by Zane Grey
“Stick ’em up, cowboy!” cut the air with deadly menace. As Lance threw up his hands he recognized that voice. It belonged with the car.
“Okay, Uhl. Up — they are,” he replied quietly.
“Come close.”
Lance walked to the automobile halting abreast of the front seat. Uhl had his hand in his coat pocket and he was leaning over the door. Lance knew that he faced a concealed gun and that he had to think quickly and right. Uhl was bareheaded. His clean-cut visage shone pale and cold in the light. The driver hunched down over the wheel, as if ready to race. The engine purred. Then Lance caught the gleam of a machine gun on the lap of a man in the back seat. Between him and another man shrank a girl with face as white as chalk and great dark eyes. Lance recognized her with a terrific stop of his heart. For an instant he seemed to reel dizzily, then the cold sickening freeze of his very marrow quickened to a hot gush of blood, and his faculties cleared to a magnified intensity.
“Cowboy, you’ve been here on Cork’s snatch racket?” queried Uhl, sharply.
“Yes.”
“What held him up?”
“I don’t know.”
“We beat him to it! Who wised you and why’re you looking for me?”
“Want to tip you off. You cut the wire too late. Sheriff here has blocked you as far west as Tucson and as far east as El Paso. Posse down the road waiting to blow your tires into smithereens.”
Uhl burst into vehement curses: “Raggy, —— —— your dumb soul! You —— —— —— hop-head! I ought to bump you off for that loss of time back there.... What’ll we do?”
“Shoot our way through,” rasped the driver.
Lance interrupted in ringing low voice: “Might be okay for Bolton but points farther on the highway will be blocked. No chance in a million. Just as bad east. The wires are hot.”
“Fox, what’s the dope?” flashed the leader.
“Are you asking me?” curtly retorted one of the men in the back. “Didn’t I warn you against this racket? I advise hiding along the railroad track and hopping a freight.”
“You’re no fox. You’re a rabbit.... Cowboy, what’s your tip?”
“Beat it for the hills pronto,” exclaimed Lance, hurriedly. “You can’t get through this town by car.”
“Hills!... I get it. But horses, food, blankets — where can they be found?”
“Cowboy outfit just out of town. You can buy what you need from them and be on the trail in a jiffy.”
“Good. Where’ll we go?”
“Up in the Peloncillos. Rough wild country. You couldn’t be tracked. You can hide for days. As soon as you get your dough you can ride down across the border into Mexico.”
“Good tip, cowboy. What about this bus?”
“Send your driver on the ridge road. Give him water and grub. When morning comes he can drive off the road into the cedars beyond the point. And hide there. He could get out later.”
“Oke. Will you guide us?”
“Sure. If you slip me enough.”
Uhl’s gun gave out a metallic clink as he drew his coat over the door. Producing a roll of bills he handed one to Lance.
“Here’s a grand.”
“Make it two, Uhl. And promise of more if I get you through,” demanded Lance, lowering his hands.
“Okay, you chiseler. Jump on the running board and tell the driver where to go.”
Lance ran around to the other side of the car and caught on. He directed the driver down the road and away from the town. A campfire blazed among the trees. In a reaction of feeling Lance could scarcely hold on. He imagined he was in a dreadful nightmare. But the car was moving. In the back he saw a gangster on this side with a machine gun across his knees, the same as the other. And on the floor lay another man. Lance puzzled over that. By sheer luck and wit he had met a tremendous situation. Anything to keep Uhl from carrying Madge off to the cities! She would be worse than lost or dead. He divined that Uhl would never release her. If he could steer them up into the hills, Stewart would be on his trail in another day. It was the only chance.
“Here we are,” called Lance, as the car approached to within fifty feet of the campfire, out in the shadow.
“Fox, you and Flemm get out and stick up this bunch,” ordered Uhl.
It was done almost in the twinkling of an eye. Uhl got out and faced the cowboys. Sloan’s comrades, especially the cook, looked comical in their maze, but Sloan himself grew pale and grim.
“No holdup, cowboys. I want to buy horses and stuff to go up in the hills. Here’s a grand.”
“What’s thet?” queried Sloan.
“Ten hundred smackers — a thousand dollars, you dumbbell.”
“What do you want fer thet much?”
“Five saddle horses, some packs, and whatever else we need.”
“It’s a deal.”
Uhl stuck the bill into the cowboy’s shirt pocket. “Line them up, Flemm, and keep ’em covered.... Come here, cowboy.”
Lance strode into the campfire light, quite prepared for the profane ejaculations of Sloan and the Spencer brothers.
“Pick out what we want damn quick.”
“Uhl, we’d save time by having these cowboys help me saddle and pack. Two of your men can keep them covered,” suggested Lance.
“Oke. Step on it,” rejoined Uhl, then repaired to the car. He opened the back door. “Come out, baby.”
Madge descended from the car, clad in white slacks and a white sport coat. She made a step toward the campfire, when Uhl seized her roughly.
“Say, you move only when you’re told,” ordered the gangster, harshly. “Honey Bee Uhl talking — and you get it.”
“All right. But keep your hands off me,” flashed Madge, with a passion that told her spirit had not been weakened. And she twisted free.
“Oke, baby. But you might as well get used to them.... Raggy, throw that college bloke out. Then you grab some eats and drink and beat it.”
Lance was as amazed as the other cowboys to see a limp young man pulled out of the car. He appeared dazed or injured, but he sat up, to disclose the handsome pale features of Rollie Stevens.
“Get up and come to the fire,” ordered Uhl. And he pushed Madge along ahead of him. “Now sit down, both of you. In a minute I’ll talk ransom money to you.... Raggy, don’t forget to put our bags out of the car.”
Lance tried to see and hear everything from where he saddled Umpqua. The other cowboys were saddling and packing with extreme celerity under the guns of the two gangsters. Lance, thinking to have Madge ride his horse, shortened the stirrups. If a chance offered he might shoot one or more of these fellows and leap up behind Madge to make their escape. In a very few minutes six saddle and two pack horses were ready to travel. He searched for an extra rope and canteen, to tie them on his saddle. He heard the car roar and roll away up the ridge road. Hurrying back to the campfire he said crisply: “Ready, Uhl.”
“My God!” cried Rollie Stevens. “It’s Sidway. Madge, look!”
“I’ve had the pleasure,” returned Madge, with infinite scorn.
“Kidnaper!” shouted Stevens, incredulously. Then it appeared a kind of joy came over him. That infuriated Lance, whose nerves were taut.
“Fetch those cowboys here,” called Uhl.
When Sloan and his two comrades were lined up in front of the gangster, he asked, indicating Sloan, “What’s your name?”
“Tim Sloan.”
“Get this dope, cowboy,” went on the gangster, deliberately. “In the morning you notify Stewart I’m holding his daughter for fifty grand....”
“My father can’t raise that,” interposed Madge. “He is practically ruined. But I can raise half that.”
“Baby, will you keep out of this?” retorted Uhl, then turning to Sloan again he resumed, “Notify Stewart I want fifty grand for her, and the same for her boy friend. If my orders are not obeyed, we’ll rape the girl, and then kill them both. No bluffing. Send one man on our track with the money.
Get that, cowboy?”
“Shore — I get it,” replied Sloan, huskily.
“Fox, you keep these fellows covered until we’re all in the saddle and out of the light.... Sidway, you lead the way with the pack horses. I’ll follow with the dame. Fox, you and Flemm drive Stevens between you. Let’s go.”
“Uhl, I’ve selected an easy-gaited horse for Miss Stewart,” spoke up Lance. “It’s a tough trail.”
“Yeah? Bet she’ll stand it better than any of us. I haven’t been in a saddle half a dozen times in my life.... Which horse? Come on, baby.”
Lance led them over to Umpqua, and took from the saddle the fleece-lined coat he had untied.
“Get into this. It’ll be bitter cold when we’re high up,” he said, and held the coat for her. If he had not been under stress of strongly suppressed emotion he might have recoiled from her convulsed white face and magnificent eyes. But her look of horror and hate strangely changed.
“It can’t — be true!” she cried, poignantly.
“What can’t be true, baby?” interposed Uhl.
“That Lance Sidway is a side partner of you, Bee Uhl!”
“Miss Stewart, it happens that I am,” replied Lance. “Hurry into this coat.... You’ll find gloves in the pocket.”
Lance blindly held the coat for her and then plunged away. Mounting Sloan’s horse he drove the two pack animals into the road, and headed for the dark hills. In a moment or more he recognized Umpqua’s gait behind him, and presently heard the other horses following. It was done, and his heart seemed to descend from his throat and settle where it belonged. A cool wind blew down from the heights. The stars blinked as if incredulous. His jumbled thoughts began to straighten out. No use to marvel at where he found himself — at the unaccountable fate which had finally placed it in his power to save Madge Stewart, her honor and her life, and the happiness of her parents. Somehow he would do it. All these dove-tailing angles could not be merely coincidences. They fitted, and he felt that he would solve the problem. But he must be governed by cool judgment instead of emotion. To this end he brought sternly to bear all the mentality of which he was capable. And out of the welter of thoughts he fixed upon a determination to be alert and ready on the instant to seize any opportunity to escape with Madge. It would come inevitably. These tenderfoot gangsters, unused to horses and pains, climbing into the wild rugged hills, would sooner or later provide that opportunity. But if it did not come before Uhl resorted to violence with the girl then Lance must be quick to kill him, and call upon her to run for her life while he fought it out with the others. That settled Lance into a cold and calculating mood which transformed him into another man. He was dealing with a matter of life and death — with vicious degenerates from the underworld of crime.
Tim Sloan had a rather complex problem to solve, as far as Lance’s connection with Uhl was concerned; but any cowboy would obey the gangster’s orders, and then let Stewart decide. Lance knew what would happen and he would not have been in Uhl’s boots for a million dollars. Stewart and his men would be Indians on the trail of this gang, and they would shoot them down from ambush or surprise them and hang them from the pines. All Lance’s faculties must be concentrated on his task of saving Madge from these merciless fiends.
Several miles out, the road swung to the south, and the Cochise Trail branched off around the lower point of the ridge. The black hills loomed high. A brightening to the east heralded a rising moon. Lance did not need the repeated calls from Uhl to “step on it,” and he led across the valley at a trot. The pack horses, with light burdens, did not hold up the progress. In short order Lance reached the point where the trail started up the slope. He dismounted here to wait for the others. Umpqua was close behind. Lance broke the tip of a cedar bush with a vicious twist. He prepared this first sign to make his trail easy to follow.
“How you riding, girl?” queried Lance, as Umpqua came up.
“Swell. I like Umpqua in spite of the bum who owns him. It’s going to be some romantic ride,” replied Madge, mockingly.
Uhl arrived next, straddling his horse as if he were on stilts.
“What you gassing about?” he demanded.
“I asked Miss Stewart about her saddle cinch,” returned Lance.
“Yeah? And what did that little dame say?”
“Ask her.”
Uhl did and was promptly told to go where it was hot and that if he wanted to keep her from talking he would have to gag her. Stevens rode up then, accompanied by his captors. He appeared to have recovered somewhat and sat his saddle upright. The other gangsters, packing their bags and machine guns in front, looked as if they would have been glad to get down and walk.
“We begin to climb here,” said Lance, “and I’ll tighten your cinches.” When he worked back to Madge and made a motion at her cinch she interrupted him.
“Keep your black hands away from me. I don’t want to be soiled. If my cinch needs tightening, I’ll do it,” and her voice rang with contempt.
“Black?... Oh, I see. Gosh, how dumb I am!” declared Lance, lowering his bare hands. “Listen, you all. This trail is steep. Give your horse his head. Lean forward in bad places and hang onto his mane. When I stop to rest my horses you do the same. That’s all.”
He slapped the pack animals up the trail, and mounting he followed them. Umpqua, with a loose bridle, kept right on the heels of Lance’s horse. When Lance turned to look back he saw Madge almost close enough to touch. The other four riders came on in close single file.
Lance zigzagged after the pack horses, and forbore gazing back again. But he thrilled at her nerve. She was not in the least afraid of Uhl. Lance let the pack horses initiate the rests. They were well-trained animals. Beyond the first foothill yawned a shadowy cedar flat, which led to another slope, long and gradual. When he surmounted it to the summit a full moon soared white above the black domes, transforming night into a silvery luminous day.
“Beastly trail,” declared Madge, sarcastically. “I’ll have to send a gang of laborers up here for two weeks to work on it. Big expense, though.”
“I’ll say,” replied Uhl, taking her literally. “Tough as nuts. But, baby, you ride like one of those circus girls in tights.”
“Miss Stewart, you’d better not go to such expense,” interposed Lance, satirically.
“Oh, are you a monumental liar?” burst out the girl.
“Shut up gabbing to him,” ordered Uhl.
That significant speech for once silenced Madge, and it almost drove Lance into throwing his gun on the egoistic crook. He had kidnaped Madge for more than ransom.
Lance rode on into an up-an-down cedar country with an occasional pine tree heralding the approach to the heights. The air began to have a cool edge. The moon climbed toward the zenith. Presently the trail led into a narrow canyon. It was long and tortuous, heading at last into a mountain meadow, where traveling was comfortable for a while. A black belt of pines loomed ahead, shining in the moonlight. Lance kept eye and ear keen for his followers. Madge appeared to ride easily, but the others were growing crippled. They shifted from side to side in their saddles, let their legs hang, and grumbled intermittently.
Once, under the dark pines, Lance was seized by a savage and desperate impulse. Here was the place to shoot Uhl and ride off with Madge. He almost surrendered to it. He was sure of killing the gangster, sure of Umpqua, but some hitch he could not anticipate might give the other gangsters a moment to rake forward with those machine guns. Lance refused the chance. A better would offer, and he importuned patience.
The forest belt gave way to rough rocky country where Madge, if she had not bestrode a grand horse, would have suffered considerably. The horses labored slowly over shale and up loose slides and through thick brush that tore at them. The moon reached a point overhead; the air had a bite in it; coyotes mourned lonely cries; the night grew far advanced. Here Uhl at last fell off his saddle and walked behind Madge leading his horse. The other gangsters cursed and raved for a halt
.
“Sidway, for God’s sake, have a heart!” yelped Uhl, finally. “Aren’t we far enough? Can’t we camp here?”
“No water. No grass. You must go on,” replied Lance.
“But we’ve rode — a hundred miles — already,” panted the gangster.
“Seems like, maybe. But we’re not twenty miles from town. Better get on your horse again.”
Uhl obeyed groaning. Lance would not let them rest, and presently divining that Uhl was dependent upon him and knew it, he turned a deaf ear to appeals and curses and threats alike. And he led on and up through increasingly rough country, until Uhl, with a bellow, fell off his horse.
“Sorry, Uhl,” said Lance. “You almost made it.”
“Made what?”
“Camp at Cochise’s stronghold. Not much further. And a swell place. Water, wood, grass. A log cabin.”
“Gimme a — drink — Fox,” panted the gangster. “I can walk — the rest.”
“I wouldn’t ride no furder for Al Capone,” retorted Flemm, doggedly.
“Well, you can rot here — for a little shot,” snapped Uhl, and he labored to his feet.
“Beat it, cowboy.”
Lance led on, riding with his hands in his pockets. On the heights it was cold. Madge would be warm, all except her feet. Stevens appeared to be sagging in his saddle, but Lance could not summon any sympathy for the collegian. After more weary miles of travel Uhl burst out:
“Baby, what kind of liar did you call Sidway?”
“Monumental. But that’s weak. He’s a colossal liar!”
“Shall I bump him off?”
“Nothing could delight me more, except to see you bumped off.”
“Say, you’re a hellcat, ain’t you? But I’ll tame you.... Hold up, you guide. I want to get on again.”
The last miles of that uphill ride were dragging and cruel to the gangsters. Even Stevens, hurt at the outset in some way, endured the ordeal better. When Lance led into the beautiful wooded park, which inclosed Cochise’s stronghold, the moon was low and dawn not far away. He halted the cavalcade under some spreading pines.
Lance’s hands were so stiff from cold that he could scarcely start a fire. But that once done, he gathered firewood, and soon had a blaze. White and silent now Madge leaned against a tree. Lance threw his saddle, then flew to the packs. In a few moments he had them off the horses. He carried one to the fire and threw out blankets. Uhl knelt, his shaking hands to the fire. The other gangsters stood over the blaze, guns in hands, still wary and watchful. Their chief might have trusted Lance, but they did not.
