The Fighting Edge

by William MacLeod Raine

  CHAPTER XXXIII

  "KEEP A-COMIN', RED HAID"

  When the rangers and the militia stampeded after the Indian scout, DudHollister was examining the hoof of his mount. He swung instantly to thesaddle and touched his pony with the spur. It shot across the mesa on theoutskirts of the troop. Not impeded by riders in front, Dud reached thebluff above the river valley on the heels of the advance guard. He pulledup just in time to keep from plunging over.

  The Utes, under cover of the willow saplings, were concentrating a veryheavy fire on the bluff and slope below. Dud's first thought was that thetroops had been drawn into a trap. Every man who had been carried overthe edge of the mesa by the impetus of the charge was already unhorsed.Several were apparently dead. One was scudding for cover.

  Dud drew back promptly. He did not care to stand silhouetted against thesky-line for sharpshooters. Nobody had ever accused the Utes of beinggood shots, but at that distance they could hardly miss him if hestayed.

  The soldiers and rangers gathered in a small clump of cottonwoods.Harshaw read his boys the riot act.

  "Fine business," he told them bitterly. "Every last one of you acted likehe was a tenderfoot. Ain't you ever seen a Ute before? Tryin' to collecthim so anxious, an' him only bait to lead you on. I reckon we better gohome an' let Major Sheahan's boys do this job. I'm plumb disgusted withyou."

  The range-riders looked at each other out of the corners of meek eyes.This rebuke was due them. They had been warned against letting themselvesbe drawn on without orders.

  "That fellow Houck he started it," Big Bill suggested humbly by way ofdefense.

  "Were you drug into it? Did he rope you off yore horse an' take you alongwith him?" demanded Harshaw sarcastically. "Well, I hope you got yorelesson. How many did we lose?"

  A roll-call showed four missing. Hollister felt a catch at the throatwhen his riding partner failed to report. Bob must be one of those whohad gone over the ledge.

  One of Sheahan's troopers on scout duty reported. "Indians making for agulch at the end of the willows, sir. Others swarming up into the bushesat the edge of the mesa."

  A cowpuncher familiar with the country volunteered information. "Gulchleads to that ridge over there. It's the highest point around here."

  "Then we'd better take the ridge," Harshaw suggested to Sheahan. "Rightquick, too."

  The major agreed.

  They put the troop in motion. Another scout rode in. The Utes werehurrying as fast as they could to the rock-rim. Major Sheahan quickenedthe pace to a gallop. The Indians lying in the bushes fired at them asthey went.

  Tom Reeves went down, his horse shot under him. Dud pulled up, a hundredyards away. Out of the bushes braves poured like buzzing bees. Thedismounted man would be cut off.

  Hollister wheeled his cowpony in its tracks and went back. He slipped afoot from the stirrup and held it out as a foot-rest for Reeves. The Uteswhooped as they came on. The firing was very heavy. The pony, a youngone, danced wildly and made it impossible for Tom to swing up.

  Dud dismounted. The panicky horse backed away, eyes filled with terror.It rose into the air, trembling. Dud tried to coax it to good behavior.

  The moments were flying, bringing the Utes nearer every instant.

  "We gotta make a run for it, Dud," his companion said hurriedly. "To thewillows over there."

  There was no choice. Hollister let go the bridle and ran. Scarcely fiftyyards behind them came the Utes.

  Even in their high-heeled boots the cowpunchers ran fast. Once within theshelter of the willows they turned and opened fire. This quite alteredthe situation. The foremost brave faltered in his pigeon-toed stride,stopped abruptly, and dived for the shelter of a sagebush. The othersveered off to the right. They disappeared into some blackberry bushes onthe edge of the mesa. Whether from here they continued to the valley thepunchers in the willows could not tell.

  "Some lucky getaway," Dud panted.

  "Thought I was a goner sure when they plugged my bronc," said Reeves.

  He took a careful shot at the sagebush behind which the Indian had takenrefuge. The Ute ran away limping.

  "Anyhow, that guy's got a souvenir to remember me by. Compliments of TomReeves," grinned the owner of that name.

  "We've got to get back to the boys somehow. I reckon they're havin' quitea party on the ridge," Dud said.

  The sound of brisk firing came across the mesa to them. It was evidentthat the whites and redskins had met on the ridge and were disputing forpossession of it.

  "My notion is we'd better stick around here for a while," Reevesdemurred. "I kinda hate to hoof it acrost the flat an' be a target thewhole darned way."

  This seemed good to Hollister. The troopers seemed to be holding theirown. They had not been driven back. The smoke of their rifles showedalong the very summit of the rock-rim. The inference was that the Uteshad been forced to fall back.

  The two rangers lay in the willows for hours. The firing had died down,recommenced, and again ceased. Once there came the sound of shots fromthe right, down in the valley close by the river.

  "They're likely gettin' the fellow that wasn't killed when he went overthe bluff," Dud suggested. "There ain't a thing we can do to help himeither."

  "That's it, I reckon. They're collectin' him now. Wonder which of theboys it is."

  Dud felt a twinge of conscience. There was nothing he could do to helpthe man hemmed in on the riverbank, but it hurt him to lie there withoutattempting aid. The ranger making the lone fight might be Bob Dillon,poor Bob who had to whip his courage to keep himself from playing theweakling. Dud hoped not. He did not like to think of his riding mate insuch desperate straits with no hope of escape.

  The battle on the ridge had begun again. Hollister and Reeves decided totry to rejoin their friends. From the north end of the willows they creptinto a small draw that led away from the river toward the hills beyondthe mesa. Both of them were experienced plainsmen. They knew how to makethe most of such cover as there was. As they moved through the sage,behind hillocks and along washes, they detoured to put as much distanceas possible between them and the Utes at the edge of the bench.

  But the last hundred yards had to be taken in the open. They did it underfire, on the run, with a dozen riflemen aiming at them from the fringe ofblackberry bushes that bordered the mesa. Up the ridge they wentpell-mell, Reeves limping the last fifty feet of the way. An almost spentbullet had struck him in the fleshy part of the lower leg.

  Hawks let out a cowboy yell at sight of them, jumped up, and pulled Duddown beside him among the boulders.

  "Never expected to see you lads again alive an' kickin' after you an' theUtes started that footrace. I'll bet neither one of you throwed down onyoreself when you was headin' for the willows. Gee, I'm plumb glad to seeyou."

  "We're right glad to be here, Buck," acknowledged Dud. "What's new?"

  "We got these birds goin', looks like. In about an hour now we'reallowin' to hop down into the gulch real sudden an' give 'em merryhell."

  Dud reported to Harshaw. The cattleman dropped a hand on his rider'sshoulder with a touch of affection. He was very fond of the gay youngfellow.

  "Thought they'd bumped you off, boy. Heap much glad to see you. What doyou know?"

  "I reckon nothing that you don't. There was firin' down by the river.Looks like they found one o' the boys who went over the bluff."

  "An' there's a bunch of 'em strung out among the bushes close to the edgeof the mesa. Fifteen or twenty, would you think?"

  "Must be that many, the way their bullets dropped round Tom an' me justnow."

  "Tom much hurt?"

  "Flesh wound only--in the laig."

  Harshaw nodded. His mind was preoccupied with the problem before them."The bulk of 'em are down in this gulch back of the ridge. We met 'em onthe summit and drove 'em back. I judge they've had a-plenty. We'll rout'em out soon now."

  A brisk fire went on steadily between the Utes in the gulch and thewhites on the ridge. Every man had found s
uch cover as he could, but thenumbers on both sides made it impossible for all to remain wholly hidden.The casualties among the troopers had been, however, very light since thefirst disastrous rush over the bluff.

  Dud caught Harshaw's arm. "Look!" he cried, keenly excited.

  A man had emerged from the bushes and was running across the flat towardthe ridge. Dud and Tom had kept well away toward the foothills, not outof range of the Utes, but far enough distant to offer poor targets. Butthis man was running the gauntlet of a heavy fire close enough to be aneasy mark. Blanco valley settlers, expert marksmen from much big-gamehunting, would have dropped the runner before he had covered thirtyyards. But the Indians were armed with cheap trade guns and were at bestpoor shots. The runner kept coming.

  Those on the ridge watched him, their pulses quick, their nerves taut.For he was running a race with death. Every instant they expected to seehim fall. From the bushes jets of smoke puffed like toy balloonscontinuously.

  "Fire where you see the smoke, boys," Harshaw shouted.

  The rangers and militia concentrated on the fringe of shrubbery. At leastthey could make it hot enough for the Indians to disturb their aims.

  "He's down!" groaned Hollister.

  He was, but in a second he was up once more, still running strong. He hadstumbled over a root. The sage was heavy here. This served as a partialscreen for the swiftly moving man. Every step now was carrying himfarther from the sharpshooters, bringing him closer to the ridge.

  "By Godfrey, he'll make it!" Harshaw cried.

  It began to look that way. The bullets were still falling all around him,but he was close to the foot of the ridge.

  Dud made a discovery. "It's Bob Dillon!" he shouted. Then, to the runner,with all his voice, "Keep a-comin', Red Haid!"

  The hat had gone from the red head. As he climbed the slope the runnerwas laboring heavily. Dud ran down the hill to meet him, half a dozenothers at his heels, among them Blister. They caught the spent youthunder the arms and round the body. So he reached the crest.

  Blister's fat arms supported him as his body swayed. The wheezy voice ofthe justice trembled. "G-glory be, son. I 'most had heart f-failurewhilst you was hoofin' it over the mesa. Oh, boy! I'm g-glad to seeyou."

  Bob sat down and panted for breath. "I got to go--back again," hewhispered from a dry throat.

  "What's that?" demanded Harshaw. "Back where?"

  "To--to the river. I came to get help--for Houck."

  "Houck?"

  "He's down there in the willows wounded."