by Peter Dawson
Behind, the bawling of the herd faded gradually until finally the night’s serenity remained unbroken by anything but the steady slur of the pony’s hoofs sliding through the knee-deep grass.
Saygar struck the Diamond trail a quarter mile beyond the point he and his men had left it. He turned in toward the Middle Arizona Ranch and rode the trail in that direction until he saw the lights once more. Then, heading back up the trail, he started for the basin.
Danger Signals
The glowing coals of the cedar fire tinted the cave’s walls with a ghostly pinkish light that lacked the strength to cast a shadow. Jean Vanover sat in the feeble outer radius of that light, near the blanket-draped figure that gave out but a faint whisper of shallow breathing. It had been this way last night and all day today, and now, at the beginning of this second night, there was no change that Jean could see in the unconscious man.
Last night there had been something to do. Before Blaze had left, they had bathed the deep gash in Joe’s head and bandaged it with a cleanly washed strip of the flour sack. Then, with Blaze gone in the hour past midnight, Jean had heated some condensed milk in a pan on the fire and tried to make Joe drink it. He hadn’t seemed able to swallow. The girl tried every way she could to make him, as he lay flat on the blankets, finally lifting his upper body onto her knees. It was while she held him that way, his head lying in the crook of her arm, and looked down into his face, that she felt the first unaccountable stir of feeling toward him.
Before that moment, Joe Bonnyman had been simply a man hurt badly and in need of help, a man who perhaps piqued her curiosity in a strange, indefinable way. But, as she held him close, feeling his solidness and strength, and yet knowing that he was as utterly helpless as a small child, that new and stirring emotion took her. He was hers to watch and protect, to bring back to life, and since that very moment she had wanted Joe Bonnyman to live, wanted it more than she’d ever wanted anything. She couldn’t define her reasons for that fervent hope. It was there and it was all that seemed to matter.
The day had dragged. Jean cooked and ate a meal, not relishing it. Many times her imagining had taken her quickly across the cave to kneel beside Joe in a breathless expectancy, thinking she had heard a change in his breathing, or that he had moved. Each of those times had brought a deep disappointment. He was always the same, lying the way he had when she last looked down at him; she would feel his pulse and it would be strong, betraying her fear that his shallow breathing was a prelude to death. Through the long hours she had been half sick with fear of his dying. At times she imagined she could feel another presence in the cave, a sinister presence, and in those moments she would go to Joe and lift his head into her lap and hold it close, as though shielding this man who should be a stranger, but wasn’t, from the beyond.
Now, with the total darkness of this second night, Jean was fighting a battle of her own. Sleep was relentlessly crowding in on her. She fought giving in to it with all her will, drinking the coffee she had brewed at midday, bathing her eyes with cold water, even rubbing them to make them stay open.
She invented a problem to keep awake, going across to sit beside Joe and thinking back on what little Blaze had told her or the circumstances surrounding the shooting. Trying to remember what little she had learned from the doctor about dealing with emergencies like this. Had she forgotten anything? Was there anything at all she could do to help this man keep his slender hold on life? Trying to think of something helped her fight her drowsiness.
When she had exhausted every possibility, Jean’s thoughts turned to something else. Ruth Merrill loved Joe Bonnyman, and Ruth was the one who should be here now. Jean knew that Ruth had been Joe’s choice years ago. More than likely, Ruth was one of the reasons Joe had come back home. Jean thought of the two, what the future might hold for them, in an angry, defensive way that had no logic or reasoning behind it. It became as though she, not Ruth, had some rightful hold over this man and was unwilling to relinquish it. She finally realized the absurdity of her attitude and tried to be amused by it. But that feeling of possessiveness stayed with her, regardless of the effort she made not to let it.
In late afternoon she had dozed for a few minutes, stirring out of a deep, dreamless sleep with an acute feeling of guilt. As dusk settled prematurely in the narrow cañon, she had gone out and gathered more firewood, knowing that Blaze might not have the chance to get back here tonight. He had said he wouldn’t come if there was the slightest possibility of being followed, and with another night’s lonely vigil in prospect, the girl was counting on the friendly glow of the fire to drive out her despairing mood.
When she could no longer make out the light at the cave mouth, when the darkness in the cañon was complete, that feeling of despair became so strong that she wanted to cry out. She was sure now that Joe Bonnyman would never again be alive and well. The injustice of the thing galled her. For, from what Blaze had said last night, she saw now that Joe was more the victim of circumstances than the unprincipled betrayer of family and friends. She was a little ashamed of her father’s share in giving Joe the name he bore on this range.
So engrossed did Jean become in trying to see how Joe was to come out of this, provided he lived, that she let the fire die. When the sound of a pony’s hoofs striking rock beyond the cave mouth echoed in to her, the cave had become a sinister place. She was badly frightened.
She reached for the Colt Blaze had left with her the night before, and, pushing back into the shadows at the rear wall, she waited, hardly daring to breath.
Then Blaze’s cheerful—“Anybody home?”—sounded hollowly down the short tunnel, and the quickness of easing nerve strain hit her and left her almost too weak to speak.
“Just the two of us, Blaze,” she said, trying to make her tone casual.
When Coyle crawled into the light, his freckled good-natured face showed a wide grin. “Then he . . . he’s hangin’ on?”
“He’s just the same.”
They knelt alongside Joe, Blaze reaching down to feel of his friend’s wrist. When he straightened, he gave the girl a look, and his expression sobered. “You’re tuckered out. Better get some sleep while I sit with him.”
“I’m not sleepy,” she insisted. “How is Dad taking this?”
“Sort of hard,” he admitted. “They’ve got men out. I wanted to tell him, but . . .”
When he didn’t go on, she said: “I know. It wouldn’t be fair to Joe. Dad will understand when it’s all over.”
Her face flushed after she had spoken, and Blaze knew that she instantly regretted her choice of words. Pretending not to notice, he said quickly: “They’ve put a reward out for Joe. A thousand dollars. Want to turn him in and we’ll split it?”
“Blaze!”
He laughed softly, glad to have prodded her from her dark mood. He went on then, telling her of the three strangers who proposed to homestead the basin, and how the mesa ranchers would be too busy until the hunt was over to do much about them, how if they thought much about these homesteaders, they’d probably decide they were hired to come in by Middle Arizona. But he saw that Jean wasn’t listening. Her eyes seemed to be staring through him at something beyond, and whatever she was seeing patterned her face with sadness, an expression that changed her prettiness to outright beauty.
Blaze paused a moment, then asked quietly: “What is it, Jean?”
It was the first time he had ever called her by name. It seemed to bring them closer. Abruptly she choked back a sob and whispered: “Blaze, I’m afraid, terribly afraid.”
“What of, girl? Joe? He’s tough, I tell you, hard to kill. He’ll be all right.”
What he said didn’t change her wide-eyed and alarmed look. “We can’t stop hoping, can we? He’ll wake up tonight, won’t he?” She lifted a hand and ran it over her eyes. “Don’t pay any attention to me, Blaze.” She tried to smile. “Build up the fire. Let’s see if he’ll eat something.”
Blaze reached across Joe to get a stick of wood. H
and outstretched, he all at once froze in that attitude. Then he was saying hoarsely, gladly: “Joe, boy! It’s me . . . Blaze.”
And Jean was hearing Joe’s evenly drawled: “You always were a sucker for a wake, you red-headed bum.”
Blaze hunkered back on his heels and let out a whoop that made the cavern ring. Tears glistened in Jean’s eyes. She brushed them away as Joe’s glance came around on her. His smile broadened and he seemed about to say something when a grimace of pain crossed his face and he closed his eyes.
He lay that way a long moment in which Jean’s breath wouldn’t come for fear of the thing she had been dreading. Then, gradually, his expression eased and he was looking at her once more.
“Does it hurt much?” she asked.
“It did there for a minute. You . . . you’ve been here all the time?”
“Since midnight last night,” Blaze told him. “I couldn’t think of anyone else to bring.”
“They know where you are?” Joe still looked at the girl.
“No one knows,” she assured him. “You’re safe. We’ll keep you here until you’re well again.
“What will they think?” he said.
“It doesn’t matter what they think.” She spoke defensively. “What does is that you’re alive. We . . . we weren’t sure you’d ever be this way again.”
“Who was it shot from behind that rock, feller?” Blaze queried.
“What rock?” Joe asked absently. “There are lots of rocks, big ones and little ones, all falling up the hill. Up, not down Blaze! It sure was a . . .” His voice trailed off and he closed his eyes..
Blaze gave Jean a queer look. “You were lyin’ along the creek up at the edge of the basin when I . . .” He broke off to reach over and shake Joe by the shoulder. “Joe!” he said urgently. “You hear me?”
But Joe’s eyes remained closed. His breathing was deep, even. After a moment Blaze said: “He’s passed out again.” He didn’t look at the girl.
Jean sat back. “ Does it mean he won’t . . . ?” she began lifelessly.
“He’ll be all right,” Blaze quickly assured her. “But you’ve got to get some rest. Here, take this blanket. He can have my coat.” He pulled the blanket off Joe and spread it out for her.
This time she made no protest, but lay on the blanket and closed her eyes. Blaze, putting wood on the fire, thought she dropped off to sleep immediately. But just as he decided this and faced the sobering possibility that Joe might this time not regain consciousness, she spoke: “I’m going to stay here until he can be moved. And, Blaze . . .”
“Yes?” he answered when she paused.
“I’m not afraid any longer.”
“Neither am I. Never was,” Blaze lied. “Now get some shut-eye.”
A moment later her even breathing told him she was really asleep this time.
In the next two hours Joe wakened three times, each time seeming a little stronger and more rational. At last he asked to sit up. At first Blaze wouldn’t let him, but then he gave in, moving Joe so that he could sit with his back to the wall. For a minute or two Joe’s face paled. Then his color seemed better.
“I could eat a side o’ beef,” he said finally. “Anything around?”
Blaze filled a tin cup with steaming coffee he’d put on the fire after Jean had gone to sleep. “Try this.”
Joe downed the coffee. “Anything else on the menu?”
Blaze heated a cupful of the condensed milk. Although Joe made a wry face when it was offered, he drank it.
“Better?” Blaze asked.
“Some. If that wall across there would only stop spinnin’. Sit still, can’t you?”
“All right,” Blaze said, realizing that the aftereffects of the concussion must be severe. “Here’s something to steady you down. Three homesteaders filed on quarter-sections in the basin this mornin’. They’re movin’ right in.”
“No,” Joe breathed, and it seemed to Blaze that his eyes were more alert. “Who are they?”
Halfway through Blaze’s description of the three strangers, Joe cut in with: “Saygar’s crew.”
“What about his bunch?”
“That’s them, those three. The young one was blond, sort of tall? Did you notice the way he wore his iron?”
When Blaze described Whitey in detail, Joe was sure. He told of his ride up the Troublesome, of running into Saygar at Hoelseker’s cabin, of his escape with Clark.
“Then it must’ve been one of that bunch that bushwhacked you and left you layin’ there for someone else to find,” Blaze said. “No one in this country has ever laid eyes on those sidewinders, only a few on Saygar himself. He probably put a man after you to make sure you wouldn’t give away this play he’s making for the basin.” A look of worry came to his face. “Do you reckon he could have sent another man out after Clark? Clark wasn’t in town today.”
“You’ll have to find out,” Joe said, his lean face going grave. “I should have done like Clark said, headed out. Then I’d have been with him as far as the pass. Blaze, there’s a gent that don’t happen often. He invited a slug in his guts just to save me when we made that break.”
Blaze eased the somber run of his friend’s thoughts by saying: “If anything had happened to him, I’d’ve heard of it. Murdock would have reported down to Lyans.”
“That’s so,” Joe agreed, and seemed relieved. “How do you figure this play of Saygar’s? He’s a rustler, not a rancher.”
“I can’t figure it.”
“He’s workin’ for someone.”
Blaze frowned. “Middle Arizona?”
“Maybe.” Joe looked down at Jean and gave a slow shake of the head. “But not for Vanover. What’s his foreman like, this Neal Harper? Would he be smart enough to hide behind Vanover and set out to take over the country for the outfit the way they tried to in the beginnin’?”
“Search me. That jasper’s a hard one to figure. I’ve had him pegged as a brain-shy gun boss. But maybe I’m wrong. Vanover agreed at the meetin’ the other night to let him go. Accordin’ to the girl, he’s agreed to pull out tomorrow.”
“Without any fuss?”
“So she says. Vanover never liked him much, because him and that crew he brought in made it seem like Diamond was cocked for trouble. The way she makes it look, Vanover’s been just as bogged down over this mess as the rest of us.”
“Maybe she’s tellin’ the truth, Blaze.”
Blaze shrugged. “I’d take her word before most anyone else I know. But if it ain’t been Middle Arizona, who has been stirrin’ up all this trouble?”
“The same party that’s behind Saygar.”
Blaze sat a little straighter, eying Joe sharply. “That don’t hold water,” he said patiently. “There’s just two sides to this, and only two. There ain’t no in-between.”
“There could be one we don’t know about.”
“But who, damn it?”
Joe shrugged. “We could find out by makin’ Saygar talk.”
“Providin’ we could find Saygar. And providin’ he talks in his sleep. Or maybe we should go to him and say . . . ‘Please, Mister Saygar, tell us who you’re workin’ for?’”
“We’ll have a try anyway.” A grin broke across Joe’s pallid, lean face.
“When?”
“Why not tonight?”
Blaze laughed. “You ain’t strong enough to hold a cup steady, let alone stick a saddle. A lot o’ help you’d be. Besides, I’ve got to be back at the layout tonight to keep Yace quiet. If he suspected anything, it’d be tough on both of us.”
“He’s ready to turn me in?” Joe asked tonelessly.
“I can’t make him out, and that’s a fact,” the redhead said. “First I think he’s thinkin’ one way and then he’ll do somethin’ to make me wonder if he isn’t thinkin’ the other. But we can’t take any chances on him.”
“Then you can come back tomorrow night with a spare horse. We’ll see Saygar then.”
“I’ll try to make it,”
Blaze agreed.
“How about the girl?” Joe asked softly, looking across at Jean. “She’s on our side, friend,” Blaze said quickly. “She’ll do whatever we ask.”
“Even to keepin’ quiet about me?”
“If she thinks it’ll help, she’ll tell her old man anything we say. No one was at Diamond when I went after her but the cook, and he was asleep. I told her away with a story about John Merrill bein’ sick. She left a note for her father. It was just plain fool luck that she didn’t mention me in it. So there’s nothin’ to connect us with where she’s been.”
Something Blaze had said had taken Joe’s attention. He appeared reluctant to mention it, but asked finally: “How’s Ruth?” “Haven’t seen her.” Blaze’s tone was curt. “Old John’s had another stroke. I reckon she’s pretty busy takin’ care of him.” He studied Joe closely. “Don’t stick your neck out by tryin’ to see her,” he advised. “The farther you stay from the mesa, the better off you’ll be.”
“Did I say I wanted to see her?” Joe bridled.
“No. But you were a sucker for that honey-colored hair o’ hers once, and you’re actin’ like you’d like another try.” Blaze came slowly erect. He glanced toward the pile of firewood, down at Jean, finally to the corner where the provisions he’d brought from Diamond lay. He was obviously embarrassed at having said too much. “I’ll have to be goin’. Can you get along?”
“Easy enough,” Joe drawled.
“About Jean. See if you can’t figure out a story for her to give Vanover.”
“I’ll think of something.”
“Then I’ll see you tomorrow night. Could I get you some grub before I pull out?”
Joe shook his head, still stung by Blaze’s outspoken condemnation of Ruth. “Couldn’t eat it right now.”
Blaze hesitated, knowing that his uncalled-for indictment of Ruth had put a barrier between them. His impulse was to get out of here, now, before he really had to. He should be staying a little longer to make sure that Joe was able to take care of himself. But that reminder that Joe still cared for a girl who had once made a fool of him, and that Ruth herself might encourage him if she were given the chance, had filled Blaze with a savage anger. He had tried to hold it in check, but couldn’t. So now he said abruptly—“Be seein’ you.”— and went out along the short tunnel, stooped over, and not looking back.
