BRENT'S MISTAKE
Following the trail that Brevoort and Pete had taken from the Ortez
rancho, Arguilla and his men rode north and with them rode Ortez and
several of his vaqueros. Within a few miles of the Olla the ragged
soldiery swung west to the shelter of the low hills that ran parallel
to the Olla line, while Ortez and his men rode directly to the Olla
fence and entered a coulee near the big gate, where they waited the
arrival of Brent and the herd.
About two hours before sundown one of Arguilla's lieutenants appeared
on the edge of the coulee where he could overlook the country. At his
signal the soldiers were to join the Ortez riders, but not until Brent
and his men had the cattle delivered.
Arguilla, who was to keep out of sight, had told Ortez to pay the
amount stipulated by Brent--and at the old established rate of twenty
dollars a head--which meant that upon receipt of the cattle Ortez would
give the foreman of the Olla four thousand dollars in gold. Ortez knew
that Arguilla contemplated killing Brent and his men and recovering the
money. Although his sympathies were with his own people, Ortez felt
that such treachery was too black, even for a leader of guerillas.
He realized that the first word of warning to Brent would mean his own
doom and the death of his men in the battle which would follow, for he
knew the Gringo cowboys would fight to the last man. Against this he
weighed the probability of a fight if he did not speak. In either
event he would be dishonored in the eyes of the powers who had trusted
him with handling the finances of the cause. It was in this state of
mind that he waited for the arrival of the men whom he considered
doomed, never imagining for a moment that Brent himself anticipated
treachery.
The sun had almost touched the western sky-line when a solitary rider
spurred out from the great gate of the Olla and up to Ortez, who
recognized in him one of the young vaqueros that had escaped from
Arguilla's guards the preceding night.
"Here's our tally." Pete handed Ortez a slip of paper. "Two hundred
and three head. My patron says to call it two hundred even, and to
give you a receipt for the money when you turn it over to me."
Arguilla's lieutenant had expected to see the herd turned over to Ortez
before the payment of any moneys. He hesitated as to whether or not he
should ride to the rim of the coulee and signal his company to
interfere with the transaction then and there in the name of his
superior officer. The lieutenant did not believe that Ortez would turn
over the money for a mere slip of paper. But Ortez, strangely enough,
seemed only too eager to close the transaction. Stepping to his horse,
he took two small canvas sacks from his saddle-pockets. Still the
lieutenant hesitated. He had had no instructions covering such a
contingency.
"I await your receipt, señor," said Ortez as he handed the money to
Pete.
Pete drew a folded slip of paper from his pocket and gave it quickly to
Ortez. "Brent'll push the cattle through muy pronto." And whirling
his horse round under spur, he was halfway back to the Olla gate before
the lieutenant thought of signaling to Arguilla.
From the vantage of the higher ground the lieutenant could see that the
gate was already open--that the Gringos were slowly pushing the cattle
through, and out to the desert. He waved his serape. Almost on the
instant Arguilla's men appeared in the distance, quirting their ponies
as they raced toward the coulee. The lieutenant turned and gazed at
the herd, which, from bunching through the gateway, had spread out
fanwise. Already the Ortez vaqueros were riding out to take charge.
But something was happening over near the Olla gate. The American
cowboys had scattered and were riding hard, and behind them faint
flashes cut the dusk and answering flashes came from those who fled.
The lieutenant shouted and spread his arms, signaling Arguilla to stop
as he and his men swung round the mouth of the coulee below. Some
thirty riders from the T-Bar-T, the Blue Range, and the Concho swept
through the gateway and began shooting at the Ortez vaqueros. Arguilla
saw that his own plan had gone glimmering. Ortez had in some way
played the traitor. Moreover, they were all on American territory.
The herd had stampeded and scattered. In the fading light Arguilla saw
one after another of the Ortez vaqueros go down. Did this noble
captain of Liberty, Equality, and Fraternity rush to the rescue of his
countrymen? He did not. Cursing, he swung his horse toward the south,
followed by his amazed and altogether uncomprehending soldiery. There
had been too many Gringoes in that wild, shrilling cavalcade to suit
his fancy. Meanwhile the Mexican lieutenant wisely disappeared down
the western edge of the coulee and rode wide until he deemed it safe to
change his course and follow in the dusty wake of his noble leader's
"strategic retreat."
Only one of the Ortez riders escaped the sudden and furious visitation
of the northern cattlemen, and he escaped because his horse, mortally
wounded, had fallen upon him. In the succeeding darkness he was passed
unnoticed by the returning Americans.
The Olla men, also taken by surprise, had acted quickly. Better
mounted than most of their pursuers, who rode tired horses, the Olla
riders spread at the first warning shout. Familiar with the country,
they were able to get away unscathed, partly because the attention of
the pursuers was centered chiefly on the herd.
It had been a case of each man for himself with the Olla riders, the
exceptions to this being Brevoort and Pete, who had ridden together
from the moment that Pete had shouted that sudden warning to his
companions at the gateway, where they had sat their horses waiting for
him to return from his mission to Ortez. Brent himself had posted a
lookout at the northern gateway of the ranch, with instructions to
watch for any possible pursuit. This cowboy, wise in his generation,
had caught sight of a large body of riders bearing down from the north.
He knew by the way they rode that they meant business. He knew also
that they were too many for the Olla men. He focused his glass on
them, got one good look, and calmly turned his horse and rode along the
line fence to an arroyo, where he dismounted and waited until the
visiting gentlemen had got well onto the Olla territory. Then he
mounted and took his leisurely way toward space. He knew that the
Olla, as a safe and paying proposition, had ceased to exist.
Brent, mounted on one of the thoroughbreds, lost no time in heading for
Sanborn and the railroad, once he had ridden clear of the running
skirmish with the northerners. He surmised that Pete and Brevoort
would make for Sanborn--and they had The Spider's money. Brent also
knew that he had a faster horse than either of them. If he could reach
Sanborn ahead of them, he would have the advantage of cover--and of
taking them by surprise . . .
The country was fairly open from the eastern boundary of the Olla to
within a few miles of Sanborn, where a veritable forest of cacti had
sprung up--one of those peculiar patches of desert growth, outlined in
a huge square as definitely as though it had been planted by man. The
wagon-road passed close to the northern edge of this freakish forest,
and having passed, swung off toward the railroad, which it finally
paralleled. It was in this vantage-ground of heavy shadow that Brent
had planned to waylay Brevoort and Pete. To avoid chance discovery,
Brent had ridden considerably out of his way to keep clear of the
regular trail from the Olla to Sanborn, and had lost more time than he
realized. Brevoort, on the contrary, had taken the regular trail,
which joined the main wagon-road.
Pete and Brevoort rode easily, as the local made the Sanborn stop at
six in the morning. Moreover, they did not care to spend any great
length of time in Sanborn. They had planned to leave their horses at
the livery stable--to be called for later.
At first they talked of the raid, the probable fate of Ortez and his
men, and of Arguilla's flight. And from that they came to considering
their own plans which, if successful, would find them in El Paso with
several thousand dollars which belonged in reality to Arguilla's
backers. There was an unvoiced but evident understanding between them
that they would keep together so long as safety permitted. Pete had
made up his mind to look for work on some southern ranch--and have done
with the high trails of outlawry. Brevoort, falling into his mood, as
much because he liked Pete as anything else, had decided to "throw in"
with him. Had Pete suggested robbing a bank, or holding up a train,
the big, easy-going Texan would have fallen in with the suggestion
quite as readily, not because Pete had any special influence over him,
but purely because Pete's sprightliness amused and interested him.
Moreover, Pete was a partner that could be depended upon in fair
weather or foul.
Their plan once made, they became silent, each busy with his own more
intimate thoughts: Brevoort wondering what Pete would say if he were to
suggest dividing the money and making for the coast and Alaska--and
Pete endeavoring to reconcile himself to the idea that The Spider was
actually Boca's father. For Pete had been thinking of Boca, even while
he had been talking with Brevoort. It seemed that he always thought of
her just before some hidden danger threatened. He had been thinking of
her--even aside from her presence in the patio--that night when the
posse had entered Showdown. He had thought of her while riding to the
Ortez rancho--and now he was thinking of her again . . . He raised his
head and glanced around. The starlit desert was as soundless as the
very sky itself. The soft creak of the saddles, the breathing of the
horses, the sand-muffled sound of their feet . . . Directly ahead
loomed a wall of darkness. Pete touched Brevoort's arm and gestured
toward it.
"They call it the Devil's Graveyard," said Brevoort. "A sizable bunch
of cactus alongside the road. We're closer to Sanborn than I figured."
"Well, we can't go any slower 'less we git off and set down," Pete
remarked. "Blue Smoke here is fightin' the bit. He ain't no graveyard
hoss."
"I notice he's been actin' nervous--and only jest recent."
"He always runs his fool head off--if I let him," asserted Pete. And
he fell silent, thinking of Boca and the strange tricks that Fate plays
on the righteous and wicked alike. He was startled out of his reverie
by Brevoort. "Mebby I'm dreamin'," whispered the Texan, "but I'm plumb
certain I seen somethin' drift into that cactus-patch."
"Cattle," said Pete.
"No. No cattle in these parts."
"Stray--mebby."
"I dunno. Jest sit light in your saddle and watch your hoss's ears.
He'll tell you right quick if there's another hoss in there."
Pete knew that the Texan would not have spoken without some pertinent
reason. They were drawing close to the deeper shadow of the cacti,
which loomed strangely ominous in the faint light of the stars.
Brevoort's horse, being the faster walker, was a little ahead and
seemingly unconscious of anything unusual in the shadows, when Blue
Smoke, range-bred and alert, suddenly stopped.
"Put 'em up--quick!" came from the shadows.
Pete's hand dropped to his holster, but before he could jerk out his
gun, Brevoort had fired at the sound--once, twice, three times . . .
Pete heard the trampling of a frightened horse somewhere in the brush.
"I got him," Brevoort was saying.
Pete's face was cold with sweat. "Are you hit, Ed?" he said.
"No, he missed me. He was right quick, but I had him lined against
that openin' there before he said a word. If he'd 'a' stood back and
kept still he could have plugged us when we rode past. He was too sure
of his game."
"Who was it, Ed?"
"I got one guess. We got the money. And he got what was comin' to
him." Brevoort swung down and struck a match. "I owed you that,
Brent," he said as the match flared up and went out.
"Brent!" exclaimed Pete.
Brevoort mounted and they rode on past the sinister place, in the chill
silence of reaction from the tense and sudden moment when death had
spoken to them from the shadows where now was silence and that
voiceless thing that had once been a man. "Got to kill to live!" Pete
shivered as they swung from the shadows and rode out across the open,
and on down the dim, meandering road that led toward the faint,
greenish light glimmering above the desert station of Sanborn.