THE RANDOLPHS
If it was madness for Meshackatee and his posse of four to ride back
into the stronghold of the Scarboroughs, there was a method in their
madness. The Scarboroughs would be swarming like a nest of red ants on
account of the killing of Red, they would be scouring the country and
watching every trail; but, even so, a man must eat. Maverick Basin was
the hold-out of a gang of men so desperate that they set all law at
defiance, shooting down whoever opposed them; but it had a store, full
of flour and bacon, and Meshackatee's packs were flat. First he had
shared his food with Hall, and then with the Bassetts, and finally with
Grimes and the boy horse-thieves; and when they turned back there was
nothing in the kyacks but coffee and cartridges and tobacco.
They took to the high ground, led by Winchester Bassett who had ranged
the whole country with his hounds, and at evening they emerged on
a wooded hill-top and looked out the Basin with their glasses. The
sun had hardly set when they rode out from cover and headed straight
for the darkened store. The storekeeper was a careful, not to say a
stingy, man; and he had his reasons also for preferring to sit in the
dark, since bright windows have often drawn bullets. He was hiding when
they rode up but, finding his store surrounded, he lit up and opened
the door.
"Oh, good evening," he cringed as Meshackatee loomed up before him.
"Well, well, howdy do, Meshackatee!"
"I want some grub," returned Meshackatee, "and I want it quick, without
any high signs to the Scarboroughs. So jest git out your pencil and
keep tally on what we take--you'll be paid by Tonto County."
"But the county is practically bankrupt," protested Johnson in an ague.
"So'm I," replied Meshackatee, "and I'm hungry to boot. So use your own
judgment, Mr. Johnson."
He stepped into the store-room and began to hand out the sacks of
flour, and after a glaring silence Mr. Johnson saw the point and began
sullenly to check up the requisition. For a requisition it was, such as
armies are wont to make, and deputy sheriffs in pursuit of criminals;
and soon bacon and coffee and beans came out to fill the sacks which
they were slinging on the saddles of their spare mounts.
"Now, what's the news, Mr. Johnson?" spoke up Meshackatee abruptly.
"Who's over at the Scarborough place now?"
"Why--er--Elmo," began the store-keeper, "and Miz Zoolah, of
course----"
"Where's Isham?" demanded Meshackatee, and the others stopped to
listen, but Johnson only shook his head.
"He's gone," he said, and Meshackatee drew his big six-shooter and laid
it down impressively in the lamp-light.
"Gone where?" he asked, but not even the gun could make the frightened
store-keeper tell.
"I don't know, boy, I swear it," he answered as they faced him, "but
they say he's over in New Mexico. Been gone for a week, and now that
Red is dead, young Elmo has taken things in charge."
"How many men has he got?" inquired Grimes, moving closer, and the
store-keeper backed away instinctively.
"Oh, a great many!" he exclaimed. "Sometimes as much as forty. They're
coming in all the time. This evening there were two all the way from
Kentucky----"
"What were their names?" broke in Hall, and the store-keeper winced.
"Why--er--Randolph," he said, "and, now that you speak of it, I believe
they were inquiring for you."
"Very likely," replied Hall, and slipped quietly outside, where he
could think what this meant to him. And so Allifair's brothers had
come! The feud of Tug Fork had been transplanted to Maverick Basin--the
Randolphs had come to kill him. He stood in the shadows, looking out
across the plain to where the lights of the Rock House still glowed.
It was too late now; he had lost. Cal and Ewing were there, and as
soon as they learned the country they would take up his trail like
bloodhounds. They would follow him like a deer and like a deer he must
flee, for Allifair loved her brothers. Bloody-handed as they were, and
rough and brutal, she loved Cal and Ewing for what they might have been
if the feud had not warped their whole lives. They were man-killers
now, thin-lipped and cruel-eyed, and yet he dared not oppose them. Once
more he must play the coward.
While the others lingered on, indulging in a few drinks and
cross-questioning the reluctant Mr. Johnson, he sorted out a pack-load
of the most substantial food and lashed it on his spare horse. He was
mounting to go when Winchester Bassett stepped out, followed by Bill,
carrying a big sack of food.
"W'y hello," exclaimed Winchester, "are you going to leave us? We're
going up north and lay for Isham."
"Yes, I've got to go," said Hall, "but don't tell the store-keeper. The
Randolphs have come out here to kill me."
"I had an idee they had," admitted Winchester. "Well, sorry to see you
go. But say, wait a minute and you can start off with me and Bill--that
storekeeper is a Scarborough spy."
Hall waited, still in the shadows, for the light from the store door
might reveal his presence to his enemies; and as he watched the Rock
House he saw a lantern leave the house and go bobbing out to the
barn. There was a hair-trigger atmosphere about the whole raid which
set his jangled nerves on edge; for he knew that the Scarboroughs kept
close watch over the store, even dictating who should come there for
supplies. They would be riding over soon to see who had been there, if
they were not already skulking near; and the news of his presence would
be the signal for the Randolphs to take up the trail again. For years,
back in Kentucky, they had dogged his tracks, trying to catch him for a
moment off his guard; and he, throwing great circles, had often swung
in behind them, so that they in turn were pursued. More than once he
had ambushed them, and once he had shot Cal; but they had always crept
away leaving the battle undecided, for the feud had taught the value of
stealth. The men who fought in the open had long before been killed--it
was Indian warfare now.
Bill and Winchester came out, after taking a last drink, and rode
off in silence down the road. The night was still, so that the
sounds traveled far, and the circumstances of their home-coming were
depressing. Except for a few times when, at the risk of their lives,
they had crept in to leave their mother some fresh beef, they had never
been near the house since that fatal day when Sharps and Old Henry had
been killed. Old Susie had detected movements on the top of the hill
where the Scarboroughs had once laid in wait, and Winchester and Bill
had evidence of their own to show that the house was watched. It was
the old system of the Scarboroughs, always to lie in wait and shoot
down their enemies from the brush.
The hounds came rushing out at them, changing their baying to joyous
yelps as they recognized their long-lost masters; and old Susie, for
once, forgot her Indian stoicism and wept as she clung to Bill. He
was her favorite boy, the baby she had carried when she had traveled
overland in search of her husband; and when they had put down her
supplies and were preparing to go she still clung desperately to Bill.
"You go on," he said to Winchester, "I'll stay with Maw a while. But
I'll ketch you--get the boys and start ahead."
"Well, all right," grumbled Winchester, "but you be careful, kid; them
Scarboroughs are on the prod."
They parted company at the gate, Winchester riding for the store and
Hall turning off to the east; but as he rode through the darkness
Hall halted on the trail, and at last he wheeled and turned back. The
vague uneasiness which had held him all the evening suddenly took form
and clutched at his heart. What if the Randolphs had come, not to run
him down and kill him, but to carry their sister away? He circled the
Basin and finally headed south, cutting across the open plain and
taking shelter in the wooded hills beyond; and when the day dawned he
crept out on a point where he could look down and see her from afar.
She must know he was near, for the store-keeper had told him that he
was believed to be the slayer of Red; and if that was the case how
anxiously she must be waiting for the time when he would appear on the
mound. How many times already she must have glanced out through the
loop-hole, hoping to see his waiting form beneath the tree; and now he
was slinking away, without even making trial of the Providence which
he claimed as his guide. He focussed his glasses and gazed down at the
Rock House, and at daylight Allifair appeared.
She stepped to the doorway, dressed in white like a bride though she
was only a kitchen drudge, and her eyes seemed to be turned to the
hills. Almost she seemed to see him, or to sense his distant presence,
for she raised her hand in a sign; and then she waved him away, just
as plainly as if she spoke to him, and turned sorrowfully back into
the house. Soon the smoke from the huge chimney told the story of her
industry--she was cooking while the rest of them slept. Hall watched
them as they came out, Miz Zoolah and Elmo; and at last the men whom
he never had feared--Cal Randolph and the tall, lanky Ewing. They were
typical mountaineers in their high boots and slouched hats, and yet
after all not so different from the Texans who came striding across
from the bunk-house. But he feared them now, for they had come to take
his life and his hands were tied by love. They were the brothers of
Allifair and she had beckoned him away; yet he lingered, waiting to see
their next move.
A dozen rash plans leapt up in his brain--to steal her and bear her
away, to hide her from their fury and then return to Tug Fork, to
make an end to the feud. But each time the vision of Cal and Ewing
Randolph rose up to brand them as worse than dreams; the fate which had
pursued him was still on his trail, nothing could be done while her
brothers were there. He put down his glasses and gazed out across the
Basin, seeking some end to the phantasma of his life. Even here, as
in Kentucky, it had been a nightmare of death and violence, while his
heart was sick for peace. All he wanted was peace, the same surcease
we give the dead--a forgetting, oblivion, a new life. Yet even after
one death his incognito had been discovered and the chase was on again.
Nothing would stay the dark passions of the men he had warred against,
they were ruthless as death itself.
He closed his eyes wearily to shut out the sight of this valley which
had once seemed so fair, and sleep swooped to seize him in an instant.
But while his senses swooned something came to his ears that roused
him as nothing else could--a rifle-shot, far away. He listened, half
convinced, and a volley ripped the air like the tearing of a strip of
rough cloth. It came from the hill, where the Scarboroughs had hid
before, the hill that looked down on the Bassetts'. But why did they
shoot when Sharps and Henry were both dead, and Winchester and Bill----
His heart stopped and leapt again, and he knew the answer. Bill Bassett
had stayed too long.