Another dawn was breaking when the five riders approached Pinecate
Cañon, and the sun-spears were thrusting across the eastern sky. The
lower reaches of the rocky cañon were desolate and empty, save for
the figure of a saddled and bridled horse moving about. Sidewinder,
with a grunt of recognition, broke the silence.
“There’s that cayuse of Mesquite’s now—started for town and stopped
on the way. Prob’ly smelled water here.”
“And yonder’s the auto,” said Tom Emery with a jerk of his head.
“Two of ’em!”
There was no need to question Ramsay about his car, for that of
Ethel Gilman had been thrust beside it into the cover of the trees
and mesquite clump, so that both cars stood protected from sun and
dew, but plain to be seen. Sidewinder flung them a glance, then
turned his horse into the cañon.
“Come along—ride as far as we can, anyhow. Her place is quite a ways
up.”
The five rode slowly up the cañon, until they came to the spot where
Ramsay had found that cigarette case. Here Sidewinder drew rein,
since it was becoming increasingly harder for the horses to climb.
Ahead was the bend in the cañon.
“Manuel, you stay here with Ramsay. You’d better stick here too,
Tom. Come ahead when I call. You come with me, Bill.”
Sidewinder dismounted, and with the dapper Cholo Bill swinging along
beside him, ascended the rocky floor of the cañon on foot. A faint
thread of smoke began climbing into the sky from somewhere around
the bend; sunrise in all its glory was spreading a riot of color
across the heavens.
Some distance above them was a great boulder, huge as a house, in
the center of the rapidly narrowing cañon. It was a rich and ruddy
rose-pink in the first sunlight, and was split squarely in two, with
a number of small piñon trees growing from the split. Water came
from it, came from the cañon above it also, and ran down into
several pools and short falls; it was the evanescent water of the
desert springtime, giving a short-lived existence to lilies and
masses of flowers on either hand. Above this boulder, and to its
left, could be seen the brown outline of a small tent, with the
figure of Ethel Gilman tending a fire close by. Sidewinder raised
his voice in a hail, and waved his hand.
“Leave the talk to me, now,” he growled. “It’s all right—she’s alone
here. Don’t want to frighten her. Scare a fool woman, and she’s like
a locoed horse.”
“_Seguro, señor_,” assented the halfbreed with a flash of his white
teeth. Sidewinder, now that the girl had seen them, turned and sent
a stentorian hail down the cañon, bidding Emery come along up. Then
he started climbing again to where the girl stood beside her little
fire, staring at the arrivals in alarm and fear that could not be
wholly veiled.
“Morning, miss,” called Sidewinder as they approached her camp.
“How’s everything?”
“All right, thanks,” she returned, low-voiced, obviously startled.
“I was goin’ by with some friends o’ mine,” said Sidewinder, puffing
with the climb, “and thought we’d stop in and see if you were all
right. —Bill, rustle up some firewood for the lady!”
Cholo Bill smiled and went about his task. Sidewinder approached the
girl.
“We’re going to leave Ramsay with you a spell,” he said. “He’s a
mite scratched up, but aint hurt to speak of. Fell off a hoss, I
reckon. Miss, where’s that pistol of yours? Let’s have a look at
it.”
He did not miss her start at Ramsay’s name. His gray eyes glittered
on her, bored into her, and as she met that deadly gaze, there was a
struggle in her face.
“You want—my pistol?” she faltered.
“If you please, ma’am.”
Her hand went to her bosom and produced a small, flat automatic.
Still she hesitated, a surge of anger coming into her eyes—then as
she looked past Sidewinder, she saw the other three figures turning
the bend. At once she held out the weapon.
“There. Now what? You need not pretend that you want to help me.”
Sidewinder took the weapon and thrust it out of sight.
“We aint goin’ to hurt ye, not a mite,” he said harshly. “We got
Ramsay where we want him, and neither one of ye is going to do any
talkin’; that’s all. We’re goin’ to leave him and you here, and fix
it so’s ye’ll stay here a spell. Nothin’ to be scared of, miss. If
you’ve got any grub, let’s have some. I’ll send ye out plenty from
town, as soon as we get back. The water’ll last ye long enough, so
there’s nothin’ to be scared of.”
“I’ll get what I have,” she said quietly, then turned and went into
the tent—whence she presently reappeared, with coffee and bacon,
coffee-pot and skillet. Cholo Bill came in with an armload of brush,
which he heaped over the fire, arranging several stones to hold the
coffee-pot. A moment later Tom Emery strode up, followed by Ximines
and Ramsay, who was still gagged and his arms bound. Miss Gilman
stood staring at him, wide-eyed—this scratched and bruised and
helpless man, with the garments hanging in shreds about him, was
somewhat different from the Pat Ramsay she had known previously.
“I reckon he needs a shave, ma’am.” Sidewinder chuckled. “But
that’ll keep. Set him against that rock, Manuel. The lady can let
him loose after we’re gone. Get some water, Tom—the quicker we get a
bite to eat and get off, the better.”
Disregarding their curious glances, Miss Gilman, looking only at the
figure of Ramsay, returned to her tent and sat down before it.
Sidewinder and his companions managed a makeshift bite to eat and a
swallow of warm coffee apiece; then Sidewinder rose.
“We’ll leave the hosses here. Which of you boys can drive a car? Got
to take ’em both to town with us.”
“I can,” said Tom Emery.
“All right—”
“Somebody better stay and watch things, and attend to the horses,”
spoke up Manuel Ximines, who was rolling one of his evil-smelling
cigarettes. “It would be foolish to leave horses here. Why not let
me stay? I have nothing to do in town.”
Sidewinder nodded, with a slight look of chagrin at the slip he had
so nearly made. To have left the horses here unwatched would indeed
have been fatal.
“All right,” he said curtly. “You stay. Don’t bother the lady none.
Better go on down to the lower cañon. I’ll send a driver back with
the other boys and a load of grub in one o’ the cars. Then you boys
get back to Hourglass in a hurry, and get started. I’ll have José
Garcia out here by morning to ride herd on things.”
“And shall I hamstring this _hombre_ now?” asked Ximines, gesturing
with his cigarette toward Ramsay, who was glad that Miss Gilman
could not understand the Mexican tongue.
“Let him wait till tonight. You’ll likely need help to hold him
down, and we aint got any time to waste now. Come on, boys.”
With this, Sidewinder started down the cañon, Tom Emery and Cholo
Bill at his heels. Manuel Ximines, however, remained sitting where
he was, a thin smile on his black-avised features, in his glittering
dark eyes the wild cruelty and the cunning that mark the
_marihuana_-smoker.
Not until the three departing figures were out of sight around the
bend did the girl move. Then, as Ximines showed no intention of
leaving, she rose to her feet.
“Well?” she demanded sharply. “I suppose I may release Mr. Ramsay?”
Ximines turned his head and surveyed her. Under that gaze she
shrank, and the color ebbed from her cheeks.
“You stay quiet or I shoot heem.” With this, the Mexican resumed his
cigarette and stared again down the cañon.
The girl flashed a terrified, wondering look at Ramsay, who had
drawn closer a step or two. His eyes, vainly trying to give her a
message of warning, terrified her the more, and she stood motionless
before the tent. Ximines, who perhaps wanted to let Sidewinder and
the other two men get well away, paid her no attention but smoked on
reflectively and stared down the cañon. He had drawn his pistol,
however, and now held it idly in his lap.
Ramsay, arms bound and gagged as he was, was more terrified than the
girl. He knew that Ximines might at any instant leap into stark
blood-madness or wild passion. Alienists declare that the man who
thinks himself about to explode is the most dangerous of all
maniacs; but men on the border know that more dangerous than any
maniac is the smoker of _marihuana_. So, with the intention of
quietly working his way toward the girl, in a desperate hope that
she might be able to release his bound arms, Ramsay continued his
slow forward advance.
Then, sudden as the flashing stroke of a snake, Ximines was on his
feet, pistol out.
“One more step, little señor, and I cut your throat and drink your
blood!” he exclaimed, a wild and lurid glare in his eyes. A cry
broke from the girl.
“Stop! Leave us alone—go on down and look after those horses!” She
faced him as he turned to her, grinning. Despite the terror that was
upon her, she met his grin defiantly, bravely. “Go on down the cañon
as you were told to do!”
Ximines thrust away his pistol and took a step toward her, glaring
eyes gripped upon her.
“Manuel has come to take you, little señorita of the white throat,”
he declared in soft Spanish, and if the girl could not understand
his words, his manner was beyond all mistake. “Come to me, little
cooing dove! I shall show you how we treat the gringo señoritas in
my country.”
Ramsay hurled himself forward, frantic with horror, flung himself at
the Mexican. Ximines grinned, avoided the rush, deftly tripped the
bound man and then struck him with an open-handed blow that sent him
headlong among the rocks. Next instant, with a sudden and unexpected
lurch forward, he was upon Ethel Gilman and had caught her in both
arms.
“Come, señorita—”
She struck him across the face, staggering him, and struck him again
so that he loosed her and fell back, hand to eyes. A wild scream
burst from him, and he whipped out a knife, swaying as he stood.
“Ha! I shall drink your blood for that blow, white-throat!” he
yelled.
Ramsay, pulling himself up, saw the Mexican start forward, knew
himself helpless to intervene; then he saw something else.
The flap of the brown tent was shoved aside, and in the opening
protruded the red nose, the tangled whiskers, the sharp little eyes
of Sagebrush Beam. The Mexican saw that movement also, and furious
as he was, halted and shifted hand to pistol. But he was too late.
“I reckon ye’ve crowded us far enough,” growled Sagebrush. The roar
of a forty-five barked out, and lifted thunderously along the cañon
walls.