The Collected Westerns of William MacLeod Raine: 21 Novels in One Volume

by Unknown

  His courage had been tested often enough to be beyond doubt, so Gabriel contented himself with waiting behind his horse for the captives to be brought to him. He had no intention of being killed in a skirmish of this kind as long as he had peons to send forward in his place.

  "Bet five dollars gold I have them inside of a quarter of an hour, captain," the Mexican general said, peering across his saddle toward the grove.

  "Yes," assented Major Ochampa in a depressed voice. He objected to having camp vagrants take liberties with his leg. "Hope you make an example of them, general."

  Pasquale turned, his eyes like cold lights on a frosty night. "They'll pray for death a hundred times before it comes to them," he promised brutally. Then, with quick surprise, "Where's Holcomb?"

  "He went forward with the men."

  "Just like him," replied Gabriel, shrugging his shoulders. "The madman must always be in the thick of it. It's the Gringo way."

  From his mesquite thicket Yeager kept up as rapid a fire as possible, using rifle and revolver alternately so as to deceive the enemy into believing the whole party was there. His object was merely to gain time for his escaping friends. Ochampa had been wounded as an object lesson, but he did not intend to kill any of those who were surrounding him. If there had been a dozen of them he would have fought it out to a finish, but with one against a thousand he felt it would be useless murder to kill.

  Steve fired into the air, knowing that would do just as well to delay the attackers. Each time he fired his revolver he called aloud softly to himself the number of the shot. It was essential to his plan that there should be one bullet left the moment before they took him.

  He could hear them stumbling toward him through the brush and could make out the dark figures as they crawled forward.

  "Four," he counted as he fired his revolver into the air and cut off a twig.

  His rifle sang out twice. He waited, listening. Bushes crackled a few yards behind him. Snatching up his revolver, he turned.

  "Don't fire, Steve," said a low voice in perfectly good English.

  Holcomb came out of the thicket toward him.

  "Hello, captain. Nice large warm evening. You out taking the air?" asked the cowpuncher.

  "Did the rest get away?"

  "Hope so. I had rotten luck. One of the guards plugged me in the leg, so I thought I'd kinder keep the Legion busy while our friends make their getaway."

  "Can't you run?"

  "Can't even walk." Yeager raised the revolver and fired. "Five. One left now."

  His eye met that of the captain. Each of them understood perfectly.

  "That first shot of yours just missed Pasquale. Pity you didn't shoot straighter."

  "I had a dead beat on the old scamp, but I didn't want him. If Ruth gets away, that's all I ask. He's all kinds of a wolf, but Mexico needs him, I reckon."

  "You're right about that, Steve. It wouldn't have done you any good to lay him out. Here they come."

  A man ploughed through the brush toward them. Another appeared to the left. The face of a third peered around the trunk of an adjacent cottonwood. Of a sudden the grove seemed alive with them.

  Raising his gun, Steve nodded farewell to his friend.

  A moment before Holcomb had had no intention of interfering, but an impulse that was almost an inspiration gave springs to his muscles. He leaped.

  The fling of his arm sent the shot flying wildly into the night. Yeager turned on him furiously as he picked himself up to his knees.

  "What did you do that for?"

  "I don't know--had no intention of it a moment before. Maybe I've done you a bad turn, Steve. It came over me as a hunch that you were coming out of this all right."

  "The devil it did. Gimme your gun. Quick!"

  It was too late. The Mexicans were closing with him. They flung him down and pegged him to the ground with their weight. He made no attempt to struggle.

  "Get off of him. He's my prisoner," roared Holcomb, flinging one of the Mexicans back.

  They poured on him a flood of protesting Spanish. They had taken him while he was still at large. The reward was theirs.

  "Confound the reward. You may have it, but the man belongs to me. Get up. He's wounded. Two of you will have to carry him."

  "But if he tries to escape, señor--"

  "Don't be a fool," snapped Holcomb curtly.

  The captain was troubled in his heart. Had he saved this fine young fellow to be the plaything of old Pasquale's vengeance? He knew well enough what would happen to the Arizonian if Ruth escaped. But as long as there was life there was a chance. Something might turn up yet to save him.

  When Pasquale found that only an insignificant peon Pedro Cabenza had been taken in his dragnet, he exploded with fury. He ordered the man shot against the nearest wall at once.

  Culvera turned the prisoner so that the moon fell full upon his face. He looked searchingly at him. Yeager knew that he was discovered. He spoke in English.

  "Good-evening, Colonel Culvera. You've guessed right, but you've guessed it a little too late."

  "What is this? Who is this man?" demanded Pasquale harshly.

  "The man Yeager, who escaped from you two weeks since," explained Ramon. "He has been in camp with us over a week arranging this girl's escape."

  The old general let out a bellow of rage. He strode forward to make sure for himself. Roughly he seized his prisoner by the hair of the head and twisted the face toward him.

  "Sorry I had to leave you so abruptly last time, general. Did you have a pleasant night?" taunted Yeager.

  Gabriel choked. He was beyond words.

  "I see you haven't been able to get anybody else to assassinate your friend Culvera yet," he said pleasantly.

  The American had given up hope of life. He was trying to spur Pasquale into such an uncontrollable anger that his death would be a swift and easy one.

  "Tie him hand and foot. Let a dozen men armed with rifles stay in the room with him till I return. Ochampa, I hold you responsible. If he escapes--"

  "He won't escape," answered the major. "I'll see to that myself."

  "See that you do." Pasquale swung to the saddle and looked around. "Ramon, you're not a fool. Where shall we look for this girl and those with her?" he demanded, scowling.

  "They must have horses to escape, general. Except in the stable here, which is guarded heavily, the nearest are across the river in the direction they must be moving."

  "Of course. Juan, have the remuda driven up and let every man saddle his horse. We'll comb these hills if we must. Maldito! She shan't escape me."

  He galloped off at the head of his troop, taking the short cut to the pasture.

  The prisoner was dragged into the house where Ochampa was staying. A doctor presently arrived and took care of the wounded leg of the major. After he had finished dressing it, he turned to Yeager.

  "No use bothering with mine. I'll have worse wounds soon," the man from Arizona told him calmly.

  The little doctor smiled genially because his heart was good. "Quien sabe, señor? Yet it is my duty," he reminded his patient gently.

  "Old Gabriel might not say so," demurred Steve.

  Yet he conceded the point and let the surgeon minister to him. There was no anaesthetic. The patient had to set his teeth and bear the pain while the bullet was removed and the wound washed and dressed. Little beads of perspiration stood out on his forehead. The lean muscles of his cheeks stood out like ropes. But no sound escaped his lips.

  "You are a brave man," said the doctor when he had finished. "I wish you good fortune, sir."

  A faint smile rested in the eyes of the cowpuncher. "I'm right likely to have it, don't you think?" he asked ironically.

  Whether Ochampa suspected Holcomb of being in collusion with his countryman or was merely taking no chances, the prisoner had no way of telling. But the major refused flatly to let the artillery officer into the room.

  "Tell him he can see the man after the general returns
--if the general wants him to see him," he told the messenger.

  They could hear the voice of Holcomb, angry and insistent, protesting against such treatment. But a file of soldiers stood between him and the room. He had to retire defeated.

  Slate-colored dawn rolled up without the return of Pasquale. With every passing hour Steve gathered hope. It was certain that Ruth and her friends had escaped through the lines or they must have been brought back long ago. And if they once reached the hills and became lost among them, they would surely be safe from pursuit.

  The prisoner was drinking a cup of coffee the doctor had brought him when the sound of horses' hoofs came to him through the open window.

  The voice of Pasquale rang out, and at the sound of it Steve's heart grew chill. For there was in the timbre of it a brutal, jovial triumph.

  "Take these horses, boys,--feed them, water them. Let the girl go to her room, Ramon, but see that she is watched every minute. Garcia, attend to the Gringos."

  He strode into the room where Yeager was detained. His greedy little eyes sparkled; his face exuded malice and self-conceit.

  "Ho, ho, amigo! Who laughs now?" he jeered. "I found your friends--stumbled on them in a pocket of the hills while we were returning. They had lost their way, of course, since Señor Yeager was unfortunately not able to go along. So I brought them home to breakfast. Was I not kind?"

  He threw back his head and laughed. Steve said nothing. His heart was sick. He had thrown the dice for his great chance and lost.

  "First, to breakfast," repeated the Mexican. "And afterward--the young lady shall have love. Por Dios, you shall be at the wedding," decided Pasquale on malicious impulse, hammering on the table with his great fist.

  "If I had only had the sense to pull the trigger last night when I had you at my mercy," Yeager commented aloud.

  "Yes, you and all her friends--you shall all be there to wish her joy--even Holcomb, who wearies me with his protests. Maldito! Is Gabriel Pasquale not good enough for a kitchen wench from Arizona?"

  "It's an outrage beyond belief."

  "And afterward--while the little chatita makes love to Gabriel--her friend Steve whom she loves will suffer his punishment with what fortitude he can."

  "And her other friends?"

  "Behold, it is a great day, señor. Not so? If the chatita, linda de mi alma (pugnosed one, pretty creature of my love), asks for their freedom, she shall have it. I, Gabriel, will send them home under safe escort. Am I not generous? A kind lover? Not so?"

  Steve turned his head away and looked through the window at the sun rising behind the distant hills. There was nothing to be said.

  CHAPTER XXV

  THE TEXAN TAKES A LONG JOURNEY

  Pasquale was as good as his word. He arranged that Yeager should see the function from first to last. The wounded man, his hands tied behind his back, heavily guarded, was in the front row of the crowd which lined the short walk between the headquarters of the general and the little adobe church. The petty officer in command told him that after the bridal procession had passed he was to be taken into the balcony of the church for the ceremony.

  "And afterward, while Gabriel makes love to the muchacha, the Gringo Yeager will learn what it means to displease the Liberator," promised the brown man with a twinkle of cruel little eyes.

  Steve gave no sign that he heard. He understood perfectly that the ingenuity of Pasquale would make the day one long succession of tortures for him. It was up to him to mask his face and manner with the stoicism of an Apache.

  At a little distance he saw Farrar and Threewit, both of them very anxious and pale. He would have called a greeting to them except that he was afraid it might prejudice their chances.

  Captain Holcomb passed in front of him and stopped.

  "Mornin', Steve," he said.

  "Mornin', captain." The haggard eyes of the cowpuncher asked a question before his lips framed it. "Can't you do anything for the little girl? Has this hellish thing got to go through?"

  "The prisoner will keep silent," snapped the Mexican sergeant.

  Holcomb looked at the man with eyes of chill authority. "When I speak to the prisoner he answers. Understand?"

  "Si, señor," muttered the sergeant, taken aback. "But the general said--"

  "Forget it," cut in the Texan crisply. He turned to Yeager and spoke deliberately, looking straight at him. "Pasquale is going through with this thing. Just as sure as the old reprobate is alive the padre will marry your little friend to him within half an hour."

  Was Captain Holcomb giving him a message? Steve did not know. It seemed to him that there was some hidden meaning in the long look of the steady eyes.

  The soldier nodded curtly and turned away. The Texan was dressed with unusual care. He was wearing tanned boots newly polished and the trim khaki uniform of an officer of the United States Army. Looking at him, Yeager thought he had never seen a finer figure of a man. He carried himself with the light firmness of a trained soldier.

  The cowpuncher was puzzled. Had Holcomb an ace up his sleeve? If so, what could it be? He had said that the marriage would be pushed through just as sure as Pasquale was alive. Had there been the slightest emphasis on that part of the sentence? Steve was not certain. It had struck him that the captain's soft voice had lingered on the words, but that might have been fancy. Yet he could not escape the feeling that something tragic was impending.

  The chattering of the peons crowded in the road died away as if at a signal. From the other end of the line rose a shout. "Viva Pasquale! Viva Pasquale!"

  Troopers pushed through and opened up a lane.

  The general was for once in full uniform. Evidently he had just come from the hands of a barber. His fierce mustache and eyebrows had been trimmed and subdued. He smiled broadly as he bowed to the plaudits of his men.

  Then he turned and Steve caught sight of the bride. Colorless to the lips, she trembled as she moved forward, her eyes on the ground.

  It was as if some bell rang within her to tell of the presence of her lover. Ruth raised her big sad eyes and they met those of Steve. Her lips framed his name soundlessly. She seemed to lean toward him, straining from Pasquale, whose arm supported her.

  Somehow she broke free and flung herself toward the man she loved. Her arms fastened around his neck. With a shivering sob she clung tightly to him.

  Pasquale, his eyes stabbing with brutal rage, dragged her back and held her wrist in his sinewy brown hand. His teeth were clenched, the veins in his temples swollen. He glared at the cowpuncher as if he would like to murder him on the spot.

  The padre touched Gabriel on the arm. With a start the Liberator came to himself. The procession moved forward again. Not a word had been spoken, but Pasquale's golden smile had vanished. The fingernails of his clenched fist bit savagely into the palm of his hand.

  From the procession Culvera saluted Yeager ironically. "Buenos and adios, señor."

  The man to whom he spoke did not even know the Mexican was there. His eyes and his mind were following the girl who was being driven to her doom.

  From out of the crowd edging the walk a man stepped. It was Adam Holcomb. He stood directly in front of Pasquale and his bride, blocking the way. There was a strange light in his eyes. It was as if he looked from the present far into the future, as if somehow he were a god, an Olympian who held in his hand the shears of destiny.

  The general, still furious, flung an angry look at him. "Well?" he demanded harshly.

  "I want to ask the lady a question, general."

  Impatient rage boiled out of Pasquale in an imperious gesture of his arm. "Afterward, captain. You shall ask her a hundred. Move aside."

  "I'll ask it now. This wedding doesn't go on until I hear from the young lady that she is willing," he announced.

  Ruth tried to run forward to him, but the iron grip of the Mexican stayed her. "Save me," she cried.

  "By God! I will."

  "Arrest that man," ordered Pasquale in a passion.


  At the same time he pushed Ruth from him into the crowd that lined the path. The brown fingers of the Mexican chief closed upon the handle of his revolver.

  "Here's where I go on a long journey," the Texan cried.

  He dragged out an army forty-five. Pasquale and he fired at the same instant. The Mexican clutched at his heart and swayed back into the crowd. Holcomb staggered, but recovered himself. He faced the other Mexican officers, tossed away his revolver, and folded his arms.

  "Whenever you are ready, gentlemen," he said quietly.