FORTUNE SNICKERS AT DOC
Antonio was restless and could not sleep. He turned from side to side
on the ground near the fire before the hut and was one of the first to
run to the top of the trail when the guard there discharged his rifle
at nothing. Returning to his blanket the Mexican tried to compose
himself to rest, but was unsuccessful. Finally he arose, picked up his
rifle, and slouched off into the shadows to wander about from point to
point.
Cavalry, coming in from his post to get a drink, caught sight of the
Mexican before he was swallowed up by the darkness and, suspicious as
ever of Antonio, forgot the drink and followed.
After wandering about all unconscious of espionage Antonio finally
drifted to the western edge and seated himself comfortably against a
bowlder, Cavalry not fifty feet away in a shadow. Time passed slowly
and as the Mexican was about to return to the fire he chanced to
glance across the mesa along a moon-lighted path and stiffened at what
he saw. A figure ran across the lighted space, silently, cautiously,
Colt in hand, and then another, then two together, and the Mexican
knew that the enemy had found a way up the wall and were hurrying
forward to fight at close quarters, to effect a surprise on the
unsuspecting men about the fire and in the hut. There remained,
perhaps, time enough for him to escape and he arose and ran north,
crouching as he zig-zagged from cover to cover, cautious and alert.
Cavalry, because of his position, had not seen the flitting punchers
and, his suspicions now fully aroused, he slipped after the Mexican to
find out just what he was going to do. When the firing burst out
behind him he paused and stood up, amazed. As he struggled to
understand what it meant he saw three men run past a bowlder at his
left and then he knew, and still hesitated. He was not a man who
thought quickly and his first natural impulse, due to his army
training, was to try to join his friends, but gradually the true
situation came to him. How many men there were in the attacking force
he did not know, but he had seen three after the fighting had begun;
and it was evident that the cowmen would not rush into the lion's jaws
unless they were strong enough to batter down all resistance. Four of
his friends were dead, another had evidently deserted, and the
remainder were all more or less severely wounded--there could be no
hope of driving the ranchmen back, and small chance of him being able
to work through their line to join his friends. There remained only
one thing to be done, to save himself while he might.
As he moved forward slowly and cautiously to find a way down the wall
he remembered the Mexican's peculiar actions and wondered if he had a
hand in helping the cowmen up.
Meanwhile Antonio, reaching the edge of the open space where Pete and
Big Sandy had fought, saw Red Connors appear over the rim and dash
away to join in the fighting. Waiting long enough to assure himself
that there were none following Red he ran to the edge and knelt by the
rope. Leaving his rifle behind and seeing that the flap of his holster
was fastened securely, he lowered himself over, sliding rapidly down
to the first ledge. Here he spent a minute, a minute that seemed an
eternity, hunting for the second rope in the shadows, found it and
went on.
Sliding and bumping down the rough wall he at last reached the plain
and, with a sigh of relief, turned to run. At that instant a figure
leaped upon him from behind and a hand gripped his throat and jerked
him over backwards. Antonio instinctively reached for his Colt with
one hand while he tore at the gripping fingers with the other, but he
found himself pinned down between two rocks in such a manner that his
whole weight and that of his enemy was on the holster and made his
effort useless. Then, terrified and choking for breath, he dug wildly
at the vice-like fingers which not for a moment relaxed, but in vain,
for he was growing weaker with each passing second.
Doc leaned forward, peering into the face before him, his fingers
gripping with all their power, gripping with a force which made the
muscles of the brawny forearm stand out like cords, his face
malevolent and his heart full of savage joy. Here was the end of his
hunt, here was the man who had murdered Curley in cold blood,
cowardly, deliberately. The face, already dark, was turning black and
the eyes were growing wide open and bulging out. He felt the surge of
the Mexican's pulse, steadily growing weaker. But he said no word as
he watched and gloated, he was too intent to speak, too centred upon
the man under him, too busy keeping his fingers tight-gripped. He
would make good his threat, he would keep his word and kill the
murderer of his best friend with his naked hand, as he had sworn.
Up above the two, Cavalry, working along the edge, had come across
Antonio's rifle and then as he glanced about, saw the rope. Here was
where the cowmen had come up and here was where he could go down. From
the way the shooting continued he knew that the fight was desperate
and he believed himself to be cut off from his friends. He hated to
desert in the face of the enemy, to leave his companions of a
dangerous business to fight for their lives without him, but there was
only one thing to do since he could not help them--he must save
himself.
Dropping his rifle beside the other he lowered himself over the edge
and slid rapidly down. When half-way down the last rope his burning
hands slipped and he fell head over heels, and landed on Doc, knocking
him over and partially stunning him. Cavalry's only idea now was to
escape from the men who, as he thought, were guarding the rope and,
hastily picking himself up, he dashed towards the chaparral to the
west as fast as he could run, every moment expecting to feel the hot
sting of a bullet. At last, when the chaparral closed about him he
plunged through it recklessly and ran until sheer exhaustion made him
drop insensible to the sand. He had run far, much farther than he
could have gone were it not for the stimulus of the fear which gripped
him; and had he noticed where he was going he would have known that he
was running up a slope, a slope which eventually reached a level
higher than the top of the mesa. And when he dropped if he had been
capable of observation he would have found himself in a chaparral
which arose above his head, and seen the narrow lane through it which
led to a great expanse of sand, tawney and blotched with ash-colored
alkali, an expanse which stretched away to the desolate horizon.
Shortly after Cavalry's descent Antonio stirred, opened his eyes,
stared vaguely about him and, feeling his bruised and aching throat,
staggered to his feet and stumbled to the east, hardly conscious of
what he was doing. As he proceeded his breath came easier and he began
to remember having seen Doc lying quiet against a rock. He hesitated a
moment as he wondered if Doc was dead and if so, who had killed him.
Then he swore because he had not given him a shot to make sure that he
would not rejoin his friends. Hesitating a moment he suddenly decided
that he would be better off if he put a good distance between himself
and the mesa, and ran on again, eager to gain the shelter of the
chaparral.
When Doc opened his eyes and groped around he slowly remembered what
had occurred and his first conscious act was to look to see if his
expected victim were dead or alive. It did not take him long to
realize that he was alone and his hand leaped for his Colt as he
peered around. Limping out on the plain he caught sight of the running
Mexican, rapidly growing indistinct, and hazarded two shots after him.
Antonio leaped into a new speed as though struck with a whip and
cursed himself for not having killed the H2 puncher when he had the
chance. A moment more and he was lost in the thickets. Doc tried to
follow, but his leg, hurt by Cavalry's meteoric descent, was not equal
to any great demand for speed and so, turning, he made his way towards
the camp to get a horse and return to take up the Mexican's trail.
He lost an hour in this, a feverishly impatient hour, punctuated with
curses as he limped along and with an unsparing quirt once he was
astride. What devilish Humpty Dumpty had cheated him this time? "All
the king's horses and all the king's men couldn't put Humpty Dumpty
together again"--they couldn't if he once caught up with the Mexican.
He laughed grimly and swore again as the cranky beast beneath him
shied a pain into his sore leg. "Go on, you!" he yelled, as he swept
up to where the ropes still dangled against the wall. "Th' Mexican
first," he muttered. The world was not big enough to hide the murderer
of Curley, to save him from his just deserts. The two trails lay plain
before him in the brilliant moonlight and his pony sprang forward
toward the spot where Antonio had disappeared in the chaparral.