade.
When they reached the edge of the big valley and concealed themselves in
the fringing brush, they saw that Slade and his men had already struck.
Streaks of flame were splitting the darkness in the basin; there were
reports of pistols--which were reduced to mere faint, popping noises by
the distance they traveled before reaching the ears of Antrim and his
men; they saw the herd start; heard it go thundering up the valley in a
cloud of dust and strike the edge of the plain above, to swing eastward
toward Kinney's cañon.
"Slade's sure workin' hard for that promotion," observed Antrim,
mockingly. "He's got 'em runnin' fast an' under control."
The three men did not emerge from their concealment for some time. They
watched until the herd grew small in the distance eastward; they noted
the confusion that seemed to reign in the vicinity of the bunkhouse,
where the Circle L men were frenziedly preparing to pursue the rustlers;
they laughed at the figures that were darting here and there in the
light from the open doorway of the bunkhouse; and Antrim sneered when he
saw the ranchhouse door open and noted the form of a man framed in the
square of light that shone out.
"That'll be Blackburn, I reckon," he said to the other two; "inquirin'
for Lawler, mebbe. Well, Blackburn an' his guys will have to get along
without Lawler."
He watched until he saw the Circle L men sweep up the valley, following
the direction taken by the herd. He waited until he saw a woman emerge
from the door of the ranchhouse. The woman was carrying a lantern, and
its fitful, bobbing glare marked the woman's progress as she moved
toward the bunkhouse--in which a light still burned. For an instant the
light from the lantern disappeared, and then they saw it again as it
bobbed toward the open where the herd had been when the rustlers had
struck. Several times Antrim observed that the lantern became
stationary--as though it had been placed upon the ground. He grinned
coldly as he spoke to Krell and Selden.
"That's Lawler's mother, I reckon. She's huntin' for them boys that was
foolish enough to try an' stop Slade. Looks like she's findin' 'em,
too!"
Antrim watched until the light began to bob as its bearer went toward
the ranchhouse. He saw the door of the ranchhouse open and the woman
enter. Then he spoke shortly to the others and they rode down into the
valley. After they reached the floor of the valley Antrim spoke again,
shortly:
"Get busy; an' keep back out of the light when you get 'em goin'. Meet
me back there where we was waitin'!"
Antrim urged his horse toward the ranchhouse, riding slowly. When he
reached the big porch he dismounted, and an instant later was pounding
heavily upon the front door.
It was opened after an instant, and Mrs. Lawler appeared, pale, anxious.
"Oh!" she said, startled, when she saw Antrim's face in the glare of
light from within; "I thought you were one of the Circle L men!" She
shrank back a little when Antrim grinned evilly at her, catching her
breath with a gasp.
"What do you want?" she demanded.
Antrim crossed the threshold and stood inside, where the light was full
upon his face. Repelled--almost terrorized by what she saw in his eyes,
Mrs. Lawler attempted to retreat from him; but in an instant he had
seized her arms, roughly and brutally crushing them against her sides,
while he shoved her back against the open door; holding her in that
position and grinning hideously at her helplessness.
"You know me?" he sneered, his face close to hers. "I'm Antrim!" He
laughed when she caught her breath; when he noted that she recognized
the name.
"I reckoned you'd know me, when I told you," he said. "Luke Lawler
knowed me--an' your son knows me! I've never had no love for the Lawler
breed, an' I ain't changed any. But there's a lot of things that I'm
squarin' up for!
"This is my night; I've been waitin' for it!" he gloated. "I'm cleanin'
up on the Lawlers! I'm wipin' Kane Lawler out--cattle, buildings--an'
him too, mebbe. It ain't goin' to be a thing you ought to see. You're
gettin' away from here--I don't give a damn where. An' you're goin'
now!"
Awed by his manner and by the terrible threat in his voice, Mrs. Lawler
did not resist the physical strength of the outlaw. Though Antrim's
fingers were gripping her arms until the pain made her long to cry out
in agony, she made no sound. Nor--now that she realized what
portended--did her gaze waver as it met Antrim's. Her eyes glowed with
contempt as they looked into his--with a proud scorn that brought a
crimson flush into Antrim's cheeks. It had been that spirit that had
always enraged Antrim--that had always made him realize his inferiority
to her husband, and to the steady-eyed son who had shamed him publicly
at Willets. It was a thing that physical violence could not conquer; it
revealed a quiet courage that had always disconcerted him.
"Hell!" he sneered; "you can't come any of that high an' mighty stuff on
me!"
He twisted her until she faced the door, and then shoved her before him
across the porch and down upon the level on the ranchhouse yard, toward
the stable and the corral.
She did not resist, knowing that physical resistance would be futile.
He shoved her into the stable, and she stood there, unresisting while he
saddled a horse. She could not see him, but she could hear him as he
moved about; and presently he spoke shortly to her from a point close
by:
"Here's a cayuse--saddled an' bridled. You want to get on him here, or
outside?"
"Outside," she said, coldly.
In front of the stable door she mounted, Antrim helping her despite her
scornful protest.
"Listen," he said, as he stood for an instant at the horse's head, dimly
outlined. "You'd better go to Hamlin's--that's nearest. An' make
arrangements to stay there. I'm burnin' the Circle L buildin's. There
won't be a stick standin' when I get through! When I get through, I'm
goin' back to my place on the Rabbit Ear. My men have all gone with the
cattle, an' I'll be there alone. You can tell that damned son of yours
that! Understand? He's aimin' to get even for what I'm doin' tonight,
he'll find me at my place--alone--waitin' for him! Now, get goin'."
Mrs. Lawler did not answer. She took up the reins and sent the horse
forward, past the bunkhouses and the corral and the ranchhouse--through
the valley and up the long rise that led to the great plains above.
It took her a long time to reach the plains, and when she looked back
she saw some leaping tongues of flame issuing from the doors of the
bunkhouse. Two or three of the other buildings were on fire; and the
windows of the ranchhouse were illuminated by a dull red glare. But the
woman made no sound that would have betrayed the emotions that tortured
her. She turned her back to the burning buildings and rode onward,
toward the Hamlin cabin--trying, in this crisis, to live the code she
had taught her son; endeavoring to vindicate the precepts that she had
dinned into his ears all the days of his life--that courage in adversity
is the ultimate triumph of character--the forge in which is fashioned
the moral fiber which makes men strong and faithful.