CHAPTER XXXVII
ON A HOT TRAIL
Roberts picked up from the fort a Mescalero Apache famous as a trailer.He reckoned to be rather expert in that line himself, but few white mencould boast of such skill as old Guadaloupe had.
Jumbo Wilkins was one of the posse Jack had hastily gathered. "I'm goodan' glad I was in town an' not out herdin' _vacas_, Tex. A fellow kindaneeds a little excitement oncet in a while. I got a hunch we're goin' togit these birds this time."
"You're the greatest little optimist I ever did see, Jumbo," answeredthe Ranger with a smile. "We're goin' to strike a cold trail of men whoknow every inch of this country an' are ridin' hell-for-leather to makea get-away. We're liable to ride our broncs to shadows an' never seehair or hide of the fellows we want. I'd like to know what licenseyou've got for yore hunch."
"You're such a lucky guy, Tex. If you was lookin' for a needle in ahaystack you'd find it in yore mouth when you picked up a straw to chewon."
"Lucky, nothin'. A man makes his own luck, I always did tell you, an' Ihaven't bumped into any yet. You don't see any big bunch of fat cowswith my brand on 'em, do you? I'm pluggin' along for a dollar a day witha promise from Cap Ellison that I'll probably cash in soon with my bootson. Old Man Luck always hides behind the door when I pass, if there'sany such Santa Claus in the business."
"All the way you look at it. Didn't Clint Wadley offer you the job ofbossin' the best cow-ranch in the Panhandle?"
"An' didn't I have to turn down his offer an' hang on to a dollar-a-dayjob?"
"Then you saved Miss 'Mona from that bull an' made a friend of her."
"Yes, an' then I butted in an' kept the Kiowas from mussin' up ArtRidley, who is liable to ask me to stand up with him when he marriesMiss Ramona," added the Ranger.
"Shucks! She'll never marry Ridley so long as you're runnin' aroundunbranded, son."
"A lot you know about girls, Jumbo," said Roberts with a rueful grin. "Idon't know sic' 'em about the things they like. I'm one chaparral-raisedroughneck. That little lady never wasted two thoughts on me. But Art--heknows a lot about books an' style an' New York's four hundred. He's goodto look at, clean, knows how to talk, an' makes a sure-enough hit withthe girls."
"He's a sissy boy beside you. No Texas girl would look twice--"
"Nothin' a-tall to that. Didn't he save Clint Wadley's life? Didn't hestay by Dinsmore when the Kiowas had 'em holed? He fought good enough toget shot up this mo'nin', didn't he? No, sir. You'll find he's got mebacked off the map so far as Miss Ramona goes. I know it, old-timer."
"Where do you get that notion you're a roughneck, Tex?" asked Jumbo."You've read more books than any man on the range. You don't hell aroundlike most of the boys. You don't drink. Mebbe you ain't exactly pretty,but yore face doesn't scare critters when they see it onexpected. An'when the band begins to play--Gentlemen, watch Tex."
"If the girls would only let you do the pickin' for 'em, Jumbo,"suggested Roberts with his sardonic smile.
Through rabbit weed and curly mesquite, among the catclaw and theprickly pear, they followed the faint ribbon trail left by the outlawsin their retreat from the scene of the hold-up.
When it was too late to cut sign any longer, the Ranger gave orders tothrow in to a small draw where the grass was good. At daybreak they wereon the trail again and came within the hour to the body of Overstreet.They dug a grave in a buffalo run with their knives and buried the bodyas well as they could before they picked up again the tracks of twohorses now traveling much faster.
"They're headin' for Palo Duro, looks like,'" commented Roberts.
"Looks like," agreed his friend.
Early in the afternoon the posse reached the little creek where theoutlaws had breakfasted. Old Guadaloupe crisscrossed the ground like abloodhound as he read what was written there. But before he made anyreport Roberts himself knew that a third person had joined the fugitivesand that this recruit was a woman. The Ranger followed the Apacheupstream, guessed by some feathers and some drops of blood that one ofthe outlaws had shot a prairie-hen, and read some hint of the story ofthe meeting between the woman and the bandit.
Was this woman some one who had been living in Palo Duro Canon with theoutlaws? Or was this meeting an accidental one? The odd thing about itwas that there was no sign of her horse. She had come on foot, in acountry where nobody ever travels that way.
Roberts told Guadaloupe to find out where the party had gone from thecamp. He himself followed into the desert the footsteps of the woman whohad come across it toward the creek. He was puzzled and a littledisturbed in mind. She had not come from the canon. What was a womandoing alone and on foot in this desert empty of human life for fiftymiles or more?
He found no answer to his questions and reluctantly returned to thecamp-fire. Guadaloupe was ready with his report. One man had started outon foot along the edge of the canon. The other man and the woman hadstruck on horseback across the plain.
"We'll follow those on horseback," decided the Ranger at once. He couldnot have told why the urgent impulse was on him to do this, nor why hedid not split his party and send part of his men in pursuit of the foottraveler. Later he laid it to what Jumbo would have called a hunch.
He was puzzled by the direction the two riders were taking. It ledneither to the A T O nor to Tascosa, and was making no account of thestreams where the travelers would have to find water. They seemed to beplunging ignorantly into the desert, but since Gurley or Dinsmore wasone of the two this could not be. Either of these men could havetraveled the Panhandle blindfolded.
They followed the tracks for hours. The line of travel was so directthat it told of purpose. Dinsmore--if the man were Dinsmore--evidentlyknew just what he was doing. Then, abruptly, the tracks pointed to theright, straight for the A T O.
But not for long. At the summit of a little rise the riders had plainlystopped for a few moments, then had turned and galloped fast for thesouthwest. The lengthening tracks, the sharpness of them, thecarelessness with which the riders took the rougher ground to follow astraight line, all suggested an urgent and imperative reason.
That reason became plain to Roberts in another minute. A great number oftracks swept in from the left and blotted out those of the two flyingriders.
"Chiricahua Apaches," grunted Guadaloupe. The scout had a feud with thatbranch of the tribe and was at war with them.
"How many?" questioned Jack.
The Indian held up the fingers of both hands, closed them, opened them,and a third time shut and lifted the fingers.
"Thirty?" asked the Ranger.
The Apache nodded.
"Dinsmore 's makin' for Palo Duro," remarked Wilkins as they followed ata canter the plain trail marked for them. "I'll bet he don't throw downon himself none on that race either. He's sure hell-bent on gettin'there."
One of the riders called to the Rangers. "Look over to the left, Tex. Wegot company."
A little group of riders--three, four, five of them--emerged from behinda clump of Spanish bayonet and signaled with a bandana handkerchief. Asthey rode closer the heart of the Ranger died under his ribs. Hisstomach muscles tightened, and he felt a prickling of the skin run downhis back. For Clint Wadley rode at the head of these men, and like aflash of lightning the truth had seared across the brain of JackRoberts. His daughter was the woman riding to escape from the savages.
The face of Wadley confirmed the guess of the Ranger. On the unshavenface of the cattleman dust was caked. His eyes were red and inflamedfrom the alkali and the tears he had fought back fifty times. Theexpression of the man was that of one passing through the torments ofhell.
In five broken sentences he told his story. Quint Sullivan, escapingfrom his pursuers after a thirty-mile run, had reached the ranch in themiddle of the night. Clint had gathered together such men as were athand and started at once. At Crane Lake he had found no trace of her. Hecould not escape the conviction that the Apaches had captured Ramona andtaken her with them.
On this last poin
t the Ranger offered him comfort, though it was sorrycomfort at that. Five hours ago she was still safe, but in terribledanger.
"Dinsmore's a man--none gamer in Texas, Mr. Wadley. He won't deserther," said Jumbo. "You couldn't 'a' picked a better man to look out forher."
"How do you know it's Dinsmore? Perhaps it's that yellow wolf Gurley,"answered the father out of his tortured heart.
Jack was riding on the other side of Wadley. He, too, carried with him aprivate hell of fear in his heart, but he knew that the big cattlemanwas nearly insane with anxiety.
"Because the man with Miss Ramona was takin' her back to the ranch whenthey bumped into the 'Paches. You know Steve Gurley would never havetaken her home in the world," replied the Ranger.
"What can one man do against thirty? He'll do what Quint here did--runto save his own hide."
Young Sullivan winced. It was the truth. He had run and left the girl tothe mercy of these devils. But his one chance of helping her had been torun. He tried to say as much.
"I know that, Quint. I'm not blamin' you," broke out the father in hisagony. "But my little lamb--in the hands of 'Paches--God!" Wadleycovered his eyes with his hand and tried to press back from his brainthe horrible visions he kept seeing.
Jumbo stuck to his one valid point. "Bite yore teeth into this, Clint.She's got ridin' beside her as game a man as ever threw his leg overleather. He knows this country like you do yore ranch. He'll hole up inPalo Duro where the 'Paches won't find 'em, an' if the devils do he'llsure stand 'em off till we blow in."
His friend on the other side of the cattleman backed him up strongly,but the heart of the Ranger was heavy with dread.
Oh, You Tex! Page 38
