CHAPTER XXVI
THE PRODIGAL
With face upraised to the breath of air which stirred across the bareblack lava hills, Rathburn leaned forward in the saddle eagerly, whilehis dun-colored horse stood patiently, seemingly in accord with hismaster's mood. A merciless sun beat down from a hot, cloudless sky.
Below, stretching in endless miles was the desert--a sinister,forbidding land of desolate distances, marked only by slender yuccapalms, mesquite, dusty greasewood, an occasional clump of green paloverde, the slim fingers of the ocatilla, the high "forks" of the giantsahuara, and clumps of la cholla cactus, looking like apple orchardsin full bloom.
Yet the man's gaze fell for a moment lovingly on each species ofcactus and desert vegetation; his look was that which dwells in thehomesick eyes of a traveler when he sees his native land from the deckof an inbound ship.
"Hoss, we're home!" he said aloud, while the animal pricked up itsears.
Then he looked off to the left, where the blue outlines of a low rangeof mountains wavered in the heat like a mirage.
"Imagination Range," he said moodily.
He tickled the dun with his spurs and trotted along the crest of thelava ridge. At its eastern terminus he swung down into the desert andstruck straight east in the direction of Imagination Range. Thedesert's surface between the lava ridge and the higher hills of therange to eastward was cut by dry washes and arroyos and miniatureridges studded with giant cactus.
On the top of one of these high rises the horseman suddenly reined inhis mount and stared into the south. "There's trouble--an' spelledwith a capital T!" he ejaculated.
The gaze in his keen gray eyes centered upon a number of ridersspeeding their horses over the tumbled section of desert below him tohis right. He made out two divisions of horsemen. One group was somedistance ahead of the other. Even as he stared down at them, its groupseparated, and some rode for Imagination Range, while others hastenedtoward the lava hills, or due north in his direction. The second grouphalted for a brief spell, evidently for a conference, and then itsmembers also divided and started in swift pursuit of the men ahead.
The watcher on the top of the rise frowned.
"Out of here, hoss," he said sharply. "This ain't our day forvisitors."
He pushed on eastward, increasing its pace, but losing time inskirting the frequent bits of high ground. As he rode down into a deeparroyo, a horseman came galloping into its lower end and raced almostupon him before seeing him. His hand darted like lightning to his gun,and the weapon snapped into aim at his hip. The horseman came to arearing halt, reins dangling, his hands held high, his eyes bulgingfrom their sockets.
"Rathburn!" he exclaimed.
"The same," said the man with the gun. "What's all the disturbancedown there?"
"Bob Long is chasing us," the other answered with a nervous grin.
"As I remember it," drawled Rathburn, "Bob Long is the sheriff ofMesquite County. You boys sure ain't been misbehaving?"
"It's worse than that," said the fugitive, staring doubtfully at hisquestioner. "The stage driver's dead. Had a notion the boss wasfoolin' when he told him to reach up for the bugs in the air."
"Who does the boss happen to be in this case?"
The man hesitated.
"Take your time," said Rathburn sarcastically; "there's nobody afteryou but the sheriff, an' he probably won't be along for a minute ortwo."
"It won't do _you_ no good for him to find us here," said the otherboldly.
Rathburn's eyes blazed. "I reckon you're forgettin' that Bob Longknows I travel alone," he said hotly. "He savvys I don't travel with acrowd. I ain't found it necessary so far, an' I ain't aiming to start.I counted eight in your gang--to hold up one stage, eh?" He concludedwith a sneer, while the other shifted nervously in his saddle and casta quick look back over his shoulder. There seemed no one there.
"You needn't be lookin' around," Rathburn said coldly. "You're goin'to stay here till you answer my question, if all the sheriffs inArizona come ridin' up meanwhile. Who's headin' your gang?"
"That ain't professional," the fugitive grumbled. "You're just thesame as one of us."
Then, seeing the look that came into Rathburn's eyes, he said hastily:"Mike Eagen planned the lay."
"I guessed it," said Rathburn in a tone of contempt. "Well, you betterslope while you've still got a chance."
He motioned to the man to go, and the latter rode at a gallop up thearroyo and out of sight. Rathburn's face wore a worried scowl, as heslid his gun into its holster, whirled his horse, and speedily climbedthe east side of the arroyo.
From a vantage point he caught sight again of the horsemen racing upfrom the south. They were much nearer, and he could readily make outthe members of the sheriff's posse. He had had experience with possesbefore.
Striking around the crest of the high ground which formed the eastside of the arroyo, he again raced toward the range of mountains inthe east, taking advantage of every bit of cover which offeredconcealment from the riders approaching at top speed from the south.
Occasional glances made it plain that the sheriff was sending, orpersonally bringing, most of his posse east in the direction of themountains, presumably in the hope of cutting off the outlaws fromseeking refuge in the hills. But the mountains were Rathburn's goal aswell as the goal of a majority of Mike Eagen's band, though fortotally different reasons. He refused to change his direction,although by going north, the stout, speedy dun could doubtlessoutdistance the posse before the afternoon was spent.
Rathburn's teeth snapped shut, his jaw squared, and his eyes narrowed,as he saw indubitable signs that he had been detected. Two of theposse were waving their arms and dashing in his direction. At thatdistance they could not identify him, but under the circumstances suchidentification was unnecessary. His presence there, riding like mad,was certain to convince the pursuers that he was one of the gangresponsible for the stage job. This was obvious.
For good reasons, Rathburn did not want it generally known that he wasback in a country where he had spent most of his life, and where hewas branded as a desperate outlaw with a big price on his head.Consequently, seeing that the sheriff's men were out to get him, heabandoned all attempt at concealment, drove in his spurs, gave the dunhorse its head, and raced for the mountains.
Other members of the posse who were farther to the east caught thesignals of the two who were in hot pursuit of Rathburn, and theydashed north to cut him off. The outlaws had disappeared, and Rathburnshook his head savagely, as he realized they had sought cover whenthey saw the chase was directed at one man. Without having had a handin the holdup of the stage, he had arrived on the spot just in time todraw the fire of the authorities. And fire it was now; for the menbehind him had begun shooting in the hope of a chance hit at thedistance.
A scant mile separated him from his goal. He came to a level stretchwhich was almost a mass of green because of the clumps of palo verde.Here he urged the dun to its utmost, outdistanced the pair in hisrear, and gained on the men riding from the south, almost ahead ofhim. He swerved a bit to the north and cut straight for a notch in themountains. He smiled, as he approached it, and saw a narrow defileleading into the hills. He gained it in a final, heartbreaking burstof speed on the part of his mount. As he dashed into the canyon,bullets sang past him and over his head. Then a cry of amazement cameto his ears.
"It's The Coyote!" a man was yelling. "Rathburn's back!"
He dashed into the shelter of the defile, a grim smile playing on hislips. He had been recognized. His face hardened. He rounded a hugeboulder, checked his horse, and dismounted. He could hear the pound ofhoofs in the entrance of the narrow canyon. A rider came into viewbelow.
Rathburn leaned out from the protection of the boulder. His lips werepressed into a fine, white line, and there was a look of haunted worryin his eyes. His gun flashed in his hand. The rider saw him andyelled, spurring his horse. Then Rathburn's gun swung quickly upward.A sharp report sounded, like a crash of thunder in the
narrow confinesof the canyon, and its echoes reverberated through the hills.
The rider toppled in his saddle and fell to the floor of the canyon.His horse came to a snorting stop, reins dangling, all four legsbraced. The hoof-beats instantly were stilled. A silence, complete andsinister, reigned in the defile.
Rathburn slipped his smoking gun into his holster and mountednoiselessly. Then he walked his horse slowly up the canyon, sittingsidewise in the saddle to keep a vigil on the trail behind. A minutelater he heard a volley of shots below, the signal to all thescattered members of the posse to race to the entrance of the canyon.He increased his pace, broke his gun, extracted the empty shell, andinserted a fresh cartridge in its place.
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