ALLIFAIR
There was a time, in the proud days of chivalry, when knights like
Sir Launcelot had to ride forth disguised in order to tempt others to
fight; but all this was changed when Colonel Colt and his six-shooter
reduced men to about the same size. Dave Grimes had ridden in and
challenged the Scarboroughs to fight him, to come out and battle for
their range; but they had taken a leaf from his own book of warfare
and kept under cover like Indians. Not for them the bold charge, the
midnight raid on armed camps; they gave him his head until they had
him where they wanted him and then shot his Mexicans from ambush. Four
men had been struck dead and even then the wary Scarboroughs had kept
beyond the range of his guns. They were playing safe, a hundred per
cent safe, and Grimes threw up his hands and quit.
Of the ten thousand sheep, worth five dollars apiece, that he had
driven in to eat out their range he took back a thousand or fifteen
hundred at the most, leaving the rest to the mercy of the wolves. He
was broken, beaten, but as he looked back across the Basin he shook
his grimy fist and swore vengeance. He had left their valley astench
with the bodies of sheep, and three herders lay unburied on the plain;
but as he retreated up the canyon he sent word to the Scarboroughs that
they should pay for their killings, and more.
They watched him from the ridges until he was well on his way and then
headed back towards the store, riding down the valley at a gallop and
shooting off their pistols while they whooped their derision at the
Bassetts. There were drinks, and more drinks, and wild rides across
the battlefield, while the Bassetts looked on somberly. A great peril
had been lifted, the sheep were gone, but now they were at the mercy
of this band of drunken Texans who might any time charge down on their
house. Or slip up in the night-time, like the skulkers they were, and
shoot them down at dawn! Even Bill was quiet and Old Susie muttered as
she gazed across the plain at their enemies. The Scarboroughs were so
many and they were so few--but Old Henry refused to be alarmed.
The day wore on and, as the revelry became wilder, a messenger rode
over with his hand up for peace and handed the Bassetts a note. Sharps
gazed at it blankly and passed it to Bill, who passed it along to
Winchester.
"Says here," he read: "'Take yore black squaw and go, you dirty
sons----' well, that's enough for me."
"Who give you that?" he demanded of the startled "neutral," and the
messenger wheeled his horse.
"Isham Scarborough!" he replied, and was starting to go when Winchester
beckoned him back.
"What's your rush?" he asked. "Can't you wait for the answer? Well, you
tell Isham Scarborough that I'll shoot him on sight--and that goes for
Red and Elmo. And you tell the three Scarboroughs, if they'll ride out
halfway, we'll meet 'em on horseback--with six-shooters. Can you keep
that from rattling around in your head?"
"W'y--yes!" stuttered the neutral, and went galloping back, while the
Bassetts ran for their horses.
"That sheepman was right, boys," observed Winchester soberly, as they
sat mounted and waiting to go. "If we'd had the nerve we'd've done this
long ago and never have called him in. He's gone now, thank God, and
we're back where we started from; but you know them Scarboroughs--we're
next."
"Yes, you're right, son," quavered Old Henry, "they're dead sot agin
us--they're determined to wipe us out. I've allus been peaceable but a
man must protect himself, only don't take no chances with Isham. You
head for him first, Winchester, and let Sharps take on Red, and Bill
can shore clean up on Elmo!"
"Yes, you bet I can," cursed Bill, "but the cowardly whelp is fixing to
ride back home."
"They're all going," growled Sharps, and reined his horse out the gate.
"Come on," he said, "let's rush 'em!"
"Nope," vetoed Old Henry, "you want to be keerful, boys; and remember
your old dad and mammy. Jest ride out slow and hold up your guns; and
if they don't come out they're cowards."
"No use," grumbled Winchester as the Scarboroughs galloped off, "you
couldn't high-life that outfit and make 'em fight. But come on, boys,
anyway; let's go over to the store and lay in a little grub and
tobacco."
"I'll go with you," spoke up Hall, who had been chafing for action, and
he swung up on his waiting roan.
"Well, all right," smiled Winchester, "you seem to be willing, if you
ain't drawing a gunman's pay. And anything we can do for you----"
"Don't mention it!" smiled back Hall, and they rode off together, for
already they had come to be friends.
The trail to the store was cumbered with dead sheep which already
had drawn flocks of crows, and as they rose up cawing McIvor had a
vision of a picture he had once seen of War. Here was the same grim
battlefield, only the victims were sheep; and there, riding off was
the horde of barbarians who had left such wrack in their wake. They
strung off across the Basin, and, well up in the lead, Hall could
see the buckskin pony of Meshackatee. Since he had quit the arrogant
Scarboroughs he had had his misgivings about Meshackatee, for he knew
he stood high in their counsels; and he wondered whether this slaughter
of Mexican herders and their sheep was not the result of his wiles.
He was a shrewd man, Meshackatee, and he had admitted himself that he
was doing the heavy thinking for the gang. But would he now consent
to turn these Indian tactics against Old Henry Bassett and his sons?
Hall was loath to believe it; and yet he was not sure, for Meshackatee
had a strange sense of loyalty. He called himself a hired bravo, and
then in the next breath he said that no man could buy _him_. He would
think what he pleased, only as long as he took his money he felt he
owed Isham his service. And Meshackatee had made a bargain with him,
Hall McIvor, which circumstances had soon brought to nothing; but Hall
still wondered if Meshackatee understood, for he had favored Hall with
a sly wink at parting. Was it not possible, even yet, that Meshackatee
considered him a spy, and his joining the Bassetts a mere blind; and
that perhaps already Allifair was waiting to greet him, when he should
return and bring his news? He gazed at the huge form on the distant
buckskin horse and shook his head, though sadly.
Right or wrong he had thrown in his lot with the Bassetts, and if it
came to a fight he would feel it his duty to protect them against all
aggression; and yet--the days were longer than any he had known and
the watches of the night were endless. He could see her through his
glasses when he watched the far Rock House, this woman whose heart had
remained faithful to his memory when she had given him up for dead.
Was it right, after all, for him to follow his conscience when it left
her to work like a slave? And could he not, in a pinch, turn upon the
savage Sharps and so gain his freedom once more? But no, he could never
meet Isham again without shooting it out then and there. They were born
to be enemies, to oppose each other to the end; and he had crossed his
Rubicon when he had slapped Isham in the face and called him a coward
and a fool.
There was no one at the store but the weak-eyed Mr. Johnson and a group
of staring neutrals, but the bottles were everywhere and several of the
settlers were drunker than strict neutrality called for. The Bassetts
rode up slowly, scanning every face in the slack crowd; and while the
others went in Sharps stood by outside the door, to be ready for any
treachery.
"Gimme five dollars worth of smoking tobacco," began Winchester
peremptorily, "and we want to git an order of grub."
"Why, yes--certainly," cringed Johnson, starting to get it and drawing
back, "but--er--I'm sorry, but the Scarboroughs have forbidden me----"
"_I'm_ talking to you!" rasped Winchester, and there was a moment of
silence as the meaning of his statement went home.
"But they said they'd come back," protested Johnson in desperation,
"and tear down my store if I did!"
"I'll tear it down right now!" answered Winchester, "if you don't shell
out that grub."
The store-keeper shelled out, but he showed a mean spirit and
Winchester tapped on the counter with his gun.
"Mr. Johnson," he said, "have you joined the Scarborough gang? Oh, you
ain't, eh? You're a neutral! Well, try to act the part then, or we'll
come over and clean you out. Good day--and keep your mouth shut."
They rode back heavy laden with supplies and tobacco, for the
Bassetts looked forward to a siege; but no siege came and they went
to slaughtering hogs, oblivious of the Scarboroughs' threat. It was
Winchester who took the lead, for the banter of the sheepman had stung
him to the quick; and day or night he rode forth boldly, gathering
horses or riding to his hounds. If Old Henry disapproved he did nothing
to show it, and Bill and Sharps worked on stoically; but the Indian
woman sat where she could always see the hills and Hall watched the
Rock House through his glasses.
A week went by and no storm broke upon them, the Scarboroughs had gone
west to work their cattle; and then in the night Hall heard the hounds
rush out, and a woman's voice called for help. The Bassetts sprang up
and ran to their loop-holes, for their first thought was always of
treachery; but Hall recognized the voice and rushed out through the
doorway, striking the hounds aside as he ran.
"Allifair!" he cried, gathering her close into his arms and lifting her
up from the dogs; and as the Bassetts stood staring he carried her into
the house while the hounds followed meechingly behind.