The three shacks at the head of Hourglass Cañon were set amid trees
and near a trickling brook, which in another three weeks would be
only a summer’s memory, and which was lost in the grass a hundred
yards distant. Ramsay was allowed to sit against a tree, and was set
free of his bonds, while his four captors surrounded him. The two
frightened Mexican women, wretched creatures who belonged to Ximines
and Cholo Bill, fetched coffee and tortillas.
Ramsay had been studying his captors. Ximines was the most
dangerous, because the most vicious and debased Cholo Bill was far
above him in character. Tom Emery had some traces of humor in his
brutal countenance. All three of them were distinctly perturbed and
uneasy, yet deferred everything to Sidewinder. And Ramsay perceived
that Crowfoot himself, beneath that grayish mask of a face, was more
alarmed than he cared to betray.
“Now, you going to talk or do we got to make ye?” demanded
Sidewinder, his reptilian gaze fastened on Ramsay. The latter smiled
slightly.
“You give me a share in your breakfast and let me get my pipe going,
and I’ll swap all the information you want.”
“Fair enough,” grunted Sidewinder, and summoned one of the women.
Ramsay found his tortillas excellent and the coffee passable, and
attacked his breakfast heartily. His chief concern was for
Sagebrush. The latter was either dead, in which case he could not be
aided, or else was wounded, in which case he was better off without
Sidewinder’s help; in either event, his participation in the
morning’s affair was not suspected and must not be suspected. In all
other respects, frank speech was the best policy.
The meal finished, Ramsay got his pipe going while the other four
rolled cigarettes, and Sidewinder started his catechism.
“First off, what kind of an officer are you, anyhow? County, State
or Fed’ral?”
“Neither one,” Ramsay chuckled. “My name’s Pat Ramsay. I came here
to get Mr. Emery yonder, also Cholo Bill, for the murder of my
brother Alec last year. You were a party to it also.”
Emery started to speak, but Sidewinder flashed him a look that held
him silent.
“It wasn’t no murder,” said Sidewinder. “It was a straight killin’—”
“No use passing any lies,” said Ramsay quietly. “Let’s all stick to
the truth. Alec left a message for me, also the deed to that
property he bought from Harrison—told me all about it. I found ’em
in Pinecate Cañon the other day. The deed’s gone in to the
recorder’s office. So has an explanation of the circumstances. I
expect the sheriff will be along any time to look things over.”
An outburst of startled oaths broke from the three outlaws, but
Sidewinder only grinned and put a hand to his pocket. He drew forth
an unopened letter. Ramsay, in dismay, recognized it as that
containing the deed, which he had registered with Haywire Johnson.
“Here y’are,” said Sidewinder, and tossed it to him with a malignant
grin. “I reckon ye might’s well keep it. Serve for identification.
Darned good thing I took a look through that mail-sack ’fore it went
out yesterday, eh? What’d you do to Hassayamp, anyhow? He got Miss
Gilman’s money, took Mesquite’s hoss and beat it for parts unknown.”
Ramsay, although he flinched under the blow, rallied quickly.
“I jogged his memory about a job he pulled off down in Arizona
before coming here.”
“And ye sure give Mesquite a scare. Reckon he’s still goin’. So you
aint no officer, th? You just come nosing in here on your own hook,
eh? Well, you’ve sure played hell. I wonder how you can set there
and eat and smoke and laugh, after wipin’ out three good men this
morning! Aint you got no conscience? Don’t it mean nothin’ to you
that ye’ve killed three men?”
Ramsay shrugged.
“It doesn’t worry you to bring in people from outside and cheat them
or murder them, does it?” he retorted. “And it doesn’t worry anyone
to wipe out a rattler. You fellows and desert rattlers are about in
the same class.”
“And you’ll be in the same class with your brother when we get
through with ye,” said Sidewinder acidly.
“He knows too much,” said Ximines in Spanish. “Kill him now,
quickly.”
“You back down and rest your heels,” snapped Sidewinder. “I’m
running this show. Now, Ramsay, you’re alone in this deal—you and
Miss Gilman—”
“She’s not in it,” broke out Ramsay quickly, alarmed by the man’s
look.
“Don’t ye lie to me! You and her have been carryin’ on together. Got
to town about the same time, and been thick ever since. She fooled
me at first, all right, but now I’m wide awake and ready to strike.
You’ve earned your victuals. Now shut up.”
With this, Sidewinder turned to the three outlaws and briefly
described Miss Gilman’s activities, while Ramsay listened in acute
anxiety.
“All good things have an end,” he finished. “We’ve just about
reached the end of our rope. The thing to do now is to bust up camp.
Better get them women and the kid off right now, with hosses. Let
’em ride in to town, and José Garcia will take care of ’em until
you’re ready to send for ’em. Then get busy with a running-iron and
a knife, and we’ll go over them hosses on hand. Any that can’t be
worked over, leave here. You’ll have a right good remuda, and you
three fellers can run ’em up to Silver City. Emery, you know how to
get there across the Salt Pans, don’t ye?”
Tom Emery nodded in silence, but jerked his thumb at Ramsay.
“Don’t worry none about him. First, get them women off. Then get
busy with the irons. We’ll be until night gettin’ the remuda worked
over and in good shape. Then, early in the morning, we’ll ride over
to Pinecate Cañon with this inquisitive pilgrim. That fool woman is
goin’ out there sometime today, to camp and see about where to build
a shack. We’ll nab her and her car. —Hey, Ramsay! Where’s that
rat Sagebrush?”
“Last I saw of him was out in the desert,” said Ramsay truthfully.
“He didn’t fancy any acquaintance with Miss Gilman, and got right
huffy over her being around.”
“So he run off, eh? Blamed if that aint old Sagebrush all over!”
Sidewinder chuckled dryly. “Where’s your car?”
“At Pinecate Cañon.”
“All right.” Sidewinder eyed his three men. “Ye see, we can’t afford
to take no chances. If we kill this _hombre_, there may be questions
asked—and what’d we do with the Gilman woman? I don’t aim to murder
a woman.”
“Give her to me,” suggested Ximines, with a grin.
“You go plumb to hell,” snapped Sidewinder. “I don’t guess any of us
want a double murder charge follering us. So here’s the program with
them two: Leave ’em in Pinecate Cañon, with some grub. They aint
going to walk away from there in a hurry—”
“Hamstring him!” Ximines gave Ramsay a scowling glance.
“Good idea,” approved Sidewinder, with a nod. “Fix him so’s he can’t
travel, anyhow. Then I’ll have José Garcia come over there from town
and camp out to keep an eye on the two of ’em. You boys run the
remuda up to Silver City, sell her, and then scatter. I’ll get sold
out in Stovepipe Springs, and disappear. Three weeks ought to fix us
up all around. Then Garcia can remove himself likewise. By the time
Ramsay and that fool woman get out to where they can tell their
story—let ’em tell it! That’s the general scheme. We can fix the
details later. How’s it suit?”
“Fine with me,” said Tom Emery, pawing his red whiskers.
Cholo Bill nodded. “_Bueno!_ But my woman, she go with me and the
remuda.”
“Mine too,” growled Ximines.
“Then get busy.” Sidewinder rose. “Tie up this gent.”
Ramsay, despite his protestations, was seized and lashed firmly to a
tree, after which he was ignored for the remainder of the morning.
He was somewhat relieved by the exposition of Sidewinder’s plans,
since these did not at least include murder; this relief was more
than balanced, however, by the menace directed toward Ethel Gilman.
The hours dragged past, while Sidewinder and his three companions
worked like slaves. The entire band of horses, numbering nearly
forty, had to be gone over. Each animal had to be examined
carefully, and his brand worked upon with running irons to make it
accord with the brands used by Sidewinder, while the other marks
also had to be altered to suit.
There was an hour’s lay-off at noon, when Ramsay was given temporary
liberty. Then he was closely confined again, and the work went on.
Five of the unavailable horses were turned into a small corral
behind the shacks, and one of the women was sent to the outer cañon
to bring in the horse which Sidewinder had left there. She returned
later with word that the animal had wandered off out of sight.
It was nearly sunset when the work was concluded, and the four men,
weary to the point of exhaustion, came in and flung themselves down.
The two women had prepared a meal which was eaten hurriedly; then
Ramsay, who had been released temporarily, was again bound and
relegated to his post against the tree. Ordering the women to wake
them at midnight, Sidewinder and the others rolled up and were
asleep at once.
Benumbed by his many and tight lashings, stiff and sore with his
hurts and bruises, Ramsay resigned himself to the inevitable, and
after a little dropped off into a doze. From this he was wakened to
find Ximines cutting him free and playfully jabbing him with the
point of a knife as he cut.
“So, leetle señor, you come weeth me, eh?” In the starry darkness
the white teeth of the swarthy Mexican outlaw flashed faintly. “You
ride with Manuel,” continued the man in Spanish, which Ramsay
comprehended perfectly. “And while you ride _conmigo_, we shall
talk, eh?”
Ramsay, rubbing his stiffened limbs, glanced around and saw that
they were alone. He gathered his muscles—
“Careful, señor!” The muzzle of a pistol touched him. “Turn and walk
to the horses.”
“Five hundred dollars and a get-away, Ximines,” he said softly, “if
you turn me free.”
The other growled. “Bah! If you have that much money, I shall take
it anyway, and take the pretty señorita too! When we get to that
cañon of _pinecates_ eh? Then this Sidewinder will go away, and
maybe Manuel will come back, eh? And you will not be able to object,
my little señor. _Vamanos!_ To the horses!”
Sidewinder called. Ramsay, hopeless, turned and went to the horses,
saddled by the other men. He was put into a saddle, his feet roped
to the stirrups, and his arms bound. Then Ximines, without orders
but for reasons of his own, improvised a dirty bandana into a gag,
which he lashed about the jaw of Ramsay.
“Bring him along,” said Sidewinder impatiently, and mounted, leading
the way. The others trailed out after him. After Cholo Bill rode
Ramsay, the reins of his horse held by Ximines at his stirrup. As
they rode out across the grassy cañon, the Mexican laughed and spoke
softly to the captive.
“Ho, little señor! What is it I read in the newspaper, that the wise
men say in your town of New York, eh? They say that the _Americano_,
he is not civilized—that the _Americano_ of the West, he is an
animal. Ho! Well, when I come back to that cañon of the little
tumbling bugs, señor, you shall see how we treat gringos, dogs of
_Americanos_, in my country! And you will not be able to walk, for I
shall cut your legs behind—_que lástima_. What a pity, little señor!
And when I kiss the señorita, eh? It will be amusing to hear you
curse, uncivilized _Americano_!”
Ramsay now perceived why he had been gagged by the Mexican. And
beneath the raging fury that the taunts and threats roused in him,
beneath wonder that on the lips of such a man he should find the
smart sayings of the radicals of New York’s East Side, slowly
mounted a growing horror at the prospect. For he comprehended that
this swarthy Mexican, whose cigarettes had such a queer and unholy
odor, was a smoker of the marihuana weed—a monster beside whom the
cocaine fiend was as a pale angel, a creature debased and degenerate
whose one craving was for blood, for cruelty, for torture.
So the five riders passed through the hole in the wall, and came out
upon the lonely starlit desert, and headed for the Pinecate mesa.
And upon the hills the coyotes howled dismal orisons to the stars.