The Ridin Kid from Powder River

by Knibbs, Henry Herbert

  "Not that I recollect'."

  "Well, you would—if you had. Now I don't know what that swelled up gent in there figures on doin' with us. And I don't aim to hang around to 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 we ain't goin' to need any hosses or anything else. I worked for a Mexican 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't get 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 a sleep—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 coyotes interested, why, nothin' will. Next to gamblin' a Chola likes to watch gamblin' better 'n 'most anything. When you git to win all my eggs, I make a holler like I'm mad. You been cheatin'. And if them two 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 move round so you kin swing your arm. When I call you a doggone bald-face short-horn, jest let your Chola have the eggs plumb in his eye. If they bust like I figure, we got a chanct to jump 'em—but we got to move 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 kick my 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. I jest found them eggs."

  And Pete uttered an exclamation as he drew his hand from the straw behind him, and produced an egg. The Mexicans glanced up. Pete dug in the straw and fetched up another egg—and another. Brevoort leaned forward as though deeply interested in some sleight-of-hand trick. Egg after egg came from the abandoned nest. The Mexicans laughed. The supply of eggs seemed to be endless.

  Finally Pete drew out his hand, empty. "Let's count 'em," he said, and straightway began, placing the eggs in a pile midway between himself and 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 in the game, seemingly oblivious to the Mexicans, who sat watching, with open mouths, utterly absorbed in their childish interest. Two Gringoes were 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'll be a big joke, and they'll 'most die a-laughin'—'cause it's a joke—and 'cause we're Gringoes."

  "Then here's where I bust one," said Brevoort. "Get a couple in your hand. Act like you was chokin' to death. I'll laugh. Then I'll kind of 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 a faint "plop." Pete wrinkled his nose, and his face expressed such utter astonishment, disgust, even horror, as the full significance of the age of those eggs ascended to him, that he did not need to act his part. He got to his feet and backed away from those eggs, even as Brevoort rose slowly, as though just aware that the eggs were not altogether innocent. The two Mexicans had risen to their knees and rocked back and forth, laughing at the beautiful joke on the Gringoes. Plop!—Plop!—Plop! and three of the four eggs targeted an accurate twelve o'clock. Pete leaped and kicked viciously. His high heel caught one choking Mexican in the jaw just as Brevoort jumped and swung the 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," said Brevoort.

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

  Arguilla's bloated face went from red to purple, and he reached for his gun which lay on the chair near his bed. But the lieutenant who had reported 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, Señor Comandante, they may not stand. The Americans have beaten them so that they are as dead."

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

  CHAPTER XXIX

  QUERY

  Far out across the starlit gloom the two thoroughbreds raced side by side. They seemed to know what was required of them. A mile, two miles, three miles, and the night-fire of Arguilla's men was a flickering dot against the black wall of the night.

  Brevoort pulled his horse to a walk. "We done left 'em looking at each other," he drawled.

  "Two of 'em ain't," said Pete succinctly.

  Brevoort chuckled. "I was tryin' that hard not to laugh when you smelled them aigs, that I come nigh missin' my chanct. You sure are some play-actor."

  "Play-actor nothin'! I was doggone near sick. I kin smell 'em yet. Say, I'd like to know what'll happen to them two Cholas."

  "Ain't you satisfied with what we done to 'em?"

  "Yep. But Arguilla won't be. I'd hate to be in their boots—" From the south came the faint, sinister "pop! pop!" of rifle shots. Pete turned quickly toward his companion. "Right now," he concluded, shrugging his shoulders.

  "We got trouble of our own," said Brevoort. "Brent tried to run his iron on us—but he got hold of the wrong iron. Now the deal will have to go through like The Spider figured. Mebby Brent knows that Arguilla's men are at the Ortez—and mebby he don't. But we don't say. We ride in and repo't that Ortez says O.K.—that his vaqueros are comin' for the cattle and that he is comin' with the cash. Brent won't bat an eye. I know him. He'll jest tell you to take the dough and ride to Sanborn and take the train for El Paso. Then he'll vamose."

  "How's that?"

  "'Cause he knows that this is the finish. When he was handlin' stock from south of the line,—in small bunches, and pushin' it through fast,—we was all right. The Mexican punchers was doin' the stealin', sellin' the stuff to Brent. And Brent was sellin' to Arguilla's agent—which is Ortez. All Ortez did was pay for it and turn it over to Arguilla. Mexicans was stealin' from Mexicans and sellin' to Brent cheap, 'cause he paid cash, and Brent was sellin' it to Mexicans. The fellas that stole the stuff knew better 'n to try to sell to Arguilla. All they would 'a' got would 'a' been a promise. So they sells to Brent, who bought mighty cheap, but paid real money. That worked fine. But when Brent starts stealin' from white men on his side of the line—why, he knows that it is the finish—so he figures on a big haul—or The Spider does—kind of takes them ranchers up north by surprise and gets away with a couple of hundred head. But he knows, as sure's he's a foot high, that they'll trail him—so he forgets that The Spider said you was to collect from Ortez and bank the dough—and figures on collectin' it himself."

  "Kind of a cold deal, eh, Ed?"

  "All crooked deals is cold."

  "But I wonder why Brent didn't send me down to the Ortez alone. What did he ring you in for?"

  "Brent figured that I'd get wise to his scheme. You see, the understandin' with The Spider is, that I'm fo'man of the Olla, case Brent gets bumped off. Mebby The Spider thinks I'm square. Mebby he jest plays me against Brent to keep us watchin' each other. I dunno."

  "You figure Arguilla will send old man Ortez over the line with the cash?"

  "Yes. He will now. We done spoiled his game by gittin' loose. But I
don't say that Arguilla won't try to raid the Olla and get that money back, after he's got the cattle movin' south. You see the high-steppers that are backin' Arguilla ain't trustin' him with a whole lot of cash, personal. 'Course, what he loots is his. But their money is goin' for grub and ammunition. They figure if he gets enough cash, he'll quit. And they don't want him to quit. He thinks he's the big smoke—but all he is is hired man to big money."

  "He's been played, right along—same as us, eh?"

  "Same as us."

  "Well, Ed, I don't mind takin' a long chanct—but I sure don't aim to let any man make a monkey of me."

  "Then you want to quit this game," said Brevoort. "Why don't you kind of change hosses and take a fresh start? You ain't been in the game so long but what you can pull out."

  "I was thinkin' of that. But what's a fella goin' to do? Here we be, ridin' straight for the Olla. Right soon the sun'll be shinin' and the hosses millin' round in the corral and gittin' warmed up, and Brent'll be tellin' us he can use us helpin' push them cattle through to the south end: and I reckon we'll change our saddles and git right to work, thinkin' all the time of quittin', but keepin' along with the job jest the same. A fella kind of hates to quit any job till it's done. And I figure this here deal ain't even started to make trouble—yet. Wait till the T-Bar-T outfit gits a-goin'; and mebby the Concho, and the Blue Range boys."

  "Hand over your canteen a minute," said Brevoort. "I lost mine in the get-away."

  Dawn found them inside the south line fence. In an hour they were at the 'dobe and clamoring for breakfast. The cook told them that Brent was at the north line camp, and had left no word for them.

  Brevoort glanced quickly at Pete. Evidently Brent had not expected them to return so soon, if at all.

  After breakfast they sauntered to the bunk-house, and pulled off their boots and lay down.

  It was about noon when the cook called them. "The bunch is back," he said. "Harper just rode in. He says the old man is sore about somethin'."

  "The Spider?" queried Brevoort.

  "Nope, Sam."

  "Goin' to ride over?" asked Pete, after the cook had left.

  "No. But I'm goin' to throw a saddle on one of the never-sweats and I'm goin' to pick a good one."

  "I reckon Blue Smoke'll do for me. You goin' to pull your freight, Ed?"

  "We got our runnin' orders. The minute old man Ortez hands over that cash, there'll be a hole in the scenery where we was."

  "That's my idee. But suppose we make it through to El Paso all right. What do we do next?"

  "That's kind of like jumpin' off the aidge of the Grand Cañon and askin' yourself what you're goin' to do while you're in the air. We ain't lit yet."

  CHAPTER XXX

  BRENT'S MISTAKE

  Following the trail that Brevoort and Pete had taken from the Ortez rancho, Arguilla and his men rode north and with them rode Ortez and several of his vaqueros. Within a few miles of the Olla the ragged soldiery swung west to the shelter of the low hills that ran parallel to the Olla line, while Ortez and his men rode directly to the Olla fence and entered a coulee near the big gate, where they waited the arrival of Brent and the herd.

  About two hours before sundown one of Arguilla's lieutenants appeared on the edge of the coulee where he could overlook the country. At his signal the soldiers were to join the Ortez riders, but not until Brent and his men had the cattle delivered.

  Arguilla, who was to keep out of sight, had told Ortez to pay the amount stipulated by Brent—and at the old established rate of twenty dollars a head—which meant that upon receipt of the cattle Ortez would give the foreman of the Olla four thousand dollars in gold. Ortez knew that Arguilla contemplated killing Brent and his men and recovering the money. Although his sympathies were with his own people, Ortez felt that such treachery was too black, even for a leader of guerillas.

  He realized that the first word of warning to Brent would mean his own doom and the death of his men in the battle which would follow, for he knew the Gringo cowboys would fight to the last man. Against this he weighed the probability of a fight if he did not speak. In either event he would be dishonored in the eyes of the powers who had trusted him with handling the finances of the cause. It was in this state of mind that he waited for the arrival of the men whom he considered doomed, never imagining for a moment that Brent himself anticipated treachery.

  The sun had almost touched the western sky-line when a solitary rider spurred out from the great gate of the Olla and up to Ortez, who recognized in him one of the young vaqueros that had escaped from Arguilla's guards the preceding night.

  "Here's our tally." Pete handed Ortez a slip of paper. "Two hundred and three head. My patron says to call it two hundred even, and to give you a receipt for the money when you turn it over to me."

  Arguilla's lieutenant had expected to see the herd turned over to Ortez before the payment of any moneys. He hesitated as to whether or not he should ride to the rim of the coulee and signal his company to interfere with the transaction then and there in the name of his superior officer. The lieutenant did not believe that Ortez would turn over the money for a mere slip of paper. But Ortez, strangely enough, seemed only too eager to close the transaction. Stepping to his horse, he took two small canvas sacks from his saddle-pockets. Still the lieutenant hesitated. He had had no instructions covering such a contingency.

  "I await your receipt, señor," said Ortez as he handed the money to Pete.

  Pete drew a folded slip of paper from his pocket and gave it quickly to Ortez. "Brent'll push the cattle through muy pronto." And whirling his horse round under spur, he was halfway back to the Olla gate before the lieutenant thought of signaling to Arguilla.

  From the vantage of the higher ground the lieutenant could see that the gate was already open—that the Gringos were slowly pushing the cattle through, and out to the desert. He waved his serape. Almost on the instant Arguilla's men appeared in the distance, quirting their ponies as they raced toward the coulee. The lieutenant turned and gazed at the herd, which, from bunching through the gateway, had spread out fanwise. Already the Ortez vaqueros were riding out to take charge. But something was happening over near the Olla gate. The American cowboys had scattered and were riding hard, and behind them faint flashes cut the dusk and answering flashes came from those who fled. The lieutenant shouted and spread his arms, signaling Arguilla to stop as he and his men swung round the mouth of the coulee below. Some thirty riders from the T-Bar-T, the Blue Range, and the Concho swept through the gateway and began shooting at the Ortez vaqueros. Arguilla saw that his own plan had gone glimmering. Ortez had in some way played the traitor. Moreover, they were all on American territory. The herd had stampeded and scattered. In the fading light Arguilla saw one after another of the Ortez vaqueros go down. Did this noble captain of Liberty, Equality, and Fraternity rush to the rescue of his countrymen? He did not. Cursing, he swung his horse toward the south, followed by his amazed and altogether uncomprehending soldiery. There had been too many Gringoes in that wild, shrilling cavalcade to suit his fancy. Meanwhile the Mexican lieutenant wisely disappeared down the western edge of the coulee and rode wide until he deemed it safe to change his course and follow in the dusty wake of his noble leader's "strategic retreat."

  Only one of the Ortez riders escaped the sudden and furious visitation of the northern cattlemen, and he escaped because his horse, mortally wounded, had fallen upon him. In the succeeding darkness he was passed unnoticed by the returning Americans.

  The Olla men, also taken by surprise, had acted quickly. Better mounted than most of their pursuers, who rode tired horses, the Olla riders spread at the first warning shout. Familiar with the country, they were able to get away unscathed, partly because the attention of the pursuers was centered chiefly on the herd.

  It had been a case of each man for himself with the Olla riders, the exceptions to this being Brevoort and Pete, who had ridden together from the moment that Pete had shouted that sudden warnin
g to his companions at the gateway, where they had sat their horses waiting for him to return from his mission to Ortez. Brent himself had posted a lookout at the northern gateway of the ranch, with instructions to watch for any possible pursuit. This cowboy, wise in his generation, had caught sight of a large body of riders bearing down from the north. He knew by the way they rode that they meant business. He knew also that they were too many for the Olla men. He focused his glass on them, got one good look, and calmly turned his horse and rode along the line fence to an arroyo, where he dismounted and waited until the visiting gentlemen had got well onto the Olla territory. Then he mounted and took his leisurely way toward space. He knew that the Olla, as a safe and paying proposition, had ceased to exist.

  Brent, mounted on one of the thoroughbreds, lost no time in heading for Sanborn and the railroad, once he had ridden clear of the running skirmish with the northerners. He surmised that Pete and Brevoort would make for Sanborn—and they had The Spider's money. Brent also knew that he had a faster horse than either of them. If he could reach Sanborn ahead of them, he would have the advantage of cover—and of taking them by surprise…

  The country was fairly open from the eastern boundary of the Olla to within a few miles of Sanborn, where a veritable forest of cacti had sprung up—one of those peculiar patches of desert growth, outlined in a huge square as definitely as though it had been planted by man. The wagon-road passed close to the northern edge of this freakish forest, and having passed, swung off toward the railroad, which it finally paralleled. It was in this vantage-ground of heavy shadow that Brent had planned to waylay Brevoort and Pete. To avoid chance discovery, Brent had ridden considerably out of his way to keep clear of the regular trail from the Olla to Sanborn, and had lost more time than he realized. Brevoort, on the contrary, had taken the regular trail, which joined the main wagon-road.

  Pete and Brevoort rode easily, as the local made the Sanborn stop at six in the morning. Moreover, they did not care to spend any great length of time in Sanborn. They had planned to leave their horses at the livery stable—to be called for later.