PROOF OF GRATITUDE
Shortly after noon on the same day Hollis, finding work irksome, closed
his desk with a bang, told Potter that he was going home, mounted his
pony, and loped the animal out the Dry Bottom trail. He remembered
hearing Norton tell one of the men that morning that he suspected that
several of Ed Hazelton's cattle were still in the vicinity of the basin
near the Hazelton cabin, and he determined to ride around that way and
try to turn them back toward the Circle Bar. It would be recreation for
him after a hot morning in the office.
He also remembered another thing that had occurred that morning at the
ranch house. Mrs. Norton had assured him--with a sly, eloquent glance at
him--that he might do worse than to make arrangements to keep Nellie
Hazelton at the Circle Bar indefinitely. At the risk of being considered
obtuse Hollis had ignored the hint, broad though it had been. But Mrs.
Norton's words had shown him that Nellie stood high in her estimation
and he felt a queer, unaccountable elation.
After striking the Dry Bottom trail he took a circuitous route and some
time later came out upon a high ridge overlooking a basin. There were
some cattle down there and he made a mental note of the locality so that
he would be able to tell Norton where to have the men look for the
cattle. Then he rode along the ridge until he could no longer see the
basin. He spent most of the afternoon exploring the surrounding country,
and then when the dusk began to fall he retraced his steps to the ridge
upon which he had ridden earlier in the afternoon. Something familiar in
the shape of the hills near him struck him and he halted his pony and
smiled. These were the hills that he had seen many times from the
Hazelton porch. He faced around, certain that if the hills could be seen
from the porch he would be able to discern the porch from some point on
the ridge, for he was satisfied that he must be nearly in line with it.
He rode back and forth a few moments, and then, coming out on a bald
spot on the ridge, he saw the cabin.
It was about a mile away, snuggled comfortably down in a little basin,
with some trees and shrubbery flanking it on both sides. He smiled as he
looked at it, and then suddenly his face clouded, for he saw two ponies
hitched to the porch. His forehead wrinkled perplexedly over this. He
was certain that Nellie rode the same animal each time, because she
would not trust any of the others that were now with the remuda. One of
the horses belonged to her of course, for he could see the gay ribbon
with which she was accustomed to decorate her animal's bridle. But to
whom did the other horse belong? He gazed steadily toward the cabin,
searching for signs of life on the porch. But though he could see
clearly--even into the shadows from a rambling rose bush that clung to
the eaves of the roof--no human figure appeared on the porch.
Certainly Nellie must have a visitor. But who? He was not aware that the
Hazeltons had made friends with anyone in the neighborhood besides
himself and the Nortons. He smiled. Probably some cowboy from the Circle
Bar had been in the vicinity looking for Hazelton's cattle, had met
Nellie, and had stopped at the cabin. He remembered to have heard Norton
say that he was sending a man in that direction some time that day.
That must be the explanation. But while he sat, debating the propriety
of riding down to the cabin to satisfy his curiosity, the sound of a
pistol shot floated to his ears on the slight breeze that was blowing
toward him.
He sat erect, his face paling. Then he smiled again. He had been in the
West long enough to become acquainted with the cowboy nature and he
surmised that Nellie's visitor was very likely exhibiting his skill with
the revolver. But he turned his pony and urged it down the sloping side
of the ridge, riding slowly in the direction of the cabin.
After striking the bottom of the slope he rode cut upon a broad level
that stretched away for half a mile. He made better time here and had
almost covered half the width of the plain when two more reports reached
his ears. He was close enough now to hear them distinctly and it seemed
to him that they sounded muffled. He halted the pony and sat stiffly in
the saddle, his gaze on the cabin. Then he saw a thin stream of
blue-white smoke issue from the doorway and curl lazily upward.
A grave doubt assailed him. No cowboy would be likely to exhibit his
skill with a weapon in the cabin! Nellie's visitor must be an unwelcome
one!
The pony felt the sudden spurs and raced like a whirlwind over the
remaining stretch of plain. Hollis had become suddenly imbued with a
suspicion that brought an ashen pallor to his face and an awful rage
into his heart. He slid his pony down one side of a steep arroyo, sent
it scrambling up the other side, jumped it over some rocks that littered
the rise, spurred savagely through a little basin, and reaching the edge
of the porch, dismounted and bounded to the door.
He saw two figures--Nellie Hazelton and a man. He saw the man's fingers
gripping the girl's throat and the lust of murder surged over and
blinded him. In the dusk that had fallen he could only dimly see the
man's head and he swung his right fist at it, putting every ounce of his
strength into the blow. He felt the fist strike, realized that it had
glanced, and tried to recover for a second blow.
But the terrific swing had carried him off his balance. He whirled clear
around, slipped, and came down to the floor flat on his face. He was up
in an instant, however, his brain afire with rage, his muscles tingling
with eagerness. He did not think of the gun at his hip, for the lust of
murder was in his soul and he wanted only to hit the man--to seize him
and tear him apart--to crush and smash the vile hands that he had seen
at the girl's throat.
Five feet from him, facing him, on his hands and knees and scrambling to
rise, was the man. He recognized Yuma, and even as he bounded forward
the latter gained his feet and tugged at his gun-holster. The weapon had
not yet cleared the holster when Hollis was upon him. He struck again
with his right fist and missed, crashing against Yuma in his eagerness
and carrying him down to the floor with a force that shook the cabin. As
they fell Hollis felt a sharp, agonizing pain in his left wrist, from
which the splints had been only recently removed, and the hand hung limp
at his side, entirely useless.
For an instant after the fall Yuma lay still, breathing heavily. Then he
made a sudden movement with his right arm and Hollis caught a glint of
metal. He threw himself at the arm, catching it with his right hand just
above the wrist and jamming it tight to the floor. Yuma tried to squirm
free, failed, and with a curse drove his left fist into the side of
Hollis's face. Again he tried to squirm free and during the struggle
that followed the hand holding the pistol was raised from the floor.
Hollis saw it and wrenched desperately at the arm, twisting it and
dragging it furiously downward to the floor. Yuma shrieked with rage and
pain as the force of the impact cracked his knuckles and sent the weapon
clattering ten feet away.
For an instant both men lay silent, panting from their exertions. Then
Yuma succeeded in getting one leg over Hollis's body and one arm around
his neck. With a quick motion--successful because of Hollis's injured
wrist--he turned the latter over on his back. His eyes alight with an
exultant, malevolent fire, he gripped Hollis's throat with one hand and
drove at his face with the other. A quick movement of the head served to
defeat Yuma's aim and his fist thumped heavily against the floor,
bringing a grimace of pain to his face. Disregarding his injured wrist,
Hollis wrenched savagely and succeeded in rolling free of Yuma and
reaching his feet. He had moved quickly, but the lithe, cat-like
half-breed was before him, bounding toward the pistol on the floor. He
was bending over it, his fingers gripping its butt, when Hollis,
throwing himself forward bodily, crashed into him and hurled him heavily
to the floor.
This time Yuma lay face downward, his arms outstretched, and Hollis lay
sprawled out on top of him. But Yuma had succeeded in holding to the
pistol; it was grasped in his outstretched right hand, just out of
Hollis's reach.
For an instant again both men lay silent, breathing rapidly. Then,
yielding to the rage that still possessed him, Hollis bounded to his
feet, striking Yuma a crashing blow in the face as he did so. While Yuma
reeled he brought his booted foot down on the hand holding the pistol,
grinding it under his heel.
Yuma screamed with pain and rage and got to his feet, holding his
injured hand with the other. The pistol lay on the floor where Yuma had
dropped it when Hollis's boot had come in contact with his hand. For an
instant Yuma stood gripping his hand, his face hideous with passion.
Then with a snarl of rage and hate he drew a knife from the folds of his
shirt and sprang toward Hollis.
Hollis tensed himself for the clash, rapidly measuring the distance, and
when Yuma came close enough caught him squarely on the side of the jaw
with a vicious right swing. But in some manner when Hollis stepped aside
to avoid Yuma's knife, his feet had become entangled with the legs of
the table that Yuma had previously overturned. As he struck he slipped,
the blow at Yuma's jaw not having the force he intended it to have. He
caught himself, slipped again and went down, turning completely over the
table top and falling face downward to the floor. He saw Yuma throw
himself forward and he tried to wriggle out of danger, but he failed. He
felt the half-breed's weight on his body, saw the knife flash in the
dull light. He tried to roll over and grasp the knife in its descent,
but could not, his left arm, now useless, being pinned to the floor by
Yuma's knee.
A revolver roared spitefully--once--twice. Yuma's knife hissed past
Hollis's ear and struck the floor, its point sunk deep, its handle
swaying idly back and forth. Yuma himself--inert, limp, rolled from
Hollis's back and lay flat on his own, his eyes wide open and staring,
two huge bullet holes in his forehead. And in the open doorway of the
cabin stood Ten Spot.
For an instant Hollis could not realize his escape. He looked at Yuma
and then again at Ten Spot. Slowly and painfully he got to his feet,
looking around at the wreck of the room. Staggering a little, he walked
to where Ten Spot stood, gripping the latter's hand silently, at a loss
for words with which to thank him.
But apparently Ten Spot did not notice the omission, for he grinned
broadly.
"I reckon there's folks which would call that a right clever bit of
shootin'," he said, "seem' a? there wasn't time to pull off no fancy
stuff!"