Raiders of Spanish Peaks

by Zane Grey

  The morning was far advanced and waxing hot when the three riders ascended the lower slope of a ridge that ended in a wooded escarpment, looking down on the gray gulf of the prairie-land. Laramie, whose gaze kept to the fore, sighted a flock of buzzards soaring low over the end of the escarpment.

  “Look. Somethin’ daid up there.”

  “Buzzards…. Well, what of it? We always see them. Dead cow or calf, likely.”

  Lonesome did not express an opinion, but it was noticeable that he paid less attention to the tracks they were following, and also he took the lead up the ridge. Ted, however, stuck to his task of trailing, though neither he nor Laramie fell far behind.

  On top they met a pleasant breeze. Cedar trees straggled along the ridge, thickening to a grove toward where the escarpment ended. The height afforded a magnificent view of the vast prairie, the leagues of range east of Spanish Peaks, the old fort like a black dot on the gray, and the rich green valley. Small wonder that Lenta had loved to ride there! Laramie had a premonition that she had ridden this way once too often.

  At this juncture Lonesome reined his mount to wait for his friends. They joined him. And he pointed off into the cedars.

  “Dead hawse,” he said, coolly. “What color was Stuart’s?”

  “Black. Coal black, with some white. Shore was pretty…. Where?”

  “Heah … to the right of thet spreadin’ cedar…. Black hawse with white spots—all right.”

  “Yes, thet’s Stuart’s hawse,” declared Laramie, grimly. “Saddle’s on yet.”

  The riders galloped an intervening fifty rods. Buzzards took wing from the cedars to join the soaring ones aloft. Laramie’s comrades were out of their saddles in a twinkling, but he swept wary glances all around. Over under a cedar he espied the blue-shirted form of a man lying prone, in a terrible laxity that he well understood. All at once Lenta’s so-called elopement assumed tragic proportions. He leaped to the ground and joined his companions.

  The black horse was dead, though not yet stiff. It had been shot in several places, according to the visible wounds. Blood had clotted and dried around them. The bridle was gone, and the saddle had been stripped.

  “Shot in his tracks. He wasn’t runnin’,” asserted Laramie, his eyes scrutinizing the ground.

  “Mouth full of grass,” said Ted.

  “Wal, come over heah, an’ yu’ll see Stuart, I reckon,” called Laramie, sharply turning away.

  In another moment they were gazing down upon a dead rider, a young man whose handsome features wore a tortured ghastly fixity. He lay in a pool of blood. Evidently he had been riddled with bullets. One hole showed in his brown wrist; another in his neck near the shoulder. All his pockets had been turned inside out. Sombrero, belt, spurs were gone.

  “Pard, is it Stuart?” queried Lonesome, thickly.

  “Yes. No doubt of thet,” replied Laramie, cold and sharp. “Spread out an’ let’s figger this heah deal.”

  They separated. Laramie stalked to the clump of cedars on the rim. This was one of the famous lookout points on the range. Indians had once spied upon the fort from here. Laramie found unmistakable evidence that this shady vantage had been occupied for some time by a man or men who had reason to watch the ranch, even as Indians had watched soldiers and settlers, and the caravans before them. But there were no signs of a camp. Some one had rested there, lounged on mats of cedar, smoked innumerable cigarettes, read tatters of an old newspaper, and whittled sticks.

  “No more’n I expected,” muttered Laramie. “Who now? Rustlers watchin’ cattle, shore, but what else?”

  Laramie hunted to and fro along the rim, then circled back to where Stuart lay, a sickening sight with the flies buzzing around him. Ted was coming from down the slope of cedars, and before he reached the corpse, Lonesome hove in sight from along the ridge. He waved something white, and appeared propelled by a singular force.

  “Ted, what’s thet Lonesome’s wavin’?” queried Laramie, as the rider arrived, breathing hard.

  “Looks like a girl’s handkerchief—Lent’s I’ll bet,” replied Ted, after a moment. “And it’s not any whiter than Lonesome’s face.”

  “Pard, the fire’s out! I never saw him look like thet—even when Price had a rope round his neck.”

  They waited. Lonesome stamped into their presence and exhibited a small linen handkerchief.

  “Smell it,” he said, huskily, and waved it in front of Ted’s face, then Laramie’s. The faint perfume was indeed memorable of the girl. “Reckon it’s Lenta’s.”

  “What else yu find?” queried Laramie.

  “Hoss tracks. Five or six hawses sloped out of heah this mornin’. An’ Lent Lindsay was on the back of one of them.”

  “Wal!—Ted, what’d yu find?”

  “There’s a camp down the slope,” replied Ted, quickly. “Hid in a thick clump of cedars. Place has been used on and off for months. Dry camp, but there’s water down below somewhere. Three riders have been staying there for days. They had a couple of pack animals, one of them a mule. These men rustled in a hurry a couple of hours ago—maybe longer…. And, pards, the lead rider’s horse belonged to Chess Gaines.”

  Neither Lonesome nor Laramie showed any surprise.

  “Wal, I saw where scouts have been layin’ on the rim, watchin’ for days,” added the latter.

  Lonesome folded the precious handkerchief and carefully stowed it in his breast pocket, after which his hard and glinting eyes searched the faces of his friends.

  “Plain as print now, Lonesome,” spoke up Laramie. “I reckon Tracks an’ I were sore an’ judged Lenta pretty bad. When mebbe she’s not bad atall. I’m beggin’ yore pardon.”

  “Me, too,” chimed in Ted. “But hurry.”

  “Ahuh. S’pose you bright fellars read all this for me,” retorted Lonesome, in no wise softened.

  “Wal, Lenta must have persuaded Stuart to get her out,” went on Laramie. “Thet must have been before Hallie an’ I saw them. Anyway he got her out. Lent’s idee, as I see it now, was to stay away all day, so’s to scare hell out of her folks. She had Stuart ride her up heah. An’ they run plumb into Gaines an’ his cronies, waitin’ heah for thet very thing. Thet’s all.”

  “It’s as plain as the nose on your face, Lonesome,” corroborated Ted.

  “An’ thet elopin’ idee?” queried Lonesome, in passionate sarcasm.

  “Our mistake. We’re sorry. But what’s it matter now?” rejoined Ted, impatiently.

  “You always had it in for Lent. Both of you,” declared Lonesome. “An’ now I’m makin’ you eat small. You’re gonna clear her with Hallie an’ the rest of them.”

  “She shore wasn’t elopin’, pard,” agreed Laramie.

  “Yes, an’ she shore wasn’t doin’ anythin’ bad,” went on Lonesome, fiercely. “I know, because I was jealous an’ suspicious of her…. An’ I tried it, by Gawd! Thet’s what queered me with Lent. An’ all the time I knowed she was good—I knowed it! But jealousy is hell…. She was only turnin’ the tables on her dad. Stuart must have been square, after all. There he lays dead. You fellars didn’t see the five shells on the ground. I found them after you left. Stuart fought for the girl. But Gaines an’ his outfit killed him, robbed him, shot his hawse, an’ then made off with her. Gaines has been layin’ up heah for thet—reason—to get Lent.”

  “Wal, he’s got her,” agreed Laramie.

  “Pards, you both know what thet means,” went on Lonesome, hoarsely. “Chess Gaines won’t hold her for ransom. An’ he won’t risk takin’ her to some town where he could marry her. Reckon he was as turrible in love with her as any of us. But he’s black-hearted. He’ll maul her—violate her—first chance he gets. It ain’t reasonable for us to reckon we can save Lent thet. But we can save her life an’ kill him. Thet’s what we’ve got to figger on…. It’ll be awful for the poor kid. But it won’t make no change in my love for her. I tormented Lent…. Mebbe if I hadn’t she’d give me more chance to protect her…. Now, Laramie, pard, the
t’s all.”

  Laramie did not need to ponder. “Yu an’ Tracks hit their trail,” he flashed. “Make it easy for me to follow at a trot from heah. I’ll ride hell for leather back to the ranch. Have Dakota an’ Charlie pack grub, grain, water, rifles, while I make up some story to tell Hallie an’ her folks. It cain’t be the truth. Some day mebbe—if we save Lent. I’ll send two of the boys up here to bury Stuart an’ hide his saddle. Charlie, Dakota and I’ll light out on yore trail. If it comes dark before we catch up with yu we’ll camp right there till daybreak.”

  Lonesome swung into his saddle. “Pard, you’ve got the head. I’m thankin’ ——”

  “Yes, but it’s not working,” ripped out Ted, as he mounted. “He’s thinking about Hallie—the big stiff…. Laramie, don’t waste time telling anybody anything. Let ’em stand it. Think of that poor kid. You hear me!”

  “Shore, I heah yu,” replied Laramie, as he made for his horse. “Reckon I am loose in my haid…. I’ll ketch up with yu before sundown. Look out for Gaines. Mebbe he saw us. He might lay for yu.”

  “Hope to Gawd he does,” sang out Lonesome. “Ride now, pard!”

  Chapter Thirteen

  LARAMIE rode the short cut down to the ranch in fast time, less than an hour, but he bade fair to lose some in locating Wind River Charlie and Dakota. These boys, as well as the others, were not to be found at the respective jobs Laramie had assigned them. That morning the droll and angelic humor for which the Lindsay girls had given him credit had gone into eclipse. Laramie had reverted to the cool hard ranger of Panhandle days. At length finding four of his riders playing cards on the cool runway of the big barn he laid into them:

  “Heah yu air. Yu —— —— —— —— ——! Whaddyu mean loafin’ on me?” Laramie broke out.

  To Laramie’s amaze they were not in the least concerned. Dakota mildly asked Laramie what was eating him? Clay Lee smiled in a mysterious way. Archie Hill never looked up at all: “I’ll see you, Windy, an’ go you one better,” he said, while the rider he addressed nonchalantly fingered his cards and gave Laramie a tranquil fleeting glance.

  “Say, come out of yore trance,” added Laramie, with biting scorn. “Do yu call yoreselves a bunch of range-riders?”

  “Laramie, old scout, our boss took us off them jobs you gave us,” explained Wind River Charlie.

  “Yore boss!”

  “Sure, Miss Hallie. She said she wouldn’t have us gettin’ sunstroke.” The tremendous sustained glee of these riders might have at any other time been entertaining to Laramie.

  “Wal, I resign. I’m no foreman for this heah outfit,” declared Laramie, coldly.

  This was different and serious. The four boys responded as one, each expostulating in his way.

  “Save yore breath,” interrupted Laramie. “Yu reckon I rode in on a picnic or to play poker? Look at my hawse out there! … Listen, an’ keep yore traps shut…. We’ve been trackin’ Stuart an’ Lent Lindsay. This mawnin’ he broke open her window an’ got her away. Tracks an’ I reckoned it they was elopin’. Lonesome had it figgered Lent was just havin’ fun. But it didn’t turn out funny. Up on Cedar Haid they run plumb into Chess Gaines an’ his pards. We found Stuart daid. All shot up. An’ Gaines kidnapped the kid!”

  “My Gawd!” ejaculated Wind River Charlie, his face going gray. He rose as if on springs, and the others leaped up.

  “Thet—Gaines!” rasped Dakota. “Stuart wasn’t nothin’ to us. But Slim Red was, an’ Slim’s lyin’ over there at La Junta all shot up…. Laramie, I reckoned you looked different. Excuse us.”

  “We’ve got to rustle,” returned Laramie. “Archie, yu fetch fresh hawses. Charlie, yu an’ Dakota air goin’ with me. Pack saddlebags. Meat, biscuits, dried apples, salt, sugar, coffee. Stick in a little pot. Don’t forget some grain an’ water-bags. Clay, yu fetch me two or three forty-four Winchesters with shells an’ saddle-sheaths. Pronto now while I snatch a bite to eat.”

  Like startled turkeys the riders scurried away. Charlie, exiting toward the front, was intercepted by Harriet Lindsay.

  “What’s all the loud talk?” she inquired, curiously.

  “Aw—it’s only Laramie. He’s loco or somethin’,” stammered Charlie, confusedly. This was not a situation where he could readily lie. He rushed away.

  “Laramie!” she cried, in surprise, and wheeling she espied him, and came in almost running.

  There was no help for Laramie. She wore that same riding-garb which lent her such irresistible charm, and robbed her of years and dignity. She was just a girl, sweet as a rose.

  “Laramie, why are you here?” she asked, swiftly, as she reached him.

  “Mawnin’, Lady. I had to have a fresh hawse…. Yu’ve seen yore father?”

  “Yes, before mother or Flo. And he didn’t tell them what he told me.”

  “What was thet?”

  “You said Lent’s breaking out was only a joke. But you didn’t look as if it were,” returned Hallie, excitedly.

  “Aw, wal, I reckon, it was thet—this mawnin’.”

  “You found her?”

  “Not yet. Ted an’ Lonesome air on her trail. I’ll ketch up pronto.”

  “Lenta was not close by? She has gone far?”

  Laramie felt that he might have parried her queries, but he could not be cool and collected when she drew close to him like this, to drop her gauntlets and quirt, and catch at his vest, and look up at him with wonderful darkening eyes.

  “Wal, she might be hidin’ out on one of the ridge-tops, laughin’ at us.”

  “Laramie, you are a clever liar, but you can’t lie to me,” she cried.

  “Who says I’m lyin’?”

  “I do.”

  “All right, I cain’t help what yu say. Reckon if I told yu how awful sweet yu look this mawnin’ ——”

  “No compliments, Laramie Nelson. You are hiding something,” she retorted, and actually shook him.

  “Wal, I’m not hidin’ how powerful dangerous yu air to look at,” he drawled, with a cool and easy boldness not characteristic of him at all.

  Hallie scarcely appeared to hear this significant speech. She was becoming visibly affected by some strong compelling emotion.

  “I tell you Lent did not play a joke. She did not elope. She has run off! … I know because I drove her to it.”

  “Aw now—Hallie! Yu’re jest upset,” replied Laramie, failing to be convincing. Indeed he was astounded at this new angle, at her agitated face.

  “Upset? I’m nearly crazy. I tell you I drove her to it. You remember yesterday—when we saw her at her window—both hands tight around this Stuart’s neck? … After that I went to her door. Oh, I was furious. I don’t know what I called her, but it was so terrible she never answered…. Not a word from Lent Lindsay! By that you can estimate what I must have heaped upon her head…. I’m scared. I’m sick. And meeting you makes it worse…. You know something. You lie to me…. Oh, Laramie, don’t think me a coward. I love Lenta. It’d kill me if she—she threw herself away.”

  Her beauty at that moment, her abandonment to remorse and fear, her unconscious clinging to him, was about all Laramie could stand. He did not want to tell her—to horrify her—to give her days and nights of anguish over some possibility that might not come to pass. On the other hand he was not an adept at falsehoods with anyone, much less Hallie Lindsay. If he did not do something very quickly he would be blurting out all about the murder of Stuart and the abduction of Lenta by desperate and ruthless range-riders.

  Hallie was leaning upon him, on the verge of weeping, if not hysteria. Her look, if not her intent, was one of exceeding appeal. As if he could help her! Suddenly he divined a way out of his predicament. Born of her nearness and sweetness, it struck him as a remedy for two evils.

  “Come heah,” he said, and with powerful arm half lifted, half dragged her out of the wide aisle of the barn into one of the stalls partly full of baled hay.

  “Why—Laramie!” she faltered, completely surprised. />
  He did not release her. If anything he held her closer.

  “Yu laid off my boys today?” he queried.

  “What if I did? Sunday is the same to a—a heathen like you as any other day…. But it’s not to me. Is it necessary to hold me ——”

  “This heah job is too much for me. Those boys made game of my orders. An’ I quit. They crawfished then. But all the same, I’m through.”

  “But, Laramie,” she cried, wildly, “I promised father —I—you— Oh! … What of Lenta?”

  “I’ll fetch her back.”

  She strove to get out of his half-encircling arm, then suddenly desisted, either from lack of strength or resignation. Nevertheless her spirit revived.

  “I insist you are deceiving me. I feel it…. And this grip you have on me…. Why, it’s outrageous. Let go!”

  Anger perceptibly acquired dominance over her other feelings, but she could not control the trembling of her lips. Laramie gazed down at them instead of into her eyes. What he intended to do was madness, still it seemed a release for him, and it would infuriate her so that she could not divine the truth about Lenta. How sweet the curved lips, drooping a little at the corners, tremulous! As he bent swiftly to them he just closed his eyes and kissed her. He seemed to whirl and float away. He felt her string tight as a stretched cord under his embrace. And he drew back frightened. What had he done?

  “Lar-amie Nel-son!” she gasped.

  “What’d yu think of thet?” he drawled, brazenly.

  Her eyes glazed like those of a female panther. “You insult me!”

  “Wal, I didn’t mean it thet way, but if yu reckon ——”

  “This is what I think,” she flashed, and swinging her free arm she struck him across the mouth with stinging force.

  That broke Laramie’s hold. It also awakened in him the truth of his folly and the bitterness of the lover who was relinquishing hope. His hand came away from his lips stained with blood. She saw it. Her eyes dilated.

  “After all—you—another Luke Arlidge!” she panted. “You range-riders are all alike.”

  That capped the climax for Laramie’s riotous feelings. The comparison to Arlidge roused all the savageness in him. Snatching her fiercely to him he slid his left arm clear around her to clutch her left wrist. Thus he had her powerless. Then he bent her back.