AMBUSH.
Somebody had been watching Randy and Dolly from a safe place, as they
rode across the prairie, but he hadn't watched long enough. The spy
didn't see Cub and Shorty, and he didn't see Sank and Con, who were
riding down another draw, and coming into Silver Bend a quarter of a
mile east of where the trail went down the hill.
Randy led down the trail. His mind was in turmoil. The Railroad and its
troubles were of course, the main problem; but what was making those
troubles? Was it possible that Bell Holderness had started all this
death and destruction in order to get him out of the way? Not likely.
If Bell wanted him killed, it would be easy enough to have had some of
the Holderness gang pot him from the brush long ago. Zella might be one
of the pawns in the game, but certainly not the only one, perhaps not
the main one. What was it all about? The only answer he got was the
crack of a gun and a whistling bullet that narrowly missed him.
They were well down into the open timber of the bend by this time. The
shot had come from his left. Randy didn't look to see where the others
of his party were, though he knew that Dolly was a little way behind
him.
He whirled his horse into the woods as he drew his gun. He had gone
berserk. The blood of a hundred pioneer ancestors was burning in his
veins, and all thought of fear or caution was forgotten. His only
thought was to mix smoke with the man who had shot at him.
He glimpsed two riders in the woods and opened on them. They returned
his fire for a moment. Bullets whistled and leaves and twigs fell
around Randy, but he pushed on. Into the mêlée came Dolly, and close
behind him Cub and Shorty. Still the attackers stood their ground.
There must be quite a party of them. It was growing dusky in the woods.
Apparently, no hits were scored on either side. Con and Sank heard the
shots and came hurrying on. It sounded like a major battle going on as
they came up.
"Come on, fellers!" called Randy. "Let's take 'em," and he spurred
straight for the group of trees behind which the enemy had taken
shelter. Dolly went with him. Con and Sank sought the flank on one
side, while Cub and Shorty took the other.
This was something more than members of the Holderness gang cared to
face. They had thought they were going to surprise Randy and the little
puncher. Instead, they had jumped six men, none of whom was frightened
about being surprised.
The Holderness outfit still had an even break, for there were six of
them, but they were not seeking an even break. They gave back for a
better position, and made a mistake. Bullets flew among them in spite
of the gathering dusk, as they crossed an open glade, going toward
the river on the west side of the bend. One pitched from his horse.
Panic-stricken, the others fled.
"Crowd 'em, fellers!" yelled Randy. "Get 'em as they cross the river at
the old ford."
On through the timber they tore, running into thickets of mustang grape
and bamboo, halting to get the sound of hoofs, then on again. Finally,
they came out on the river bank, just as five horsemen rode out on the
bar on the other side.
Two carbines cracked. One was Dolly's and the other was in the hands of
Shorty, whose big mouth spread in a wide grin. He had jerked the gun
from Sank's saddle. They saw one man fall, and another grip his saddle
horn and lean over, as he plunged into the brush on the other side.
Dolly had got a man, so that made three down and one crippled, out of
six--and not one of the Railroad men had a scratch, except from briers.
"What the hell did you grab my carbine for?" growled Sank, as silence
followed the fusillade of shots.
"Why, Cub and me didn't have any guns."
"No guns! What did you come along for?"
"Just company, I reckon," grinned Shorty. "Anyway, I got one and
crippled another so the dogs can ketch him."
* * * * *
Shorty was the most uncompromising fighter in the Railroad outfit. He
always grinned, whichever way the fight was going. He had grinned when
Bell Holderness and Lav Tarleton took his gun--grinned because he knew
they were making a mistake by not killing him. He meant to kill Bell
Holderness and grin at him as he died.
"Well, we'd better stay on this side," said Randy. "The woods are
likely to be full of 'em on the other side of the river."
"Apt to be plenty more on this side," said Sankey. "We better--"
"There goes one! Gimme back that gun!" yelled Shorty, as a horseman
sprang out of a thicket and headed back up the river trail toward the
narrows.
"Don't shoot!" called Randy. "Let's take him alive and make him talk.
Come on, Dolly."
Up the trail they thundered in pursuit. It was half a mile to the spot
where Randy's horse had been shot from under him earlier in the day. It
was a dangerous spot, but they paid no attention to that.
The fleeing horseman didn't have a chance. He was poorly mounted and a
poor rider. He didn't try to shoot, but seemed to have his whole soul
centered on going away from where he was to somewhere else. As they
caught up to him, Randy went on one side and Dolly on the other. Randy
reached out, caught the back of his collar, and fairly lifted him from
his saddle.
"Oh, Lawd, he done got me now!" moaned the prisoner, as Randy dropped
him on the ground and dismounted.
"Pompey, what the devil are you doing in here, this time of day?"
demanded Randy. "Don't you know this bend is full of killers?"
"Y-y-y-yassir, yassir, I know it now, Mistuh Randy, but--oh, Lawd,
help me! Please, Mistuh Randy, don't you 'member that night I help you
on yo' horse out at the mouth of the avenoo, when you--when yo' horse
wouldn't stand still? Oh, Lawdy, save me now!"
"Shut up, fool!" snapped Randy, shaking the frightened negro boy as if
he were a bundle of rags, which in fact he was. "Catch his pony, Dolly,
and let's get away from this place."
They put Pompey on his pony, and all rode back into the bend. Out in
the round-up prairie, where no one could slip up on them, they stopped.
It was growing dark, but Pompey's eyes and teeth showed white in his
shiny black face. That face was mostly eyes and teeth anyway.
He was a skinny little fellow, and perhaps the most skillful and
adroit liar on the Tarleton plantation, but he never lied when he was
scared, and he was frightened within one inch of his life now. He had
been caught fairly in the middle of the battle, as it swept on toward
the river, and had run into a thicket like a rabbit. Then, as things
quieted down, he had tried to run out of trouble, and here he was.
"Which way did you come in here?" asked Randy.
"I--I come down the river trail, Mistuh Randy."
"Didn't you know it was dangerous on that trail?"
"Nossir, I didn't, but I does now. Oh, Lawdy! Miss Zella, she didn't
say nothin' about dat to me. O-o-o, Lawd, save a poor nigger--"
"Shut up! What did Miss Zella have to do with it?"
"Why--she have everything they is to do with it," returned Pompey,
quieting down a bit, but still shaking with fright. "She sont me--sont
me--to--to bring this here to you," and suddenly remembering his
errand, he pulled a note from somewhere among his rags and handed it to
Randy.
"Hum! It's too dark to see to read it, and we can't make a light here.
Too good a target. Keep him here until I get back, boys. If he tries
to get away, shoot his liver out," and smiling at Pompey's fright,
Randy mounted, and rode on toward the ranch house alone.
* * * * *
As he galloped that half mile, with the note in his hand, Randy thought
of many things. Life seemed dark and forbidding before him, but one ray
of light shone out of the darkness. Zella was still true to him. She
still cared enough for him to send him a note, dangerous as it was to
send it, and despite the trouble it might make for her if her father
and brothers learned by any chance that she was communicating with him.
He wondered now why he hadn't been man enough to cut out his wild
behavior and claim Zella as his own, long ago. That couldn't be
helped now, but she should never have cause to think he was wild and
irresponsible again. When this mess was over--
He dismounted and hurried to his room, the big room that had been
occupied together by the three brothers, from their childhood. The
grim, silent, thoughtful Asa, of whom he had always been a little
afraid, was not in his familiar seat in the chimney corner. The gentle,
kindly Peyton was not by the table with his book.
There was no light in the room. Randy struck a match and lit the lamp
on the table. Pate's book still lay there. He glanced at the mantel
and saw Asa's pipe and tobacco box. Loneliness gripped him like an icy
hand. He tore open the note, and with changing countenance, read:
DEAR RANDY:
I call you that from long habit. I can't remember when I didn't
call you that, but now, all is done. I am writing this saddest note
of my life, for the sake of that past. I tried hard to believe you
were not guilty of the thing my brothers charged you with. There
was doubt about you having anything to do with Ben's death, and I
clung to that doubt, oh, how I clung to it!
But when my father came home, shot in the back and dangerously
hurt, from ambush; when he told me he saw you and knew that you
and some of your men followed him and shot him, there could be no
longer any doubt. My love for you has caused me much sorrow. I have
often told you that some day you would commit a crime in one of
your wild escapades, but I never thought it would be such a direct
stab at my heart as this has been.
I'm writing this because I feel that your death and the death of
your father could not bring back my dead brother and heal the wound
of my father. My brothers and the Holderness brothers have sworn to
kill you and your father.
I don't want to see you killed. There are many other places in the
world where you could live out your life. Go while you can and hide
yourself from the certain death that awaits you here. There have
been many sad moments in the years that I have loved you, but the
saddest is now, when I say--good-by.
ZELLA.
Randy sprang to his feet, and crushed the note in his hand. That ray of
light that he thought he saw was further gloom. He paced the old oak
floor in rage.
"The death of me and my father won't bring back her brother, and heal
her father's wound," he grated. "No, and what about my two brothers
and three loyal, trusted men who were willing to fight my battles?
What will bring them back? Go while the going is good, will I? If she
thinks I could shoot an innocent man in the back, she never knew me. If
she thinks I'm yellow enough to run away from this fight, she knows me
still less!"
He sat down to the table and wrote:
MISS TARLETON:
I have your note, and thank you for any good intentions it may have
contained, but they are wasted. I have never shot a man in the
back, and never shall, unless he commits an assault on me, and then
runs, as has happened more than once since this trouble. I can't
understand the purpose of your note. If it was to get information
as to my purpose, you shall have it. Silver Bend and the Railroad
Ranch is my home, and I mean to stay here.
Until now, I have shrunk from the thought of a clash with your
brothers. Now, since you tell me that they have allied themselves
with my enemies, I shall welcome the day when we meet. You say my
death will not bring back your brother. You didn't mention anything
that would bring back my two brothers. They were both murdered, if
not by your brothers, at least by their allies, and, I take it,
with their sanction. I mean that some one shall atone for the death
of my brothers. If anything in this note will bring comfort to my
enemies, they are welcome so to construe it.
RANDOLPH ROSS.
Randy folded the note, put it in an envelope, and placed it in his
pocket. He struck a match, set fire to Zella's note, and dropped it in
the back of the old fireplace. He watched it burn. Thus ended his hope
of happiness with the only woman he'd ever love.
* * * * *
He stole out, mounted his horse, and rode back to where he had left his
men with Pompey. He didn't want his father to know about these notes;
this was his personal affair. When he got back to the men, he said:
"Boys, I don't want it known that I got that note. Go on to the house
and eat. Take the mail in, Shorty, but don't say anything about what
happened up at town to-day, unless dad questions you. There may be a
lot more to tell when I get back, and--"
"When you get back! Where are you going?" asked Dolly.
"Just now, I'm going to take Pompey up to the top of the hill and send
him home by the prairie road. He'd get killed before he got halfway
through the narrows. You boys go on and eat. Anything I'd eat would
poison me the way I feel now."
"I'm not hungry, either," declared Dolly. "I'll go with you. One lone
man ain't got much business prowling the bend right now."
Randy said nothing, but he felt much. This little blue-eyed puncher was
beginning to mean a great deal to him. Pompey got on his pony and was
given the note. Escorted by Randy and Dolly, he took the trail that led
out to the prairie. Out on the prairie they stopped.
"Here, Pompey," said Randy, and gave the boy a silver dollar.
"Thanky, suh, Mist' Randy. You're the onliest one that ever did give me
a whole, borned dollar at one time, 'ceptin' Mist' Ben, and he won't
never give me no more."
"No, and that's likely to be the last one I'll ever give you. Now,
listen to me. Keep your eyes open. If you see anybody on the prairie,
don't let 'em come to you. When you hit the bottom, ride that pony."
"Yas, suh, boss! When I hits dat dark ole bottom, I'm gwine make this
old pestletail bronc think the ha'nts is ridin' him!"
"Well, go on."
"But, er, Mist' Randy--"
"What is it?"
"If you ever needs me, you knows whar I is. You 'bout the onliest white
man I got left since Mist' Ben is gone."
"All right. If I ever need you I'll call for you. If you deliver that
note to anybody but Miss Zella, I'm likely to call for you pretty soon
and bring a rope."
"Oh, Lawdy, Mist' Randy! Don't talk that way, and me got to go thoo
that ole dark bottom. I ain't heavy enough to break my own neck, if you
did hang me. Come on here, pony, we's got to travel."
Pompey rode away into the night. Randy and the little puncher sat
silently listening until the hoof beats died out.
Randy made no move to turn back toward the ranch. Dolly sat his horse
in silence. Great stories are told of ancient knights and their loyal
squires. Never was there a greater knight than Randy Ross was at that
moment, nor was there ever a more loyal squire than Dolly.
He had been watching Randy all the year he had been at the Railroad.
He had envied that stalwart height, the broad shoulders, and perfect
form. He had envied Randy's education. Perhaps he had envied most of
all the ease with which Randy could jerk his gun on a running horse and
kill a leaping jack rabbit.
He had envied him all this, watching the devil-may-care Randy in the
days before he got "busted," as Dolly called it. Since that night, when
Randy had reacted so wonderfully to the acid test, and had come out of
it so much a man, Dolly's envy had turned to a sort of worship. He was
ready to follow Randy anywhere, no matter how wild the adventure, or
how slim the chances of coming out of it alive.
* * * * *
"Dolly," said Randy at last, "I don't suppose my private affairs would
interest you. Maybe you didn't even know that I had expected to marry
Zella Tarleton."
"Sankey told me something about it that evening we found you at the
Cottonwood saloon. We saw her, and--It was sorty for her that I talked
to you like I did."
"Then I have to thank her for a service, if she caused you to make a
man of the sorry thing I was then."
"I didn't make a man of you," disclaimed Dolly. "I knew you was a
thoroughbred all the time. I--I just sorty rode you and quieted you
some, and then you done the rest yourself."
"All right, I'll thank you for the riding, but let that all go. I won't
forget it. What I'm going to tell you is that everything between Zella
and me is over. She told me in that note that she believed I shot her
father in the back. When a woman can believe a thing like that of a
man, it's time for things to be over. I'm just telling you that, so
you'll understand something else I'm going to tell you."
"But maybe she ain't had a square deal, Randy. Maybe somebody has
stacked the deck on her. She don't look to me like a girl that would
deal from the bottom of the deck on a fellow."
"Oh, yes, she does understand. She advised me to run. To get out of
this mess while the going was good. To play the part of the yellow pup
that I used to be."
"No!"
"Yes. But, Dolly, I won't do it. If she had thrown me cold a week ago I
might have gone to the devil. I may go anyhow, but not the way I would
have gone then. She was all there was in the world to keep me half
straight then. There's something else to keep me straight now."
Randy stopped, raised a gauntleted hand to the starry heaven, and went
on: "If God lets me live, I'll avenge my two brothers and the loyal men
who fell fighting for the Railroad, regardless of whom it may hurt. I
held back from tangling with the Tarleton boys. I kept my temper when
the old judge talked to dad like he was a dog; all on account of Zella.
She has freed me from any obligations. From here on the Tarletons and
Holdernesses look alike to me. Let's go."
They turned back down the steep trail that led into Silver Bend and the
Railroad ranch. Dolly said nothing, but he was puzzled. Well, he knew
Randy hadn't shot the old judge, and was pretty sure he didn't kill
Ben. Randy was getting a dirty deal, and he was for him, no matter what
he might do from here on.