Clattering Hoofs

by William MacLeod Raine

  “That must be it,” Stan agreed with a grin. “All right, fellow. Let’s ride.”

  They jogged out of the little park where they were camped and down a stiffly sloping ledge to the plateau below. It was still rough going, but Bob put his horse to a canter till they struck a cañon that led to the ridge which made a boundary for the valley. It was impossible to travel fast through the twisting boulder-strewn gulch, yet the urge driving the younger man sent him clattering and sliding along the dry bed of the stream more rapidly than was safe.

  “We won’t get there any sooner if we break a leg of one of our broncs,” Fraser complained. “Take it easy, boy. After all, Uhlmann isn’t a fool. He daren’t touch a hair of that girl’s head. If he did, the men in this valley would string him up so quick he wouldn’t have time to get that quid of tobacco outa his cheek.”

  “He might figure nobody had seen her coming to his place and he could get away with rubbing her out.”

  “No. If it came to a showdown Sandra would tell him she had met me and told me where she was going. I was a mite scared myself at first, but there’s no sense in being afraid. Sandra will be all okay. You got to remember his wife is on the ranch—and maybe a rider or two. Rhino couldn’t put over a thing.”

  This was probably true. None the less when they emerged from the cañon Bob put his horse at a gallop.

  28. “I’ve Made My Bed”

  WHEN SANDRA PULLED UP HER HORSE, SURE THAT UHLmann had given up the chase, she found herself in a huddle of low cowbacked hills all of which looked alike. If she had been a tenderfoot she would have been lost, but with the sun for a guide she knew that if she swung to the left she must strike again the barrier ridge.

  Her heart was beating fast from excitement. A man had shot at her. In the race to escape she had not had time to be afraid. Now that the immediate danger was past she noticed that her knees felt weak. Fear of this big shapeless brute flooded her. John Ranger was right. She ought not to become involved in a business of this kind. Not far away, in some fold of the hills, the ruffian was probably still looking for her. They might any minute come face to face.

  She had no assurance as to what direction she had better choose. He was between her and the Circle J R. There was no longer in her an urgent desire to see Mary Uhlmann at once. The thought of her own safety was uppermost. If she could reach the ridge and cut down into the valley she might hit the road that led home. This would take her through the X Bar ranch, but she was pretty sure its owner would not be there. He was a stubborn man and would likely be lying in wait for her return.

  Her judgment told her to keep traveling for another mile before cutting back to the ridge and to slip down into the valley at the lower end of the ranch.

  This she did and came to the ridge by a ravine that cut through the barrier wall to the floor below. Though she kept a constant alert, she saw nothing of Uhlmann. Through a poor man’s gate, three strands of wire fastened to poles by staples, she passed into the pasture back of the house.

  She had given up her intention of seeing Mary Uhlmann, but now she changed her mind. Her alarm was subsiding. Uhlmann could not have reached the ranch-house yet, and there was no sign of him anywhere along the ridge. He had been riding away from the place when she met him, and she could think of no reason why meeting her might bring him back.

  She skirted the yard in approaching. A saddled horse was tied to the corral fence, but it was not the one Uhlmann had been riding. As she drew nearer the house, she heard voices. By a slip-knot she tied her bridle to a rickety hitching post. Before knocking she swept the ridge again with her eyes to check on the man she was avoiding. Not a trace of life showed on its barren slope.

  At her knock the voices stopped. A woman came to the door. She was tall, angular, lean as a rail. Astonishment leaped to the jet-black eyes as they took in the girl’s young vital beauty.

  “Who are you?” she demanded sharply.

  “I’m Sandra Ranger. I want to talk with you if I may.”

  “You’d better get away from here.” There was whipped fear on the face that turned to search the terrain. “He might come home and find you.”

  “I don’t think he’ll be here just yet. It won’t take a minute for you to tell me what I want to know.”

  “No. Get on your horse and leave.”

  “Wait a minute,” a drawling voice interrupted. “That’s no way to treat a visitor, Mary.” The owner of the voice sauntered to the door. He was a light-stepping dark man, with a face both wary and reckless. Across the left cheek, from ear to chin, a livid scar stretched. Perhaps this was what gave him the sinister and dangerous look, Sandra thought. “If Miss Ranger wants to have a little talk— why, this is a free country.”

  “She had better go—now. I have nothing to tell her. If she stays to talk it will only make trouble.”

  “Let’s hear what she has to say,” the man demurred. “Rhino ain’t the great mogul. You shouldn’t let him get you whipped, Mary.”

  Sandra guessed that this man was one of the lawless night riders who lived around Charleston or up in the San Simon, but she was of the opinion that there was more chance of Mary Uhlmann talking with him present than if he were away.

  “It’s about Bob Webb,” she said. “He didn’t kill that man Lemmon. You were there when he was shot. You know he didn’t.”

  “I wasn’t there,” the woman cried. “I didn’t see a thing.”

  “You were in the next room and heard everything. Hans Uhlmann shot Lemmon, by accident, while he was shooting at Bob.”

  “No,” the woman denied violently. “You can’t get me to say so. Send this girl away, Scarface.”

  “Don’t push on the reins, Mary. I’ve heard it said before that this boy was railroaded to the pen. Over at Charleston the other day I met him. And I like the fellow. He got a rotten deal. Why don’t you spill what you know? You don’t owe Rhino a thing, the way he treats you.”

  “I don’t know anything.” The sullen lips closed tightly.

  “Seven years of Bob Webb’s life are buried in that prison,” Sandra said. “They are hunting him to send him back. Doesn’t it hurt you to know that you sent him there and that every day you keep silent is another robbed out of a life you have ruined?”

  “Go away. Leave me alone. It’s easy for you to talk that way, but——”

  She broke off the sentence and Scarface finished it for her. “——but you don’t live with that devil Rhino Uhlmann.” The man put a hand on the woman’s bony shoulder. “You don’t have to live with him either. He treats you as no decent man would use a dog. Light out of here, Mary. You can hide where he won’t find you. Long as you stay on this ranch you’ll be his slave.”

  “I’ve made my bed,” she answered bitterly.

  “You don’t have to stay in it,” Sandra told her eagerly. “As long as we live we can start again. You are young and can go away and make a new life for yourself.”

  “I’m not young,” the woman differed hopelessly. “I feel a hundred years old. I’ve been wrung dry, all the life squeezed out of me. It doesn’t matter what becomes of me now.”

  “It does. It matters a lot. To feel as you do is all wrong. You can make new friends and be happy.”

  Mary Uhlmann’s thin smile was cynical. “Happy! You don’t know what you are talking about. Because you are a young girl and have not made any mistakes you think all anyone has to do to make the future rosy is to just will it so. But life isn’t like that. If you take the wrong turning you can’t go back.”

  “Oh, but I’m sure you’re mistaken,” Sandra cried. “Come and stay with us. Forget all this. You’d be surprised.”

  The girl’s enthusiasm beat in vain against the woman’s despair. It was too late now to turn back from this marriage she had chosen.

  “Why did you marry him?” the outlaw asked.

  “Because I was a fool. No use arguing. I’m here. I stay. And I’ll do no talking.”

  “And let an innocent man suffer for
what he didn’t do.” Sandra’s voice rang out scornfully. “I don’t believe it. No good woman who has to go on living with herself could be so cowardly.”

  A touch of red burned underneath the thin tanned cheeks of the older woman. The contempt of this spirited young thing stung her. For years she had held hidden in her heart this shameful secret, and now it had been dragged out into the open.

  Round the corner of the house a man came, leading a horse. Across his cheek there was a purple weal where the lash of a quirt had fallen. He glared at Sandra, openly and evilly triumphant.

  “So you lied to me,” Uhlmann snarled. “You came to see her, not me. I figured it might be that way, and I slipped down by the arroyo. You don’t get away from me this time, you meddler.”

  Sandra was afraid, but she stood stiff and straight, her gaze steadily on his fat vicious face. “Maybe if you shoot at me again you might hit me this time,” she said.

  “Did you shoot at Miss Ranger?” Scarface asked softly.

  Uhlmann glared at him. He did not want to stop for explanations, but Scarface was a tough hardy scamp he could not ignore.

  “I shot past her, just to stop the little fool,” he admitted grudgingly.

  The outlaw did not raise his voice. “My friend,” he replied, almost in a drawl, “that don’t go in this country.”

  The big man started to answer, but the rustler beat down his words, a sudden sharp challenge in his tone. “I always knew you were a wolf, Rhino, but I didn’t know there was a broad yellow streak of coyote in you too. We don’t fight women here, and we don’t let low-down coyotes do it either.

  Scarface waited, still leaning against the door jamb at apparent ease. His indolence was deceptive. Every muscle was set for instant action if the call came. Uhlmann’s face grew purple with ugly anger. His impulse was to draw and kill, even though he too would likely be shot down. But he dared not take the risk. For if he destroyed Scarface and lived himself the girl would be a witness against him, unless he rubbed her out too. To do that would condemn him beyond a hope of escape. All this part of Arizona would turn on him and hunt him down.

  “Tell you I didn’t shoot at her!” he cried.

  “His bullet did not miss me six inches,” Sandra said. “It cut a leaf from a shrub beside the horse.”

  “You was too scared to tell what it hit,” the ranchman charged.

  “If you were just shooting into the air why was she so scared?” demanded the other man.

  “You know I wouldn’t shoot at a girl, Scarface.” There were tiny beads of sweat on Uhlmann’s forehead. If it should be believed he had even shot at this girl his life would not be safe, regardless of the intent to hit or miss. “I was just funnin’. You know me.” He ground his teeth, giving his own words the lie. “And the little devil had lashed my face with her quirt.”

  Scarface did not lift his steely eyes from the big leathery face. “Yes, I know you. When you came busting in here calling Miss Ranger a liar and telling her she wouldn’t get away from you this time, it sounded like you were funnin’. We ’most split our sides laughing. And of course you wern’t annoying her when she quirted yore ugly phiz.”

  “You ain’t so damn lily-white yoreself, Scarface,” flung out Uhlmann, searching for a defense. “Don’t forget the law wants you for killing Spillman on that raid two-three weeks ago.”

  “All right, I’m a bad man too, even though I didn’t kill Spillman. But, by God, I’m not yore kind of bad man. I don’t shoot at women, and I don’t rub out men for pay when they haven’t a chance for their white alleys. If I was you I’d light out tonight and keep traveling till I was way deep in old Mex.”

  “Are you deef, Scarface? Haven’t I told you over and over you got me wrong? I’d cut my hand off before I’d do this young lady a mite of harm. All I did was give Miss Ranger a little scare. Why, Goddlemighty, man, she’s my neighbor. I’ve watched her grow up since she was knee-high to a duck.”

  Scarface laughed, not pleasantly. “If you can talk yoreself outa this you’ll be good, Rhino. My guess is different. I’d say if you are here when the boys come you’ll be kicking yore heels in the air under one of those cottonwoods.” To Sandra he said, without lifting his eyes from the other man, “Get on yore horse, Miss, and I’ll see you home safe.”

  He waited till she had mounted, then turned to the sullen worried ranchman. “I don’t reckon you are crazy enough to pull any more gunplays. If you’ve got any such notion, discard it. You would only be driving more nails in yore coffin. And anyhow, I’ll be on the alert long as you’re in sight.”

  “What’s the sense in talking thataway?” Uhlmann protested. “I don’t aim to hurt you any.” He pushed the rifle into the hands of his wife. “Here, take this gun since he’s so scared.”

  The rustler turned to the wife of the harried man. “This fellow’s ball of yarn is wound up, Mary,” he said. “Rhino has reached the end of his trail here. Better fork his horse and ride with us.”

  “You can’t talk that way to my wife,” Uhlmann cried. “I won’t stand for it.”

  “I am talking that way,” Scarface retorted quietly. “That’s the way it is. You light out, or——” He let a shrug of the shoulders finish the sentence.

  The ranchman’s bravado broke down. He was not afraid of this or any other man. What daunted him was the thought of the determined anger of the community moving solidly against him. He had committed the unpardonable offense of attacking a good and popular girl.

  “I don’t get it why you’ve turned against me, Scarface,” he pleaded. “We been pals all these years. When you were in a tight spot I helped you out. You wouldn’t throw down on me now, would you?”

  “You threw down on yoreself,” the outlaw told him coldly. He turned to the wife. “Are you riding with us, Mary?”

  The eyes of the woman were bleak and wretched. After a moment she said in a low voice, “No, I’ll stay.”

  Scarface walked beside Sandra’s horse to the corral and swung to the saddle of his own mount. He started her down the road. Not until she was fifty yards on her way did he make a move to follow, and when he did it was with his body slewed round in the saddle to keep an eye on the killer.

  The look on Uhlmann’s face as he watched them go was one of baffled hatred. The venom of fury and hate had poisoned the man for years. But a new element had been added to these, the fear of a dreadful day of judgment riding hard on his heels.

  He turned with a violent malediction on his wife. “You were ready to sell me out,” he cried, moving toward her.

  She fell back slowly, her eyes reading hot murder in his. “No,” she answered. “I didn’t tell her anything. But you’ve hated me a long time. Maybe you had better kill me before you are hanged.”

  He gave a wild beast snarl, flung her furiously against the wall, and shuffled into the house. Scarface was right. He had to get away from this part of the country. What a fool he had been to let his temper trap him into this. Two hours ago he had been sitting pretty. All he had to do then was to shoot down an enemy from ambush when he found him and from that killing get safety and a big reward. Now he had brought down on him the vengeance of the whole district. But as he flung into a sack food and the few clothes he meant to carry, one resolve hardened in his tortured mind—he would get Bob Webb before he lit out for Mexico.

  29. Mary Uhlmann Breaks a Long Silence

  BOB CUT THE WIRES OF THE X BAR BOUNDARY FENCE AND rode into the ranch of his enemy. Because he was worried about Sandra he had no time to steal up to the house Indian fashion. But he did take advantage of the contour of the land to follow the dips that would conceal them as much as possible. A draw about two hundred yards from the house offered the last chance of cover.

  “Here we come, Rhino,” grumbled Fraser. “A couple of easy marks. Pick us off real carefully. Take yore time.”

  He thought that Uhlmann probably had not got home yet, but some not too serious complaint was in order. During the past few days he had become ve
ry much attached to his companion and watched over him like a father. When let alone Bob was inclined to take too many chances. So the old-timer grumbled and followed him.

  Young Webb emerged from the draw first. As he pulled up for a second to look over the cluster of buildings and the terrain around them his horse staggered and fell. The crack of a rifle had sounded. Bob flung himself out of the saddle and crouched back of the horse. The smoke puff came from the cottonwoods back of the house. A man was standing beside a saddled horse.

  “Look out, Stan,” Bob shouted. “Uhlmann is taking your advice.” He rested his rifle barrel on the saddle and took aim.

  “Missed,” Fraser said, and dropped behind a clump of yucca. “Lemme have a crack at the wolf.”

  “Not if he can help it,” Bob answered. “He’s getting out of there fast.”

  Uhlmann had swung himself heavily astride of his mount and was riding through the grove. He had no mind to face both of them. Fraser fired twice, but they were random shots. The trees gave Uhlmann protection. He disappeared into an arroyo.

  Bob examined the wound in the neck of his horse. The bullet had struck a major artery and the blood was pumping out fast.

  “He’s done for,” Fraser told his friend.

  The echo of Bob’s revolver died away. He put the weapon back in its holster and looked down with a set face at the dead horse.

  “I’ll get the saddle later,” he said, and started for the house.

  Fraser offered no consolation. He knew that Bob felt he had lost a friend and that he would not want to talk about it yet.

  A woman came out of the house and stood by the door. As Bob drew closer he saw fresh bruises and abrasions on her thin face. The eyes that looked at him were bitter and hopeless. She was still young in years, but the slavery of an unhappy marriage had robbed her of the joy that was her heritage.

  “Is Sandra Ranger here?” Bob asked bluntly.

  “No. She’s gone.”

  “Gone where?”