Steve Yeager Part 33

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 b.u.t.ted in and took her home."

"I did. Harrison went to Los Robles later and brought her by force. He was looking for me and b.u.mped 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 a.s.sa.s.sinated 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 gra.s.s 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 rea.s.sured 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 p.r.i.c.kly 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.