_Good Intentions_
Returning from the station, Hartwell drove rapidly until he came to the
foot of the mountain that rose above the nearly level mesa. Even then he
tried to urge his jaded team into a pace in some consonance with his
anxiety; but the steep grades and the rarefied air appealed more
strongly to the exhausted animals than did the stinging lash he wielded.
As, utterly blown, they came to a rest at the top of a steep grade,
Hartwell became aware of the presence of three men who rose leisurely as
the team halted. Two of them stood close by the horses' heads, the third
paused beside the wagon.
"Howdy!" he saluted, with a grin.
"What do you want?" A hold-up was the only thing that occurred to
Hartwell.
"Just a little sociable talk. You ain't in no hurry?" The grin
broadened.
"I am." Hartwell reached for his whip.
"None of that!" The grin died away. The two men each laid a firm hand on
the bridles.
"Will you tell me what this means?" There was not a quaver in Hartwell's
voice, no trace of fear in his eyes.
"By-and-by. You just wait. You got a gun?"
"No; I haven't."
"I don't like to dispute a gentleman; but it's better to be safe. Just
put up your hands."
Hartwell complied with the request. The man passed his hands rapidly
over Hartwell's body, then turned away.
"All right," he said, then seated himself and began filling his pipe.
"How long am I expected to wait?" Hartwell's tone was sarcastic.
"Sorry I can't tell you. It just depends. I'll let you know when."
He relapsed into silence that Hartwell could not break with all his
impatient questions or his open threats. The men left the horses' heads
and seated themselves in the road. It occurred to Hartwell to make a
dash for liberty, but there was a cartridge-belt on each man and
holsters with ready guns.
In the deep canon the twilight was giving way to darkness that was only
held in check by the strip of open sky above and by a band of yellow
light that burned with lambent tongues on the waving foliage which
overhung the eastern cliff. Chattering squirrels and scolding magpies
had long since ceased their bickerings; if there were other sounds that
came with the night, they were overcome by the complaining river which
ceased not day nor night to fret among the boulders that strewed its
bed. Like a shaft of light piercing the darkness a whistle sounded,
mellowed by distance. The man near the wagon spoke.
"That's a special. Where in hell's Jack?"
"On deck." A fourth man came to a halt. He paused, wiping the
perspiration from his face. "They're coming, a hundred strong. Jakey
coughed it up, and it didn't cost a cent." He laughed. "It's Jack
Haskins's crowd, too."
The man by the wagon addressed Hartwell.
"I can tell you now. It's an all-night wait. Tumble out lively. Better
take your blankets, if you've got any. It's liable to be cool before
morning right here. It'll be hotter on the mountain, but you'd better
stay here."
Hartwell did not stir.
"Out with you now, lively. We ain't got no time to waste."
Hartwell obeyed. The man sprang into the wagon and, pitching out the
blankets, gathered up the lines.
"Come on, boys." Turning to his companion, he said, "You stay with him,
Jack. He ain't heeled; but don't let him off." To Hartwell direct,
"Don't try to get away. We'll deliver your message about the special."
His companions were already in the wagon and they started up the trail.
Jack turned to his charge.
"Now, if you'll just be a good boy and mind me, to-morrow I'll take you
to the circus."