Brand Blotters

by Raine, William MacLeod

  She was in his embrace, her arms around his neck, whispering the horrible truth in his ear brokenly. And as he felt her dear young fragrance of hair in his nostrils, the warm, soft litheness of her body against his, the rage and terror in him flooded his veins. Could such things be? Was it possible a man like that could live? Not if he could help it.

  Gently he unfastened her arms from his neck. MacQueen was standing a dozen feet away, his hands behind his back and his legs wide apart. As Flatray swung around the outlaw read a warning in the blazing eyes. Just as Jack tore loose from his guards MacQueen reached for his revolver.

  The gun flashed. A red hot blaze scorched through Jack’s arm. Next instant MacQueen lay flat on his back, the sheriff’s fingers tight around his throat. If he could have had five seconds more the man’s neck would have been broken. But they dragged him away, fighting like a wild cat. They flung him down and tied his hands behind him.

  Melissy caught a glimpse of his bleeding arm, his torn and dusty face, the appalling ferocity of the men who were hammering him into the ground. She took a step forward blindly. The mountains in front of her tilted into the sky. She moved forward another step, then stumbled and went down. She had fainted.

  “Just as well,” MacQueen nodded. “Here, Rosario, look after the young lady. Lift Flatray to a horse, boys, after you’ve blindfolded him. Good enough. Oh, and one thing more, Flatray. You’re covered by a rifle. If you lift a hand to slip that handkerchief from your eyes, you’re giving the signal for Jeff to turn loose at you. We’re going to take you away, but we don’t aim to let you out of the Cache for a few days yet.”

  “What do you mean?”

  MacQueen jeered at his prisoner openly. “I mean, Mr. Sheriff, that you’ll stay with us till the girl does as she has promised. Understand?”

  “I think so, you hellhound. You’re going to hold me against her so that she can’t change her mind.”

  “Exactly. So that she can’t rue back. You’ve guessed it.”

  They rode for hours, but in what direction it was impossible for Flatray to guess. He could tell when they were ascending, when dropping down hill, but in a country so rugged this meant nothing.

  When at last he dismounted and the kerchief was taken from his eyes he found himself in a little pocket of the hills in front of an old log cabin. Jeff stayed with him. The others rode away. But not till they had him safely tied to a heavy table leg within the hut.

  * * *

  CHAPTER XI

  SQUIRE LATIMER TAKES A HAND

  “You’re to make ready for a trip to town, señorita.”

  “When?”

  “At once,” Rosario answered. “By orders of Señor MacQueen.”

  “Then he is back?” the girl flashed.

  “Just back.”

  “Tell him I want to see him—immediately.”

  “I am to take you to him as soon as you are ready to ride.”

  “Oh, very well.”

  In a very few minutes the young woman was ready. Rosario led her to the cabin in front of which she had seen the old Indian squaw. In it were seated Simon West and Black MacQueen. Both of them rose at her entrance.

  “Please take a chair, Miss Lee. We have some business to talk over,” the outlaw suggested.

  Melissy looked straight at him, her lips shut tight. “What have you done with Jack Flatray?” she presently demanded.

  “Left him to find his way back to his friends.”

  “You didn’t hurt him ... any more?”

  “No.”

  “And you left him alone, wounded as he was.”

  “We fixed up his wound,” lied MacQueen.

  “Was it very bad?”

  “A scratch. I had to do it.”

  “You needn’t apologize to me.”

  “I’m not apologizing, you little wild-cat.”

  “What do you want with me? Why did you send for me?”

  “We’re going to Mesa to see a parson. But before we start there’s some business to fix up. Mr. West and I will need your help to fix up the negotiations for his release.”

  “My help!” She looked at him in surprise. “How can I help?”

  “I’ve laid my demands before his friends. They’ll come through with the money, sure. But I want them to understand the conditions right plainly, so there won’t be any mistake. What they have got to get soaked into their heads is that, if they do make any mistakes, they will not see Simon West again alive. You put that up to them strong.”

  “I’m not going to be your agent in robbing people of their money!” she told him swiftly.

  “You don’t understand. Mr. West wants you to do it. He wants you to explain the facts to his friends, so they won’t act rash and get off wrong foot first.”

  “Oh! If Mr. West wishes it,” she conceded.

  “I do wish it,” the great man added.

  Though his face and hands were still stained with the dye that had been used on them, the railroad builder was now dressed in his own clothes. The girl thought that he looked haggard and anxious, and she was sure that her presence brought him relief. In his own way he was an indomitable fighter, but his experience had not included anything of this nature.

  Jack Flatray could look at death level-eyed, and with an even pulse, because for him it was all in the day’s work; but the prospect of it shook West’s high-strung nerves. Nevertheless, he took command of the explanations, because it had been his custom for years to lead.

  MacQueen, his sardonic smile in play, sat back and let West do most of the talking. Both men were working for the same end—to get the ransom paid as soon as possible—and the multimillionaire released; and the outlaw realized that Melissy would coöperate the more heartily if she felt she were working for West and not for himself.

  “This is Tuesday, Miss Lee. You will reach Mesa some time to-night. My friends ought to be on the ground already. I want you and your father to get in touch with them right away, and arrange the details along the line laid down by Mr. MacQueen. In case they agree to everything and understand fully, have the Stars and Stripes flying from your house all day to-morrow as a signal. Don’t on any account omit this—because, if you do, my captors will have to hold me longer, pending further negotiations. I have written a letter to Mr. Lucas, exonerating you completely, Miss Lee; and I have ordered him to comply with all these demands without parley.”

  “Our proposition seems to Mr. West very reasonable and fair,” grinned MacQueen impishly, paring his finger nails.

  “At any rate, I think that my life is worth to this country a good deal more than three hundred thousand dollars,” West corrected.

  “Besides being worth something to Simon West,” the outlaw added carelessly.

  West plunged into the details of delivering the money. Once or twice the other man corrected him or amplified some statement. In order that there could be no mistake, a map of Sweetwater Cañon was handed to Melissy to be used by the man who would bring the money to the rendezvous at the Devil’s Causeway.

  When it came to saying good-bye, the old man could scarce make up his mind to release the girl’s hand. It seemed to him that she was the visible sign of his safety, and that with her departure went a safeguard from these desperate men. He could not forget that she had saved the life of the sheriff, even though he did not know what sacrifice she had made so to do.

  “I know you’ll do your best for me,” he said, with tears in his eyes. “Make Lucas see this thing right. Don’t let any fool detectives bunco him into refusing to pay the ransom. Put it to him as strongly as you can, that it will be either my life or the money. I have ordered him to pay it, and I want it paid.”

  Melissy nodded. “I’ll tell him how it is, Mr. West. I know it will be all right. By Thursday afternoon we shall have you with us to dinner again. Trust us.”

  “I do.” He lowered his voice and glanced at MacQueen, who had been called aside to speak to one of his men. “And I’m glad you’re going away from here. This is
no place for you.”

  “It isn’t quite the place for you, either,” she answered, with a faint, joyless smile.

  They started an hour before midday. Rosario had packed a lunch for both of them in MacQueen’s saddlebags, for it was the intention of the latter to avoid ranches and traveled trails on the way down. He believed that the girl would go through with what she had pledged herself to do, but he did not mean to take chances of a rescue.

  In the middle of the afternoon they stopped for lunch at Round-up Spring—a water hole which had not dried up in a dozen years. It was a somber meal. Melissy’s spirits had been sinking lower and lower with every mile that brought her nearer the destiny into which this man was forcing her. Food choked her, and she ate but little. Occasionally, with staring eyes, she would fall into a reverie, from which his least word would startle her to a shiver of apprehension. This she always controlled after the first instinctive shudder.

  “What’s the matter with you, girl? I’m not going to hurt you any. I never hit a woman in my life,” the man said once roughly.

  “Perhaps you may, after you’re married. It’s usually one’s wife one beats. Don’t be discouraged. You’ll have the experience yet,” she retorted, but without much spirit.

  “To hear you tell it, I’m a devil through and through! It’s that kind of talk that drives a man to drink,” he flung out angrily.

  “And to wife beating. Of course, I’m not your chattel yet, because the ceremony hasn’t been read; but if you would like to anticipate a few hours and beat me, I don’t suppose there is any reason you shouldn’t.”

  “Gad! How you hate me!”

  Her inveteracy discouraged him. His good looks, his debonair manner, the magnetic charm he knew how to exert—these, which had availed him with other women, did not seem to reach her at all. She really gave him no chance to prove himself. He was ready to be grave or gay—to be a light-hearted boy or a blasé man of the world—to adopt any rôle that would suit her. But how could one play up effectively to a chill silence which took no note of him, to a depression of the soul which would not let itself be lifted? He felt that she was living up to the barest letter of the law in fulfilling their contract, and because of it he steeled himself against her sufferings.

  There was one moment of their ride when she stood on the tiptoe of expectation and showed again the sparkle of eager life. MacQueen had resaddled after their luncheon, and they were climbing a long sidehill that looked over a dry valley. With a gesture, the outlaw checked her horse.

  “Look!”

  Some quarter of a mile from them two men were riding up a wash that ran through the valley. The mesquite and the cactus were thick, and it was for only an occasional moment that they could be seen. Black and the girl were screened from view by a live oak in front of them, so that there was no danger of being observed. The outlaw got out his field glasses and watched the men intently.

  Melissy could not contain the question that trembled on her lips: “Do you know them?”

  “I reckon not.”

  “Perhaps——”

  “Well!”

  “May I look—please?”

  He handed her the glasses. She had to wait for the riders to reappear, but when they did she gave a little cry.

  “It’s Mr. Bellamy!”

  “Oh, is it?”

  He looked at her steadily, ready to crush in her throat any call she might utter for help. But he soon saw that she had no intention of making her presence known. Her eyes were glued to the glasses. As long as the men were in sight she focused her gaze on them ravenously. At last a bend in the dry river bed hid them from view. She lowered the binoculars with a sigh.

  “Lucky they didn’t see us,” he said, with his easy, sinister laugh. “Lucky for them.”

  She noticed for the first time that he had uncased his rifle and was holding it across the saddle-tree.

  Night slipped silently down from the hills—the soft, cool, velvet night of the Arizona uplands. The girl drooped in the saddle from sheer exhaustion. The past few days had been hard ones, and last night she had lost most of her sleep. She had ridden far on rough trails, had been subjected to a stress of emotion to which her placid maiden life had been unused. But she made no complaint. It was part of the creed she had unconsciously learned from her father to game out whatever had to be endured.

  The outlaw, though he saw her fatigue, would not heed it. She had chosen to set herself apart from him. Let her ask him to stop and rest, if she wanted to. It would do her pride good to be humbled. Yet in his heart he admired her the more, because she asked no favors of him and forbore the womanish appeal of tears.

  His watch showed eleven o’clock by the moon when the lights of Mesa glimmered in the valley below.

  “We’ll be in now in half an hour,” he said.

  She had no comment to make, and silence fell between them again until they reached the outskirts of the town.

  “We’ll get off here and walk in,” he ordered; and, after she had dismounted, he picketed the horses close to the road. “You can send for yours in the mornin’. Mine will be in the livery barn by that time.”

  The streets were practically deserted in the residential part of the town. Only one man they saw, and at his approach MacQueen drew Melissy behind a large lilac bush.

  As the man drew near the outlaw’s hand tightened on the shoulder of the girl. For the man was her father—dusty, hollow-eyed, and haggard. The two crouching behind the lilacs knew that this iron man was broken by his fears for his only child, the girl who was the apple of his eye.

  Not until he was out of hearing did Melissy open her lips to the stifled cry she had suppressed. Her arms went out to him, and the tears rolled down her cheeks. For herself she had not let herself break down, but for her father’s grief her heart was like water.

  “All right. Don’t break down now. You’ll be with him inside of half an hour,” the outlaw told her gruffly.

  They stopped at a house not much farther down the street, and he rang the bell. It took a second ring to bring a head out of the open window upstairs.

  “Well?” a sleepy voice demanded.

  “Is this Squire Latimer?”

  “Yes.”

  “Come down. We want to get married.”

  “Then why can’t you come at a reasonable hour?—consarn it!”

  “Never mind that. There’s a good fee in it. Hurry up!”

  Presently the door opened. “Come in. You can wait in the hall till I get a light.”

  “No—I don’t want a light. We’ll step into this room, and be married at once,” MacQueen told him crisply.

  “I don’t know about that. I’m not marrying folks that can’t be looked at.”

  “You’ll marry us, and at once. I’m Black MacQueen!”

  It was ludicrous to see how the justice of the peace fell back in terror before the redoubtable bad man of the hills.

  “Well, I don’t know as a light is a legal necessity; but we got to have witnesses.”

  “Have you any in the house?”

  “My daughter and a girl friend of hers are sleeping upstairs. I’ll call them, Mr. Black—er—I mean Mr. MacQueen.”

  The outlaw went with the squire to the foot of the stairs, whence Latimer wakened the girls and told them to dress at once, as quickly as possible. A few minutes later they came down—towsled, eyes heavy with sleep, giggling at each other in girlish fashion. But when they knew whose marriage they were witnessing, giggles and sleep fled together.

  They were due for another surprise later. MacQueen and his bride were standing in the heavy shadows, so that both bulked vaguely in mere outline. Hitherto, Melissy had not spoken a word. The time came when it was necessary for the justice to know the name of the girl whom he was marrying. Her answer came at once, in a low, scarcely audible voice:

  “Melissy Lee.”

  An electric shock could scarce have startled them more. Of all the girls in Mesa none was so proud as Melissy Lee, no
ne had been so far above criticism, such a queen in the frontier town. She had spent a year in school at Denver; she had always been a social leader. While she had always been friendly to the other girls, they had looked upon her with a touch of awe. She had all the things they craved, from beauty to money. And now she was marrying at midnight, in the dark, the most notorious bad man of Arizona!

  Here was a wonder of wonders to tell the other girls to-morrow. The only pity was that they could not see her face—and his. They had heard that he was handsome. No doubt that accounted for it. And what could be more romantic than a love match with such a fascinating villain? Probably he had stormed her heart irresistibly.

  The service proceeded. The responses of the man came clearly and triumphantly, those of the girl low but distinctly. It was the custom of the justice to join the hands of the parties he was marrying; but when he moved to do so this girl put both of hers quickly behind her. It was his custom also to kiss the bride after pronouncing them man and wife; but he omitted this, too, on the present occasion. Nor did the groom kiss her.

  The voice of the justice died away. They stood before him man and wife. The witnesses craned forward to see the outlaw embrace his bride. Instead, he reached into his pocket and handed Latimer a bill. The denomination of it was one hundred dollars, but the justice did not discover that until later.

  “I reckon that squares us,” the bad man said unsentimentally. “Now, all of you back to bed.”

  MacQueen and his bride passed out into the night. The girls noticed that she did not take his arm; that she even drew back, as if to avoid touching him as they crossed the threshold.

  Not until they reached the gate of her father’s house did MacQueen speak.

  “I’m not all coyote, girl. I’ll give you the three days I promised you. After that you’ll join me wherever I say.”

  “Yes,” she answered without spirit.

  “You’ll stand pat to our agreement. When they try to talk you out of it you won’t give in?”

  “No.”