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Overland Red: A Romance of the Moonstone Canon Trail, a novel by Henry Herbert Knibbs |
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Chapter 11. Desert Law |
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_ CHAPTER XI. DESERT LAW Away out in the night of stars and silence plodded the patient burro, and beside him shuffled Overland Red and Billy Winthrop. "We'll fool 'em," said Overland. "Keep joggin'. We'll be over the range before mornin'. Then let 'em find us." Winthrop, staggering along, felt his moral stamina crumbling within him. "I don't know--about that. Perhaps I'll be a drag to the expedition. I'm pretty tired." Overland, experienced in the remorse that follows liquor on an empty stomach, swore vigorously and picturesquely. "You'll stick! Do you suppose I'd shake you now after you overcomin' a genuine nickel-plated desert constable? Nix. That ain't my style. You believed me when I said I was comin' to this particular town. It's worth somethin' to have a fella around that believes a fella once in a while. But what I want to know is, why you done up the constable so offhand like, not knowin' whether I'd show up here or not?" "Why?" And Winthrop smiled wanly. "Because I'm a perfectly harmless little old tenderfoot." And his voice caught as he tried to laugh. An hour of plodding through the dusk, two hours, and they were at a water-hole near the northern hills. Overland unroped one of the packs, made a fire, and presently had some hot coffee for his companion, who was pretty well used up. Nature was taking inexorable toll for his conquest of the constable. "You take it easy and don't worry," said Overland. Winthrop raised on his elbow and gazed at the tiny fire. "Tiger, tiger burning bright!" he quoted. "This here coffee'll fix you right," responded Overland Red, grinning. "Didn't know I was a pote, did you? Now if I was a doc, I'd give you a shot in the arm that would put you to sleep. Seein' I ain't, it's coffee for yours." "Do you think they will follow us?" Winthrop asked presently. "As sure as snakes," said Overland. "And this here water-hole is the first place they'll strike for. They'll wait till mornin' to find our trail." "When they do find it?" "I'll show 'em a Mexican trick with a hole in it. You go to sleep, pardner." * * * * * The moon rolled down to the rim of the world. The infinitesimal mountain peaks rose slowly along the lower edge of the flat silver shield, black and growing bolder in outline and size as they blotted half, three quarters, finally all of the burnished radiance. Then along the edge of the far range ran an instant delicate light, a light that melted into space and was gone, leaving a palpitating glory of myriad summer stars. The little fire died down. The barren outland wastes slumbered in the charitable dusk of night. Overland, cross-legged on his blanket, smoked moodily. His thoughts drifted out on the tide of silence to Moonstone Canon and Collie and the Rose Girl, Louise Lacharme. For them he planned impossibly. Of them he dreamed absurd dreams. Out of the flotsam of his pondering came memories of other nights such as this, desert nights on the border ranges of old Mexico--that lost world of his adventurous youth. Mingled with his waking dreams were the sounds of many familiar names--Sonora, Trevino, Nueva Laredo, Nava, San Jose, Las Cruces, Nogales, Yuma, San Antonio,--each a burning ember of memory that glowed and faded while the music of silver strings and singing girls pulsed rhythmically in the stillness--to break at last into the querulous wailing of a lone coyote. Winthrop stirred restlessly and muttered. All at once the tramp realized that this easygoing young Easterner, wealthy, unused to hardship, delicate of health, had his battle to fight, as well. "I've knowed 'em to get over it," reflected Overland. "She's high and dry up here on the desert, and I reckon to go where it's higher. He's game, but he's desp'rate. He's tryin' to dodge the verdict, which can't be did. Well, if excitement will help any, I guess he's ridin' the right range. If he's got to pass over, he might as well go quick. Mebby he's the best kind of a pal for this deal, after all." Overland looked across at the muffled form. "Pardner!" he called. Winthrop did not answer. "Well, it saves explainin'," muttered the tramp, and he rose quietly. He gathered the few camp-utensils together, rolled his blankets, brushed sand over the embers of the fire, and groped stealthily toward the burro. He roped the pack, glancing back toward the water-hole occasionally. Winthrop slept heavily. "Guess I'll go back and get that gun," muttered Overland. "I might need two; anyway, he might wake up and plug his old friend the constable before he knowed it. I ain't givin' a whoop for the constable, but I don't want to see the kid get in wrong." Then Overland, wily and resourceful in border tactics, led the burro round the camp in a wide circle, from which he branched toward the hills to the north. For two hours he journeyed across the starlit emptiness. Arriving at a narrow canon in the foothills, he picketed the burro. Then he sat down. Why not continue with his pack and provisions? He could camp in the fastness of the mountain country and explore it alone. He would run less risk of capture. Winthrop was not strong. The Easterner meant well enough, but this was the desert. The blue of the eastern horizon grew shallower, changing to a cold thin gray which warmed slowly to the straw color of tempering steel. The tramp, watching the sky, shook his clenched fist at the dawn. "You, up there!" he growled. "You didn't give me a square deal when I was down and out that time--in Sonora. I had to crawl to it alone. But I'll show you that I'm bigger than you. I'm goin' back to the tenderfoot and see him through if I swing pole-high for it." It was light when the tramp had arrived at the water-hole. He crept behind a sharp dip in the hummocks. The crest of his hiding-place was covered with brush. It was a natural rifle-pit affording him seclusion and shelter. With the sun came the faint thud of hoofs as two riders came warily up to the water-hole. One dismounted and stooped over Winthrop. The other sat his horse, silent, vigilant, saturnine. "Say, where's your pal, that there Overland Red guy?" asked the constable, shaking Winthrop awake and glaring at him with a bleared and baleful eye. The man on the horse frowned, considering, in the light of his experience as a successful and still living two-gun man, that such tactics were rather crude. The Easterner sat up, coughed and blinked in the dawn. "Where is what? Why, good-morning! You're up early." And his eye swept the empty camp. So Overland Red had deserted him, after all. He might have expected as much. "I haven't any 'pal,' as you can see. I'm out here studying insect life, as I told you I would be, yesterday. You needn't shake me any more. I'm awake. I can't say that I'm exactly pleased with my first specimen." "Oh! I'm a specimen, am I? I'm a insect, hey? Well, you're crooked, and you just talk up quick or the calaboose for yours!" "No. I beg your pardon--but, no. You are in no condition, this morning, to talk with a gentleman. However, you are my guest. Have a cigar?" The horseman's eyes twinkled. He admired the young Easterner's coolness. Not so the constable. "See here, you swindlin' tin-horn shell-shover, you cough up where Overland Red is or there'll be somethin' doin'. You doped that booze yesterday, but you can't throw no bluff like that to-day." "I did what? Please talk slowly." "You doped that booze you--" Much to the constable's surprise he found himself sitting on Winthrop's blankets and one of his eyes felt as though some one had begun to stitch it up quickly with coarse thread. Winthrop, smiling serenely, nodded. "Sorry to have to do it. I know I don't look like that kind, and I'm not, but I happen to know how." The constable got to his feet. "I didn't doctor the brandy, as you intimated," said Winthrop. "And you needn't finger that belt of yours. I haven't a gun with me, and I believe it is not the thing for one man to use a gun on another when the--er--victim happens to be unarmed." The horseman, who had courage, admired Winthrop's attitude. He rode between them. "Cut it out, Hicks," he said. "You're actin' locoed. Guess you're carryin' your load yet. I'll talk to the kid. We 're losing time. See here, stranger...." Overland, watching and listening from his hiding-place, grinned as the constable sullenly mounted his horse. Winthrop politely but firmly declined to acknowledge that he had had a companion. Overland was pleased and the riders were baffled by the young man's subtle evasion of answering them directly. "Size of it is, you're stung," said the man who had questioned Winthrop last. "He's lit out, now he's done you." To this the Easterner made no reply. The horsemen rode away, following the circle of burro tracks toward the hills. Winthrop watched them, wondering what had become of his companion. He could hardly believe that the tramp had deserted him, yet the evidence was pretty plain. Even his revolver was gone, and his belt and cartridges. Winthrop yawned. He was hungry. There was no food. But there was water. He walked toward the water-hole. "Stand still--and listen," said a voice. Winthrop jumped back, startled and trembling. The voice seemed to come from the water-hole at his feet. "Over here--this way," the voice said. Winthrop smiled. If it were a disembodied spirit talking, it was no other than the spirit of Overland Red. The accent was unmistakable. The Easterner glanced round and observed a peculiar something behind the brush edging the rise beyond the water-hole. "It's me," said Overland, still concealed. "Thought I quit you, eh? Are them fellas out of sight yet?" "No. They're still in sight. They are too far to see anything, though." "And you can see them all right, son? That don't figure out correct." Winthrop laughed. "That's so. Where's the burro?" "He's hid--right in plain sight up a little arroyo." "Won't they find him, and confiscate him and the things?" "Not on your life! 'T ain't exactly healthy, even for constables, to go round confiscatin' outfits they don't know who's connected with. They can't say for sure that burro and stuff is mine. They'll look it over and leave it right there." "But why did you come all the way back here?" asked Winthrop. "Seein' they's lots of time, I'll explain. If I had kep' on goin', they would 'a' trailed me, and mebby got a crack at me in them hills. They are two to one, and they could get me at night. Now they'll either give it up, or spot my back tracks and find me here. That's all." "Perhaps that won't be all," ventured Winthrop, walking toward the ridge where Overland lay concealed. The tramp grinned up at him. "Mebby not, pardner. You was tellin' Sweeney Orcutt back in Los Angeles that you wanted to get up against the real thing. I reckon you bought the right ticket this trip." "Will they--will there be any shooting?" asked the Easterner. "Not if I can help it," replied Overland. "I borrowed your gun on the chance of it. 'Course, if they get sassy, why, they's no tellin' what will happen. I'm mighty touchy about some things. But listen! I'm actin' as your travelin' insurance agent, pro temperly, as the pote says, which means keepin' your temper. If they do spot me, and get foolish enough to think that I got time to listen to any arguments against my rights as a free and unbranded citizen of the big range, why, you drop and roll behind the first sand-hill that is a foot high. After the smoke blows away, I'll be dee-lighted to accept your congratulations." "I guess you mean business," said Winthrop, becoming serious. "I'm game, but isn't there any other way out of it?" "Not for me, son. What chance would I have with the whole desert town to swear against me? They're after the gold, and they reckon to scare me into tellin' where it is. I'm after that same gold, and I don't reckon to be bluffed off by a couple of pikers like them." "The dark one, the man on the bay horse, seemed to be a pretty capable-looking individual," said Winthrop. "Glad you noticed that. You're improvin'. He is a capable gent. He's a old two-gun man. Did you see how he had his guns tied down low so they would pull quick. Nothin' fancy about him, but he's good leather. The other one don't count." "What shall I do when they come back?" "You jest go to studyin' bugs or rattlesnakes or tarantulas or somethin'. Make a bluff at it. If they ask you anything, answer 'em nice and polite, and so I can hear. A whole pile depends on my keepin' up with the talk. I'll figure from what they say, or don't say." "They seem to be turning. They've stopped. One of them is down on the ground looking at something. Now he's up again. They're riding back," said Winthrop. "They cut my back trail," said Overland, snuggling down behind the brush. "You go and set down by the water-hole and find a bug to study." "Are you going to fight?" "Not if it can be helped. Otherwise--till me wires are down and me lamps are out. She's desert law out here. They seems to be some chance for a argument about who's goin' to be judge. I'm out for the job myself. I reckon to throw about fifteen votes--they's six in your gun and nine in the automatic. The election is like to be interestin' and close." "I wish I could help," said the Easterner. "You can--by keepin' your nerve," replied Overland. Then he rolled a cigarette and lay smoking and gazing at the sky. Winthrop watched the approaching horsemen. Presently he got up and sauntered to the water-hole. The tramp lay curled like a snake behind the mound. He drew Winthrop's gun from its holster and inspected it, shaking his head as he slid it back again. "She's new and will pull stiff. That means she'll throw to the right. Well, I got the little Gat. to open up the show with." William Stanley Winthrop, despite his resolution, found that his hands trembled and that his heart beat chokingly. He wanted to shout, to run out toward the horsemen, to do anything rather than sit stupidly silent by the water-hole. The two riders loped up. The constable dismounted. "Nothin' doin'," he said, stooping to drink. "No. Nothing doing," echoed the man on horseback. "That," muttered Overland Red, squirming a little higher behind the bushes, "was intended for me. I know that tone. It means there's a hell of a lot doin'. Well, I'm good and ready." And he lifted both of his red, hairy hands to the edge of the hole and both his hands were "filled." About then the man on the pony began to ride out from the water-hole in a wide circle. The constable came from the spring. Overland noticed that he kept Winthrop between himself and the sage on the ridge. "That settles it," Overland swiftly concluded. "They're on. I'm right sad to have to do it." The heavy, space-blunted report of the circling horseman's gun--and Overland calmly spat out the sand that flitted across his lips. The rider had ventured a shot and had ridden behind a ridge instantly. Winthrop exclaimed at these strange tactics. "He seen a jack run in there," explained the constable, leering. "This here's gettin' interestin'," mumbled Overland as the constable unholstered his gun and sauntered toward the ridge. "I got to get the gent on the cayuse. The other one don't count." The rider had appeared from behind the ridge. Slowly Overland raised his right hand. Then the old fighting soul of Jack Summers, sheriff of Abilene, rebelled. "No! Dam' if I'll ambush any white man." And he leaped to his feet. "Overland Limited!" he shouted, and with his battle-cry came the quick tattoo of shots. The horseman wavered, doubled up, and pitched forward to the sand. Overland Red dropped and rolled to one side as the constable's gun boomed ineffectually. The tramp lay still. A clatter of empty stirrups, the swish of a horse galloping past, and silence. Slowly the constable approached Overland's prostrate figure. "Time's up for you!" he said, covering the tramp with his gun. "Water!" groaned Overland. "Water, eh? Well, crawl to it, you rat!" Winthrop, his heart thumping wildly, followed the constable. So this was desert law? No word of warning or inquiry, but a hail of shots, a riderless horse,--two men stretched upon the sand and the burning sun swinging in a cloudless circle above the desolate silence. "You seem to kind of recognize your friend now," sneered the constable. That was too much for Winthrop's overstrung nerves. His pulses roared in his ears. With a leap he seized the constable's gun and twisted at it with both hands. There was an explosion, and Winthrop grinned savagely, still struggling. With insane strength he finally tore the gun from the other's grasp. "You're the only coward in this affair," he gasped, as he levelled the gun at the constable. That officer, reading danger in Winthrop's eye, discreetly threw up his hands. "Good!" exclaimed Overland, sitting up suddenly. "That was risky, but it worked out all right. I had a better plan. You go set down, Billy. I'll see this gent safe toward home." Winthrop laughed hysterically. "Why, you--you--you're a joke!" he cried. "I thought--" "So did the little man with the pie-pan pinned on his shirt," said Overland. "You keep his gun. I got to see how bad the other gent's hit." An hour later the constable of the desert town led his pony toward the railroad. On the pony was his companion, with both arms bandaged. He leaned forward brokenly, swaying and cursing. "I'll--get him, if it takes--a thousand years," he muttered. "I reckon it'll take all of that," growled the constable. "You can have all you want of his game, Saunders,--I'm through." Out by the water-hole, Overland turned to Winthrop. "I'm glad you enjoyed the performance," he said, grinning. "We've opened the pot and the best man rakes her down. She's desert law from now to the finish." _ |
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