BY A HAIR'S BREADTH
Curtis Conrad rode to the farther side of a hill sloping gently
northeast of the houses as the outfit was getting under way the next
morning. He remembered having seen there a rather uncommon species of
cactus, and he thought to make sure of it in order to secure a specimen
for Lucy Bancroft's collection when next he should pass that way on a
homeward trip. Jose Gonzalez noted his action and presently, when a
steer broke wildly from the herd and ran back, it was Jose who dashed
after it. But, instead of heading it off and driving it back, he so
manoeuvred that he contrived to get it around the hill behind which he
had seen Conrad disappear. The superintendent was digging busily in the
ground with his pocket-knife, having decided to take up the plant and
leave it in the house in readiness for his return journey.
Assured that the rest of the outfit was out of sight beyond the hill,
Gonzalez left the steer to its own devices and galloped straight toward
and behind the kneeling figure, his long knife drawn but concealed
against his leg. Conrad's attention was engrossed in what he was doing
and his thoughts were all of Lucy Bancroft, of how pleased she would be
to get this rare specimen, and of how necessary it would be for him to
help her plant it. Jose checked his horse into a walk and leaned
forward, his eyes fastened on the other's back, his knife lying half
hidden in his palm. On the soft ground the hoof-beats of the horse made
little sound and their faint, unresounding thud was masked by the noises
from the moving herd.
Gonzalez drew rein within a few yards of his object and lifted his arm,
with the knife balanced in his hand. At that instant the steer bellowed,
and Curtis leaped to his feet, on the alert at once lest something had
gone wrong with the herd. He saw the single steer and, wheeling around
to look for others, his glance took in the Mexican, swerving his horse
down the hill and deftly returning the knife to his belt. "Are you after
the steer, Jose?" he called. "Is that the only one loose?"
"Yes, senor. The rest are all right. This one has given me a chase, but
I'll have him back right away."
"Stop a minute, Jose. Would you mind letting me use your knife? Mine's
too short and I haven't anything else."
Gonzalez rode up, dismounted, and held out the knife with a courteous
smile. As he stood back with one leg forward, arms folded, and head held
high, Curtis thought him an image of dashing, picturesque, masculine
comeliness. "Jose," he said, "how did you get such skill in throwing the
knife? I never saw anybody do the trick better than you did it last
night. I shouldn't like to have you," and he smiled as he returned the
weapon, "aim this thing at me as you did at that polecat."
An answering smile flashed over Jose's dark face, lighting up his eyes
and showing a row of white teeth beneath his moustache. "I have
practised it much, senor. It is not easy."
The next day, Conrad, Gonzalez, and several others were getting
together some cattle in the foot-hills when three of the largest steers
broke away and raced wildly back toward their grazing grounds. The
superintendent called the Mexican to help him, and told the others to
take the remainder of the cattle, with all they might find on the way,
back to the day herd.
Two gallant figures they made as they galloped across the plain, the
wind blowing up the wide brims of their hats, the grace and freedom of
strength and skill in every movement of body and limb. Lariats were at
their saddle horns, and Curtis carried a six-shooter in his belt, but
Gonzalez had only his knife, thrust into his boot leg. They circled and
headed off the steers, which eluded and dashed past them again and
again, until presently Conrad noticed that the largest of the three
acted as a sort of leader. "Rope him, Jose," he called, "and then we can
manage the others."
As Gonzalez in response came galloping toward the animal from one side,
Curtis rushed past it on the other to prevent it from getting away and
giving another chase. He glanced at the loop that came whirring through
the air and his heart gave a bound of vexation. "The fool greaser is
throwing too far," he muttered. With an instinct of sudden peril he dug
in his spurs and his horse made a quick, long leap. He whirled about in
time to see the snakey noose fall on the spot whence they had jumped.
"What's the matter with you, Jose?" he shouted. "You nearly roped me
instead of the steer! Try it again." Gonzalez coiled his rope and
galloped after the steer and half an hour later the two men rode into
the round-up, driving the panting and humbled animals.
One of the younger and less experienced men, Billy Black, generally
known as "Billy Kid," happened to lame his horse and bruise himself that
day, and was ordered to stay in camp to nurse his knee. At Rock Springs,
where they made camp next day, a man who gave his name as Andy Miller
rode up and asked for a job. He explained that he had been working on a
little ranch over toward Randall but had got tired of the place and was
pushing for the railroad. Hampered by Billy Black's accident, Conrad was
glad of the opportunity and tested his skill with horse and rope.
"You'll do," he said. "I'm short of hands, and you can stay with us
until we get to the railroad if you like."
The new man was stockily built, and looked strong and agile. Around the
campfire that night he won his way at once into the good graces of the
other men, cracking jokes, telling stories, and roaring out cowboy songs
until bedtime. They were so hilarious that Conrad joined their circle,
smoked his after-supper pipe with them, and laughed at Miller's jokes
and yarns.
The Rock Springs watering-hole was in a hilly region, broken here and
there by stony gulches. The outflow from the springs ran through a
ravine which furrowed the hillside to its foot, turned abruptly
westward, and widened out into a goodly pool, where the cattle waded
and drank. The camp lay on the hillside above the springs, and the
cattle were bunched over its brow on the other side.
Conrad wakened early and an inviting image came to him of that pool,
lying still and clear in the dim gray light, untroubled by the miring
hoofs of the cattle. No one else, except the Chinese cook, busy with his
breakfast fire, seemed to be awake, and no one stirred as Curtis moved
down the hill, past the springs, and over the rise beyond. But Gonzalez,
motionless in his blanket, watched his departure. And presently, when
the cook had disappeared in the chuck-wagon, Jose rose, cast a cautious
glance over the sleeping camp, and followed Conrad, taking advantage of
occasional boulders, clumps of mesquite, greasewood, and yucca to
conceal his movements. At the springs he turned down the gulch,
following its course to the basin of the drinking hole, where he hid
behind a great boulder, barely ten feet from the bank where lay the
other's clothing.
With wary eyes he watched while the superintendent waded out to the
deepest part of the pool, ducked and splashed, swam a little, and
presently returned to the shore. Through the brightening air the lean
and sinewy body with its swelling muscles gleamed like rose-tinted
marble below the tanned face and neck. Behind the boulder Jose crouched
closer and drew the knife from his belt, while his body grew tense as
he watched Conrad rub himself down and put on his clothes.
"Will he never keep still a second?" Gonzalez asked himself impatiently,
as he poised his knife. Curtis sat down on a flat stone and reached for
his shoes and stockings, whistling a gay little melody from the last
comic opera he had heard in San Francisco.
A sound of shouting and the muffled noise of rushing cattle broke
through the morning air, which had been as still and untroubled as the
surface of the pool. Conrad, his music silenced and nerves alert, faced
quickly toward the camp, turning his body from the waist upward and
giving Gonzalez a fair three-quarters view of his torso.
The Mexican, ready and waiting, seized an instant of arrested motion,
and sent the poised weapon straight for his heart. As it left Jose's
hand, the stone on which Curtis sat, yielding to the twisting motion of
his body, slipped under him, and he threw out his left arm to preserve
his balance. He was aware of something bright cleaving the air, of a
sudden pain in his arm, and a stinging point in his side. But before his
brain could realize what had happened, he saw Jose Gonzalez leap from
behind the boulder and rush toward him, befouling the air with a string
of Spanish oaths.
Conrad sprang to his feet and wheeled, with right fist ready to meet the
attack, before Jose could reach him. The Mexican flew at him with both
arms outstretched, meaning to seize his throat and throttle him before
he could comprehend his danger. Curtis saw the open guard and landed a
blow on his chest which sent him staggering backward. But he returned at
once, with left arm raised in defence and right hand ready to seize the
other's shirt collar and choke him senseless.
For a moment only was Conrad at a disadvantage by reason of the
suddenness of the assault. But with the knife still bedded in his
bleeding and helpless left arm, his only weapon was his right fist,
which he must use for both defence and attack. The Mexican's eyes were
fired with the passion of combat, and the other, ignorant of why they
were fighting, knew only, by his blanched face and set jaws, that his
purpose was deadly.
Gonzalez, after that first blow upon his chest, was wary. He danced
around Conrad, making feints and trying to get inside his guard. But
Curtis, whose brain was working in lightning-like flashes, did not waste
his strength pounding the air. He kept his assailant eluding his feints
and jumping to escape pretended charges, thinking to wear him out in
that way. He soon saw that he was the superior in boxing skill, as well
as being both taller and heavier than his foe, and he began to feel
assured of final victory, notwithstanding his useless hand and disabled
arm.
Jose's effort was constantly toward Conrad's left side, and Curtis
guessed that he was trying to get possession of the knife still
sticking in his arm. He knew that if Gonzalez recovered that weapon his
chance of life would be small indeed. His bare feet were bleeding from
the sharp little stones on the bank of the pool, but he was conscious
neither of that nor of pain in arm or side, though the blood from his
wound was making a red streak down his shirt and trousers. But he
continued to hear, with a kind of divided consciousness, the sound of
shouts, the rushing of cattle, and the hoofs of galloping horses. In the
back of his brain he knew that there had been a stampede of the herd,
and with attention absorbed in his fight for life, the thought that he
was needed at the camp spurred him on to more desperate effort.
Jose made a dash for his left side, but Curtis turned and with all his
force sent a blow which caught the Mexican, intent on the knife, with
shoulder unguarded. Gonzalez spun half round and reeled backward. Conrad
had planted one foot on a rounding stone, and as he delivered the blow
it slipped and sent him headlong. He was up again in an instant, barely
in time to save himself from Jose's fingers, which clutched at his
throat. But Gonzalez had got inside his guard and they gripped, the one
with one arm and the other with two, for what each felt must be the
final struggle. The American caught Jose's left arm between their two
bodies and, reaching around him, grasped the other wrist in his right
hand. They swayed back and forth, Jose exerting all the strength of his
muscles to free his arms, while Conrad, gripping him close, used all the
remnant of his strength to throw him down.
By this time the Mexican's eyes were gleaming with an ugly light and
his olive cheeks were flushed with anger. Whatever the purpose that
had moved him at first, Curtis saw that he was fighting now with the
aboriginal rage of conflict, with the fierce hate born of the blows
he had received. He kicked wildly at the superintendent's shins and
accidentally planted the heel of his boot squarely upon the other's bare
foot. Conrad's face twitched with the hurt, and with a snarling grin
Gonzalez lifted the other for similar purpose, forgetting shrewd tactics
of battle in the lust of giving pain to his opponent. But Curtis caught
the momentary advantage of unstable balance and with a twist and a lunge
they came down together, Conrad's left shoulder striking against a stone
beside which the Mexican fell. Thrilling with the surety of triumph,
his enemy pinned to the ground, Curtis was barely conscious of a
snapping in his shoulder and a sharp pain in his collar bone. With one
knee on Gonzalez's chest, he pulled the knife from his left arm, broke
it across the boulder, and threw the bloodstained pieces far out into
the pond. His assailant was at his mercy now and the heat and anger of
combat ebbed from his veins as he looked down at the Mexican's
unresisting figure.
"You have bested me this time, Don Curtis," said Gonzalez quietly.
"Get up, Jose," replied Conrad rising, and the two men, panting from
their conflict, faced each other. Jose stood with his arms folded and
head erect and looked at his employer with unafraid eyes, in which
smouldered only the traces of his recent rage. Conrad surveyed him
thoughtfully for a moment before he spoke.
"Jose, what did you do it for?"
The Mexican smiled but made no reply.
"Have you got anything against me?" Conrad persisted. "Do you think I've
mistreated you or injured you in any way?"
"No, senor, I have nothing against you."
"Then what--by God, are you one of Dell Baxter's thugs? Has he sent you
down here to stick me in the back?" Impelled by the flash of sudden
conviction, Conrad thrust his face close to the other's and glared into
his eyes. Gonzalez stepped back a pace and looked gravely across the
hill at the reddening sky. His composed face and closely shut lips
showed that he did not intend to answer.
"Oh, all right!" Curtis exclaimed. "I don't expect you to peach on your
pal. But I reckon I've sure struck the right trail this time. And look
here, Jose! Was it me you were after when you stuck your knife in that
skunk?"
The Mexican's eyes fell and his black brows met in a frown. He was
thinking how much trouble this man had given him by springing up so
unexpectedly that night. But for that it would all have been so easy and
simple!
"I reckon it was!" Conrad went on hotly. "And I reckon it was me instead
of the steer you rode after the next morning, with your knife ready when
I looked up. And I reckon it was me instead of the steer you tried to
rope when you made that remarkable miss. I've been a fool to trust a
damned greaser, even when he was in plain sight. But look here, Jose
Gonzalez!" Conrad stopped and glared into the Mexican's sombre and
inscrutable eyes. Holding his bleeding left arm in his right hand he
leaned forward, head thrust out and eyes blazing.
"Just you look here, Jose Gonzalez!" he repeated. "I'm onto your little
game now, and if I can't be a match for any greaser that ever tried to
stick a man in the back, I'll deserve all I'll get! Just come on and try
it again whenever you like! Keep at work with the round-up if you want
to--I'm not going to give you your time for this. But I am going to
write to Dell Baxter that I'm onto his scheme and that the minute you
make another crack at me there'll be a bullet in your brain--and another
in his as soon as I can get to Santa Fe to put it there, and that he'd
better call you off if he wants to save his own skin. But if you can get
me without my catching on first you're welcome, that's all!"
The rush of running cattle swept across their preoccupied ears, and both
men turned to see a dozen steers sweep past the other end of the pond
and up the hill.
"Quick, Jose! Help me head them off and turn them into the pond!" Conrad
exclaimed as he started off in his bare feet. His long strides covered
the distance quickly, and with hoots and yells and waving arm he soon
turned their course down the hillside toward the water. Gonzalez was
close behind, and together they manoeuvred the frightened beasts to
the pond, where the animals forgot their panic, waded in quietly, and
began to drink.
"Jose," said the superintendent, as he sat down at the water's edge and
began to bathe his muddy, bleeding feet, "I shall not mention this
affair to any one here. I'll say that a steer horned me just now. I've
broken my collar bone, I think, and I've got this cut in my arm, and
I'll have to go to Golden at once to get patched up. When I come back I
want you to remember what I just told you about getting daylight through
your skull if you try any of your tricks on me again. There comes Red
Jack after these cattle. Go and help drive them back to camp."