AN INTERRUPTED INTERVIEW
“You come with me, Mrs. Gray!” commanded the woman who had lured Grace
to capture. “I reckon you and me got somethin’ to settle.”
“I do not know what you mean, but I am ready,” announced Grace, rising.
“Come, Emma!”
“You set where you be!” ordered Belle savagely.
Emma’s eyes flashed her resentment, and, for a few seconds, Grace
feared that her little companion was about to do something rash. Miss
Dean, who had started to rise, now settled back, face flushed, her
whole body a-tremble, but more from anger than from fear.
“When I want you I’ll call you,” was the woman’s parting admonition as
she turned away, nodding to Grace to follow her.
Belle led her captive off behind some rocks, within easy calling
distance of the group of bandits who were still munching at their
breakfast and at the same time keeping an eye on Emma Dean.
The instant that Grace could do so without being observed by the men,
she thrust her hand inside her tunic and quickly transferred her
automatic revolver to the right hand pocket. She was now walking along
with both hands in her pockets, feeling more confidence in herself now
that a means of defense lay within her right hand.
The mountain woman halted behind a wall of rock, and, leaning against
it, surveyed Grace with malignant eyes.
“You Harlowe woman, what do you reckon I ought to do to you?” she
demanded.
“I don’t reckon you’d better do anything to me, except to permit
myself and companion to return to our camp,” answered Grace, lounging
carelessly, scuffing the dirt with the toe of her boot, but not
permitting her gaze to leave the face of the mountain woman for a
second.
“What if I do?” Belle’s eyes blazed.
“I have friends who never will cease their efforts until you have
paid in full, bitterly so, for what you may have done to me or to my
companion, Miss Dean.”
“You threaten me?” demanded the woman, her hand slipping to the
revolver that swung in its holster from her hip.
“No. I am simply stating a fact, and you know it,” calmly replied Grace.
“Why did you shoot my husband?” snapped Belle.
“Why did I wha--at?” gasped Grace.
“You heard what I said.”
“Who is your husband?”
“Con Bates. I’m Belle Bates, an’ I’m goin’ to see to it thet you settle
for thet little job you did.”
“So, you are the wife of that highwayman, eh? I begin to understand.
What is it you wish me to do?”
“Settle up right smart.”
“How?” questioned Grace, now smilingly.
“I reckon you got money or you wouldn’t be out on a trip like you be.
You will write a letter to your friends, telling them to shell out all
the money they have, to leave it in a certain place that I’ll tell you
’bout, then to get back to Globe as fast as hoss flesh will carry ’em,
and then you all get out of the country, an’ stay out.”
“Do you believe they will be foolish enough to leave money for one
of your gang to go and help himself to? I don’t believe you know
my friends. Why, your messenger never could get away with anything
so simple as that. Let us consider this matter. Suppose I do write
the sort of letter you demand, and further, that, by this childish
subterfuge, you get such money as our outfit has with it, what will
be your next move? What do you then propose to do with Miss Dean and
myself?”
“I reckon mebby I’ll let you go.”
“Mebby, eh? That is too indefinite, but I presume it is as good as the
word of an outlaw like yourself can be,” replied Grace boldly. “Suppose
I refuse to do as you request? What then, Mrs. Bandit?”
“I’ll serve you as you served Con, only more so.”
“How do you know my name?” questioned Grace, more for the sake of
gaining time to further plan to outwit this woman, whom Grace fully
believed meant to do something desperate, than because she cared to
know. She saw, too, that Belle Bates was working herself into a high
pitch of excitement and anger that might result in greater peril for
her captives.
“Thet’s none of your business,” retorted Belle in reply to the Overton
girl’s question.
“Let me suggest another plan. If you will send Miss Dean with the
letter to my friends, I will write to them that they are to deposit,
if they wish, a certain amount of money in whatever place you may
designate.”
“See anything green in my eyes?” jeered the bandit’s wife.
“My plan is no more foolish than yours. I suggested it merely to prove
to you that yours will not stand the test. Why, Belle Bates, if such a
thing as ransom for me were suggested to them, my friends would throw
your messenger out of camp and probably into Pinal Creek. They would
then nose out your trail and they would follow you until yourself and
every member of your thieving band were in jail or worse. You can
expect nothing less, for you are as bad as the worst of your miserable
outfit,” added Grace.
Belle Bates’ face was not pleasant to look upon at that moment, and
her rage was rapidly getting the better of what little judgment she
possessed.
This was exactly what Grace Harlowe was seeking to accomplish, to get
her captor in such a rage that she would do something that would give
Grace an advantage, nor did the Overton girl overlook the possibility
that Belle Bates’ rage might lead to the woman’s using her revolver on
her tantalizer.
Fortunately for Grace, the situation did not develop that way. With a
cry of rage, Belle sprang at Grace Harlowe with clenched fists.
“I’ll fix that purty face of yours!” she cried, and launched a swift
blow at her captive.
The Overton girl, smiling aggravatingly, had stood calmly awaiting the
rush, and easily dodged the blow that the Bates woman struck at her.
At that point Grace Harlowe got into action. Her left hand shot out and
was as swiftly withdrawn, holding in it the heavy revolver which she
had snatched from Belle Bates’ holster. Grace instantly sprang back out
of reach of those wiry arms, whose strength she already had felt, and
pointed the weapon at her adversary.
“Put your hands over your head!” she commanded sternly. “Quick! Don’t
utter a sound or I’ll shoot. Now back up against the rock behind you.”
“I’ll kill you for this!” fumed the woman. Belle Bates had been trained
in the hard school of the mountains; she had faced weapons before, and
she had seen others face them, as well as some who went down before
them. One glance into the brown eyes that were looking along the barrel
of her own revolver told Belle that Grace Harlowe meant what she had
said and that she possessed the nerve to carry out her threat.
“Turn around facing the rock and rest your hands against it as high
above your head as you can reach!” commanded Grace.
The woman obeyed sullenly.
“You will now call to Miss Dean to come here. Be careful how you do it,
too, and remember what is behind you. I hope there is nothing behind
_me_,” added Grace to herself.
Belle hesitated. Grace uttered another warning, a more insistent one,
whereupon the mountain woman called to Emma Dean to come to her.
“Drop thet gun, an’ do it quick!” came the sharp command in a man’s
voice behind Grace Harlowe.
The Overton girl’s heart seemed to leap into her throat. She felt a
suffocating sensation there, her breath coming only with great effort,
and she could feel herself going cold all over.