Desert Gold and the Light of Western Stars

by Zane Grey

  “The bloody little desperado smiled cheerfully, and he dropped his right hand down to the butt of his gun. By Jove, he did! Then I had to tell a blooming lie!”

  Castleton even caught the tone of Monty’s voice, but it was plain that he had not the least conception that Monty had been fooling. Madeline and her friends divined it, however; and, there being no need of reserve, they let loose the fountains of mirth.

  CHAPTER 14

  BANDITS

  When Madeline and her party recovered composure, they sat up to watch the finish of the match. It came with spectacular suddenness. A sharp yell pealed out, and all the cowboys turned attentively in its direction. A big, black horse had surmounted the rim of the mesa and was just breaking into a run. His rider yelled sharply to the cowboys. They wheeled to dash toward their grazing horses.

  “That’s Stewart. There is something wrong,” said Madeline, in alarm.

  Castleton stared. The other men exclaimed uneasily. The women sought Madeline’s face with anxious eyes.

  The black got into his stride and bore swiftly down upon them.

  “Oh, look at that horse run!” cried Helen. “Look at that fellow ride!”

  Helen was not alone in her admiration, for Madeline divided her emotions between growing alarm of some danger menacing and a thrill and quickening of pulse-beat that tingled over her whenever she saw Stewart in violent action. No action of his was any longer insignificant, but violent action meant so much. It might mean anything. For one moment she remembered Stillwell and all his talk about fun, and plots, and tricks to amuse her guests. Then she discountenanced the thought. Stewart might lend himself to a little fun, but he cared too much for a horse to run him at that speed unless there was imperious need. That alone sufficed to answer Madeline’s questioning curiosity. And her alarm mounted to fear not so much for herself as for her guests. But what danger could there be? She could think of nothing except the guerrillas.

  Whatever threatened, it would be met and checked by this man Stewart, who was thundering up on his fleet horse; and as he neared her, so that she could see the dark gleam of face and eyes, she had a strange feeling of trust in her dependence upon him.

  The big black was so close to Madeline and her friends that when Stewart pulled him, the dust and sand kicked up by his pounding hoofs flew in their faces.

  “Oh, Stewart, what is it?” cried Madeline.

  “Guess I scared you, Miss Hammond,” he replied. “But I’m pressed for time. There’s a gang of bandits hiding on the ranch, most likely in a deserted hut. They held up a train near Agua Prieta. Pat Hawe is with the posse that’s trailing them, and you know Pat has no use for us. I’m afraid it wouldn’t be pleasant for you or your guests to meet either the posse or the bandits.”

  “I fancy not,” said Madeline, considerably relieved. “We’ll hurry back to the house.”

  They exchanged no more speech at the moment, and Madeline’s guests were silent. Perhaps Stewart’s actions and looks belied his calm words. His piercing eyes roved round the rim of the mesa, and his face was as hard and stern as chiseled bronze.

  Monty and Nick came galloping up, each leading several horses by the bridles. Nels appeared behind them with Majesty, and he was having trouble with the roan. Madeline observed that all the other cowboys had disappeared.

  One sharp word from Stewart calmed Madeline’s horse; the other horses, however, were frightened and not inclined to stand. The men mounted without trouble, and likewise Madeline and Florence. But Edith Wayne and Mrs. Beck, being nervous and almost helpless, were with difficulty gotten into the saddle.

  “Beg pardon, but I’m pressed for time,” said Stewart, coolly, as with iron arm he forced Dorothy’s horse almost to its knees. Dorothy, who was active and plucky, climbed astride; and when Stewart loosed his hold on bit and mane the horse doubled up and began to buck. Dorothy screamed as she shot into the air. Stewart, as quick as the horse, leaped forward and caught Dorothy in his arms. She had slipped head downward and, had he not caught her, would have had a serious fall. Stewart, handling her as if she were a child, turned her right side up to set her upon her feet. Dorothy evidently thought only of the spectacle she presented, and made startled motions to readjust her riding-habit. It was no time to laugh, though Madeline felt as if she wanted to. Besides, it was impossible to be anything but sober with Stewart in violent mood. For he had jumped at Dorothy’s stubborn mount. All cowboys were masters of horses. It was wonderful to see him conquer the vicious animal. He was cruel, perhaps, yet it was from necessity. When, presently, he led the horse back to Dorothy, she mounted without further trouble. Meanwhile, Nels and Nick had lifted Helen into her saddle.

  “We’ll take the side trail,” said Stewart, shortly, as he swung upon the big black. Then he led the way, and the other cowboys trotted in the rear.

  It was only a short distance to the rim of the mesa, and when Madeline saw the steep trail, narrow and choked with weathered stone, she felt that her guests would certainly flinch.

  “That’s a jolly bad course,” observed Castleton.

  The women appeared to be speechless.

  Stewart checked his horse at the deep cut where the trail started down.

  “Boys, drop over, and go slow,” he said, dismounting. “Flo, you follow. Now, ladies, let your horses loose and hold on. Lean forward and hang to the pommel. It looks bad. But the horses are used to such trails.”

  Helen followed closely after Florence; Mrs. Beck went next, and then Edith Wayne. Dorothy’s horse balked.

  “I’m not so—so frightened,” said Dorothy. “If only he would behave!”

  She began to urge him into the trail, making him rear, when Stewart grasped the bit and jerked the horse down.

  “Put your foot in my stirrup,” said Stewart. “We can’t waste time.”

  He lifted her upon his horse and started him down over the rim.

  “Go on, Miss Hammond. I’ll have to lead this nag down. It’ll save time.”

  Then Madeline attended to the business of getting down herself. It was a loose trail. The weathered slopes seemed to slide under the feet of the horses. Dust-clouds formed; rocks rolled and rattled down; cactus spikes tore at horse and rider. Mrs. Beck broke into laughter, and there was a note in it that suggested hysteria. Once or twice Dorothy murmured plaintively. Half the time Madeline could not distinguish those ahead through the yellow dust. It was dry and made her cough. The horses snorted. She heard Stewart close behind, starting little avalanches that kept rolling on Majesty’s fetlocks. She feared his legs might be cut or bruised, for some of the stones cracked by and went rattling down the slope. At length the clouds of dust thinned, and Madeline saw the others before her ride out upon a level. Soon she was down, and Stewart also.

  Here there was a delay, occasioned by Stewart changing Dorothy from his horse to her own. This struck Madeline as being singular, and made her thoughtful. In fact, the alert, quiet manner of all the cowboys was not reassuring. As they resumed the ride it was noticeable that Nels and Nick were far in advance, Monty stayed far in the rear, and Stewart rode with the party. Madeline heard Boyd Harvey ask Stewart if lawlessness such as he had mentioned was not unusual. Stewart replied that, except for occasional deeds of outlawry such as might break out in any isolated section of the country, there had been peace and quiet along the border for years. It was the Mexican revolution that had revived wild times, with all the attendant raids and hold-ups and gun-packing. Madeline knew that they were really being escorted home under armed guard.

  When they rounded the head of the mesa, bringing into view the ranch-house and the valley, Madeline saw dust or smoke hovering over a hut upon the outskirts of the Mexican quarters. As the sun had set and the light was fading, she could not distinguish which it was. Then Stewart set a fast pace for the house. In a few minutes the party was in the yard, ready and willing to dismount.

  Stillwell appeared, ostensibly cheerful, too cheerful to deceive Madeline. She noted also that a num
ber of armed cowboys were walking with their horses just below the house.

  “Wal, you-all had a nice little run,” Stillwell said, speaking generally. “I reckon there wasn’t much need of it. Pat Hawe thinks he’s got some outlaws corralled on the ranch. Nothin’ at all to be fussed up about. Stewart’s that particular he won’t have you meetin’ with any rowdies.”

  Many and fervent were the expressions of relief from Madeline’s feminine guests as they dismounted and went into the house. Madeline lingered behind to speak with Stillwell and Stewart.

  “Now, Stillwell, out with it,” she said, briefly.

  The old cattleman stared, and then he laughed, evidently pleased with her keenness.

  “Wal, Miss Majesty, there’s goin’ to be a fight somewhere, an’ Stewart wanted to get you-all in before it come off. He says the valley’s overrun by vaqueros an’ guerrillas an’ robbers, an’ Lord knows what else.”

  He stamped off the porch, his huge spurs rattling, and started down the path toward the waiting men.

  Stewart stood in his familiar attentive position, erect, silent, with a hand on pommel and bridle.

  “Stewart, you are exceedingly—thoughtful of my interests,” she said, wanting to thank him, and not readily finding words. “I would not know what to do without you. Is there danger?”

  “I’m not sure. But I want to be on the safe side.”

  She hesitated. It was no longer easy for her to talk to him, and she did not know why.

  “May I know the special orders you gave Nels and Nick and Monty?” she asked.

  “Who said I gave those boys special orders?”

  “I heard Stillwell tell them so.”

  “Of course I’ll tell you if you insist. But why should you worry over something that’ll likely never happen?”

  “I insist, Stewart,” she replied, quietly.

  “My orders were that at least one of them must be on guard near you day and night—never to be out of hearing of your voice.”

  “I thought as much. But why Nels or Monty or Nick? That seems rather hard on them. For that matter, why put any one to keep guard over me? Do you not trust any other of my cowboys?”

  “I’d trust their honesty, but not their ability.”

  “Ability? Of what nature?”

  “With guns.”

  “Stewart!” she exclaimed.

  “Miss Hammond, you have been having such a good time entertaining your guests that you forget. I’m glad of that. I wish you had not questioned me.”

  “Forget what?”

  “Don Carlos and his guerrillas.”

  “Indeed I have not forgotten. Stewart, you still think Don Carlos tried to make off with me—may try it again?”

  “I don’t think. I know.”

  “And besides all your other duties you have shared the watch with these three cowboys?”

  “Yes.”

  “It has been going on without my knowledge?”

  “Yes.”

  “Since when?”

  “Since I brought you down from the mountains last month.”

  “How long is it to continue?”

  “That’s hard to say. Till the revolution is over, anyhow.”

  She mused a moment, looking away to the west, where the great void was filling with red haze. She believed implicitly in him, and the menace hovering near her fell like a shadow upon her present happiness.

  “What must I do?” she asked.

  “I think you ought to send your friends back East—and go with them, until this guerrilla war is over.”

  “Why, Stewart, they would be broken-hearted, and so would I.”

  He had no reply for that.

  “If I do not take your advice it will be the first time since I have come to look to you for so much,” she went on. “Cannot you suggest something else? My friends are having such a splendid visit. Helen is getting well. Oh, I should be sorry to see them go before they want to.”

  “We might take them up into the mountains and camp out for a while,” he said, presently. “I know a wild place up among the crags. It’s a hard climb, but worth the work. I never saw a more beautiful spot. Fine water, and it will be cool. Pretty soon it’ll be too hot here for your party to go out-of-doors.”

  “You mean to hide me away among the crags and clouds?” replied Madeline, with a laugh.

  “Well, it’d amount to that. Your friends need not know. Perhaps in a few weeks this spell of trouble on the border will be over till fall.”

  “You say it’s a hard climb up to this place?”

  “It surely is. Your friends will get the real thing if they make that trip.”

  “That suits me. Helen especially wants something to happen. And they are all crazy for excitement.”

  “They’d get it up there. Bad trails, cañons to head, steep climbs, wind-storms, thunder and lightning, rain, mountain-lions and wildcats.”

  “Very well, I am decided. Stewart, of course you will take charge? I don’t believe I— Stewart, isn’t there something more you could tell me—why you think, why you know my own personal liberty is in peril?”

  “Yes. But do not ask me what it is. If I hadn’t been a rebel soldier I would never have known.”

  “If you had not been a rebel soldier, where would Madeline Hammond be now?” she asked, earnestly.

  He made no reply.

  “Stewart,” she continued, with warm impulse, “you once mentioned a debt you owed me—” And seeing his dark face pale, she wavered, then went on. “It is paid.”

  “No, no,” he answered, huskily.

  “Yes. I will not have it otherwise.”

  “No. That never can be paid.”

  Madeline held out her hand.

  “It is paid, I tell you,” she repeated.

  Suddenly he drew back from the outstretched white hand that seemed to fascinate him.

  “I’d kill a man to touch your hand. But I won’t touch it on the terms you offer.”

  His unexpected passion disconcerted her.

  “Stewart, no man ever before refused to shake hands with me, for any reason. It—it is scarcely flattering,” she said, with a little laugh. “Why won’t you? Because you think I offer it as mistress to servant—rancher to cowboy?”

  “No.”

  “Then why? The debt you owed me is paid. I cancel it. So why not shake hands upon it, as men do?”

  “I won’t. That’s all.”

  “I fear you are ungracious, whatever your reason,” she replied. “Still, I may offer it again some day. Good night.”

  He said good night and turned. Madeline wonderingly watched him go down the path with his hand on the black horse’s neck.

  She went in to rest a little before dressing for dinner, and, being fatigued from the day’s riding and excitement, she fell asleep. When she awoke it was twilight. She wondered why her Mexican maid had not come to her, and she rang the bell. The maid did not put in an appearance, nor was there any answer to the ring. The house seemed unusually quiet. It was a brooding silence, which presently broke to the sound of footsteps on the porch. Madeline recognized Stillwell’s tread, though it appeared to be light for him. Then she heard him call softly in at the open door of her office. The suggestion of caution in his voice suited the strangeness of his walk. With a boding sense of trouble she hurried through the rooms. He was standing outside her office door.

  “Stillwell!” she exclaimed.

  “Anybody with you?” he asked, in a low tone.

  “No.”

  “Please come out on the porch,” he added.

  She complied, and, once out, was enabled to see him. His grave face, paler than she had ever beheld it, caused her to stretch an appealing hand toward him. Stillwell intercepted it and held it in his own.

  “Miss Majesty, I’m amazin’ sorry to tell worrysome news.” He spoke almost in a whisper, cautiously looked about him, and seemed both hurried and mysterious. “If you’d heered Stewart cuss you’d sure know how we hate to hev to
tell you this. But it can’t be avoided. The fact is we’re in a bad fix. If your guests ain’t scared out of their skins it’ll be owin’ to your nerve an’ how you carry out Stewart’s orders.”

  “You can rely upon me,” replied Madeline, firmly, though she trembled.

  “Wal, what we’re up against is this: that gang of bandits Pat Hawe was chasin’—they’re hidin’ in the house!”

  “In the house?” echoed Madeline, aghast.

  “Miss Majesty, it’s the amazin’ truth, an’ shamed indeed am I to admit it. Stewart—why, he’s wild with rage to think it could hev happened. You see, it couldn’t hev happened if I hedn’t sloped the boys off to the gol-lof links, an’ if Stewart hedn’t rid out on the mesa after us. It’s my fault. I’ve hed too much femininity around fer my old haid. Gene cussed me—he cussed me sure scandalous. But now we’ve got to face it—to figger.”

  “Do you mean that a gang of hunted outlaws—bandits—have actually taken refuge somewhere in my house?” demanded Madeline.

  “I sure do. Seems powerful strange to me why you didn’t find somethin’ was wrong, seein’ all your servants hev sloped.”

  “Gone? Ah, I missed my maid! I wondered why no lights were lit. Where did my servants go?”

  “Down to the Mexican quarters, an’ scared half to death. Now listen. When Stewart left you an hour or so ago he follered me direct to where me an’ the boys was tryin’ to keep Pat Hawe from tearin’ the ranch to pieces. At that we was helpin’ Pat all we could to find them bandits. But when Stewart got there he made a difference. Pat was nasty before, but seein’ Stewart made him wuss. I reckon Gene to Pat is the same as red to a Greaser bull. Anyway, when the sheriff set fire to an old adobe hut Stewart called him an’ called him hard. Pat Hawe hed six fellers with him, an’ from all appearances bandit-huntin’ was some fiesta. There was a row, an’ it looked bad fer a little. But Gene was cool, an’ he controlled the boys. Then Pat an’ his tough de-pooties went on huntin’. That huntin’, Miss Majesty, petered out into what was only a farce. I reckon Pat could hev kept on foolin’ me an’ the boys, but as soon as Stewart showed up on the scene—wal, either Pat got to blunderin’ or else we-all shed our blinders. Anyway, the facts stood plain. Pat Hawe wasn’t lookin’ hard fer any bandits; he wasn’t daid set huntin’ anythin’, unless it was trouble fer Stewart. Finally, when Pat’s men made fer our storehouse, where we keep ammunition, grub, liquors, an’ sich, then Gene called a halt. An’ he ordered Pat Hawe off the ranch. It was hyar Hawe an’ Stewart locked horns. An’ hyar the truth come out. There was a gang of bandits hid somewheres, an’ at fust Pat Hawe hed been powerful active an’ earnest in his huntin’. But sudden-like he’d fetched a pecooliar change of heart. He had been some flustered with Stewart’s eyes a-pryin’ into his moves, an’ then, mebbe to hide somethin’, mebbe jest nat’rul, he got mad. He hollered law. He pulled down off the shelf his old stock grudge on Stewart, accusin’ him over again of that Greaser murder last fall. Stewart made him look like a fool—showed him up as bein’ scared of the bandits or hevin’ some reason fer slopin’ off the trail. Anyway, the row started all right, an’ but fer Nels it might hev amounted to a fight. In the thick of it, when Stewart was drivin’ Pat an’ his crowd off the place, one of them de-pooties lost his head an’ went fer his gun. Nels throwed his gun an’ crippled the feller’s arm. Monty jumped then an’ throwed two forty-fives, an’ fer a second or so it looked ticklish. But the bandit-hunters crawled, an’ then lit out.”