THE ATTACK
Dick Gordon and Davis were sitting on the porch of their cabin, which
was about an eighth of a mile from the main buildings of the Corbett
place. They had returned the day before from Santa Fé, along with two
deputy sheriffs who had come to arrest Pablo and Sebastian. The officers
had scoured the valley for two days, and as yet had not caught a glimpse
of the men they had come to get. Their inquiries were all met by a
dogged ignorance on the part of the Mexicans, who had of a sudden turned
surprisingly stupid. No, they had seen nothing of Pablo or of Sebastian.
They knew nobody of that name--unless it was old Pablo Gardiez the
_señors_ wished to see. Many strangers desired to see him, for he was
more than a hundred years old and still remembered clearly the old days.
Gordon laughed at the discomfiture of his sleuths. "I dare say they may
have been talking to the very men they wanted. But everybody hangs
together in this valley. I'm going out with them myself to-morrow after
the gentlemen the law requires."
"No, I wouldn't do that, Dick. With every greaser in the valley
simmering against you, it won't do for you to go trapsing right down
among them," Davis explained.
"That's where I'm going, anyhow--to-morrow morning. The deputies are
staying up at Morrow's. I'm going to phone 'em to-night that I'll ride
with them to-morrow. Bet you a new hat we flush our birds."
"What's the sense of you going into the police business, Dick? I'll tell
you what's ailing you. You're just honing to see Miss Valdés again. You
want to go grand-standing around making her mad at you some more."
"You're a wiz, Steve," admitted his friend dryly. "Maybe you're right.
Maybe I do want to see her again. Why shouldn't I?"
"What good does it do you when you quarrel all the time you're together?
She's declared herself already on this proposition--told the deputies
flat-footed that she wouldn't tell them anything and would help her boys
to escape in any way she could. You're just like a kid showing off his
muscle before a little girl in the first grade."
"All right, Steve. You don't hear me denying it."
"Denying it," snapped the old miner. "Hmp! Lot of good that would do.
You're fair itching to get a chance to go down to the ranch and swagger
around in plain sight of her lads. You'd be tickled to death if you
could cut out the two you want and land them here in spite of her and
Don Manuel and the whole pack of them. Don't I know you? Nothing but
vanity--that's all there's to it."
"He's off," murmured Dick with a grin to the scenery.
"You make me tired. Why don't you try a little horse sense for a change?
Honest, if you was a few years younger I'd put you acrost my knee and
spank you."
Gordon lit a cigarette, but did not otherwise contribute to the
conversation.
"Ain't she wearing another man's ring?" continued Davis severely.
"What's bitin' you, anyhow? How many happy families you want to break
up? First off, there's Pablo and Juanita. You fill up her little noodle
with the notion that----"
Dick interrupted amiably. "Go to grass, you old granny. I've been
putting in my spare time since I came back letting Juanita understand
the facts. If she had any wrong notions she ain't got them any longer.
She's all ready to kiss and make up with Pablo first chance she gets."
"Then there's Miss Valdés and this Pesky fellow, who's the whitest brown
man I ever did see. Didn't he run his fool laigs off getting you free so
you could go back and make love to his girl?"
"He's the salt of the earth. I'm for Don Manuel strong. But I don't
reckon Miss Valdés would work well in harness with him," explained Dick.
Steve Davis snorted. "No, you reckon Dick Gordon would, though. Don't
you see she's of his people--same customs, same ways, same----"
"She's no more of his people than she is of mine. Her mother was an
American girl. She was educated in Washington. New Mexico is in America,
not in Spain. Don't forget that, you old croaker."
"Well, she's engaged, ain't she? And to a good man. It ain't your put
in."
"A good one, but the wrong one. It's a woman's privilege to change her
mind. I'm here to help her change it," announced the young man calmly.
"Say, look at Jimmie Corbett hitting the high spots this way."
Jimmie, not yet recovered from a severe fright, stopped to explain the
adventure that had befallen him while he had been night fishing.
"I seen spooks, Mr. Gordon--hundreds of 'em--coming down the river bank
on horseback--honest to goodness, I did."
"Jimmie, if I had your imagination----"
But Davis cut into Dick's smiling incredulity:
"Did you say on horseback, Jimmie?"
"Yes, sir, on horseback. Hope to die if they weren't--'bout fifty of
them."
"You better run along home before they catch you, Jimmie," advised the
old miner gravely.
The boy went like a streak of light. Davis turned quietly to his
partner.
"I reckon it's come, Dick."
"You believe the boy did see some men on horseback? It might have been
only shadows."
"No, sir. His imagination wouldn't have put spooks _on horseback_. We
got no time to argue. You going to hold the fort here or take to the
hills?"
"You think they mean to attack us in the open?"
"They're hoping to surprise us, I reckon. That's why they're coming
along the creek instead of the road. Hadn't 'a' been for Jimmie, they
would have picked us off from the porch before we could say 'Jack
Robinson.'"
Both men had at once stepped within the log cabin, and, as they talked,
were strapping on ammunition belts and looking to their rifles and
revolvers.
"There are too many doors and windows to this cabin. We can't hold it
against them. We'll take the trail from the back door that leads up to
the old spring. From up there we'll keep an eye on them," said Dick.
"I see 'em coming," cried the older man softly from the front window.
"They ain't on the trail, but slipping up through the rocks.
One--two--three--four--Lord, there's no end to the beggars! They're on
foot now. Left their hawsses, I expect, down by the river."
Quietly the two men stepped from the back door of the cabin and swiftly
ascended the little trail that rose at a sharp acclivity to the spring.
At some height above the cabin, they crouched behind boulders and
watched the cautious approach of the enemy.
"Not taking any chances, are they?" murmured Gordon.
Steve laughed softly.
"Heard about that chicken-killing affair, mebbe, and none of them
anxious to add a goose to the exhibit."
"It would be right easy to give that surprise party a first-class
surprise," chuckled Dick. "Shall I drop a pill or two down among them,
just to let them know we're on the premises?"
"Now, don't you, Dick. We'll have to put half of 'em out of biz, and get
shot up by the rest, if you do."
"All right. I'll be good, Steve. I was only joking, anyhow. But it
ce'tainly is right funny to sit up here and watch them snake up to the
empty cabin. See that fellow with the Mexican hat? I believe it's my
jealous friend Pablo. He's ce'tainly anxious to get one Gringo's scalp.
I could drop a stone down on him so he'd jump about 'steen feet."
"There's one reached the window. He's looking in mighty careful, you
bet. Now he's beckoning the other fellows. I got a notion he's made a
discovery."
"Got on to the fact that the nest's empty. They're pouring in like bees.
Can you make out how many there are? I count nine," said Dick.
"They're having a powwow now. All talking with their hands, the way
greasers do. Go to it, boys. A regular debating society, ain't you?"
"Hello! What's that mean?" broke in Gordon.
One of the Mexicans had left the rest, and was running toward the
Corbett house.
"Gone to find whether we're on the porch with the family, up there,"
continued the young man, answering his own question.
"What's the matter with beating it while we've got a chanct?"
"I'm going to stay right here. You can go if you like, Steve?"
"Oh, well. I just suggested it." Davis helped himself to a chew of
tobacco placidly.
"Fellow coming back from the house already," he presently added.
"Got the wrong address again. They'll be happening on the right one
pretty soon."
"Soon as they're amply satisfied we ain't under the beds, or hid between
the covers of some of them magazines. Blamed if they ain't lit a lamp."
Gordon gave a sudden exclamation of dismay. A Mexican had appeared at
the back door of the cottage with a tin box in his hand.
"I'm the blamedest idiot out of an asylum," he cried bitterly. "All the
proofs of my claim are in that box. You know I brought it back from
Santa Fé with me."
"Ain't that too bad?"
Gordon rose, the lines of his mouth set fast and hard.
"I'm going down after it. If I lose those papers, the whole game's
spoilt for me. I've got to have them, and I'm going to."
"Don't be a goat. How can you take it from a whole company of them?"
"I'll watch my chance. It may be the fellow will hide it somewhere till
he wants it again."
"I'm going, too, then."
"See here, Steve. Be sensible. If we both go down, it's a sure thing
they will stumble on us."
"Too late, anyhow. They're coming up after us."
"So much the better. We'll cut across to the left, slip down, and take
them in the rear. Likely as not we'll find it there."
"All right. Whatever you say, Dick."
They slipped away into the semi-darkness, taking advantage of every bit
of cover they could find. Not until they were a long stone's throw from
the trail did the young miner begin the descent.
Occasionally they could hear voices over to the right as they silently
slipped down. It was no easy thing to negotiate that stiff mountainside
in the darkness, where a slip would have sent one of them rolling down
into the sharp rock-slide beneath. Presently they came to a rockrim, a
sheer descent of twenty-five feet down the perpendicular face of a
cliff.
They followed the ledge to the left, hoping to find a trough through
which they might discover a way down. But in this they were
disappointed.
"We'll have to go back. There's a place we passed where perhaps it may
be done. We've got to try it, anyhow," said Gordon, in desperation.
Retracing their steps, they came to the point Dick had meant. It looked
bad enough, in all conscience, but from the rocks there jutted halfway
down a dwarf oak that had found rooting in a narrow cleft.
The young man worked his body over the edge, secured a foothold in some
tiny scarp that broke the smoothness of the face, and groped, with one
hand and then the other, for some hold that would do to brace his
weight. He found one, lowered himself gingerly, and tested another
foothold in a little bunch of dry moss.
"All right. My rifle, Steve."
It was handed down. At that precise moment there came to them the sound
of approaching voices.
"Your gun, Steve! Quick. Now, then, over you come. That's right--no, the
other hand--your foot goes there--easy, now."
They stood together on a three-inch ledge, their heels projecting over
space. Nor had they reached this precarious safety any too soon, for
already their pursuers were passing along the rim above.
One of them stopped on the edge, scarce eight feet above them.
"They must have come this way," he said to a companion. "But I expect
they're hitting the trail about a mile from here."
"_Si, Pablo_. Can you feed me a cigareet?" the other asked.
The men below, scarce daring to breathe, waited, while the matches
glimmered and the cigarettes puffed to a glow. Every instant they
anticipated discovery; and they were in such a position that, if it
came, neither of them could use his weapons. For they were cramped
against the wall with their rifles by their sides, so bound by the
situation that to have lifted them to aim would have been impossible.
"The American--he has escaped us this time," one of them said as they
moved off.
"_Maldito_, the devil has given him wings to fly away," replied Pablo.
After the sound of their footsteps had died, Gordon resumed his descent.
He reached the stunted oak in safety, and was again joined by his
friend.
"Looks like we're caught here, Steve. There ain't a sign of a foothold
below," the younger man whispered.
"Mebbe the branches of that tree will bend over."
"We'll have to try it, anyhow. If it breaks with me, I'll get to the
bottom, just the same. Here goes."
Catching hold of the branches, he swung down and groped with his feet
for a resting-place.
"Nothing doing, Steve."
"What blamed luck!"
"Hold on! Here's a cleft, away over to the right. Let me get a hold on
that gun to steady me. That's all right. The rest's easy. I'll give you
a hand across--that's right. Now we're there."
At the very foot of the cliff an unexplainable accident occurred. Dick's
rifle went off with noise enough to wake the seven sleepers.
"Come on, Steve. We got to get out of here," he called to his partner,
and began to run down the hill toward their cabin.
He covered ground so fast that the other could not keep up with him.
From above there came the crack of a rifle, then another and another, as
the men on the ridge sighted their prey. A spatter of bullets threw up
the dirt around them. Dick felt a red-hot flame sting his leg, but,
though he had been hit, to his surprise he was not checked.
Topping the brow of a little rise, he caught sight of the cabin, and, to
his consternation, saw that smoke was pouring from the door and that
within it was alight with flames.
"The beggars have set fire to it," he cried aloud.
So far as he could see, four men had been left below. They did not at
first catch sight of him as he dodged forward in the shadows of the
alders at the foot of the hill. Nor did they see him even when he
stopped among the rocks at the rear, for their eyes were on Davis and
their attention focused upon him.
He had come puffing to the brow of the hillock Gordon had already
passed, when a shout from the ridge apprised those below of his
presence. Cut off above and below, there was nothing left for Steve but
a retreat down the road. He could not possibly advance in the face of
four rifles, and he knew, too, that the best aid he could offer his
friend was to deflect the attention of the watchers from him.
He fell back promptly, running from boulder to boulder in his retreat,
pursued cautiously by the enemy. His ruse would have succeeded
admirably, so far as Dick was concerned, except for that young man
himself. He could not sit quiet and see his friend the focus of the
fire.
Wherefore, it happened that the attackers of Davis were halted
momentarily by a disconcerting fusillade from the rear. The "American
devil" had come out into the open, and was dropping lead among them.
At this juncture a rider galloped into view from the river gorge along
which wound the road. He pulled his jaded horse to a halt beside the old
miner and leaped to the ground.
Without waiting an instant for their fire to cease, he ran straight
forward toward the pursuing Mexicans.
As he came into the moonlight, Dick saw with surprise that the newcomer
was Don Manuel Pesquiera. He was hatless, apparently too unarmed. But
not for a second did this stop him as he sprinted forward.
Straight for the spitting rifles Don Manuel ran, face ablaze with anger.
He had covered half the distance before the weapons wavered groundward.
"Don Manuel!" cried Sebastian, perturbed by this apparition flying
through the night toward them.
Dick waited only long enough to make sure that hostilities had for the
moment ceased against his friend before beginning his search for the tin
box.
He quartered back and forth over the ground behind the burning house
without result, circled it rapidly, his eyes alert to catch the shine of
the box in the moonbeams, and examined the space among the rocks at the
base of the hill. Nowhere did he see what he wanted.
"I'll have to take a whirl at the house. Some of them may have carried
it back inside," he told himself.
As he stepped toward the door, Don Manuel came round the corner. At his
heels were Steve and the four Mexicans who had but a few minutes before
been trying industriously to exterminate the miner.
Don Manuel bowed punctiliously to Gordon.
"I beg to express my very great regrettance at this untimely attack," he
said.
"Don't mention it, _don_. This business of chasing over the hills in the
moonlight is first-class for the circulation of the blood, I expect.
Most of us got quite a bit of exercise, first and last."
Dick spoke with light irony; but one distraught half of his attention
was upon the burning house.
"Nevertheless, you will permeet me to regret, _señor_," returned the
young Spaniard stiffly.
"Ce'tainly. You're naturally sore that you didn't get first crack at me.
Don't blame you a bit," agreed Dick cheerfully but absently. "Funny
thing is that one of your friends happened to send his message to my
address, all right. Got me in the left laig, just before you butted in
and spoiled their picnic so inconsiderate."
"You are then wounded, sir?"
"Not worth mentioning, _don_. Just a little accident. Wouldn't happen
again in a thousand years. Never did see such poor shots as your valley
lads. Say, will you excuse me just a minute? I got some awful important
business to attend to."
"Most entirely, Señor Gordon."
"Thanks. Won't be a minute."
To Pesquiera's amazement, he dived through the door, from which smoke
poured in clouds, and was at once lost to sight within.
"He is a madman," the Spaniard murmured.
"Or devil," added Sebastian significantly. "You will see, _señor_, he
will come out safe and unharmed."
But he did not come out at all, though the minutes dragged themselves
away one after another.
"I'm going after him," cried Davis, starting forward.
But Don Manuel flung strong arms about him, and threw the miner back
into the hands of the Mexicans.
"Hold him," he cried in Spanish.
"Let me go. Let me go, I say!" cried the miner, struggling with those
who detained him.
But Pesquiera had already gone to the rescue. He, too, plunged through
the smoke. Blinded unable to breathe, he groped his way across the door
lintel into the blazing hut.
The heat was intense. Red tongues of flame licked out from all sides
toward him. But he would not give up, though he was gasping for breath
and could not see through the dense smoke.
A sweep of wind brushed the smoke aside for an instant, and he saw the
body of his enemy lying on the floor before him. He stooped, tried to
pick it up, but was already too far gone himself.
Almost overcome, he sank to his knees beside Gordon. Close to the floor
the air was still breathable. He filled his lungs, staggered to his
feet, and tried to drag the unconscious man across the threshold with
him.
A hundred fiery dragons sprang unleashed at him. The heat, the stifling
smoke were more than flesh and blood could endure. He stumbled over a
fallen chair, got up and plowed forward again, still with that dead
weight in his arms; collapsed again, and yet once more pulled himself to
his feet by the sheer strength of the dogged will in him.
So, at last, like a drunken man, he reeled into safety, the very hair
and clothes of the man on fire from the inferno he had just left.
A score of eager hands were ready to relieve him of his burden, to
support his lurching footsteps. Two of them were the strong brown hands
of the woman he loved more than any other on earth, the woman who had
galloped into sight just in time to see him come staggering from that
furnace with the body of the man who was his hated rival. It was her
soft hands that smothered the fire in his hair, that dragged the burning
coat from his back.
He smiled wanly, murmured "Valencia," and fainted in her arms.
Gordon clutched in his stiffened fingers a tin box blistered by the
heat.