The Ridin' Kid from Powder River

by Henry Herbert Knibbs

  CHAPTER XXVIII

  A GAMBLE

  On either side of a faint trail rose the dreary, angling grotesques ofthe cactus, and the dried and dead stalks of the soapweed. Beyond, tothe south, lay a sea of shimmering space, clear to the light blue thatedged the sky-line. The afternoon sun showed copper-red through afaint haze which bespoke a change of weather. The miles between theOlla and that tiny dot on the horizon--the Ortez hacienda--seemedendless, because of no pronounced landmarks. Pete surmised that itwould be dark long before they reached their destination. Incidentallyhe was amazed by the speed of the thoroughbreds, who ran so easily, yetwith a long, reaching stride that ate into the miles. To Pete theyseemed more like excellent machines than horses--lacking the pertindividuality of the cow-pony. Stall-fed and groomed to a satin-smoothglow, stabled and protected from the rains--pets, in Pete'sestimation--yet he knew that they would run until they dropped, holdingthat long, even stride to the very end. He reached out and patted hishorse on the neck. Instantly the sensitive ears twitched and thestride lengthened. Pete tightened rein gently. "A quirt would onlymake him crazy," he thought; and he grinned as he saw that Brevoort'shorse had let out a link or two to catch up with its mate.

  The low sun, touching the rim of the desert, flung long crimson shaftsheavenward--in hues of rose and amethyst, against the deep umber andthe purple of far spaces. From monotonous and burning desolation thedesert had become a vast momentary solitude of changing beauty andenchantment. Then all at once the colors vanished, space shrank, andoccasional stars trembled in the velvet roof of the night. And onestar, brighter than the rest, grew gradually larger, until it became asolitary camp-fire on the level of the plain.

  "Don't like the looks of that," said Brevoort, as he pulled up hishorse. "It's out in front of the 'dobe--and it means the Ortez has gotcompany."

  "Soldiers?"

  "Looks like it."

  "Arguilla's men?"

  "I reckon so. And they're up pretty clost to the line--too clost tosuit me. We'll ride round and do our talkin' with Ortez."

  "Ain't they friendly?" queried Pete.

  "Friendly, hell! Any one of 'em would knife you for the hoss you'reridin'! Hear 'em sing! Most like they're all drunk--and you know whatthat means. Just follow along slow; and whatever you run into don'tget off your hoss."

  "Ain't them there coyotes friendly to Ortez?"

  "S' long as he feeds 'em. But that don't do us no good. Ought to besome of the Ortez riders hangin' round somewhere. They don't mix muchwith Arguilla's men."

  "She's a lovely lay-out," said Pete. "But I'm with you."

  Circling the ranch, Brevoort and Pete rode far out into the desert,until the camp-fire was hidden by the ranch-buildings. Then theyangled in cautiously, edging past the 'dobe outbuildings and thecorrals toward the hacienda. "Don't see anybody around. Guess they're all out in front drinkin' with the bunch," whispered Brevoort.Just as Pete was about to make a suggestion, a figure rose almostbeneath the horse's head, and a guttural Mexican voice told him tohalt. Pete complied, telling the Mexican that they were from the Olla,that they had a message for Ortez.

  "No use arguin'," said Brevoort--and Pete caught Brevoort's meaning asanother man appeared.

  "Ask him if Arguilla is here," said Brevoort. And Pete knew that thesewere Arguilla's men, for none of the Ortez vaquero's carriedbolt-action rifles.

  The sentry replied to Pete's question by poking him in the ribs withthe muzzle of his rifle, and telling his to get down muy pronto.

  "Tell him our message is for Arguilla--not Ortez," suggested Brevoort."There's something wrong here. No use startin' anything," he addedhastily, as he dismounted. "Ortez is agent for Arguilla's outfit. Ifyou get a chance, watch what they do with our horses."

  "We came to see El Comandante," said Pete as the sentries marched themto the house. "We're his friends--and you'll be coyote-meat beforemornin' if you git too careless with that gun."

  The sentry grunted and poked Pete in the back with his rifle, informinghim in that terse universal idiom that he could "tell it to ElComandante."

  From the outer darkness to the glare of the light in the 'dobe was ablinding transition. Pete and Brevoort blinked at the three figures inthe main room: Arguilla, who sat at the long table, his heavy featuresglistening with sweat, his broad face flushed to a dull red, had hishand on a bottle of American whiskey, from which he had just filled hisglass. Near him sat the owner of the rancho, Ortez, a man much older,bearded and lean, with face lined and interlined by weather and age.At the closed door stood a sentry. From without came raucous laughterand the singing of the soldiers. The sentry nearest Pete told Arguillathat the Gringoes had been caught sneaking in at the back of thehacienda.

  Pete briskly corrected this statement. "We're from the Olla--about thecattle--for your army," added Pete, no whit abashed as he profferedthis bit of flattery.

  "Si! You would talk with the patron then?"--and Arguilla gesturedtoward Ortez.

  "We got orders from Brent--he's our boss---to make our talk to you,"said Pete, glancing quickly at Brevoort.

  "How did you know that I was here with my army?" queried Arguilla.

  "Shucks! That's easy. It's in all the papers," asserted Pete, ratherproud of himself, despite the hazard of the situation.

  Arguilla's chest swelled noticeably. He rose and strutted up and downthe room, as though pondering a grave and weighty question. Presentlyhe turned to Ortez. "You have heard, senor?"

  Ortez nodded. And in that nod Brevoort read the whole story. Ortezwas virtually a prisoner on his own ranch. The noble captain ofLiberty had been known to use his best friends in this way.

  "When will the cattle arrive at the Olla?" asked Arguilla, seatinghimself.

  "To-morrow, Senor Comandante. That is the word from Sam Brent."

  "And you have come for the money, then?"

  Pete barely hesitated. "No. Brent said there ain't no hurry aboutthat. He said you could figure on two hundred head"--Pete recalledHarper's statement--"and that you would send your agent over to theOlla with the cash."

  Arguilla glanced at Ortez. "You have heard, senor?"

  Ortez nodded dejectedly. He had heard, but he dare not speak. As thetrusted agent of the financiers backing Arguilla, he had but recentlybeen given the money for the purchase of these supplies, and almost onthe heels of the messenger bearing the money had come Arguilla, who atonce put Ortez under arrest, conveyed the money to his own coffers, andtold the helpless Ortez that he could settle with the Gringo Brentaccording to the understanding between them.

  Brevoort, silently eying Arguilla, saw through the scheme. Arguillahad determined to have both the money and the cattle. This explainedhis unwonted presence at the Ortez hacienda.

  Arguilla took a stiff drink of whiskey, wiped his mustache and turnedto Brevoort. "You have heard?" he said.

  Brevoort knew enough Mexican to understand the question. "We'll tellBrent that everything is all right," he said easily. "But he's a dam'liar," he added in an undertone to Pete. Brevoort had made the mistakeof assuming that because he did not understand Mexican, Arguilla didnot understand English. Arguilla did not hear all that Brevoort said,but he caught the one significant word. His broad face darkened.These Gringoes knew too much! He would hold them until the cattle hadbeen delivered--and then they could join his army--or be shot. A meredetail, in either event.

  "Put these men under arrest!" he commanded the sentries. "If theyescape--you are dead men."

  "What's the idee--" began Pete, but the noble captain waved his hand,dismissing all argument, along with the sentries, who marched theirprisoners to the stable and told them plainly that they had much rathershoot them than be bothered with watching them; a hint that Petetranslated for Brevoort's benefit.

  One of the sentries lighted a dusty lantern and, placing it on thefloor of a box stall, relieved his captives of their belts and guns.The sentries squatted at the open end of the stall and talked t
ogetherwhile Brevoort and Pete sat each in a corner staring at the lantern.

  Presently Brevoort raised his head. "Find out if either of 'em sabeAmerican talk," he whispered.

  "You sabe my talk?" queried Pete.

  One of the sentries turned to stare at Pete. The Mexican shook hishead.

  "You're a liar by the watch--and your father was a pig and the son of apig, wasn't he?" asked Pete, smiling pleasantly.

  "Si!" said the Mexican, grinning as though Pete had made a friendlyjoke.

  "And the other fella there, with ears like the barndoor in a wind, he'sjest nacherally a horn-toad that likes whiskey and would jest as soonknife his mother as he would eat a rattlesnake for supper, eh?" AndPete smiled engagingly.

  "Si. It is to laugh."

  "You sabe whiskey?"

  The Mexican shook his head.

  "You sabe dam' fool?" Pete's manner was serious as though seekinginformation.

  Again the Mexican shook his head.

  "He sure don't," said Pete, turning to Brevoort--"or he'd 'a' jestnacherally plugged me. If a Chola don't know what whiskey or dam' foolmeans, he don't know American."

  Meanwhile the two guards had turned to the natural expedient ofgambling for Pete's belt and gun. The elaborately carved holster hadtaken their fancy. Pete and his companion watched them for a while.

  Presently Pete attracted Brevoort's attention by moving a finger."Hear anything?" he whispered.

  "I hear 'em eatin'," said Brevoort. He was afraid to use the word"horses."

  Pete nodded. "Speakin' of eatin'--you hungry, Ed?"

  "Plumb empty. But I didn't know it till you asked me."

  "Well, I been feelin' round in the hay--and right in my corner is anest full of eggs. There's so doggone many I figure that some of 'emis gettin' kind of ripe. Did you ever git hit in the eye with a ripeegg?"

  "Not that I recollect'."

  "Well, you would--if you had. Now I don't know what that swelled upgent in there figures on doin' with us. And I don't aim to hang aroundto find out. These here Cholas is gamblin' for our hosses, right now.It kind of looks to me like if we stayed round here much longer weain't goin' to need any hosses or anything else. I worked for aMexican onct--and I sabe 'em. You got to kind of feel what they mean,and never mind what they are sayin'. Now I got a hunch that we don'tget back to the Olla, never--'less we start right now."

  "But how in--"

  "Wait a minute. I'm goin' to dig round like I was goin' to take asleep--and find these here eggs. Then I'm goin' to count 'em nacheral,and pile 'em handy to you. Then we rig up a deal like we was gamblin'for 'em, to kind of pass the time. If that don't git them two coyotesinterested, why, nothin' will. Next to gamblin' a Chola likes to_watch_ gamblin' better 'n 'most anything. When you git to win all myeggs, I make a holler like I'm mad. You been cheatin'. And if themtwo Cholas ain't settin' with their mouths open and lookin' at us, why,I don't know Cholas. They're listenin' right now--but they don't sabe.Go ahead and talk like you was askin' me somethin'."

  "What's your game after we start beefin' about the eggs?"

  "You pick up a couple--and I pick up a couple. First you want to moveround so you kin swing your arm. When I call you a doggone bald-faceshort-horn, jest let your Chola have the eggs plumb in his eye. Ifthey bust like I figure, we got a chanct to jump 'em--but we got tomove quick. They's a old single-tree layin' right clost to your elbow,kind of half under the hay. Mebby it'll come handy. I figure to kickmy friend in the face when I jump. Do I find them eggs?"

  "Dig for 'em," drawled the Texan.

  "If we miss the first jump, then they shoot, and that'll be our finish.But that's a heap better 'n gittin' stood up against a 'dobe wall. Ijest found them eggs."

  And Pete uttered an exclamation as he drew his hand from the strawbehind him, and produced an egg. The Mexicans glanced up. Pete dug inthe straw and fetched up another egg--and another. Brevoort leanedforward as though deeply interested in some sleight-of-hand trick. Eggafter egg came from the abandoned nest. The Mexicans laughed. Thesupply of eggs seemed to be endless.

  Finally Pete drew out his hand, empty. "Let's count 'em," he said, andstraightway began, placing the eggs in a pile midway between himselfand his companion. "Twenty-eight. She was a enterprisin' hen."

  "I'll match for 'em," said Brevoort, hitching round and facing Pete.

  "I'll go you!" And straightway Brevoort and Pete became absorbed inthe game, seemingly oblivious to the Mexicans, who sat watching, withopen mouths, utterly absorbed in their childish interest. Two Gringoeswere gambling for bad eggs.

  Pete won for a while. Then he began to lose. "They're ripe all right.I can tell by the color. Plumb ready to bust. The Cholas sabe that.Watch 'em grin. They 're waitin' for one of us to bust a egg. That'llbe a big joke, and they'll 'most die a-laughin'--'cause it's ajoke--and 'cause we're Gringoes."

  "Then here's where I bust one," said Brevoort. "Get a couple in yourhand. Act like you was chokin' to death. I'll laugh. Then I'll kindof get the smell of that lame egg and stand up quick. Ready?"

  "Shoot," said Pete.

  Brevoort tossed an egg on the pile. Several of the eggs broke with afaint "plop." Pete wrinkled his nose, and his face expressed suchutter astonishment, disgust, even horror, as the full significance ofthe age of those eggs ascended to him, that he did not need to act hispart. He got to his feet and backed away from those eggs, even asBrevoort rose slowly, as though just aware that the eggs were notaltogether innocent. The two Mexicans had risen to their knees androcked back and forth, laughing at the beautiful joke on the Gringoes.Plop!--Plop!--Plop! and three of the four eggs targeted an accuratetwelve o'clock. Pete leaped and kicked viciously. His high heelcaught one choking Mexican in the jaw just as Brevoort jumped and swungthe single-tree. Pete grabbed up his belt and gun.

  Brevoort had no need to strike again.

  "You go see if the horses are saddled. I'll watch the door," saidBrevoort.

  Arguilla was awakened from a heavy sleep by the sound of a shot and theshrill yelp of one of his men. A soldier entered and saluted. "TheAmericans have gone," he reported.

  Arguilla's bloated face went from red to purple, and he reached for hisgun which lay on the chair near his bed. But the lieutenant who hadreported the escape faced his chief fearlessly.

  Arguilla hesitated. "Who guarded them?" he asked hoarsely.

  The lieutenant named the men.

  "Take them out and shoot them--at once."

  "But, Senor Comandante, they may not stand. The Americans have beatenthem so that they are as dead."

  "Then shoot them where they lay--which will be easier to do."