Chapter 23. Trapped

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_ CHAPTER XXIII. TRAPPED

After leaving Holcomb, Yeager walked down to the river-bed, followed the bank for a couple of hundred yards, and crept forward on all fours through the alfalfa pasture to the barb-wire fence that paralleled the road at some distance. He crawled beneath the lowest wire and moved through the mesquite to a point from which he could see the building where Farrar and Threewit were held prisoners. Two guards with rifles across their shoulders paced up and down outside.

Here Steve lay motionless for about half an hour. He believed that before the poker game began some one of the party would drop around to see that all was quiet and regular in the camp. His guess was a good one. Pasquale himself, arm in arm with Ochampa, made the rounds and stopped for a moment to speak to the sentries in front of the prison. The man crouched in the bear grass could tell that Gabriel was in high good-humor. He jested with the men and clapped them on the shoulder jovially. He laughed as heartily at his own witticisms as they did.

"There shall be mescal to-morrow for the whole army to drink the health of the Liberator and his bride. See to it, Ochampa," he ordered as they walked away.

"Viva Pasquale the Liberator," cried the sentries in a fine fervor of enthusiasm.

Presently the man in hiding stole quietly to the road and advanced down it at a leisurely pace.

"Promising them mescal, eh?" he murmured. "Well, I'll bet a bird in the hand is worth twenty or most sixteen in the bush." He patted affectionately a bottle that lay snug in his pocket.

"Who goes?" demanded one of the prison guards as he approached.

"Pedro Cabenza."

Steve chatted with them for a few moments before he produced his bird in the hand. They told him of what Pasquale had promised. Slyly he looked around to see that they were alone and drew from his pocket the bottle.

"Ho, companero! Behold what I have. Gringo whiskey--better far than mescal," he cried softly as he handed the treasure to one of the guards.

The man glanced around hurriedly, even as had Cabenza, then tilted the mouth of the bottle over his lips and let a long stiff drink gurgle down his throat. He patted his fat paunch contentedly and handed the bottle to his companion. The second guard also drank deeply.

Cabenza put an arm across the shoulders of each and drew their heads close while he whispered confidential scandal about Pasquale and Ramon Culvera. The two men listened greedily, eager for more. It happened that there was no truth in the salacious tidbits which Pedro retailed, but he invented glibly and that did just as well.

The heads of his listeners began to nod. They murmured drowsy interjections and leaned more heavily upon his arms. Ineffectually they tried to shake off the lassitude that was creeping over their senses.

"Keep watch, brother, while I take just forty winks," begged one, and fairly thrust his rifle into the hand of Yeager.

The soldier staggered to the adobe wall and slumped down beside the door. His eyes closed, fluttered open again, shut a second time. They did not open. He was fast asleep.

The second guard sat down beside him and smiled up sleepily at the standing man. "Manuel sleeps on duty. He is--a fool. I do--not--sleep. No, I--I--"

His head drooped on his chest. Steve took the rifle that fell from his relaxed hand.

Instantly the American was tapping gently on the door. "Threewit--Farrar!" he called softly. "This is Steve."

There was the sound of quick footsteps. A voice within answered in a whisper.

"Yes, Steve. This is Frank."

From his pocket the range-rider took a bunch of skeleton keys. It was no trouble to find one that would unlock the door, but in addition to this fastening there was a padlock. With a hatchet which he had brought Yeager pried the staple out. In another moment the door was open.

"Help me drag these fellows inside," ordered the cowpuncher, taking command promptly. "Frank, tear one of those blankets into strips. We've got to tie their hands and feet and gag them. Shuck your coat, Threewit. You've got to wear this fellow's blouse and sombrero. You, too, Frank. It's Manuel's castaways for you. Move lively, boys. This is surely going to be our busy evening."

"What's the programme?" asked Farrar, doing what he was told to do.

Steve explained briefly. "Old Pasquale has got Ruth Seymour here at his house. He intends to marry her to-morrow. I don't mean he shall. A good friend of mine is entertaining the old scoundrel to-night and some of the other high moguls in camp. My notion is to slip into old Gabriel's headquarters and rescue Ruth."

"Has Ruth been here ever since she came down with Harrison that time he lied to her about you being wounded?" asked Threewit. "We were told you butted in and took her home."

"I did. Harrison went to Los Robles later and brought her by force. He was looking for me and bumped into her by chance. His idea was to marry her as soon as they reached camp. But Pasquale balked. He took a fancy to Ruth himself."

While Yeager talked his fingers were busy every moment. From long usage he was expert at roping and tying. Many a time he had thrown the diamond hitch while packing on mountain trails. His skill served him well now. He trussed the guards as if they had been packs for the saddle, binding them hand and feet so that they could not move.

"We heard that an American had been killed in camp to-day. We've been worried for fear it might have been you, Steve," said the camera man.

"It was Harrison. He tried to sell Pasquale out to Farrugia and the old fox got his letter. Pasquale accused him of his treachery and had him assassinated on the spot. Better pull that sombrero lower over your face, Threewit. And keep your hands out of the light as much as you can. They're too white for this section of the country."

"What if some one talks to me? I can't put over their lingo."

"Just grunt. I'll do what talking is necessary. All right. We'll make tracks, boys."

They stepped outside. Yeager relocked the door and drove the staple back into the wood with the end of his rifle by steady pressure and not by blows.

Steve led them through the bear grass into the pasture and across it to the river-bank. Here, under the heavy shadows of the overhanging cottonwoods, he outlined his plans.

Threewit spoke aloud his fears. "But, good Lord! what chance have we got? It's a cinch we can't put four more guards out of business without being seen. And if we are caught--" His voice failed him.

The cowpuncher looked at him, and then at Farrar. The camera man was pale, but his eyes met those of his friend steadily. Steve judged he would do to tie to, that his nerve would pull him through. But the director was plainly shaken with fears. He was not a coward, but the privations and anxieties of the past ten days had got on his nerves. His lips twitched and his fat hand trembled. His life had fallen in too soft and easy places for this sort of thing.

The cowboy reassured him gently, even as he rearranged his plans on the spot. "We're going to pull it off, but as you say there is a chance we won't make it. I'm going to leave you in the corral with the horses. If Frank and I should slip up and get caught you'll still have a chance to get away."

"I'm going through with it just the same as you boys," insisted the director shakily.

"You're going to do as I say, Threewit. I'm elected boss of this rodeo. One of us has got to stay by the horses to make sure they're ready when we need 'em. That's going to be you. You're to sit right steady on the job till we come. If you hear shooting,--and if we don't show up in a reasonable time after that,--light out and save your hide. Keep that star--see, the bright one close down to the horizon--keep it right in front of you all night. By daybreak you ought to be across the line."

"I'm not going to ride away and leave you boys and Ruth here. What do you take me for?" demanded Threewit huskily.

Steve put a hand on the shoulder of the little man. "You're all right, Billie," he said, with the affectionate smile that men as well as women loved. "We all know you'll do to take along any time when we need a man that's on the level. You wait there at the corral. If we show up, good. If we don't--well, we'll be beyond help. There'll be nothing left for you to do but burn the wind."

Frank swallowed hard. "What Steve says goes with me, Billie."

"Good." Yeager turned briskly to the business in hand. "We might as well be on our way, boys. There's no hurry, because I want Pasquale and Culvera to get settled at their game. But I reckon we'll drift along easy like."

They waded the river, which at its deepest did not reach to their calves, and scrambled up the opposite bank to a bench of shale. Yeager, after a short search, found hidden under the foliage of a prickly pear the rope he had left there some hours earlier. They were in a large fenced pasture where were kept the horses of the officers. At one end could be seen dimly the outline of a little corral.

"You boys head across that way and wait for me. The remuda is at the other end of the pasture under the care of a boy," explained the cowpuncher.

"Hadn't I better go along with you in case of trouble?" asked Farrar.

"There isn't going to be any trouble. I'm getting the horses for Pasquale. See?"

After the others had left him, Steve lit a cigarette and sauntered to the far end of the field. Presently he gave a call that brought an answer. The horses were grazing in a loose herd that covered perhaps a third of an acre. From behind them emerged a youth on horseback.

"I want four horses in a hurry," announced the range-rider.

"What for?"

"Never mind what for, compadre. I didn't ask old Gabriel what for when he sent me," grumbled the messenger.

"Why didn't you say for Pasquale?" The young man was preparing his rope swiftly and efficiently. "Did the general say what horses?"

"He named the roan with the white stockings and the white-nosed buckskin."

"Then he's going to travel fast and far. Why, in the devil's name, since he is going to be married in the morning?"

"Why does the general always do what isn't expected? The saints know. I don't," growled Steve.

Both of them were expert ropers. In five minutes the American was swallowed in the darkness. He was astride the bare back of the buckskin and was leading the other ponies. As soon as he knew he was safely out of sight and hearing, he deflected toward the corral.

His friends were waiting for him anxiously. Steve dropped lightly to the ground.

"Hold the horses a minute, Frank," he said.

Striding to a feed-stall filled with alfalfa, he tossed the hay aside and dragged to the light a saddle. Presently he uncovered a second, a third, and a fourth.

"Brought them here last night--stole them from the storehouse," he explained casually.

"You didn't overlook any bets--thought of everything, even to saddle-blankets and water-bags already full," contributed Farrar, digging up these supplies from the alfalfa.

Steve cinched the saddles himself, though Farrar was a fair horseman. If it came to a pinch the turning of a saddle might spoil everything, and so far as he could the range-rider was forestalling any accidents that might be due to carelessness.

"How long am I to wait for you?" asked Threewit.

"We'd ought to be back inside of an hour and a half--if luck's with us. But we may be delayed by some one hanging around. Give us two hours or even two and a half--unless hell begins to pop." Steve looked at his watch in the moonlight. "Say till twelve o'clock. Of course, when you go, you'll leave the other horses here on the chance that we come later. You'd better ride that round-bellied bay."

"Am I to follow the star right up the hill?"

"No. Better take the draw. The sentinels will be on the hill. Likely they'll see you and shoot at you. But don't stop, even if they're close. Keep a-going. They can't hit a barn door."

"Neither can I," lamented the director.

"Then you'll all be safe." Yeager turned to Farrar. "Come on, Frank."

The two crossed the pasture to the river and waded through the shallow stream to the other side. They remained in the shadows of the bank, following the bend of the river as it circled the village. Through the cottonwoods they crept toward the rear of the two-story house where Pasquale lived and Ruth was held prisoner.

From a sandy spot at the foot of a cotton wood tree Yeager dug a rope ladder.

"Been making it while I was night-herding the remuda," he told Farrar in answer to a surprised question.

"Beats me you didn't make an auto for us to get away in," answered his admiring friend with a grin.

"Wait here," whispered Steve. "I'm going forward to look the ground over. Keep your eyes open in case I give a signal."

The range-rider snaked his way toward the house, moving so slowly and noiselessly that Farrar lost sight of him entirely and began to wonder where he had gone. It must have been nearly twenty minutes later that he caught a glimpse of him without his rifle. Yeager was engaged in confidential talk with a guard in uniform. Frank saw the bottle pass from his friend to the Mexican, who took a pull at it. A second guard joined the two presently. He also took a drink.

The three disappeared together into the shadowy darkness of the house wall. Farrar was wondering what had happened when a single figure emerged into the moonlight and made a signal for him to come forward.

Yeager did not wait for him, but climbed up the post of the back porch as he had done once before. The camera man was on hand by the time Steve reached the roof. He looked up silently while his friend reached across and rapped on the window of a lighted room. The sash was raised very gently.

Ruth leaned out. "Is it you, Steve?" Her voice was tremulous and tearful. It was a safe guess she had been sobbing her misery into a pillow.

"Yes."

He caught hold of the edge of the window and swung across, working himself up and in by sheer power of muscle. Rapidly he fastened the end of the rope ladder to the head of the bed, which he first half lifted and half dragged to the window. The rest of the ladder he threw out.

"Ready, Ruth?" he asked, turning to her.

She nodded. He was offering his arm to help her through the window when a frightened call came from below.

"Steve!"

He looked down. A Mexican trooper, one of those set to guard the front of the house, was approaching. A glance was enough to show that he knew something to be wrong. His startled eyes passed from Farrar to the rope ladder. They followed it from the ground to the window. He stopped, almost under the window. The camera man, taken aback, did not know what to do. Was he to run the risk of a shot? Even while he hesitated the man in uniform reached for a revolver.

Yeager knew what to do, and he did it promptly. Sweeping Ruth back from the window, he clambered through himself and poised his body for the leap. The sentry looked up again, saw what was about to happen, and let out a startled scream at the same instant that he flung up an arm and fired. Steve felt a sharp sting in his leg as he descended through the air. He landed astride on the shoulders of the Mexican. The man went to earth, hammered down so hard that the breath was driven from his body.

The arm of the range-rider rose and fell once. In his hand was the blue barrel of a revolver. The corrugated butt of the .45 had crashed into the thick matted hair of the Mexican. But it had done its work. Yeager rose quickly. The soldier lay still.

Already Ruth was coming down the swaying ladder. She dropped the last few rounds with a rush, plump into the arms of Steve.

"Let us hurry--hurry," she cried.

It was time to be gone, if not too late. Already men were converging upon them from different sides. Others were bawling orders for soldiers to turn out.

Steve went down almost as quickly as he had risen. His leg had given way unexpectedly.

Before he reached his feet again his revolver was out and doing business.

"Fire at their legs, Frank. All we want to do is to stop them. Ruth, you run ahead, straight for the trees. We'll be with you in a minute," Yeager gave orders quietly.

The girl flashed one look at him, found assurance in his strong, lean face, and obeyed without a word.

Farrar's rifle was already scattering bullets rather wildly into the night. Lead spattered against the adobe wall behind them. But the attackers were checked. Their fire was of a desultory character. There was such a thing as being too impetuous. Who were these men they were assailing? Perhaps they were acting under orders of Pasquale. Better not be too rash. So the mind of the peon soldiers decided.

As soon as Ruth had reached the shelter of the grove her friends moved to join her. They were halfway across the open when the cowpuncher plunged to the ground again.

The camera man turned and ran back to him. "What is it, Steve? Have they hit you?" he asked anxiously.

"Plugged a pill into my laig as I took the elevator down from the second story. Gimme a hand up."

Frank put an arm around his waist as a support and they reached cover just as the leg failed for a third time. Yeager crawled forward a few yards on his knees into the underbrush.

Soft arms slid around his neck and shoulder as someone plumped down beside him.

"You're wounded. You've been shot," Ruth breathed tremulously.

"Yes," assented Yeager. "Hand me your rifle, Frank."

They exchanged weapons. Steve had already made up his mind exactly what was best to do.

"I'm going to stay here awhile and hold them back. You go on with Ruth, Frank. Leave a horse for me. I'll be along later," he explained.

"We're not going away to leave you here," protested Ruth indignantly.

His voice was so matter of fact and his manner so competent that she had already drawn back, half ashamed, from the caressing support to which her feelings had driven her.

He turned on her eyes cool and steely. "You're going to do as I say, girl. You're wasting time for all of us every moment you stay. Take her, Frank."

Farrar spoke in a low voice of troubled doubt. "But what are you going to do, Steve? We can't leave you here."

The bullets of the Mexicans were searching the grove for them. Any moment one might find a mark.

The range-rider made a gesture of angry impatience. "You obey orders fine, don't you?" His face flashed sudden anger. "Get out. I know my plans, don't I? Pull your freight. Vamos!"

"And you'll be along later, will you?"

"Of course I will. I've got it all arranged. Hurry, or it will be too late."

Ruth half guessed his purpose. She began to sob, but let herself be hurried away by Farrar.

"He's going to stay there. He's not coming at all," she wailed as she ran.

"Sho! Of course he's coming. You know Steve, don't you? He's always got something good up his sleeve."

But though her friend reassured her, he could not still his own fears. Something in him cried out against the desertion of a wounded ally, one who had risked his life to save them all. Still, there was the girl to be considered. If Yeager wanted to give his life for hers he had the right. Many a good man of the Southwest would have done what Steve was doing, given the same circumstances. It was up to him, Farrar, to back his friend's play and see it through.

Yeager crawled on his hands and knees into a mesquite thicket from which he could command a view of the open space back of Pasquale's house. He broke carefully half a dozen twigs that interfered with the free play of his rifle. Then he placed his revolver beside him ready for action. After which he waited, tense and watchful.

Mexicans were swarming about the back of the house. One climbed the rope ladder, looked in the window, and explained with much gesturing to those below that the room was empty. Random shots were thrown toward the river and into the grove. But nobody headed the pursuit. They were waiting for a leader.

Then Pasquale burst furiously into sight around the house. Culvera, Ochampa, and Holcomb followed him. The general flung himself into an excited group, tossing to right and left those who were in his way. He snapped out questions, gave orders, and stamped over the ground like a madman.

Called by Culvera, he strode forward to one of the drugged guards. In an impotent fury he shook the man, trying to waken him from his sleep; then, raging at his failure, he flung the helpless body against the wall and turned on his heel.

Order began to evolve out of the mob. Pasquale himself organized the pursuit. He spread the line out so that as it advanced it would sweep the whole space to the river. There was no longer any wild firing. Men brought from the stables eight or ten horses for the officers.

As the line moved forward, Yeager thought it time to let the enemy know where he was. He drew a bead on the general, moved his rifle slightly to the left, and fired. Pasquale drew his sword and waved it.

"Take the girl alive. Shoot down the traitor dogs with her," he cried savagely. "One hundred pesos to the man who kills either of them or captures her."

Steve answered this by firing twice, once with his revolver and almost immediately afterward with his rifle. Ochampa sat down suddenly. He had been hit in the leg. _

Read next: Chapter 24. The Prisoner

Read previous: Chapter 22. A Conspiracy

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