The Settling of the Sage Part 29

"We started at that shot," one of them announced in explanation of their prompt arrival.

Alden motioned Slade to his horse and helped him up.

"Shoot him out of the saddle if he makes a break," he ordered briefly.

"Now you can move against those men I've sworn out complaints for,"

Harris said to Alden. "Public sentiment has turned against them to such an extent that they won't get any help--and there won't be any to fill their places, once we've cleaned them up. Deputize the whole Three Bar crew when you're ready to start."

The sheriff nodded and led the way with the two deputies riding close behind, one riding on either side of Slade.

XIV

The freight wagons rattled away from the Three Bar as the first light showed in the east, and the grind of wheels on gravel died out in the distance as Harris and Billie finished their breakfast.

They walked to the mouth of the lane and watched the light driving the shadows from the valleys. A score of times they had stood so, never tiring of the view afforded from this spot, a view which spoke of Three Bar progress and future prosperity. The hands had come in from the round-up the night before, prior to the return of Harris and Waddles from their mysterious two-day trip in response to the sheriff's message, and Evans had led them to Brill's for a night of play. They were due back at the ranch in the early forenoon and Harris had allowed the freighters to depart before the others arrived.

"We'll be short of guards for the next hour or two," he said. "Till the boys get back from Brill's--but they'll be rocking in most any time now."

"What did Alden want?" she asked, referring to the trip from which he and Waddles had returned late the night before.

"We made a call on Carp," he said. "He had some good news we've been waiting for."

"Then Carp is a Three Bar plant," she said.

"He's a U. S. plant," Harris corrected. "But he's been working in with us to get something on Slade--to gather proof that he's behind these squatter raids of the last few years and the ones they've aimed at us up to date. He couldn't get a shred that would hold in court. But Slade is almost through. His claws are clipped."

The girl started to question him as to Carp's activities but after the first sentence she became aware that his attention was riveted on something other than her words. He had thrown up his head like a startled buck and was peering down the valley.

Her range-bred ears caught and correctly interpreted the sound which had roused him. A distant rumble reached her and the surface of the earth seemed to vibrate faintly beneath her feet. She knew the jar for the pounding of thousands of hoofs, the drone for the far-off bawling of frightened cows. A low black line filled the valley from side to side, rushing straight on up the gently-sloping bottoms for the Three Bar flat.

"They're on us," Harris said. "I might have known. Get back to the house--quick!"

As they ran she noticed that his eyes were not upon the surging ma.s.s of cows in the valley but were trained on the broken slopes back of the house.

"Anyway, they don't want you," he said. "We'll do the best we can."

Waddles stood in the door of the cookhouse, his big face flushed with wrath as he gazed at the oncoming sea of cows. He reached up and took the shotgun which reposed on two pegs above the door.

He slammed the heavy door and dropped the bar as they sprang inside.

"I made that prediction about clipping Slade's claws too soon," Harris said. "What with Slade locked up and Morrow six feet underground, I was overconfident. I might have known it was planned ahead."

His face was lined with anxiety, an expression she had never before seen him wear even in the face of emergency. She had no time to question him about the a.s.sertions relative to Morrow and Slade.

The front rank of the stampede was bearing down on the lower fence.

The barrier went down as so much spider web before the drive; posts were broken short, wire was snapped and dragged, and three thousand head of cows pounded on across the meadows.

The girl had a sickening realization that the work of a year would be blotted out in a s.p.a.ce of seconds under those churning hoofs. It seemed that she must die of sheer grief as she witnessed the complete devastation of the fields she had watched day by day with such loving care. The stampede swept the full length of the meadow and held on for the house. The acute stab of her grief was dulled and replaced by a mental lethargy. The worst had happened and she viewed the rest of the scene with something akin to indifference.

The foremost cows struck the corrals and they went down with a splintering crash under the pressure from behind. She looked out on a sea of tossing horns and heaving backs as the herd rushed through, the heavy log buildings shaking from the ma.s.s of animals jammed against them and squeezing past.

The force of the run was spent on the steep slope back of the house and the herd split into detachments and moved off through the hills.

The west side of the house was windowless, a blank wall built against the standing winds. Waddles was busily engaged in knocking out a patch of c.h.i.n.king and endeavoring to work a loophole between the logs.

Harris was similarly engaged between two windows which overlooked the blacksmith shop, storerooms and saddle room that formed a solid line of buildings a hundred yards to the east. She reflected hazily that there was little cause for such petty activity when the worst had happened and the Three Bar had suffered an irreparable loss.

Harris pointed down the valley to the south and she turned mechanically and crossed to that window. A few riders showed on the ridges on either flank of the valley.

"They were cached up there to pick us off if we rode down to try and turn the run," he said. "If it had been light they might have opened on the wagons. But they knew the rest hadn't started the cows."

She nodded without apparent interest. What might transpire now seemed a matter to be viewed with indifference.

"It's time for me to go," Harris said. "I'll hold the bunk house.

Good luck, Billie--we'll hold 'em off."

He turned to Waddles who still worked to make a loophole through the blank wall.

"If it gets too hot put her outside and tell her to give herself up.

Even Lang would know that the whole country would be hunting them to-morrow if they touched her. They won't if they can help it. But this is their last hope--to trust in one final raid. They'll go through with it. Make her go outside if it comes to that."

He opened the door and leaped across the twenty yards of open s.p.a.ce which separated the main building from the bunk house. The fact that no rifle b.a.l.l.s searched for him as he sprang inside was sufficient testimony that the raiders who might be posted in the hills back of the house were not yet within easy range. He barred the door and looked from the south window. The riders along the valley rims had descended to the bottoms. Smoke was already rising from one homestead cabin and they were riding toward the rest. Two men had dismounted by the head gate.

Harris cursed himself for not having antic.i.p.ated this very thing. The whole plan was clear to him. Slade would have known of the implements at the railroad waiting to be freighted in. He would have known, too, that when the cowhands came in from the round-up there would follow the inevitable night at Brill's. Morrow had mapped out the raid long in advance, engaging Lang to gather the cows throughout the first night the round-up crew was in from the range and hold them a few miles from the ranch. In case the freighters failed to leave before the others came back from Brill's the raid would have been staged just the same; men cached along the lip of the valley to pick off all those who should attempt to ride down and turn the run; others ready to slip down from behind and torch the buildings while the fight was going on in the flat. Lang could not know that Slade was locked up and that Morrow was dead so the raid had gone through as planned.

Smoke was rising from two more cabins in the flats and Harris reproached himself for another oversight in allowing the wagons to pull out before the others arrived. The crop would have been ruined in any event but with the hands at home they could have prevented the destruction of the cabins.

He turned to the opposite side and scanned the face of the hills for signs of life. Not a sage quivered to show the position of bodies crawling through the brush; no rattle of gravel indicated the presence of men working down through any of the sheltered coulees behind; yet he knew they were near. The silence was in sharp contrast to the rumble and roar of the stampede just past. The only sounds which shattered the quiet were the m.u.f.fled thuds of Waddles's hand-axe as the cook worked on a single idea and endeavored to gouge a loophole through the cracks of the twelve-inch logs. Harris transferred his attention to the long line of log buildings a hundred yards to the east. The row afforded perfect cover for any who chose that route of approach. They could walk up to them in absolute safety, screened both from himself and those in the main house.

As he watched the doors and windows for sign of movement within a voice hailed them from the shop.

"You might as well come out," it called. "We're going to fire the plant."

Harris stretched p.r.o.ne on the floor and rested the muzzle of his rifle on a crack between the logs. It was hard shooting. He was forced to shift the b.u.t.t end of the gun, moving with it himself to line the sights instead of swinging the free end of the barrel. He trained it on a crack some two feet from the door of the shop. Behind the aperture the light of a window on the far side showed faintly.

"Come out!" the voice ordered. "Or we'll cook you inside. We've no time to lose. Rush it!"

The light disappeared from the crack and Harris pressed the trigger.

With the roar of his gun a shape pitched down across the door of the shop. Some unseen hands caught the man by the feet and as he was dragged back from sight Harris saw the red handkerchief which had served as a mask.

From all along the row of buildings a fire was opened on the bunk house. Apparently one man was detailed to search out a certain crevice between the logs. Harris threw himself flat against the lower log which barely shielded him. One rifleman covered a crack breast-high, another the one next below, drilling it at six-inch intervals. Shreds of 'dobe c.h.i.n.king littered the room. The b.a.l.l.s which found an entrance splintered through the bunks and buried themselves in the logs of the far wall. A third marksman worked on the lower crack. Puffs of 'dobe pulverized before Harris's eyes as the systematic fire crept toward him down the crack in six-inch steps.

A flash of dust a few inches before his nose half blinded him. The next shot drilled through an inch above his head, flattened sidewise on the floor, and a fragment of sh.e.l.l-jacket, stripped in pa.s.sing through, scored his cheek and nicked his ear. The next fanned his shirt across the shoulders and the biting sc.r.a.ps of 'dobe stung his back.

The shooting suddenly ceased. Billie Warren, dazedly indifferent as to what should happen to the Three Bar since the wreck of the lower field, had roused to action the instant she saw the spurts of c.h.i.n.king fly from the cracks of the bunk house before the fusillade sent after Harris. She threw open the door and stepped out, holding up one hand.