The Ranchman
Page 32
CHAPTER XXXII--TAYLOR BECOMES RILED
By the time Bud Hemmingway had finished his grotesque expression of thedelight that had seized him, and had got to his knees and was grinningwidely at Taylor, the horses of the Arrow outfit were running down theneck of the gorge, their hoofs drumming on the hard floor of the bottom,awakening echoes that filled the gorge with an incessant rumblingclatter that might have caused one to think a regiment of cavalry wasadvancing at a gallop.
Bud turned his gaze up the gorge and saw them.
"Ain't they great!" he yelled at Taylor. The leap in Bud's voicebetrayed something of the strained tenseness with which the man hadendured his besiegement.
And now that there was an even chance for him, Bud's old humorous andcarefree impulses were again ascendant. He got to his feet, grinning,the spirit of battle in his eyes, and threw a shot at a Keats man, farup on a hillside, who had left his concealment and was running upward.At the report of the rifle the man reeled, caught himself, and continuedto clamber upward, another bullet from Bud's rifle throwing up a dustspray at his feet.
Other figures were now running; the slopes of the hills in the vicinitywere dotted with moving black spots as the Keats men, also hearing theclattering of hoofs, and divining that their advantage was gone, made aconcerted break for their horses, which they had hidden in a ravinebeyond the hills.
Taylor did not do any shooting. While Bud was standing erect among thepile of rocks which had served as a shelter for him during theafternoon, his rifle growing hot in his hands, and picturesque cursesissued from his lips, Taylor walked to Spotted Tail and tightened thesaddle cinches. This task did not take him long, but by the time it wasfinished the Arrow outfit had dispersed the Keats men, who were fleeingtoward Dawes in scattered units.
Bothwell, big and grim, rode to where Taylor was standing, his voicebooming as he looked sharply at Taylor.
"I reckon we got here just in time, boss!" he said. "They didn't git youor Bud? No?" at Taylor's grin. "Well, we're wipin' them out--that's all!That Keats bunch can't run in no raw deal like that on the Arrow--notwhile I'm range boss. Law? Bah! Every damned man that runs with Keatswould have stretched hemp before this if they'd have been any law in thecountry! A clean-up, eh--that's what they tryin' to pull off. Well,watch my smoke!"
His voice leaping with passion, Bothwell slapped his horse sharply, andas the animal leaped down the trail toward Dawes, Bothwell shouted tothe other men of the outfit, who had halted at a little distance back inthe gorge:
"Come a runnin', you yaps! That ornery bunch can't git out of thissection without hittin' the basin trail!"
Bothwell and the others fled down the gorge like a devastating whirlwindbefore Taylor could offer a word of objection.
As a matter of fact, Taylor had paid little attention to Bothwell'sthreats. He knew that the big range boss was in a bitter rage, and hehad been aware of the ill-feeling that had existed for some time betweenKeats and his friends and the men of the Arrow outfit.
But the deserved punishment of Keats was not the burden his mind carriedat this instant. Dominating every other thought in Taylor's brain wasthe obvious, naked fact that Carrington had struck at him again; that hehad struck underhandedly, as usual; and that he would continue to fightwith that method until he was victorious or beaten.
And yet Taylor was not so much concerned over the blow that had beenaimed at him as he was of its probable effect upon Marion Harlan. For ofcourse the girl had heard of the charge by this time--or she would hearof it. It would be all the same in the end. And at a blow the girl'sfaith in him would be destroyed--the faith that he had been nurturing,and upon which he had built his hopes.
To be sure he had Larry Harlan's note to show her, to convince her ofhis innocence, but he knew that once the poison of suspicion and doubtgot into her heart, she could never give him that complete confidence ofwhich he had dreamed. She might, now that Carrington had spread hispoison, conclude that he had forged the note, trusting in it to disarmthe suspicions of herself and of the world. And if she were to demandwhy he had not shown her the note before--when she had first come to theArrow--he could not tell her that he had determined never to show it toher, lest she understand that he knew her mother's sordid history. Thatsecret, he had promised himself, she would never know; nor would sheever know of the vicious significance of that conversation he hadoverheard between Carrington and Parsons on the train coming to Dawes.He was convinced that if she knew these things she would never be ableto look him in the eyes again.
Therefore, knowing the damage Carrington had wrought by bringing thecharge of murder against him, Taylor's rage was now definitely centeredupon his enemy. The pursuit and punishment of Keats was a matter ofsecondary consideration in his mind--Bothwell and the men of the outfitwould take care of the man. But Taylor could no longer fight off theterrible rage that had seized him over the knowledge of Carrington'sfoul methods, and when he mounted Spotted Tail and urged him down thetrail toward the Arrow ranchhouse, there was a set to his lips thatcaused Norton, who had brought his horse to a halt near him, to looksharply at him and draw a quick breath.
Not speaking to Norton, nor to Bud--who had also remained to watchhim--Taylor straightened Spotted Tail to the trail and sent him flyingtoward the Arrow. Taylor looked neither to the right nor left, nor didhe speak to Norton and Bud, who rode hard after him. Down the trail at apoint where the neck of the gorge broadened and merged into the grasslevel that stretched, ever widening, to the Arrow, Spotted Tail and hisrider flashed past a big cluster of low hills from which cameflame-streaks and the sharp, cracking reports of rifles, the yells ofmen in pain, and the hoarse curses of men in the grip of the fightingrage.
But Taylor might not have heard the sounds. Certainly he could not haveseen the flame-streaks, unless he glimpsed them out of the corners ofhis eyes, for he did not turn his head as he urged Spotted Tail on,speeding him over the great green sweep of grass at a pace that the bighorse had never yet been ridden.
Laboring behind him, for they knew that something momentous impended,Norton and Bud tried their best to keep up with the flying beast aheadof them. But the sorrel ridden by Norton, and even the great, rangy,lionhearted King, could not hold the pace that Spotted Tail set forthem, and they fell slowly back until, when still several miles from theArrow, horse and rider vanished into the dusk ahead of them.