Jim Waring of Sonora-Town; Or, Tang of Life

by Henry Herbert Knibbs

  CHAPTER V

  _The Tang of Life_

  Waring rode until dawn, when he picketed Dex in a clump of chaparral andlay down to rest. He had purposely passed the water-hole, a half-milesouth, after having watered the horse and refilled his canteen.

  There was a distinction, even in Sonora, between Pedro Salazar, thecitizen, and Pedro Salazar, of the Sonora police. The rurales might getbusy. Nogales and the Arizona line were still a long ride ahead.

  Slowly the desert sun drew overhead and swept the scant shadows from thebrush-walled enclosure. Waring slept. Finally the big buckskin becamerestless, circling his picket and lifting his head to peer over thebrush. Long before Waring could have been aware of it, had he beenawake, the horse saw a moving something on the southern horizon. Trainedto the game by years of association with his master, Dex walked to whereWaring lay and nosed his arm. The gunman rolled to his side and peeredthrough the chaparral.

  Far in the south a moving dot wavered in the sun. Waring swept thesouthern arc with his glasses. The moving dot was a Mexican, a horsemanriding alone. He rode fast. Waring could see the rise and fall of aquirt. "Some one killing a horse to get somewhere," he muttered, and hesaddled Dex and waited. The tiny figure drew nearer. Dex grew restless.Waring quieted him with a word.

  To the west of the chaparral lay the trail, paralleled at a distance ofa half-mile by the railroad. The glasses discovered the lone horseman tobe Ramon, of Sonora. The boy swayed in the saddle as the horse lungedon. Waring knew that something of grave import had sent the boy out intothe noon desert. He was at first inclined to let him pass and then rideeast toward the Sierra Madre. If the rurales were following, they wouldtrail Dex to the water-hole. And if Ramon rode on north, some of themwould trail the Mexican. This would split up the band--decrease the oddsby perhaps one half.

  But the idea faded from Waring's mind as he saw the boy fling pastdesperately. Waring swung to the saddle and rode out. Ramon's horseplunged to a stop, and stood trembling. The boy all but fell as hedismounted. Stumbling toward Waring, he held out both hands.

  "Senor, the rurales!" he gasped.

  "How far behind?"

  "The railroad! They are ahead! They have shipped their horses toMagdalena, to Nogales!"

  "How do you know that?"

  "Pedro Salazar is dead. You were gone. They say it was you."

  "So they shipped their horses ahead to cut me off, eh? You're a goodboy, Ramon, but I don't know what in hell to do with you. Your cayuse isplayed out. You made a good ride."

  "Si, senor. I have not stopped once."

  "You look it. You can't go back now. They would shoot you."

  "I will ride with the senor."

  Waring shook his head.

  Ramon's eyes grew desperate. "Senor," he pleaded, "take me with you! Icannot go back. I will be your man--follow you, even into the GreatBeyond. You will not lose the way."

  And as Ramon spoke he touched the little crucifix on his breast.

  "Where did you find _that?_" asked Waring.

  "In the Placeta Burro; near the house of Pedro Salazar."

  Waring nodded. "Has your horse had water?"

  "No, senor. I did not stop."

  "Take him back to the water-hole. Or, here! Crawl in there and rest up.You are all in. I'll take care of the cayuse."

  When Waring returned to the chaparral, Ramon was asleep, flat on hisback, his arms outspread and his mouth open. Waring touched him with hisboot. Ramon muttered. Waring stooped and pulled him up.

  Within the hour five rurales disembarked from a box-car and crossed tothe water-hole, where one of them dismounted and searched for tracks.Alert for the appearance of the gringo, they rode slowly toward thechaparral. The enclosure was empty. After riding a wide circle round thebrush, they turned and followed the tracks toward the eastern hills,rein-chains jingling and their silver-trimmed buckskin jacketsshimmering in the sun.

  * * * * *

  "I will ride back," said Ramon. "My horse is too weak to follow. Thesenor rides slowly that I may keep up with him."

  Waring turned in the saddle. Ahead lay the shadowy foothills of themother range, vague masses in the starlight. Some thirty miles behindwas the railroad and the trail north. There was no chance of picking upa fresh horse. The country was uninhabited. Alone, the gunman would haveridden swiftly to the hill country, where his trail would have been lostin the rocky ground of the ranges and where he would have had theadvantage of an unobstructed outlook from the high trails.

  Ramon had said the rurales had entrained; were ahead of him to intercepthim. But Waring, wise in his craft, knew that the man-hunters wouldsearch for tracks at every water-hole on the long northern trail. And ifthey found his tracks they would follow him to the hills. They were askeen on the trail as Yaquis and as relentless as wolves. Their horses,raw-hide tough, could stand a forced ride that would kill an ordinaryhorse. And Ramon's wiry little cayuse, though willing to go on until hedropped, could not last much longer.

  But to leave Ramon to the rurales was not in Waring's mind. "We'll keepon, amigo," he said, "and in a few hours we'll know whether it's to be aride or a fight."

  "I shall pray," whispered Ramon.

  "For a fresh horse, then."

  "No, senor. That would be of no use. I shall pray that you may escape.As for me--"

  "We'll hit the glory trail together, muchacho. If you get bumped off,it's your own funeral. You should have stayed in Sonora."

  Ramon sighed. The senor was a strange man. Even now he hummed a song inthe starlight. Was he, then, so unafraid of death that he could sing inthe very shadow of its wings?

  "You've got a hunch that the rurales are on our trail," said Waring, asthey rode on.

  "It is so, senor."

  "How do you know?"

  "I cannot say. But it is so. They have left the railroad and arefollowing us."

  Waring smiled in the dark. "Dex, here, has been trying to tell me thatfor an hour."

  "And still the senor does not hasten!"

  "I am giving your cayuse a chance to make the grade. We'll ride an hourlonger."

  Ramon bowed his head. The horses plodded on, working up the firstgentle slope of the foothills. The brush loomed heavier. A hill starfaded on the edge of the higher range. Ramon's lips moved and he crossedhimself.

  Waring hummed a song. He was not unhappy. The tang of life was hisagain. Again he followed a trail down which the light feet of Romanceran swiftly. The past, with its red flare of life, its keen memories anddulled regrets, was swept away by the promise of dawn and the unknown."A clean break and a hard fight," he murmured, as he reined up to resthis horse. Turning, he could distinguish Ramon, who fingered thecrucifix at his throat. Waring's face grew grim. He felt suddenlyaccountable for the boy's life.

  The half-moon glowed against the edge of the world. About to ride onagain, Waring saw a tiny group of horsemen silhouetted against thehalf-disk of burning silver. He spoke to his horse. Slowly they climbedthe ridge, dropped down the eastern slope, and climbed again.

  In a shallow valley, Waring reined up, unsaddled Dex, and turned himloose. Ramon questioned this. "Turn your horse loose," said Waring."They'll keep together and find water."

  Ramon shook his head, but did as he was told. Wearily he followed Waringas he climbed back to a rocky depression on the crest. Without a wordWaring stretched behind a rock and was soon asleep. Ramon wondered atthe other's indifference to danger, but fatigue finally overcame him andhe slept.

  Just before dawn Ramon awakened and touched

  Waring. "They are coming!" he whispered.

  Waring shook his head. "You hear our horses. The rurales won't ride intothis pocket before daylight. Stay right here till I come back."

  He rose and worked cautiously down the eastern slope, searching for Dexin the valley. In the gray gloom he saw the outline of his horse grazingalone. He stepped down to him. The big horse raised its head. Waringspoke. Reassured, Dex plodded to his master, who turned
and tracked backto the pocket in the rocks. "I think your cayuse has drifted south," hetold Ramon.

  The young Mexican showed no surprise. He seemed resigned to thesituation. "I knew when the senor said to turn my horse loose that hewould seek the horses of his kind. He has gone back to the horses ofthose who follow us."

  "You said it" said Waring. "And that's going to bother them. It tells methat the rurales are not far behind. They'll figure that I put you outof business to get rid of you. They'll look for a dead Mexican, and alive gringo riding north, alone. But they're too wise to ride up here.They'll trail up afoot and out of sight. That's your one chance."

  "My chance, senor?"

  "Yes. Here's some grub. You've got your gun. Drift down the slope, getback of the next ridge, and strike south. Locate their horses and waittill they leave them to come up here. Get a horse. Pick a good one. I'llkeep them busy till you get back."

  Ramon rose and climbed to the edge of the pocket. "I go," he said sadly."And I shall never see the senor again."

  "Don't bet all you've got on that," said Waring.

  When Ramon had disappeared, Waring led Dex back from the pocket, and,saddling him, left him concealed in the brush. Then the gunman creptback to the rim and lay waiting, a handful of rifle shells loose on aflat rock in front of him. He munched some dried meat and drank from thecanteen.

  The red dawn faded quickly to a keen white light. Heat waves ran overthe rocks and danced down the hillside. Waring lighted a match andblackened the front sight of his carbine. The sun rolled up and struckat him, burning into the pocket of rock where he lay motionless gazingdown the slope. Sweat beaded his forehead and trickled down his nose.Scattered boulders seemed to move gently. He closed his eyes for aninstant. When he opened them he thought he saw a movement in the brushbelow. The heat burned into his back, and he shrugged his shoulders. Atiny bird flitted past and perched on the dry, dead stalk of a yucca.Again Waring thought he saw a movement in the brush.

  Then, as if by magic, the figure of a rural stood clear and straightagainst the distant background of brownish-green. Waring smiled. He knewthat if he were to fire, the rurales would rush him. They suspected somekind of a trap. Waring's one chance was to wait until they had given upevery ruse to draw his fire. They were not certain of his whereabouts,but were suspicious of that natural fortress of rock. There was not arural in Old Mexico who did not know him either personally or byreputation. The fact that one of them had offered himself as a possibletarget proved that they knew they had to deal with a man as crafty asthemselves.

  The standing figure, shimmering in the glare, drew back and disappeared.

  Waring eased his tense muscles. "Now they'll go back for their horses,"he said to himself. "They'll ride up to the next ridge, where they canlook down on this pocket, but I won't be here."

  Waring planned every move with that care and instinct which marks a goodchess-player. And because he had to count upon possibilities far aheadhe drew Ramon's saddle to him and cut the stirrup-leathers, cinchas, andlatigos. If Ramon got one of their horses, his own jaded animal would beleft. Eventually the rurales would find the saddle and Ramon's horse.And every rural out of the riding would be a factor in their escape.

  The sun blazed down until the pocket of rock was a pit of stagnantheat. The silence seemed like an ocean rolling in soundless waves acrossthe hills; a silence that became disturbed by a faint sound as of oneapproaching cautiously. Waring thought Ramon had shown cleverness inworking up to him so quietly. He raised on his elbow and turned hishead. On the eastern edge of the pocket stood a rural, and the ruralsmiled.