and we've no time to lose. We can't loop-hole this adobe now, but we
can barricade the door of these two rooms and stand off a good-sized
gang. Mr. Harvey will, of course, want to be where he can look after
the ladies; but if I can put one of his men in the corral, one who can
be relied upon to shoot down any of Moreno's people who should try to
come out, I think we can look out for the rest. Any minute now they'll
be coming. First thing, run these two wagons around to the corral, so
as to clear the approaches. There mustn't be anything behind which
they can hide or take shelter." And, laying hold of the pole while
willing hands manned the spokes, Feeny soon had the Concord and the
weather-beaten ambulance safely out of the way. Then came a moment of
consultation as to which of Harvey's men would be best suited for the
onerous post opposite the enemy's door, and then a sudden and
breathless silence.
"Listen!" whispered Feeny. "That's a signal. Hist! you'll hear it
again presently."
Grasping their rifles with nervous hands, the five men stood huddling
in a little group at the west end of the low, flat building.
Somewhere out on the dark expanse towards the peak a long, low
whistle, ending in an abrupt high note, had sounded. For a moment
there was no repetition. The invisible foe was signalling for reply.
From whom could answer be expected but Moreno?
"Watch the old scoundrel's window there and this shutter over here,"
whispered the sergeant, indicating a board-covered port in the
westward wall. "They'll try to show a light, perhaps. Run round into
the corral and smash the first man that tries to come out. I'll tend
to any feller that shows a head hereabouts."
Harvey turned with his employé and ran with him as far as the other
end of the ranch. Here he entered the low door-way. The little lamp
burned dimly, but two pairs of dark, dilated eyes gleamed eagerly upon
him.
"I'm going to close this door now, girlies," he whispered. "Lie still.
Do not venture near it or the window, and don't be frightened. It
looks as though some of the Morales gang were around here hoping to
find the paymaster unguarded. We'll give them a lesson they'll never
forget, if they attempt to attack him."
For all answer Ruth Harvey only nestled closer to her sister and clung
to her for courage and support. Paquita, however, became Amazonian at
once.
"Is there nothing I can do, Ned? I can't bear to lie here listening
and taking no part. Surely I could shoot a pistol well enough."
"You can help us best and most by lying flat and showing not so much
as a finger at the door. We can tend to them, Fan. It won't be long
before father and the troop come galloping back. Don't show a light
now unless we call." Then he darted to the bar-room.
"Are they coming?" hailed the clerk, in a hoarse whisper.
"Somebody signalled out on the plain. It's probably they. Look out for
Moreno now; don't let him or anybody through that door."
Far out on the desert again, louder, shriller, clearer, the whistle
was repeated.
"Ah, blow and be damned to ye!" muttered Feeny. "There's no answer
from here ye'll get this night. Watch out now. Some of 'em will try to
crawl up after a little."
But nearly five minutes passed without other sign or sound. Then,
closer in, a horse stamped and snorted; a coarse Mexican voice
muttered a savage oath. Feeny, crouching low, darted into the darkness
in the direction of the sound. Plummer and Harvey would have
restrained him, but it was too late; he was gone before either could
speak. Then a latch creaked and snapped behind them and, slowly and
cautiously, the wooden shutter began to open outward. In an instant
Harvey had raised his rifle and struck the resounding board a fierce
blow with the butt. The door flew back, crashing in violent contact
against the grizzled pate of Moreno himself, who, with a howl of
mingled rage and anguish, fell back from the aperture.
"Open that again and I'll blow your head off, you scoundrel!" growled
Harvey. "Don't you dare show hair nor hide outside your room. Every
man has orders to shoot you on sight, if that's any comfort to you."
Only for a second had the old Mexican's head appeared; only an instant
had he for plea or protestation, but that instant had served to show a
narrow streak of light from the room within, and this mere crack
revealed to the watchful eyes out upon the plain the position of the
ranch, possibly told them something more, for in less than half a
minute two horsemen came looming up out of the darkness and cantering
fearlessly towards them. Phlegmatic as he was, old Plummer's nerves
gave a twitch as, sharp and stern, young Harvey challenged.
"Halt there! Who are you? _Halt_! or we fire."
"Friends," shouted one voice; "Americans," the other, as promptly the
order to halt was obeyed, the trained horses going almost on their
haunches under the cruel force of the huge Mexican bit.
"We are seeking Moreno's," continued the first voice. "The Apaches
jumped our outfit just after sunset and we had to run for it."
"How many are there of you all told?" demanded Harvey.
"Only us two. We're partners, prospecting,--been down towards the
Sonora line. For the Lord's sake, gentlemen, don't keep us out here.
We've lost everything we had,--packs, packers, and grub. We're about
dead beat for a drink and something to eat."
"What do you think of this, major?" whispered Harvey. "Those are
Americans sure."
"Well, I'd let'em in," said the major; "but where the devil's Feeny?
He's the best judge, really. Their story may be all true. They may be
alone."
"I don't know; it isn't likely. You heard that voice out there a
moment ago; that was Mexican beyond any doubt. We've got to stand
those fellows off till we hear from Feeny." Then, raising his voice,
Harvey called,--
"Just stay where you are a moment. You're all right perhaps, but our
guards have orders to be on the lookout for Morales and his gang, and
you might get shot by mistake."
"Well, for God's sake turn out your men, if you've got any, and help
us catch these murdering thieves," was the impatient reply. "How many
are you?"
"Oh, there's plenty of us here," was Harvey's cheery answer. "Most of
'C' troop; but we've other business on hand just now. You wait there
quietly for a minute or two until the sergeant comes around with the
patrol; he'll see to you."
And then, as though the whole thing had been planned beforehand, out
in the darkness to the north Feeny's voice was heard in low-toned but
sharp command,--
"Patrol, halt! Close up there, Kennedy. Where are you, Number Five?"
And so, cool and confident as though he had a dozen troopers at his
back, Feeny came striding up to the spot.
"What's the matter, sentry? Didn't I hear you parleying here with
somebody?"
"Two strangers out there, sergeant;--say they're prospectors and been
jumped by Apaches."
"Hwere away are they?" Then in low tone, "Go you out beyond the
corral," he whispered to old Plummer. "There's four of them out there.
Challenge if they try to come in." Then aloud again, "Shure, I don't
see anything, sentry."
"Right out ahead there, sergeant. Two men, mounted."
"Come down, one of ye. Dismount and come in here. Lave your gun
behind. Give your reins to your pal there," was Feeny's next mandate.
There was a moment of hesitation, a faint sound of whispering as
though the self-styled prospectors were in consultation, and again
Feeny spoke in tone more sharp and imperative,--
"Dismount one, I say. Come in here, or I'll send a bullet for your
cards. Quick now."
Still another delay. The "prospectors" seemed anxious to edge off into
deeper darkness.
"If ye're not off that horse's back in ten seconds, be jabers, I'll
fire, so be lively." And as his excitement rose so did Feeny's Irish.
Four--five seconds ticked by and still there was no approach.
Fiercely, with sharp emphasis, the sergeant brought his carbine to
full cock. "It's aiming I am," said he, as he quickly raised the butt
to his shoulder. There was a sudden scurry and scramble of horses'
hoofs, low-voiced words of warning and a muttered curse or two. Then
leaped a tongue of fire into the night, and from the corral corner
came sharp report, followed by a cry, a gurgle, a groan, then silence.
"My God! they've shot the major," exclaimed Harvey, as he leaped away
in the direction of the shot. At the same moment away sped the two
horsemen in front of the post. No use to fire. They were shrouded in
thick darkness and out of harm's way before one could pull trigger.
Then came two flashes, two quick reports, then half a dozen rapid,
sputtering revolver-shots, then a vengeful howl and a rush out on the
plain. Feeny ran like a deer on the trail of Mr. Harvey, and in less
time than it takes to tell it they came upon the paymaster, sinking
shocked and nerveless to the sandy soil, his hands clasping on his
side.
"Pick him up, you and your man there; carry him into the ranch. I'll
bate back those blackguards yet," muttered Feeny, as he took a quick
snap shot at some dim object flitting across the plain and sent
another into the darkness, aiming vaguely where he could hear the thud
of horses' hoofs. For a moment, running from point to point after each
discharge, he kept up a rapid fusillade, under cover of which the
hapless paymaster was borne swiftly away around the corner of the
ranch and carried into the bar, where, wild with anxiety, but faithful
to his trust, Mr. Dawes still guarded the safe. Then Harvey stepped
through the narrow door-way to the eastern room.
"I have to borrow the lamp a moment, Fan," he whispered. "Now lie
still. We may have to stand a siege awhile until father can reach us."
Two minutes more, bending low and with his last cartridge crammed into
the chamber of his carbine, Feeny turned to make a run for the ranch.
Just as he came speeding in past the westward wall the wooden shutter
was hurled open and a strange voice, loud, exultant, strident, burst
upon his ear.
"Come on, Pasqual! Come ----"
But the rest was lost in the roar of Feeny's ready weapon. The rude
façade of adobe blazed red one instant in the flash of the carbine and
the loud report went bellowing out across the plain. But within the
ranch there went up a wail of terror and dismay, for Ramon Morales,
shot through the brain, was stretched lifeless at the feet of Moreno
and his shuddering wife.
And then Feeny, unscathed, leaped inside the bar-room.
"Now for it, men! Drag in those two drunken brute bastes," he cried,
laying hold of Mullan's limp carcass. "Lug in wan of them water-jars.
Stick their damned heads into that trough beyant. Now be lively. The
whole gang'll be on us in less than a minute."
V.
At midnight the situation at Moreno's ranch was a strange one. The
occupants of the two rooms farthest to the east were being besieged by
ten or fifteen outlawed men, some Mexican, some "Gringo," but all
cut-throats, and up to this moment the besieged had had the best of
it.
And yet their plight was desperate. In the easternmost room, secure
from bullet or missile of any kind so long as they crouched close to
the ground and back from the door-way, lay trembling in silence old
Harvey's daughters. At the door, only the barrel of his rifle
protruding, keeping under cover all he possibly could behind an
improvised parapet of barley-bags, knelt their devoted brother, cool
and determined, every now and then whispering words of hope and
encouragement. In the adjoining room, connected with the eastern
chamber by a doorless aperture through the adobe wall, lay the
paymaster, sorely wounded, but still conscious and plucky, his
faithful clerk ministering to him as best he could, stanching the flow
of blood and comforting him with cool water. At the door-way opening
on the hard-trampled space at the southern front of the ranch,
sheltering himself behind his breastwork of barley, but never relaxing
vigilant watch, knelt Sergeant Feeny, a bandana bound about his
forehead, the blood trickling down his right cheek, the sleeve of his
flannel shirt rent by a bullet that just grazed the upper arm.
Kneeling on the counter and peeping through a hole in the bottom of
the wooden window-shutter, one of Harvey's men kept guard, the other
faced the door-way into Moreno's domestic apartments, every now and
then letting drive a shot through the wood-work to keep them, as he
said, "from monkeying with the bolt on the other side." In planning
his roadside ranch Moreno had allowed outer doors only to those rooms
which were for public use; the three which lay to the west of the bar
could not be entered except through that resort or by a door giving on
the corral, both of these doors being supplied with massive bolts as
security against intruders, and all three rooms being furnished with
air-ports rather than windows, pierced at such a height through the
adobe that no one from without, except in saddle, could peer through
the aperture and see what was going on within. The travellers' room
and the bar-room ports, however, were low and large, and all the rooms
were spacious; the bar, of course, being the dining as well as
drinking-room, carried off the honors in point of size. This, too, was
furnished with an opening into the corral, but Feeny's, first thought
on reaching his comrades was to barricade. Springing into the walled
enclosure and bidding Harvey watch while the others worked, he had
soon succeeded in lugging a score of big barley-sacks into the
interior and piling them into breastworks at the three doors, the one
opening into the corral being provided in addition with a high
"traverse" to protect its guard against shots that might come through
from Moreno's room. All this was accomplished amidst the wailing of
the Mexican women and the fusillade begun by the assailants in hopes
of terrorizing the defence before venturing to closer quarters. Like
famous Croghan, of Fort Stephenson, Feeny had kept up a fire from so
many different points as to impress the enemy with the idea there were
a dozen men and a dozen guns where there was in reality only one, and
even the temptation of that vast sum in the paymaster's safe was not
sufficient to nerve the followers of Morales to instant attack. The
valor and vigor of the defence and the appalling death of one of their
leaders had so unnerved them that Pasqual himself, raging, imploring,
threatening by turns, was unable to urge them to close quarters. "Most
men are cowards in the dark" is a theory widely believed in. Indians
certainly are only brave against defenceless women and children at
such a time. Not until the firing had ceased and it was evident that
the defenders had retired to the shelter of the ranch, and then only
very slowly and cautiously, would these brigands of the desert be
induced to resume their stealthy approach. For full half an hour there
was a lull in the fight, and then, guided by the light Moreno was now
able to show, Pasqual and two of the stouter-hearted knaves approached
the western wall and held brief consultation with the rascally owner.
Rage at the death of their leader's brother and ally, the thirst for
vengeance, and the hope of securing such rich booty, all were
augmented by Moreno's fiery assurances and encouragement. All the
soldiers were gone, he said, except the "pig of a sergeant" and two
drugged and senseless swine. Somebody among them was wounded. There
were only three, possibly four, left. Let his _compañeros_ make
combined attack, two or three through his (Moreno's) rooms, two or
three rush in from the corral, and the same number from the south
front at once, and beyond doubt the cursed Yankees would succumb.
Then, no quarter, no quarter for the men. His connection with the
outlaw band was now known and these witnesses must be put to death.
Then--then the paymaster's safe could readily be battered open, then
there was the mint of money to be divided among the victors, then away
to Sonora with their spoil and with old Harvey's beautiful daughters.
What ransom would he not be willing to pay,--that proud, disdainful
father! Was ever luck so great? But haste! haste!--not a moment could
be lost; they must act at once.
And so Morales hurried to station and instruct his men. Prowling like
coyotes through the darkness and at respectful distance from the
guarded end of the ranch, half a dozen of the number crept into the
corral. Others were distributed over the southern front. Three of the
lighter and more slender of the band were "boosted" through the high
west window into Moreno's domain. Then through the middle room they
made their way, where sat the señora, rocking, weeping, and moaning
over the body of the outlaw leader, where, hiding under the bed,
shivering and praying, crouched the señorita, her daughter, and then,
barefooted, they crept into the room adjoining the bar and listened,
breathless, to the low-toned instructions of the veteran sergeant.
From without no glimmer of light could guide the assailants or help
them in their aim. The black apertures of the door-ways were poor
marks for night shooting, and the more enterprising and adventurous,
crawling like snakes to reconnoitre, were soon able to report that
most scientifically had the defence thrown up their breastworks. From
group to group flitted Pasqual. At his shrill battle-cry all hands
were to rush simultaneously to the attack, firing no shot for fear of
hitting one another; but with pistol in one hand and the long, deadly
knife in the other, close at once upon the defenders, leap over their
barriers and overwhelm them in the dark interior. In three minutes the
signal would be given. He himself would lead the dash of the party
within the corral. Pasqual was shrewd enough to know that where there
was only one door-way instead of two there would be better chance of
dodging the bullets. But keen eyes and ears and wits were there alert.
Feeny and Harvey well knew that this was but the lull before the
storm.
"Lay low, boys, and be ready. Shoot the first man that shows," was the
last caution old Plummer heard before the bursting of the tempest.
All on a sudden a wild cry went up in the corral. All on a sudden from
north and south the assailants dashed forward with answering yell. In
an instant the dark apertures flashed their lightning, and rifle and
revolver-shots rang on the still night air. Harvey's Henry barked like
a Gatling; Feeny's old Springfield banged like a six-pounder. Two of
the assailants on the south side went down in the dust, face foremost,
the others swerved, broke, and scurried for shelter. Pasqual Morales,
leading his men close under the north wall, made a panther-like spring
for the crest of the barley parapet, and was saved from instant death
when he fell by being dragged feet foremost, with a Colt's forty-four
tearing through his thigh. In vain Moreno's squad fired shot after
shot through the wooden door; their bullets buried themselves deep in
the improvised traverse but let no drop of blood, while two return
shots scattered the attack with the splinters from the heavy panels.
Pleading, raging, maddened, Morales learned that the dash had failed,
and that two of his most daring men, the two Americanos who had ridden
forward to personate prospectors and who had led the rush in the
southern front, were knocked out of the fight.
And then it was that the inhuman brute gave the order to resort to
Indian methods, and even old Moreno begged and prayed and blasphemed
all to no purpose. Furious at their repulse, the band were ready to
obey their leader's maddest wish. The word was "Burn them out." Ned
Harvey, crouching behind his barley-bags, felt his blood turn to ice
water in his veins when, with exultant yells and taunts, the corral
suddenly lighted up with a broad red glare. The match had been applied
to the big hay-stack close to the brush-covered shed, close to the
"leanto" under which so much inflammable rubbish was stored. It could
be a question of only a few moments, then they, too, would be a mass
of flames spreading rapidly westward. The stout adobe wall separating
the ranch proper from the sheds would protect the occupants from
direct contact with the flame, but what could save the roof?
Stretching from wall to wall were the dry, resinous pine logs that
formed the basis of the bulky structure; over these the lighter boards
of pine; and over all, thickly piled, dry as bone and inflammable as
tinder, heap on heap of brush. Once this was fairly ablaze the hapless
occupants of the rooms beneath might as well be under the grating of
some huge furnace.
High in air shot the leaping flames. Far and wide over the desert
spread the lurid glare. Screaming with terror, the women of Moreno's
household were already dragging into the corral their few treasures
and rushing back for such raiment as they could save. Far over at the
corral gate, where the bullets of the besieged could not find them,
Pasqual Morales and his exulting band were gathered, the chief lying
upon his _serapé_ with bloody bandages about his leg, his followers
dancing about him in frantic glee, all keeping carefully out of range
of the black door-ways, yet three or four crack shots lay flat in the
sands, their rifles covering the now glaring fronts of the threatened
rancho, ready to shoot down, Indian-like, the wretched garrison when
driven out.
It was at this juncture that from somewhere in the middle room behind
Moreno's heavy door a voice was heard.
"Hand out the safe. Hand out your money now and we'll leave you in
peace. Every man of us will ride away, and you can come out as soon as
we are gone. Answer, for you have no time to lose."
"Answer him, you!" shouted Feeny to Mr. Dawes. "Send a shot through
and hit him if you can."
But before the clerk could drop the fan with which he was striving to
revive his fainting chief, the young fellow from Harvey's party, he
who was stationed at the north door and had been so fortunate as to
shoot Morales himself, now suddenly sprang from his covert and,
placing the muzzle of his Henry rifle close to the door, deliberately
popped three shots in quick succession through the splintering
wood-work, and, in the confusion and dismay which resulted, was able
to leap nimbly into his corner again before the answering shots could
come.
"Take that for your answer," shouted Feeny again, "you black-hearted,
black-bellied thafe, and take this, too, bad scran to ye! Every dollar
of that money's in greenbacks that'll burn as aisy as tissue, and if
you want it, come and get it now. 'Tis you that's got no time to lose.
Come and get it, I say, for be the soul of St. Patrick you'll never
have another chance. Just as sure as ye let that fire reach this ranch
and harm those young leddies,--old Harvey's daughters that never did
ye a harm in the world,--every dollar in the safe goes whack into the
fire, and sorra a shinplaster will you have for all your pains. Ain't
that so, paymasther? Shure the government ought to be mighty glad of
the chance of saving all those promises to pay."
"Bravo, Feeny!" shouted young Harvey from the adjoining room. "We're
not smoked out yet by a good deal," he added in lower tone. "But if
the worst comes to the worst we can make a rush for the barley-stack
in the corral. Lie still, Ruth, little sister; it won't be any time
now before the soldiers will come galloping to us." And, hiding her
terror-stricken face in her sister's breast, the girl obeyed.