Steve Yeager Part 19

In a dozen sentences he told it. They listened tensely. The mother was the first to break the silence after he had finished. She began to sob.

Steve put an arm across her shoulder awkwardly.

"Now, don't you, Mrs. Seymour. Don't you take on. We'll get right on his trail." He turned abruptly to Orman. "Get horses saddled. We'll hit the road right away. Daisy, call up Threewit and let him know. I'll take your gat, Shorty."

The edge of decision was in his voice. n.o.body disputed the orders of this lean, brown, sunbaked youth with the alert, quiet, masterful eyes.

In his manner was something more deadly than threats. More than one of those present thought he would not like to be Harrison.

"Mr. Threewit has gone. He and Frank started for Noche Buena almost an hour ago. They went because of your letter," explained Miss Ellington.

"Good. We'll probably catch them. Jackson, find out if they went armed and see that we all have rifles as well as six-guns. Get a move on you.

We'll start in ten minutes from the hotel."

Within the stipulated time they were in the saddle. Steve looked his posse over with an eye competent and vigilant. "Orman, you and Bob ride straight to the Lazy B. Harrison gave it out he was going to stop there for the night. Me, I think he was lying. If he hasn't been there, cut acrost to Gila Creek and follow the bed. Jackson and Dan, you go straight south for the old Pima water-hole and sweep along below the edge of the mesa. I'll have a try more to the east. Mind, no slip-up, boys. And don't forget Harrison wears his guns low. If you have to shoot, aim to kill."

Phil Seymour came running down the road. "What's this they're telling about Ruth and Harrison?" he demanded.

Yeager had no time for explanations. He turned the boy over to one of the others. "Tell him about it, Jackson. If he wants to go along, take him with you and Dan. We'll all meet to-morrow noon at Sieber's Pa.s.s."

He shot down the road at a gallop, leaving behind him a cloud of gray dust. The others followed at a canter. Their horses had to cover many miles before morning and there was no use in running them off their legs at the start.

Jackson, waiting for Phil to rope and saddle a pony, yelled a caution to the others.

"Keep yore shirts on, boys. This ain't no hundred-yard dash. Steve's burnin' the wind because he's got to haid off Harrison from Pasquale's camp. All we got to do is to drive him up to Steve."

Phil cut out and roped a pony, then slapped on a saddle. Presently he and Jackson were following the others down the dust-filled road.

The boy spoke his fears aloud, endeavoring to rea.s.sure himself.

"Chad won't hurt Ruth any. He wouldn't dare. This country won't stand for that kind of a play with a girl. Arizona would hang him to the first telegraph pole that was handy."

The cowpuncher looked at him and spoke dryly. "I reckon the skunk's been out of Arizona quite some time. He's in greaser land now, and I never heard tell that Pasquale was so darned particular what his men did. Just tie a knot in this: if Harrison reaches the insurrecto camp with yore sister, she'll come back as his wife--or not at all."

"By G.o.d! I'll kill Harrison at sight if he hurts a hair of her head,"

the boy cried, a lump in his throat.

"Mebbe you will, mebbe you won't. Chad ain't just what you'd call a white man. He'll shoot out of the chaparral if he's pressed. Someone's going to git hurt if we b.u.mp into Mr. Harrison. It won't be no picnic a-tall to take him. He's liable to be more hos-tile than a nest of yellow jackets."

"Leave him to me if we come up with him. I'll shoot it out with him,"

the boy cried wildly.

Jackson grinned. "You're crazy with the heat, boy. What do you reckon I bought chips in this game for? I want a crack at the coyote myself."

Phil and Jackson caught up with old Dan a mile or so beyond the point where the road to the Lazy B left the main traveled trail.

"The other boys. .h.i.tting the dust for the ranch?" asked Jackson.

"Yep."

"Yeager's got it right. They won't find Harrison there. He'll go through with his play. Chad's no quitter."

Dan nodded. He was a reticent man of about fifty-five with a bald head and a face of wrinkled leather.

"We'll git him sure," Phil spoke up, announcing his hope rather than his conviction. "Steve knows what he's doing, you bet."

Yeager himself was not so sure. Doubts tortured him as to the destination of Harrison. Perhaps, after all, he might be making for some refuge in the hills and not for Pasquale's headquarters. He knew that as soon as word reached them the Lazy B riders would begin to comb the desert in pursuit. But what were a dozen riders among these thousand hill pockets of the desert? The best chance was to catch the man at some one of the few water-holes. But if he pushed on at full speed the chances were all in his favor considering the long start he had.

The range-rider was astride the fastest horse in the Lunar stables.

Steve had taken his pick of the mounts, for his work was cut out for him. Hitherto the luck had all been with Harrison. If Yeager had not met one of the old Lone Star boys, now riding for the Hashknife outfit, and stopped to join him in a long talk over their cigarettes, Steve would have reached Los Robles in time to spoil the man's plan. Or if he had gone direct to Mrs. Seymour instead of fooling away a good hour and a half in his room, he would have cut down his enemy's start by so much golden time.

Now all he could do was to get every foot of speed from his horse that could be coaxed. He rode like a Centaur, giving with his lithe, supple body to every motion of the animal. But though he took steep hillsides of shale on the run, the pony slithering down in a slide of rubble like a cat, the rider's alert eyes watched the footing keenly. He could afford if necessary to break a leg himself, but he could not afford to have the horse suffer such an accident. Not for nothing had he ridden on the roundup for many years. Few men even in Arizona could have negotiated safely such a bit of daredevil travel as he was doing this night.

His brains were busy, too, on the problem before him. Times and distances he figured, took into account the animals Harrison and Ruth were riding, estimated her strength and her companion's feverish haste to reach safety with her. They would have to stop at a water-hole somewhere, either on Gila Creek, or the old Pima camping-ground, or else at Lone Tree Spring. The most direct route to Noche Buena was by Lone Tree. Harrison was in a deuce of a hurry. Therefore he would choose the shortest way. So Yeager guessed and hoped.

His watch told him it was an hour past midnight when Steve drew close to Lone Tree Spring. He was following a sandy wash into the soft bed of which the hoofs of his horse sank without noise. They were perhaps two hundred yards from the spring when the ears of his pony lifted. That was enough for Yeager. He dismounted and trailed the reins, guessing that the wind had brought the scent of other horses to his own. Quietly he moved forward, rifle in hand ready for action.

The heart of him jumped when he caught sight of two picketed horses grazing on the bench above. He worked forward with infinite care along the bank of the wash till he reached the first of the cottonwoods. From here he could catch a glimpse of something huddled lying under the live-oak. This no doubt was the sleeping girl. The figure of a heavy-set man stood with his back to Yeager in silhouette against the skyline.

Yeager crawled forward another fifteen yards. A twig snapped under his knee. The figure in silhouette whirled. Steve rose at the same instant, rifle raised to his shoulder.

"Don't move," he advised quietly.

CHAPTER XIV

THE CAVE MEN

Harrison stared at him dumfounded, chin down and jutting, his hand hovering longingly close to the b.u.t.t of a revolver. He stood so for an instant in silence, crouched and tense.

"d.a.m.n you, so you're here," he said at last in a low, hoa.r.s.e voice.

"Don't make another pa.s.s like that or I'll plug you. Unbuckle that belt and drop it. That's right. Now, kick it from you."

"What do you want?" demanded the man under the gun savagely after he had obeyed instructions.

"You know what I want, you wolf." Steve moved forward till he was about fifteen feet from the other. His eyes did not lift for a moment from the man he covered.

They glared at each other, two savage, primeval men with the murder l.u.s.t in their hearts. All that centuries of civilization had brought them was just now quenched.

Then the woman, the third factor in the triangle, stirred restlessly and awoke. She looked at them incuriously from innocent eyes still heavy with slumber. Gradually the meaning of the scene came home to her, and with it a realization that Steve Yeager was standing before her in the flesh.

"You--here!" she cried, scarce believing.

"The cur lied," explained the cowpuncher. "It was a frame-up to get you in his power."

"But your letter said--"