The Coyote

by Roberts, James

  “We’ll turn back,” Rathburn decided. “We’ll ride with the trees between us an’ the men up at the cañon, an’ keep an eye out for the pair to the west. You might watch that side, an’ I’ll look out for the east an’ south. C’mon, let’s drift.”

  The face of the man who called himself Percy was white and strained as they urged their tired mounts southward. They skirted the western end of the ridge by which they had gained the wide valley and continued on, carefully scanning the landscape in all directions for indications of pursuit. It was plain to them that they had been seen to leave the east trail early that morning. Brown and his men undoubtedly knew they had headed north, and the justice had immediately dispatched men to guard the entrance to the cañon trail into the mountains. Then they had begun a systematic search of the locality.

  This deduction was strengthened when Rathburn suddenly pointed toward the east. More riders were to be seen on the slope of the valley’s side in that direction. Even as they looked, these riders, too, disappeared from view as they dropped down behind a rise of ground.

  The sun was going down fast. Already the red banners of the sunset were flaunted in the high western skies. The twilight would be upon them apace––the long-lasting, purple-veiled twilight of the altitudes. Then the night would close down with its canopy of stars.

  Rathburn looked speculatively at his companion. “We’ll make a break for that clump of trees about a quarter of a mile ahead with all our horses have got left,” he said, driving in his spurs.

  In a last mad dash which taxed every iota of strength and endurance left in their beasts they gained the shelter of the little patch of timber.

  “Here we’ll wait,” said Rathburn coolly as he dismounted.

  “What?” cried the other, staring at him incredulously. “We ain’t quite surrounded yet. We haven’t seen anybody in the south. That way may be open an’ it’s liable to be closed while we’re stayin’ here.”

  “Get off your horse and unsaddle him,” commanded Rathburn sternly. “The best place to hide from a posse is in the middle of it!”

  * * *

  CHAPTER VIII

  TWO QUEER MOVES

  The captive complied with the order, looking at Rathburn in a peculiar way––half disgusted, half contemptuous. Indeed, he turned his back on the other, leaned against the slender trunk of a pine, and stared steadily into the south. He appeared much worried.

  The horses welcomed the chance to rest.

  Rathburn walked slowly back and forth the width of the patch of timber, vigilantly keeping watch. He paid no attention whatsoever to the man leaning against the tree. For all the interest he displayed he might have completely forgotten his very existence. In time this got on the other’s nerves.

  “I believe you lied when you said there was a man killed down there last night,” he said coolly.

  “I didn’t say anybody was killed,” Rathburn returned without looking in his direction. “You assumed that part of it.”

  “Then you wanted me to think so,” said the other in a loud voice. “You was tryin’ to throw a scare into me!”

  Rathburn swung on his heel and stepped squarely in front of him. “I let you think that to show you what might have happened,” he said. “Such things have happened to me an’ swelled the price on my head. Now, darn you, if you talk that loud again I’ll choke your wind off!”

  The words came with sinister earnestness, but they seemed to rouse some dormant strain of extraordinary courage in the man to whom they were addressed.

  He suddenly leaped from the tree and struck out with all the force at his command.

  But Rathburn had anticipated the attack. He knocked the other’s blow aside and drove his right straight to the jaw.

  “There’s a little souvenir to show you that I mean business, Percy,” he panted.

  Percy came back to the attack with eyes gleaming with malice. Again he attempted to hit Rathburn, but the latter stepped aside with lightning swiftness and drove home another blow. He followed it up with a left and right and Percy sprawled his length on the grass.

  After a time he sat up, dazed. Rathburn was standing over him. But although he realized fully that he was not a match for Rathburn in physical combat, and doubtless was greatly his inferior with his gun, his spirit was undaunted.

  “You better finish me, or drag me in,” he gritted; “for I’ll get you, if I can. I don’t know what your play is, but you’ve acted too queer to-day for me to believe you’re on the square one way or the other.”

  “You want some more, Percy?”

  “My name is Lamy,” growlingly replied the other, as he rose cautiously.

  “Oh, o-h. Percy Lamy.”

  “No, just Lamy. Lamy’s my name, an’ I ain’t ashamed of it. You’d find it out––sooner or later––anyway, I––expect.” He stammered during this speech as if he had just remembered something––remembered when it was too late.

  Rathburn noted the frown and the confused expression in Lamy’s eyes. He turned abruptly and walked away.

  A few minutes later he came back to find Lamy sitting with his back to a tree, staring unseeing into the deepening twilight.

  “Lamy,” he said harshly, “we’re going to get away from this posse––maybe. Anyway, soon’s it’s dark we’ll ride south. It’s just possible we can leave ’em up here in the hills.”

  “Suppose I refuse to go?”

  “Then I’ll have to truss you up an’ tie you to your horse, an’ don’t think I won’t do it!” The ring of menace in Rathburn’s voice convinced the other, but he made no comment.

  When darkness had fallen they saddled their mounts and started. They rode at a jog, keeping as much as possible in the shadow of the timber. Rathburn noticed that the valley gradually widened; he showed interest in his surroundings.

  Then, off to the left below them, he saw moving shadows. He called a halt at the next clump of trees. “Lamy, are there any horses running in here that you know of?” he asked.

  “There probably are,” said Lamy sarcastically; “an’ they’ve probably got riders on ’em.”

  “No doubt,” returned Rathburn gravely. “I just saw some shadows that looked like horses down to the left of us.”

  “I expected they’d shut us off in the south,” snapped out Lamy. “You gave ’em plenty of time.”

  “We just naturally had to rest our horses,” observed Rathburn. “As it is, they’re not good for far, nor for any fast riding. Besides, I’ve changed my mind some since this morning.”

  “So? I suppose you’re goin’ to give me a chance?” sneeringly inquired the other.

  He could see Rathburn’s eyes in the twilight, and suddenly he shifted in his saddle uneasily. For Rathburn’s gaze had narrowed; and it shot from his eyes steel blue with a flash of fire. His face had set in cold, grim lines. The whole nature of the man seemed to undergo a change. He radiated menace, contempt, cold resentment. The corners of his mouth twisted down sharply. His voice, as he spoke now, seemed edged like a knife.

  “Lamy, hand over that money!”

  Lamy’s brows lifted in swift comprehension; a look of cunning came into his eyes––was followed by a gleam of hope, not unmixed with derision. He thrust his hands into his coat pockets and held out bills and silver to Rathburn who stuffed the plunder into his own pockets.

  “That all of it?” demanded Rathburn sharply. He made no effort to temper the tones of his voice.

  For answer Lamy dug into his trousers’ pockets, under his chaps, and produced two more rolls of bills.

  “That’s the chunk,” he said with a sneering inflection in his voice. “If you want I’ll stand a frisk.”

  “No, I won’t search you. I take it you’re too sensible to lie!”

  “Thanks,” replied Lamy dryly. “I suppose I’m free to go now, unless you figure you’d be safer by killin’ me off.”

  Anger, swift and uncontrollable, leaped into Rathburn’s eyes. Then he laughed, softly and mirthless
ly. “If I’d been minded to do for you, or had any such idea in my head, I’d have given it to you long before this,” he said. “It’s lucky for you, Lamy, that I’m pretty much the breed you thought I was.”

  “Don’t pose!” retorted Lamy hotly. “You intended to get that money and make me the goat if you could, from the start. If you’d had any idea of turnin’ me over to Brown you’d have done that little thing, too, long before this.”

  “Maybe so,” Rathburn mused, staring at the other thoughtfully in the dim light of the stars. “Maybe I will yet. You’re not out of this––an’ neither am I. Those shadows down to the left are getting plainer. What’s that long dark streak over there on the right?”

  “Those are trees,” answered Lamy sneeringly.

  “Let’s make for ’em,” ordered Rathburn. “Don’t forget you’re still under orders, Lamy. An’ don’t overlook the fact that I’m more or less in earnest about things in general,” he added significantly.

  They rode at a tangent for the dark shadow of the trees. At the edge of the timber ensued another long wait, with Rathburn uncommunicative, moodily pacing restlessly back and forth. The horses had another excellent opportunity to rest and the fagged animals took advantage of it.

  Once or twice Rathburn thought he glimpsed a light far down the valley, but he couldn’t be sure. Neither could he be sure he saw the moving shadows on the opposite side of the wide valley again.

  The night wore into early morning and the moon added its cold radiance to the faint glow of the myriads of stars. Rathburn sensed the nearness of enemies. Several times he stopped before Lamy, who sat upon his saddle blanket with his back against a tree trunk and dozed. Rathburn had to fight off continual drowsiness.

  For long hours he walked along the edge of the pines. He dared not trust himself to sleep. He dared not trust Lamy to stand guard while he obtained some rest, and he knew that when the sun came up and the day began, he would be thoroughly awake again; for more than once he had gone two nights without sleep. Also, he assumed that the hunt would be less spirited during the night. Members of the posse would themselves be drowsy, but they could spell each other and in that way maintain their vigil and secure a few hours of rest.

  Rathburn’s rage rose at frequent intervals as he thought of the predicament he was in through no fault of his own. More than once he glared malevolently at the sleeping Lamy; then the troubled look would come again to his eyes and he would resume his pacing, muttering to himself, staring into the blue veil of the night. Once he sat down and removed his right boot and sock in the darkness; shortly afterward he again began his pacing.

  He felt the pangs of hunger and shook his head savagely as he thought of the scanty supply of provisions he had been compelled to leave in the mountain pocket.

  His spirits revived as he thought of the horses. They would be fresh in the morning; and he intended that his horse should have a grain feed that day. Rathburn always thought of his horse first; and, although it might seem that he taxed the animal’s powers to their utmost at times, he never went beyond a certain point. He had often said he would surrender to his pursuers rather than kill his mount in evading them.

  The first faint glimmer of the dawn was lighting the skies above the ridges to the eastward when he roused Lamy. He awoke with a start, stared sleepily at Rathburn, then got speedily to his feet.

  “You been awake all night?” he asked curiously.

  Rathburn nodded, looking at him closely. “Saddle up,” he ordered.

  They rode southward at a canter in the shelter of the edge of the timber. When the eastern skies were rosy red and fast changing to gold with the advent of the sun they saw two things; a small ranch house about a mile southeast of them, and two riders some distance north.

  Rathburn reined in his mount. He looked at Lamy who met his gaze in defiance. Then Rathburn reached into his coat pocket with his right hand and drew out a gun.

  “Here’s your shooting iron,” he said, as he held the weapon out to Lamy.

  The other stared at him in astonishment.

  “Take it!” snapped out Rathburn. “Take it, or I may change my mind!”

  Lamy took the gun wonderingly, balanced it for a moment in his hand, and shoved it into his holster.

  Rathburn motioned toward the south and Lamy rode along at his side. They caught another glimpse of the horsemen in the north. As they drew opposite the ranch house, on the west or front side, they saw a woman leave it and walk the short distance to the barn and enter. At that moment both Rathburn and Lamy gave vent to low exclamations. They had caught sight of riders in the south and to the east. They appeared to be surrounded by the posse.

  Rathburn looked at Lamy soberly. However, it was Lamy who spoke first. “You said the best place to hide from a posse was in the middle of it,” he said scornfully. “Why not leave the horses in the timber an’ run for the house? Maybe it has a cellar.”

  “I reckon that would be as good a move as any,” replied Rathburn, to the other’s surprise. “I’m game if you are.”

  Lamy’s eyes flamed with excitement as he turned his mount into the trees. They came to what looked like a bear pit or a prospect hole. It was partly filled with brush.

  “We can hide our saddles in there an’ let the horses go,” Lamy suggested. “There’s a few horses runnin’ in through here, an’ they may join ’em.”

  “You can do that with yours,” said Rathburn grimly. “You seem to forget that the brand on this dun is pretty well known.”

  He coolly tied his horse as Lamy followed his own suggestion, hid his saddle, and turned his mount loose.

  They moved back to the edge of the timber and waited until they could see no one in sight about the house or in any direction in the valley. Then they started on a run for the house.

  * * *

  CHAPTER IX

  LEAVE IT TO ME

  Rathburn had recognized the ranch long before they came close to it. It was the place where he had stopped for a meal with the girl and the freckle-faced boy two days before––the day he had gone on into Dry Lake. He saw no sign of the girl or the boy or any one else as they reached the front door and hurried inside.

  Out of the corner of his eye he saw Lamy look hurriedly about and step into the kitchen. He followed him.

  Lamy grabbed part of a loaf of bread and some cold meat on a shelf above the kitchen table.

  “There’s usually a cellar under the main room in these square houses,” he said, hurrying back into the larger room.

  Rathburn stepped after him, and Lamy pulled back the rug before the table and disclosed a trapdoor. He raised the door, held out the food to Rathburn, and whispered: “You better get down there. Take this grub an’–––”

  “What’s the matter? Isn’t there room for both of us?” Rathburn put the question in a voice which conveyed surprise.

  “I thought it might be better if we––if we didn’t both hide in the same place,” whispered Lamy. “Then they’d only get one of us, an’ whichever it was they’d think he was the one they wanted, see?” He appeared excited.

  Rathburn’s eyes narrowed. His right hand darted to his gun in a flash, and the muzzle of the weapon was pressed into Lamy’s ribs. “Get down there!” commanded Rathburn. “Get down.”

  Lamy hesitated with a wild look in his eyes. The muzzle of Rathburn’s gun pressed harder against his midriff. He dropped lightly into the cellar. Rathburn pulled the rug against the trapdoor as he followed, then let down the door, certain that the rug would fall into place.

  The pair sat upon some gunny sacks in the little cellar until their eyes became accustomed to the darkness; they could dimly see each other by the faint light which came to them through some cracks in the floor above.

  They heard steps at the rear of the house; then the pound of hoofs from in front. Rathburn saw Lamy staring at him fixedly with a puzzled look. He frowned at him. Rathburn still held his gun in his hand. Both had forgotten the food which Lamy had in his lap. />
  “Say,” whispered Lamy. “What was your idea in givin’ me back my gun?”

  He moved closer to get the reply.

  “Shut up!” said Rathburn, cocking an ear toward the trapdoor.

  The sound of footsteps now was in the kitchen. They heard horses snorting and men dismounting at the front door. After a brief space there were light footsteps in the room above followed by the tramp of heavy boots.

  “Good morning, ma’am,” came a deep voice.

  “Good morning,” was the hesitating reply. Rathburn recognized the voice of the girl who had fed him.

  “Ma’am, I’m Sheriff Neal of San Jacinto County,” continued the deep voice, as several feet shuffled slightly. “These men with me are members of my posse. Maybe you know Judge Brown?”

  “I––I’ve seen him,” answered the girl.

  Rathburn could feel Lamy’s knees shaking against him in excitement.

  “I believe we’ve met some time,” Brown put in. Rathburn thought the justice’s voice sounded tired.

  “Ma’am, we’re looking for a man––or two men.” It was the sheriff speaking again. “Have you seen any one around here this morning––any stranger, or strangers, I mean?”

  “Why, no,” replied the girl with a breathless catch in her voice. “I haven’t seen any one.”

  “You’re sure?”

  Rathburn frowned at the sheriff’s tone, although he kept his eyes on Lamy’s white face.

  He smiled as he remembered that the sheriff had mentioned two men. This doubtless was the cause of Lamy’s agitation. Nor did he think Lamy had forgotten that he, Rathburn, had pointed out that he could prove he didn’t rob the place in Dry Lake.

  “You’re sure?” the sheriff asked again.

  “Why, yes,” replied the girl. “I am sure.”

  “Maybe she can get us some breakfast,” said Brown hopefully.