CHAPTER XIX
THE HIDEOUT
The row that had culminated at the Waterline Ranch, ending in thetrouble between Plimsoll and Wyatt, had brewed steadily. It had been areckless crowd at the horse ranch, practically outlaws by their actionsthough not yet so adjudged, yet knowing their tenure of immunity wasgrowing short. There had collected, besides Plimsoll's riders, ButchParsons, Hahn's and others of Plimsoll's following who had been forcedfrom their livelihood as gamblers. They still hung together, waiting forPlimsoll to make a clean-up of his horses and move to places where theywere less discredited.
Meantime they made their own crude liquors and drank them freely. Theygambled and caroused late. There were some women at the ranch. There waslittle fellowship.
Plimsoll had lost caste as a leader. His moods were morose or bragging.His ascendancy was gone. The crowd clung to him like so many leeches,waiting for a split of the proceeds of the sale of horses that no oneappeared eager to buy in quantity. Ready cash was short. There werefrequent quarrels; through it all there worked the leaven of Wyatt'sjealousy, fermenting steadily. There were men among them who had foughtwith gunplay and who had killed but, as they were cheats, so they werecravens, at heart.
When the split came, after an all-night session with cards and liquor,following the refusal of a dealer to buy the herd, it was not merely amatter between Wyatt and Plimsoll. Sides were taken and the weakerdriven from the ranch. Preparations were made for departure. Thefrightened women fled back to Hereford.
"It's a rotten mess," declared Butch Parsons. "Wyatt or one of theothers'll tell all they know. You ought to have shot straighter,Plimsoll. Just like cuttin' our own throats to let 'em get away."
"You did some missing on your own account," retorted Plimsoll.
"It was the rotten booze. You started it. If you'd plugged Wyatt rightit would have ended it. Now we've got to clear out."
"There isn't two hundred dollars of real money in the crowd," saidPlimsoll. "If Taylor had taken the herd...."
"He was afraid to touch it. We'll go south. That's my plan. You can finda buyer in Tucson. Put the horses in the Hideout. Leave one or two tolook out for 'em an' turn 'em over later. We can arrange for a deliveryif we make a sale."
"Who in hell's goin' to stay behind?" asked one of the men.
"We'll cut cards for it."
"Not me."
"What's the use of fighting among ourselves again?" suggested Hahnsmoothly. "We can settle who's to stay later. There's grub in theHideout and a safe place to lay low if anything goes wrong. They'll havea fine time proving up the horses are stolen. We've got to take achance. Butch is right. We can't take them with us. There's a goodchance of a sale in Tucson. Meantime we've got to figure on Wyatt. He'lllikely try to get in touch with that Brandon outfit."
"Or that chap who said he was from Phoenix," put in Butch. "You made amisplay, there, Plimsoll. That chap was a ringer."
"You talk like a fool," retorted Plimsoll. "He sold us the bunch cheapenough. He never raised horses he'd let go at that price. He lifted 'em,like he said."
"Just the same, he didn't act like a rustler."
"It was his first trick. Young vouched for him."
"This ain't getting us anywhere," said Hahn. "Let's make for the Hideoutand talk it out there. This place ain't safe."
Within an hour the herd, already corralled for the chance of a quicksale, was being driven to the glen known as the Hideout, a littlemountain park with water and good feed where Plimsoll placed the horsesthat his men drove off from far-away ranches, or Plimsoll bought fromother horse dealers of his own sort, keeping them there until theirbrands were doctored and possible pursuit died down. There were twoentrances to the Hideout, one through a narrow gut almost blocked by afallen boulder, with only a passage wide enough to let through horse andrider single file, a way that could be easily barricaded or masked sothat none would suspect any opening in the cliff. The second led by awinding way through a desolate region, over rock that left no sign andwound by twists and turns that none but the initiated could follow. Theplace, accidentally discovered, was perfect for its purpose.
There were some horses now in the Hideout, the lot purchased from theman from Phoenix, whom Butch suspected. But Parsons was of a suspiciousdisposition and the rest had overruled him, though the purchase hadtaken most of the cash at their disposal, until they could make the salethat had fallen through at the last minute. There was feed enough forthe entire herd for a month. There was a cabin in a side gully of thepark, near the blocked entrance, the whole place was honeycombed withcaves, in the towering sidewalls and underground.
Five of the nine left of the Waterline outfit drove the herd. Hahn andParsons could both ride, but they were not experts at handling horses.They chose to go with Plimsoll and the outfit-cook, while the rest tookthe long way round to the other way in. The four lingered to give therest a start. There was some liquor left and this they started todispose of. At noon the cook got a farewell meal and they mounted.
"I hate leaving the country without evening up some way with the Bourkeoutfit," said Plimsoll. "Damn him and the rest of them, they broke theluck for us. As for the girl, if...?"
"Oh, quit throwing the bull con about that, Jim," said Parsons bluntly."Sandy Bourke's a damn good man for you to leave alone an' you know it.Talk ain't goin' to hurt him."
"I'm coming back some time," said Plimsoll with a string of oaths. "Thenyou'll see something besides talk."
Parsons jeered at him. Plimsoll was no longer the leader and he knew it.But he hung on to the semblance of authority that an open quarrel withButch might shatter. Butch was a bully, but Plimsoll respected hisshooting. And Hahn sided with him. The cook did not count.
Plimsoll carried with him a fine pair of binoculars and, as they rodeleisurely on and reached a vantage-point, he swept the tumbled horizonfor signs of any strange riders. It was the caution of habit as much asactual fear of a raid. There were no Hereford County horses in his herdsave those he had bred himself and he did not think Wyatt or the otherswho had left the outfit would be able to stir up sentiment against himin Hereford. It would take time to get in touch with Brandon. But theymade it a point to be sure that no casual rider noticed them on the wayto the Hideout, or coming from it.
At times Plimsoll rode aside from the trail to a ridge crest for widervision. At last, coming up the pass of Willow Creek, he sighted Mollyand Donald with Grit trotting beside them. It was the dog that confirmedhis first surmise. He had heard that Molly had returned, but he had notdared a visit to the Three Star. Who the rider with her was he did notcare. That it was a tenderfoot was plain by his clothes and by his seat.As he adjusted the powerful glasses to a better focus Plimsoll's facetwisted to an ugly smile. He had a flask in his hip pocket and heswigged at it before he rode to catch up with Parsons and Hahn.
"I'll show you if I do nothing but talk," he said to Butch after he toldthem of his discovery. "We'll wait for them along the trail. We'll sendthe chap with her back afoot."
"And what'll you do with her?" asked Hahn. "We've had enough of skirts,Plimsoll. This is no time to be mixed up with them."
"Isn't it?" The drink had given Plimsoll some of his old swagger, andthe prospect of hatching the revenge over which he had brooded so longtook possession of him. "Then you're a bigger fool than I thought you,Hahn. That particular skirt, aside from my personal interest in her,represents about a quarter of a million dollars--maybe more. She's got aquarter interest and a little better in the Molly Mine. The Three Starowns another quarter. How much will they give up to have her back?Bourke's her guardian, remember. I think the chap with her may be youngKeith. We won't monkey with him. He'll do to tell what happened. Butwe'll take the girl along and we'll send back word of how much we wantto let her go. After I'm through with her. She may not go back the sameas she came, but they won't know that and they'll pay enough to set usup and to hell with the herd."
Parsons and Hahn looked at each other, greed rising in their eyes. Theyha
d no love for the partners of the Three Star nor for Molly Casey. Abig ransom was possible if it was handled right.
"You'll have the whole county searching the range," objected Parsons."There's a lot know something about the Hideout and they'll use Wyatt toshow 'em the way. Bourke'll guess where she is."
"Let him. Wyatt don't know about the caves, does he? We can take hersome other place to-morrow. We won't say anything now to the kid about aransom. We'll mail a letter after we fix details. But we'll take thegirl into the Hideout now. That tenderfoot'll be lucky if he drifts backto the Three Star by nightfall afoot. We'll be out of the place longbefore that. And we'll put her where they can't find her till they comethrough. I'm running this."
The cook had ridden on ahead. Now he was waiting for them, looking back.Parsons shrugged his shoulders.
"How do we split?" asked Hahn.
"Three ways," said Plimsoll. "We'll take her to the cabin. The rest'llbe at the other end. We'll keep Cookie with us--for the present. No needfor the boys to know about it. We can manage that all right. Threeways, and I handle the girl."
Butch Parson grinned at him.
"I thought you'd lost all your nerve, Jim, but I guess I was wrong. Allright, it goes as it lays. You handle the lady. You ought to know how.Now then, how'll we bring it off?"
Plimsoll talked glibly, convincingly. Butch Parsons had no extra shareof brains, those he had had never been developed beyond the ordinary.Hahn was a good faro dealer. There his intelligence specialized andended. Plimsoll was the master-mind of his crowd; they appreciated andacknowledged his capacity for details. That he had been unsuccessful oflate they set down to his lack of nerve, dissipated in his encounterwith Sandy. Their present lack of cash, the doubtfulness of being ableto sell and deliver the horses, made ransom a glittering possibility.Hahn had some objections, but Plimsoll overruled them plausibly enough.
"I don't see the sense of letting the kid go," questioned Hahn. "He'sgood for a big split as well as the girl."
"You're a fool when it comes to looking ahead, Hahn. You always were,"answered Plimsoll. What with the chance of revenge in sight over whichhe had brooded until it became a part of his consciousness, and theliquor still stirring potently within him, he felt that his ascendancyhad become reestablished, "Keith--the old man--is too big a fish tomonkey with. Got too many pulls and connections. He'd have the wholecountry out and the trick played up big in every dinky newspaper. That'spart of his business--publicity. We've got one fish--or will have--nosense straining the net. We don't want the kid. Let him string alongback best way he can. We'll get all the start we need. What else wouldyou do with him?"
"Stow him away somewhere and send a tip where they can find him in a dayor two."
Plimsoll shot a look of contempt at Butch, making the proposal.
"You and Hahn make a good team," he said. "No. One's enough. He may getlost--we'll take his horse--and that won't be our fault. He may makeThree Star late this afternoon. I wish I could be with him when he tellswhat he knows. Time they locate the Hideout, we'll be miles away throughthe south end and they'll have one hell of a time trailing us over therocks. The boys weren't over-keen about staying with the herd and theycan vamose. We'll tell them it's best to scatter for a bit and name ameeting-place. The horses can stay in the park. If we put this deal overright we don't need to bother about horse-trading. We can get clean outof the country with a big stake, go down to South America and start up aplace. There are live times and good plays down there, boys. All right,Cookie, we're coming. I'm going to take another look. It's ten to onethey're making for Beaver Dam Lake--on a picnic."
He laughed and the two laughed with him as he went for his survey andreturned, announcing that the girl and her escort were entering theravine at the other end. They rode through the trees toward them. Mollyand Donald came on so leisurely that Plimsoll feared they might haveturned back and, with Butch, he risked a look down the trail, sightingthem.
"They didn't recognize us," he said. "We've got to take Cookie intothis. You and Butch ride on through the trees a ways, Hahn, till you getback of them. Then we'll get 'em between us. I'll wise Cookie up to whatwe are doing."
It was more than doubtful whether the three ever intended for a secondto allow Cookie to share in the ransom money, but Plimsoll easilypersuaded him that he would be a partner, adding that it would befoolish to let all the riders into the pot.
"She's Molly Casey of the Casey Mine," he told him. "Sandy Bourke's herguardian. We'll make him come through with twenty or thirty thousand,sabe? But there ain't enough to go all round and make a showing."
Cookie was a willing rascal and a natural adept at the double-cross. Heraised no objections and the trap was set and sprung.
"You go ahead, Cookie, and open up the gate," said Plimsoll. Hahn andButch were speeding Donald Keith on his way with close-flung bullets."I'm going to have a little private talk with this lady. Go to the cabinand get some grub ready. There's plenty there. Spread yourself. We'llbe along in a little while. That was a nice job of roping you did. Iwon't forget it."
"Allus c'ud lass' fair to middlin'," grinned the man through yellow,stumpy teeth. "That's why I tote a rope. An' I sure had a purty target."
Plimsoll scowled at him and he rode off. Molly, the lariat twisted abouther upper body from shoulders to waist, constricting her arms, fastenedwhere she could not reach it by a hitch, sat on Blaze, looking withsteady contempt at Plimsoll, who held her bridle rein. He regarded herwith sleek complacency and then his eyes slowly traveled over herrounded figure, accented by her riding toggery.
"Grown to be quite a beauty, quite a woman, Molly, my dear," he said."Never should have suspected you'd turn out such a wonder. Clothes makethe woman, but it takes a proper figure to set them off. And you've gotall of that."
"What are you going to do with me?" she asked.
"I'm not going to tell you--yet. It depends upon circumstances, my dear.We'll all have a little chat after lunch. I'd take that rope off if Iwasn't afraid I might lose you. You are quite precious."
She looked through him as if he had been a sheet of glass. From herfirst sight of him, back in childhood, she had known instinctively theman was evil. But she was not afraid. The blood that ran in her veinswas pure and bore in its crimson flood the sturdy heritage of pioneerswho had outfaced dangers of death and torture and shame. She was allwesterner. The blood was fighting blood. She felt it urged in her pulseswhile her brain bade her bide her time. Rage mounted as she faced thepossible issues of this capture, the flaunting dismissal of young Keith.
Plimsoll must be either very sure of his ground or desperate, shefancied. Both, perhaps. Molly had come into contact with life in the rawlong before she went east. Education had not made a prude of her nortainted her clean purity. She faced the fact and, for the time, sheignored the man. She had even time to think of young Donald turnedtenderfooted into the mountains, to wonder whether he would be able tofind his way back or get lost in the ranges. She heard the laughter thatfollowed the rifle-shots and surmised that they were having their ideaof a joke with the lad.
If he got back--then Sandy would come after her. She was very sure ofSandy and that he would find her. Until he did she must use her wits.
And Grit, gallant Grit, wounded and lying in the chaparral!
Though she still gazed through Plimsoll rather than at him, the scornshowed in her eyes and bit through his assumption of ease as acid bitesthrough skin, eating its way on. He burned to wipe out his owntrickeries, his cowardice, his failures, to wreak a vile satisfaction onthis girl who sat so disdainfully, with her chin lifted, her lips firm,oblivious of him. She baffled him. A mind like Plimsoll's never had theclarity of prevision to see the strength of character that had been inthe prospector's child, even as he had never suspected her unfolding tobeauty. It roused the vandal in him--he longed to break her, mar her.
The return of Butch and Hahn brought him back to the fact that he wasnot playing this deal alone. While they might allow him some p
ersonallicense, to them the girl represented so much money. Plimsoll'sreprisals were only partly theirs, they would not permit him to balkthem of their share. There is Berserker madness latent in every one thatbreaks out sometimes in the child that torments a kitten and ends bytorturing it, maiming--killing. There had been nothing in what stood forPlimsoll's manhood to change such instinct, to restrain it where he heldthe will and power. But here he had to go carefully.
He cut short Butch's boast of the way they had scared young Keith. BothHahn and Parsons felt a coil of embarrassment at the silence, almost theserenity, of their captive. They had expected her to act fardifferently, to rage, threaten, cry out. She almost abashed them.
"See if you can round up that damned dog, Butch," said Plimsoll. "Iplugged him but we want to be sure he don't get away. He might helpKeith's kid, for one thing. And he clamped my arm."
Parsons rode into the chaparral until he was barred by its thickness,trying to stir out the dog, without success.
"Dead, I reckon," he reported. "Crawled in somewheres. You hit himhard, Plim. Plenty blood on the leaves."
Molly bit her lips and paled a little, but turned away her head so thatthey could not see. She winked back the tears that came to her thoughtof Grit helpless, panting, bleeding.
They rode on up the rocky ravine that gradually closed in on either sidewith the rock walls set with cactus here and there, carved into greatmasses superimposed upon one another for a hundred feet. Presently theyturned aside from the stony trail that left no record of hooves, and,Plimsoll in the lead, Molly next, walked their horses over a precariousledge that zigzagged back and forth up to where a notch in the cliff hadbeen nearly filled by a titanic boulder. To one side appeared a narrowopening, unseen from below by the curve of the great rock, just wideenough to admit horse and rider. A few feet in, they halted, andPlimsoll turned in his saddle while the other three men dismounted andcarefully adjusted several rock fragments in the opening, piling themwith a swift care that showed familiarity with their task, so placingthem that they appeared as if a part of the wall. Butch clambered to thetop of the great boulder and viewed the job from the outside.
"First-class," he announced. "That's sure a great scheme, Plim."
"Go on up to the tree and take a look," said Plimsoll. "Hahn, hand himmy glasses."
Parson took them and climbed up to where a dead tree stood like askeleton in a crotch of the rocks. It screened him from observationperfectly by outer approach.
"I can see Keith's kid," he said with a chuckle when he came down. "He'sthrough the creek and he don't know which way to start. Looks as if hemeant to follow down the creek."
"He'll not go far that way," commented Plimsoll. "Mount up. Cookie'sgetting grub and I'm getting hungry. He'll have to cook for the boysafter we're through. They'll be showing up after a bit."
Below them, Molly saw the hidden park that lay so snugly back of thebarrier walls. It was an irregular oval that appeared to curve at thefar end. Gulches reached back, occasionally thick with timber that grewin clumps among the rocks and on the ledges, dotting the green grass ofthe floor. She caught the sparkle of a little cascade, the gleam of astreamlet. The cliffs were terraced and battlemented in red and whiteand gray. Their facades showed fantasies of weather sculpture thatlooked like ruined castles and cathedrals with cave mouths forentrances. Here and there a monolith of stone stood up out from the maincliff, spiring for a hundred feet or more. The grass was starred withflowers. Some horses were grazing a little distance away and stood atgaze, to break and wheel and gallop away with flying manes and tails.There was a good deal of underbush covering the talus.
The trail down was plainly marked. It forked after they reached thegeneral level and the branch they took led into a side gulch where a logcabin stood, smoke coming from its chimney. Plimsoll took the rein ofBlaze again and they broke into a canter. At the cabin Plimsoll tookMolly from the saddle and carried her into the rude interior. There heset her on a chair. Cookie was busy at a stove frying ham and eggs, withcoffee simmering.
"You'd better sit up and eat nicely, my dear," said Plimsoll as heunbound her. "You'll have to sooner or later, you know. No sense inbeing stubborn."
She said nothing but he saw a gleam in her eyes as she glanced towardthe table where Hahn was setting out plates and cutlery.
"You'll eat with a fork, Molly," said Plimsoll. "Those steel knives aretoo handy for you. There's a nasty look in those blue eyes of yours thatwill have to be tamed--have to be tamed," he repeated as he took ademijohn from a corner and poured out a liquor that sent the reek of itsraw strength sickeningly through the cabin. "Here's to your health,Molly--Molly Mine!"
The others laughed and drank their share before they ate the food thatCookie placed before them, talking louder, growing flushed with thecrude whisky, while Molly sat facing the door, striving to catchsomething that might help, might give some clue. But the talk was all ofthe brawl at the Waterline with contemptuous mention of Wyatt and therest. They seemed by common consent to ignore her once she had refusedthe food.
This attitude weakened her resistance though she strove against it. Shehad nerved herself to meet action. Now she seemed to count for littlemore than a bundle, of more or less value, that, having been secured,could wait its time for utility. Yet, before she had telescoped hervision to extend through and beyond Plimsoll, she had seen devilslooking from his eyes, smug devils, but none the less menacing, risenfrom the man's own private hell pit.
Plimsoll looked at his watch.
"The horses should be showing up pretty soon," he said and rose, alittle unsteadily. The effects of the liquor were patent on all of them."Butch, you and Hahn go down with Cookie and keep 'em down at the southend. Get 'em to turn the horses loose. And get them out of the place assoon as you can after they've eaten. Better take what stuff you want,Cookie."
"I suppose you'd be jealous if we stuck around," said Butch, leering nowat Molly. The whisky seemed to have been an acid test for his features,dissolving all that was not brutal. Hahn's cold sneering face was nonethe less evil.
"How long do you want us to give you, Plim?" asked the dealer. "No sensein our sticking round here that I can see."
"We've got to get the boys out of the way, haven't we? Keep your eyespeeled on Cookie," Plimsoll said in a lower voice as the ranch chef wentout of the door with his arms piled with provisions. "He might take anotion to talk too much. We had to let him in, but he don't have to stayin. Soon as the boys are away you come back and we'll go out again thisend, if all is clear."
"Where are you going to stow her?" asked Hahn "Leave her here in SplitRock Cave?"
The callous reference to her as if she was something inanimate chilledMolly. If only she had a gun! She had laughed at Donald's tenderfootinsistence upon carrying the one he had brought west as a part of hisoutfit and had never attempted to use. The cook's too well thrown ropewould have probably thwarted any move of hers if she had had a weapon.Her fingers crept up toward her throat touching a slender chain uponwhich, ever since she had returned to the Three Star, hung a gold disk,the coin with which Sandy had gambled, the luck-piece. To Molly, evennow, it was a talisman that held promise. If they left her behind them,somehow Sandy would unearth her. But that hope died.
"She'll stay in sight and touch," said Plimsoll. "Then we'll know she'ssafe. We'll make Windy Gulch to-night and stay there. It's as good aplace as I know. One of us can ride over the mountain to Redding andmail the letter."
Butch nodded. "Come on, Hahn," he said. "Let's leave 'em together."
Molly cast an involuntary glance at the opening door, watched it closeafter the pair of blackguards and braced herself. The issue was at hand.
Plimsoll slid a bolt on the door, brought over one of the makeshiftchairs and placed it in front of Molly, seating himself. Hisalcohol-laden breath reached her nauseatingly and she turned her headaside. As if a trigger had been released Plimsoll's face became inflamedwith a passionate fury. The veins on face and neck swelled and writhedlike
little blue snakes, his eyes congested.
"Damn you!" he said. "Don't you turn your head away from me. I'll trainyou to better manners before I'm through with you. You'll be jumping todo what you think I want you to before long. You'll be begging me forfavors. You may think you're too good for me now. You won't presently."
She saw that she had gone too far in her disdain; that she must try toleash the devils that had broken loose in his brain.
"Just what do you want?" she asked, and her voice seemed not to belongto her as she uttered the words that showed no tremor.
"You! Not for love, my beauty! Because you are good to look at--yes. ButI'll take my time. I'll sip at the dish, my dear. I've got a big scoreto settle and I'll do it properly. We'll go over some of the items."
He got up and emptied a bottle that still held a generous measure. Hestaggered slightly and fumbled the chair as he sat down again. Mollywatched him intently. If only he got sufficiently drunk. Before the restcame back. Perhaps she could get his own gun? Plimsoll laid a familiarfinger on her knee and instantly loathing showed in her eyes. Helaughed.
"Using that busy li'l' brain of yours, eh? Figurin' I'll get drunk.Want to play Delilah? Nothin' doin', m' dear. I made that booze and Iknow just how it treats me, sabe? Now then.
"Your guardian angel Sandy chiseled me out of my share in the Molly Minebelongin' to me 'count of grubstakin' your father."
"That's a lie."
"That's easy to say when it nets you a fortune. Easy to go back on adead man's agreement. Four-flushing Sandy Bourke...."
Molly suddenly slipped back into the primitive. Something seemed toclick and the refinement she had learned and used so far fell like acloak that is dropped for freedom in battle. With the malignment ofSandy and her father she was Molly Casey, daughter of a Desert Rat, oncemore.
"That's another damned lie," she said.
"Haven't forgotten how to swear, have you?"
"I've heard how Sandy Bourke chased your rotten-hearted jumpers out offthe claim and gave you until sun-up to sneak out of town. I've heard howyou were afraid to look at him through the smoke but went galloping offwhile the whole camp laughed at you. Sandy a four-flusher! A coyote'llfight when it's cornered, but you...."
She had heard the whole story from Keith. It was a favorite tale of thepromoter's. He used it as publicity across his dinner table. It gave theright touch of adventure to Casey Town. Plimsoll grew slowly livid.
"Heard all about it, did you?" he said slowly. "Then you know some ofthe score. And I can wipe off what I owe Sandy Bourke through you. Andthere are more items. There was the first time we met. I haven'tforgotten that. There was the kiss you said you tried to bite out afteryou'd burned the doll I gave you. You told about that the next time Ikissed you in the hammock at Three Star. You tried to rub out that kiss,too. Maybe the next ones will stay put."
"That was the time Mormon manhandled you." She saw the blue snakes crawlon his purpling skin, and she kept her eyes on them though her mentalvision was on the holster beneath his vest. She deliberately taunted himto provoke him to an uncalculated move. Molly knew her own litheness,her strength. If she could get inside his arms, if even to endure amoment of his beastly embrace and could get a grip on the gun?
But there was something in Plimsoll that delighted in playing with avictim he felt sure of. It soothed his broken vanity.
"So," he said, "I'm going to get even with Sandy and with Mormon andthat bow-legged fool Sam Manning who call you the Mascot of the ThreeStar, all at once; while I get even with you. And get what should havebeen mine at the same time. We'll have you tucked away while we mail theletter that will bring your ransom. Never mind the details of handlingthe money. I'll attend to that. But we'll bleed you dry. The price ofall your stock and that of the three suckers at the Three Star atpar--and all they can borrow on the ranch--that will be the price foryou, my lady. With three days to deliver in."
"You talk like a crazy man, or a drunken one. They can't sell the stockin that time. And if you lay a finger on me they'll trail you to hell,Jim Plimsoll, and the devil himself won't stop them from skinning youalive."
Plimsoll shrugged his shoulders, but his eyes flickered and, for asecond, his cowardly soul shrank.
"I'll look out for that," he said. "If you are delivered back to them asdamaged goods they'll never know it till you tell them. Maybe you won'tbe over-anxious to do that." His eyes grew moody, his manner sullen. Hewas passing into another alcoholic phase. Molly sensed imminent danger.
"I'll take those kisses now," he cried and lunged for her, catching herabout the waist as she rose from the chair. "And more to boot," he addedthickly as he drew her to him, one hand at the back of her head, fingerstwining in her hair, twisting her face forward, upward. She had botharms inside of his, her hands on his chest. With all her strength shestrained and pushed away, her right hand slid up to the holster,groping.
The gun was not there. Plimsoll had reloaded it during the meal and leftit on the table. His breath sickened her. She got her arm clear andstruck him viciously on the mouth, breaking the lips against his teeth.Fighting like a cave-woman, she scored his cheek with nails that dugdeep from the corner of his eyelid and brought the blood. As he shiftedhis hold she wrenched loose, leaving strands of brown hair in hisfingers, and jumped for the door. In her spring she saw, too late, thepistol on the table. She drew the bolt, half opening the door before hecaught her and dragged her back again.
"You wildcat," he panted. "I'll fix you."
Like a panther Molly fought, matching her young muscles against his,striking, clawing, biting. Her riding coat ripped, the neck of her waistwas torn away. Maddened at her resistance he struck back. Once he gother about the throat, but her fingers were at his face, tearing at hiseyes and he had to beat her off. The girl fought with all the sublimateddespair of attacked womanhood, the man like a gorilla. The struggle wasunequal, with more than forty pounds in favor of Plimsoll though, ifMolly had possessed the puniest of weapons, she might have won. He heldher at last, close to him, one arm wrapped about her, his right handforcing the heel of the palm under her tucked-in chin, slowly,inexorably forcing it back while his bleeding, distorted face lowered.This time her arms were locked in, bent double, useless. Her kicks werefutile, she had only her teeth left and she was going to try those. Butshe knew her strength sapped, knew in another moment or two she would beat the mercy of this brute who did not know the meaning of the word.
A shadow barred the half-open door, low down. A pointed head appearedwith blazing eyes, with a neck-ruff flaring high. White teeth showed asred gums bared in hate and, forgetting the wounded leg that had held himback, Grit hurled himself in a staggering but magnificent leap. He couldnot reach Plimsoll's throat, he had lost much of his momentum throughthe damaged leg, he lacked power from loss of blood, but fury gave himstrength for the spring that brought his teeth within reach ofPlimsoll's right wrist, exposed; the cuff half-way up the forearm.Grit's teeth slashed like chisels, ripping through flesh, tendon andartery, sending jets of blood spurting before Plimsoll, with a yell ofsurprise and consternation, flung Molly into a corner, dazed and weak,and threw up his left forearm to guard against the dog's second leap.
It fell short. Plimsoll's right hand, scattering blood, groped blindlyfor the gun on the table behind him. He found the barrel and brought theheavy butt down with a crash on Grit's head, back of the ear. The dogdropped like a length of chain. Plimsoll kicked the body viciously,taking the bandanna from his neck and tying it tight about his wrist,fastening the knots with his teeth. With a look at Molly, crumpledunconscious in the corner, he sought for more liquor, found it andpoured himself a big jorum, gulping it down while the blood drippedheavily from the bandage. He was soggy with shock and fatigue, thestrong stuff half paralyzed his faculties and he dropped into a chair,gazing stupidly at his wrist.
His imagination was a curse to him. He had seen Grit's slavering jaws asthey rose in the leap, the crimson glare in his eyes. To all intents thedog was mad.
It had been lying wounded in the sun. Only madness couldhave given it strength to track so far. What if it meantlockjaw--hydrophobia? Through his dulled brain ran like a black threadthe impression that he could feel the virus stealing through his veins,stiffening his body. How long did the damned thing take. And thehorrible ending! He had seen a man die of it once, bitten by a madcollie, the same breed as the brute under the table. He had done forhim, anyway.
Water--that was the test! There was water that Cookie had brought in forcoffee, half a bucket, by the stove. He felt a sudden repugnance towardit. The slashed veins in his wrists burned and throbbed as if they wereoozing molten lead instead of blood. And he was growing weak. If hedidn't get a tourniquet fixed he might bleed to death. But what was theuse?
Grit, who had opened a way out for Molly, lay still beneath the table.Molly, overtaxed, was in a swoon. Plimsoll sat in a stupor. The doorswung wide. Cookie rushed in, his face muddy with alarm.
"The show's gone wrong," he cried to Plimsoll, who stared at himhalf-comprehending. "For Gawd's sake what's happened here? Gimme adrink." He snatched at the bottle and swallowed from the neck. "Here,you need a swig. We got to git out of here, pronto. Have you scraggedthe gel?" He thrust the bottle at Plimsoll who drank, senses rallyingby the urge of danger that emanated from the cook like the sweaty stenchof a frightened animal.
"Brandon's gang has come back," said Cookie. "It's the damndest streakof luck. They must have fell in with Wyatt or some of his pals. Theymust have been to the ranch. They cut off the boys and the horses overby Sand Crick! Reynolds got clear. He saw them comin' an' streaked it.They were shootin' like hell, he said. But he got a start an' he fooled'em. Lost 'em, if they tried to foller him."
"And led 'em straight here," said Plimsoll with a curse, getting to hisfeet.
"Not him. He c'ud lose 'em twenty times between here an' Sand Crick.They were throwin' lead hard an' fast an' too busy to trail him if theysaw him. He's gone out ag'in through the south end. Case they've gotsome one who does know the way in, he'll side-track by Spur Rock an' gitthrough the pass at Nipple Peaks. It's hard goin', but we can make itunless we can git out this end. Hahn an' Butch has gone up to thelookout to.... Hear that?"
_That_ was a single rifle-shot, followed by two others, the last almostas one.
"Hell!" cried Plimsoll, "they've got us this end. It's Wyatt. Just mydamned luck for him to meet up with Brandon."
"Butch says it was the deal with that chap from Phoenix. He allusspotted him for a crooked one. They've planted hawsses on us to proveup. And Wyatt has been in touch with Brandon ever sense you took hisgel away from him. Come on, I'm goin'."
He ran outside and Plimsoll followed to the door, lethargy leaving himin the face of disaster though he could not think fast or clearly. Hahncame clattering over the rocks on his horse, his face chalky white. Hewas reeling in his saddle, the horse spraddling, wild-eyed, almost outof control. Cookie jumped for its bridle as Hahn slumped sidewise in thesaddle, clutched for the horn, missed it and was falling when Plimsollcaught him and helped him to the wall of the cabin where he leanedweakly. A blotch of blood showed on his left shoulder.
"Go get him a slug of whisky," Plimsoll ordered Cookie.
But Cookie, his face twitching with fright, jumped for his own mount andwent galloping down the valley to the south.
Plimsoll sent curses after him, reaching for his own pistol before heremembered it was inside, dragging Hahn's half out of its holster andthen quitting as the fleeing cook tangented and disappeared behind sometimber.
The handkerchief about Plimsoll's wounded wrist was now a sodden rag,but the loss of blood had cleared his brain. He set his left arm aboutHahn and helped him into the cabin. Molly was stirring and Plimsollscowled blackly at her. He gave Hahn a drink.
"Brace up," he said, "what happened? I know about Reynolds. I mean atthe lookout."
Hahn finished his glass, pushed it out for another, gulped that.
"Got to make our getaway," he said. "Butch is done for. They got me hereunder the collar-bone. I reckon they touched the lung. I never saw suchshooting. But Butch got Wyatt."
"Tell it straight," demanded Plimsoll. "How many of 'em? What did theydo?"
"We no more than made the lookout," said Hahn, "before six men cameriding along, heeled for trouble. One of them was the black-bearded guyfrom California who was here with that Brandon, first time they camenosing around. And another was Wyatt, God blast his rotten soul in hellfor a twisting hound! Wyatt was just starting to point 'em out theentrance when Butch lets him have it. Hits him smack in the forehead.Before he could show 'em the way in. He may have told 'em about it onthe way up. But Blackbeard must have caught the shine of Butch's barrel.He fires back--they all had their rifles handy cross the pommel--thebullet goes plumb through the tree and knocks Butch down. Went throughboth hips. He falls against me and I show in the open, sliding on thatdamned slippery boulder, sliding inside and out of range, but they gotme.
"They'll be through any minute, Plim. They'll go careful until they findthere's no one firing back at them, then it won't take 'em long tofigure out the way in. You can't tell how much Wyatt told 'em on the wayup. They've got me. I can't ride. My lungs are filling up. Butch isparalyzed--if he ain't dead. A hell of a wind-up! You can make it outthe way Reynolds did. None of the gang that left with Wyatt knows aboutthe side-trail by Spur Rock. But you'd better beat it. Me, I've turnedmy last card. The case is empty!"
His head fell forward on to his arms. A trickle of scarlet came from thecorner of his mouth. Plimsoll looked at him calculatingly. Hahn couldnot ride. But he wouldn't die for a while. To leave him here where theraiders would find him might mean a confession wrung from him that wouldtell of the getaway trail by Spur Rock and Nipple Peaks. He shook Hahnby the sound shoulder.
"Brace up," he said. "You can hide in Split Rock Cave. I'm going to putthe girl in there. Take another drink. Pick up some grub. There's waterin the cave. You can come out soon's the coast is clear."
"I'll not be coming out," said Hahn huskily. "But it's a good move." Heweakly collected the bottle, some scraps of food.
Plimsoll stooped over Molly, coming out of her faint, and gagged herwith her own scarf as her eyes opened and looked at him. He took off herbelt and strapped her arms behind her back. Then, despite his woundedwrist, he lifted her easily enough and strode with her out of the door,Hahn following.
Hahn's horse was standing there obediently with pendent reins anchoringit! Blaze and Plimsoll's black were nipping grass in the little corralwhere they had been placed. Blaze whinnied at the sight, or the scent,of his mistress. Plimsoll passed the corral and went through a grove ofquaking asps close to the wall of the side-gulch, keeping to the rock asmuch as possible. He turned into a cleft, stopping at a rock whosealmost flat surface was level with his feet, a great mass of granitethat some freak of weathering or convulsion of earthquake had splitalmost in half. Into the crevice a wild grape-vine had twined, and died.
"Can you make it, Hahn?" he asked.
The dealer nodded and knelt, using his sound arm to aid himself by thetough fibers, bracing with his knees. Down some ten feet in the crack helooked up, his ghastly face pallid in the shadow, with an attempt at agrin.
"Good-by, Plim," he said. "Good luck! What do I do with the girl?"
"Keep her from calling out. She's gagged but she might try it. Make hernurse you. Do anything you damn please with her!"
Hahn dropped out of sight. Plimsoll did not wait but picked Molly upfrom where he had deposited her, a helpless bundle, on the rock.
"The bottom's soft down there," he said. "Sand. It ain't more thanfifteen feet. Down you go, you hellcat! They'll have a fine timelocating you. And you've got a dying man for company. He'll be a deadone before morning."
He lowered her, feet down, released her and watched her disappear. Heswung about and ran back to the corral, his hurt arm throbbing with hisexertion. He had entertained a brief thought of hiding in the cavehimself, but the fear of madness f
rom the bite had not left him, thesuggestion of it coming on in an underground cavern sickened him withhorror. He craved the open. He flung himself into the saddle of theblack horse, once leader of a slick-ear herd of wild mustangs,magnificent for speed and symmetry, worthy a better master, and gallopedout of the corral, out of the side-ravine, into the open park. The roughtowel about his arm was becoming soaked. Every jump of the black horseseemed to increase the bleeding. The spurt of fictitious energy that hadcarried him through since the arrival of Cookie was dying away. But hewas on a mount that none could match, he was going on a trail that washard to follow, practically unknown. Unless he was headed off, he couldbreak through. At Nipple Peaks he could rest, attend to his wound.
A shout, a bullet whistling past that nicked the stallion's ear and senthim plunging and bucking, warned him that his enemies had found the wayin and were after him. He did not look back, but bent forward in hissaddle and sunk the spurs into the black's flanks. The half-tamedmustang's indignant bounds spoiled the aim of the marksmen, and, thoughthe steel-nosed missiles hummed like bees about them, they gained theshelter of the same trees that had covered Cookie. Belly almost toground, the black swept over the cropped turf at racing speed, the drumof his hooves like distant thunder, crest high, crimson-satin nostrilsflaring, mad at the sting of the red notch in his ear.
Round the elbow of the Hideout, with Brandon's men distanced, into thegorge at the south end. A wild scramble up a steep slope and the way toSpur Rock was clear. Plimsoll smiled grimly. "Damn them, I'll beat themyet!" For a second he was silhouetted against a skyline, then he plungeddown. Fresh droppings told him that Reynolds had won clear. He was safefrom pursuit. If the wound--he should have cauterized it. But....
He reined in for a moment. The sound of a shout rang in his ears. It wasan echo, he fancied, it must be an echo, flung back from the mountainwalls ahead. But it could mean nothing else than a view-halloo. Some onehad glimpsed him disappearing beyond the ridge.
Rimrock Trail Page 19
