Читать книгу Tales of Mystery & Suspense: 25+ Thrillers in One Edition - E. Phillips Oppenheim - Страница 120

From the shadows of the trees on the further side of the river, Craig with strained eyes watched Quest’s struggle. He saw him reach Lenora, watched him struggle to the bank with her, waited until he had lifted her on to his horse. Then he turned slowly around and faced the one country in the world where freedom was still possible for him. He looked into a wall of darkness, penetrated only at one spot by a little blaze of light. Slowly, with his arm through the bridle of his horse, he limped towards it. As he drew nearer and discovered its source, he hesitated. The light came through the uncurtained windows of a saloon, three long, yellow shafts illuminating the stunted shrubs and sandy places. Craig kept in the shadow between them and drew a little nearer. From inside he could hear the thumping of a worn piano, the twanging of a guitar, the rattle of glasses, the uproarious shouting of men, the shrill laughter of women. The tired man and the lame horse stole reluctantly a little nearer. Craig listened once more wearily. It was home he longed for so much—and rest. The very thought of the place sickened him. Even when he reached the door, he hesitated and instead of entering stood back amongst the shadows. If only he could find any other sort of shelter!

Inside, the scene was ordinary enough. There was a long bar, against which were lounging half-a-dozen typical Mexican cowpunchers. There was a small space cleared for dancing, at the further end of which two performers were making weird but vehement music. Three girls were dancing with cowboys, not ungracefully considering the state of the floor and the frequent discords in the music. One of them—the prettiest—stopped abruptly and pushed her partner away from her.

“You have drunk too much, José!” she exclaimed. “You cannot dance. You tread on my feet and you lean against me. I do not like it. I will dance with you another night when you are sober. Go away, please.”

Her cavalier swayed for a moment on his feet. Then he looked down upon her with an evil glitter in his eyes. He was tall and thin, with a black moustache and yellow, unpleasant-looking teeth.

“So you will not dance any longer with José?” he muttered. “Very well, you shall drink with him, then. We will sit together at one of those little tables. Listen, you shall drink wine.”

“I do not want to drink wine with you. All that I wish is to be left alone,” the girl insisted curtly. “Go and play cards, if you want to. There is Pietro over there, and Diego. Perhaps you may win some money. They say that drunkards have all the luck.”

José leered at her.

“Presently I will play cards,” he said. “Presently I will win all their money and I will buy jewelry for you, Marta—stones that look like diamonds and will sparkle in your neck and in your hair.”

She turned disdainfully away.

“I do not want your jewelry, José,” she declared.

He caught her suddenly by the wrist.

“Perhaps this is what you want,” he cried, as he stooped down to kiss her.

She swung her right hand round and struck him on the face. He staggered back for a moment. There was a red flush which showed through the tan of his cheek. Then he drew a little nearer to her, and before she could escape he had passed his long arm around her body. He drew her to the chair placed by the side of the wall. His left hand played with the knife at his belt.

“Marta, little sweetheart,” he said mockingly, “you must pay for that blow. Don’t be afraid,” he went on, as he drew the knife across his leather breeches. “A little scratch across your cheek, so! It is but the brand of your master, a love-token from José. Steady, now, little Maverick!”

The girl struggled violently, but José was strong, such brawls were common, and those of the company who noticed at all, merely laughed at the girl’s futile struggles. José’s arm was already raised with the knife in his hand, when a sudden blow brought a yell of pain to his lips. The knife fell clattering to the floor. He sprang up, his eyes red with fury. A man had entered the door from behind and was standing within a few feet of him, a man with long, pale face, dark eyes, travel-stained, and with the air of a fugitive. A flood of incoherent abuse streamed from José’s lips. He stooped for the knife. Marta threw herself upon him. The two cowboys who had been dancing suddenly intervened. The girls screamed.

“It was José’s fault!” Marta cried. “José was mad. He would have killed me!”

Craig faced them all with sudden courage.

“As I came in,” he explained, “that man had his knife raised to stab the girl. You don’t allow that sort of thing, do you, here?”

The two cowboys linked their arms through José’s and led him off towards the door.

“The stranger’s right, José,” one of them insisted. “You can’t carve a girl up in company.”

The girl clutched at Craig’s arm.

“Sit down here, please,” she begged. “Wait.”

She disappeared for a moment and came back with a glass full of wine, which she set down on the table.

“Drink this,” she invited. “And thank you for saving me.”

Craig emptied the glass eagerly. He was beginning to be more than a little conscious of his fatigue.

“I just happened to be the first to see him,” he said. “They aren’t quite wild enough to allow that here, are they?”

“Quien sabe? The girls do not like me! The men do not care,” she declared. “José took me by surprise, though, or I would have killed him. But who are you, and where did you come from?”

“I have just crossed the border,” he replied.

She nodded understandingly.

“Were they after you?”

“Yes! with a warrant for my arrest!”

She patted his hand.

“You are safe now,” she whispered. “We care that much for a United States warrant,” and she snapped her slim fingers. “You shall stay with us for a time. We will take care of you.”

He sighed wearily.

“If I do,” he said, “there will be trouble. Wherever I go there is trouble. I have been round the world looking for peace. I shall never find it in this world.”

Her eyes filled with tears. There was something hopelessly pathetic in his appearance.

“You shall find it here,” she promised.

Back in the camp, a spirit of deviltry had entered once more into Long Jim and his mates. A tactless remark on the part of one of the deputies had set alight once more the smouldering fire of resentment which the cowboys had all the time felt against them. At a word from Long Jim they were taken by surprise and again tied to the wagon.

“These guys ain’t got a sufficiency yet, boys. Limber up them guns again. Same order as before. Put a few more petals on them flowers, and I’ll trim their eyelashes for them.”

The deputies spluttered with rage and fear. Shots rained about them and the canvas of the wagon was riddled. French began to get restless.

“Look here,” he said to Laura, “I can’t stand this any longer. It don’t seem right to have two officers of the law treated like that, any way. I guess I’ll have to butt in again.”

“Don’t,” Laura advised bluntly. “You’ll get yours if you do.”

A yell from one of the deputies clinched the matter. French drew his revolver and advanced into the centre of the little group.

“Say, you fellows,” he exclaimed, “you’ve got to stop this! Those men came here on a legitimate errand and it’s your duty to respect them.”

Long Jim strolled up to the Inspector.

“Maybe you’re right, Mr. French,” he remarked, “but—”

With a swoop of his long arm he snatched French’s gun away, examined it for a moment, looked at French and shook his head.

“You’re too fat, Inspector,” he declared sorrowfully, “still too fat. That’s what’s the matter with you. Another ten minutes’ exercise will do you all the good in the world.”

A bullet struck the dust a few inches from French’s feet. Furious with rage, he found himself once more forced to resort to undignified antics. This time, however, Laura intervened. She walked straight up into the little circle and stood close to French’s side, regardless of the levelled guns.

“Look here, Long Jim, or whatever your name is,” she protested, “you just call your crowd off and stop this. Undo those two deputies. A joke’s a joke, but this has gone far enough. If you don’t untie them, I will. Take your choice and get a move on.”

Long Jim scratched his chin for a moment.

“Waal,” he said, “I guess that what the lady says goes. We ain’t often favoured with ladies’ society, boys, and I guess when we are we’d better do as we are told. Turn ’em loose, boys.”

They abandoned the sport a little reluctantly. Suddenly they all paused to listen. The sound of a horse’s slow footfall was heard close at hand. Presently Quest appeared out of the shadows, carrying Lenora in his arms. Laura rushed forward.

“Lenora!” she cried. “Is she hurt?”

Quest laid her tenderly upon the ground.

“We had a spill at the bridge,” he explained quickly. “I don’t know whether Craig loosened the supports. He got over all right, but it went down under Lenora, who was following, and I had to get her out of the river. Where’s the Professor?”

The Professor came ambling down from the tent where he had been lying. He stooped at once over Lenora’s still unconscious form.

“Dear me!” he exclaimed. “Dear me! Come, come!”

He passed his hand over her side and made a brief examination.

“Four ribs broken,” he pronounced. “It will be a week, at any rate, before we are able to move her. Nothing more serious, so far as I can see, Mr. Quest, but she’ll need rest and all the comfort we can give her.”

“Say, that’s too bad!” Long Jim declared. “If you’ve got to stay around for a time, though, you can have the tents. We boys can double up anywhere, or bunk on the ground. That’s right, ain’t it?” he added, turning around to the cowboys.

There was a little grunt of acquiescence. They carried Lenora to the largest of the tents and made her as comfortable as possible. She opened her eyes on the way.

“I am so sorry,” she faltered. “It’s just my side. It—hurts. How did I get out of the stream?”

“I fished you out,” Quest whispered. “Don’t talk now. We are going to make you comfortable.”

She pressed his hand and closed her eyes again. The Professor returned.

“We’ll make the young lady comfortable all right,” he assured them cheerfully, “but there’s one thing you can make up your minds to. We are here for a week at the least.”

They all looked at one another. The Inspector was the only one who preserved an air of cheerfulness, and he was glancing towards Laura.

“Guess we’ll have to make the best of it,” he murmured.