Sagebrush, dragging himself from the tent but not rising, called to
Ramsay.
“Kick that skunk’s knife over yere, and I’ll cut ye free.”
Ramsay, who had been stupefied by the appearance of the desert rat,
obeyed the order, and in another moment was rubbing his arms to get
rid of the numbness. Ethel Gilman had dropped in a heap, mercifully
unconscious; and almost at her side lay Manuel Ximines, his
contorted features staring at the sky.
“Where on earth did you come from?” demanded Ramsay. “Man, I thought
you were dead!”
“So I was,” and Sagebrush chuckled, “but I come to life again, found
a hoss and got over yere. The lady give me a lift up the cañon and
took care on me. I got a busted head and a bullet in the gizzard,
but I’m gettin’ all right. Yessir! Like Yavapai Ferris, down Phœnix
way. Time o’ the border raids, some greasers drapped him into a dry
wash with two-three bullets; then some sojers come along, and the
greasers crawled into the wash for shelter, and Yavapai set up with
a gun in each hand and plugged ten of ’em. The ’leventh got away,
and Yavapai said he’d ha’ been cured pronto if he’d got the
’leventh. Yes-sir, same here. Pluggin’ that there p’izen skunk sure
done me good. I’d have done it earlier, only I didn’t figger on
drawin’ Sidewinder back yere. S’pose you drap him into the cañon
’fore the lady wakes up. Git his gun, too.”
Ramsay stooped above the dead Mexican and found that the latter’s
automatic was his own pistol, which had been taken from him when
captured. At one side of the upper flat was a great bunch of yucca,
its spiny perpendicular leaves topped by the remains of a glorious
cluster of creamy, bell-like blooms. Carrying the body to this,
Ramsay dropped it out of sight.
“Don’t forget the spot,” said Sagebrush anxiously. “I reckon there’s
a reward for that gent down south.”
“Never mind talking now,” said Ramsay, with a glance at the
unconscious girl. “Got any more grub in there? Then lay it out—get
breakfast started, anyhow.”
He went to the pool below, sluiced head and neck and arms with the
cold water. Then he turned to the girl and lifted her head in his
arms. He was about to bathe her face, when her eyes opened and
looked up into his, startled and wide in recognition.
“You’re all right,” he said quietly, and smiled. “Sit still a
minute, young lady, and take it easy.”
Color rising in her cheeks, the girl sat up, then sprang to her
feet, staring around. “Where is he?”
“He done went away, ma’am,” said Sagebrush solemnly. “Yessir. That
Mex done seen the error of his ways and got converted. I never seen
a Mex get converted so sudden before, neither, nor with such good
results.”
“And we owe Sagebrush a vote of thanks for converting him,” added
Ramsay, turning to the fire. “Breakfast ready in a minute, Miss
Gilman. Have you any biscuits cooked up?”
“Yere’s some store biscuits.” Sagebrush tossed out a package. “Say,
Perfesser! I’m right worried about somethin’.”
“About what?” asked Ramsay.
“Why, d’you s’pose that cuss Sidewinder will steal them magazines o’
mine? I left ’em to the hotel in my pack. I got six months’ store o’
magazines there, and I’m readin’ a long story in one of ’em. I been
thinking a lot about that there story in the last six months, and
I’m gettin’ real anxious to finish it. If Sidewinder steals ’em—”
“He wont,” said Ramsay, laughing to himself. “He wont. I’ll nab
those two friends of his when they come back with the car this
afternoon, and we’ll all drop in on Sidewinder tonight and surprise
him.” Sagebrush was sitting up, and they joined him, all three
feeling considerably benefited by the coffee and a bite of food.
Miss Gilman asked no more questions about Ximines, and Ramsay
outlined what had taken place in Hourglass Cañon.
“How badly is our friend here hurt?” Ramsay asked of Miss Gilman
after he had ended his story.
“He’ll be on his feet in a few days. I took out the bullet—I’ve had
a little experience nursing—and there’s nothing very much the matter
with him. He lost a good deal of blood.”
“Blood’s cheap.” Sagebrush grinned, as he leaned back comfortably.
He seemed to have quite gotten over all his aversion to this
particular woman. “Best thing for blood is good fat lizard-meat.
I’ll get me a likely chuckwalla and lay him in the ashes, and feed
up. Some says pack-rats make good meat, but I dunno. I’ve et
rattlesnake, but my gosh! A feller has to draw the line somewhere,
and I draws it at pack-rats. So you’re figgering on roundin’ up
Sidewinder tonight, Perfesser?”
“Yes,” responded Ramsay. “If I can get Tom Emery and Cholo Bill—”
“Ye can’t do it noways,” said Sagebrush with savage emphasis. “Don’t
be a durned fool and try it, Perfesser. Even if ye got them two
fellers covered, would they give in again? Not much. They’d figger
that one of ’em would go down, the other might plug ye—and they’d
take the chance. Yessir. After all that’s happened, they’d go for
ye, gun or no gun. Ye took ’em by s’prise the first time, but there
wont be no second time. The only way to get ’em is to drop ’em cold
and get ’em dead.”
“I’m no murderer,” said Ramsay quietly. “And I’m going to get ’em,
one way or the other; so stop your argument. Miss Gilman, why didn’t
you put Sagebrush into your car and take him to town when he showed
up here?”
“He wasn’t in shape to stand it,” said the girl. “He got here only
last night, half dead and very weak from loss of blood. I had to
give him instant attention, get out the bullet, and bandage him up.
I should think you’d compliment me on the recovery of my patient,
instead of finding fault!”
Ramsay smiled. “I’m not finding fault, except that I wish you were
out of here. Well, shall we go down and attend to those horses? We’d
better rid them of saddles and bridles and herd them as far up the
cañon as possible. We have until tonight to lay our plans, and we
must get the flivver that brings those rascals back here, as well as
the two men themselves.”
“Then ye’d better figger on shootin’ first and fastest,” snapped out
Sagebrush.
Ramsay laughed and made no response, as he started down the cañon
with Miss Gilman at his side. When they stood beside the great
boulder of pink granite, with the piñon trees growing out of the
cleft above, he paused.
“This is where my brother came,” he said, looking around. “I suppose
he’s buried somewhere near here—if he’s buried at all. And there’s
gold in these rocks.”
“It’s a beautiful place,” said the girl softly, staring at the pool
with its great clusters of yucca flowers and lilies. “I suppose
these flowers will all be gone in a few weeks, Mr. Ramsay?”
He gave her a whimsical look. “Can’t you make it Pat, yet?”
She shook her head, gayly enough. “Not yet. Look up there above the
boulder—what a site that would be for a house!”
“You can have it,” he said, starting on again. “I want none of this
place—I’d never get away from the thought of poor Alec. No, the
place you should see is Hourglass Cañon. There’s a real beauty-spot,
with water the year around. If I were you, I’d grubstake old
Sagebrush, and set him to work looking for gold in this cañon. My
brother Alec was no fool, and if he thought there was gold here in
paying quantities, it is probably here. Then you come over to
Hourglass Cañon with me and start your chicken-ranch.”
She gave him a laughing look. “You own that other place, then?”
“No, but I will own it as soon as the papers can be put through. Do
you want half?”
“Tell you later,” she returned, and pointed. “There are the horses.”
During the next half-hour Ramsay and Miss Gilman were busy in the
extreme. They unsaddled the five horses, got the poor beasts free of
bridles, and then started to drive them up the cañon as far as the
bend. Having found some of his own supplies lying cached among the
trees, Ramsay left the girl to handle the horses and himself turned
back down to the mouth of the cañon.
There, where the cañon gave on to the open desert, he approached the
clump of piñon and mesquite, and dragged forth the pack of supplies
which he had seen. It had evidently been flung out of his car by
Sidewinder. He stooped to open the pack and examine its
contents—then he suddenly stood up. A queer noise had startled him,
a noise which made him glance incredulously at the sky. An airplane?
No. He turned and stood transfixed. There, approaching at full
speed, leaping and bounding on the rough desert floor, was one of
the two vanished flivvers, and all three men were in it.
He stood staring, helpless, not daring to produce the pistol from
his pocket and open fire. That might have been his best chance; yet
he neglected it. With a grinding squeal of brakes, the car rushed
down to a halt ten feet away. Sidewinder leaped out in the cloud of
dust, followed by Tom Emery and Cholo Bill.
“Manuel! Where’s Ximines?” demanded Sidewinder hastily.
“Up the cañon.” Ramsay waved his hand. “What’s the matter?”
Sidewinder turned to the two men, who had rifles in their hands.
Obviously, something very much was the matter, for they were pouring
out oaths at sight of the horses, and were in frantic haste.
“Go get Manuel and the hosses—quick!” snapped Sidewinder. “This is
as far as they can get in their car—we got the hosses, and they aint
got any. Move, durn ye!”
The two men stood their rifles against the car and started away,
toward the staring figure of Miss Gilman and the slowly moving
horses.