Читать книгу On the Trail of Four - Frederick Schiller Faust - Страница 6

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I had risen early in the morning and, as the dawn light began in the east, I had dipped down into the heart of a narrow ravine. Then, rising against the horizon, black against that lovely flare of color, I saw four riders on four horses at the rim of the ground above me. They were the men after whom I was questing, and, the moment that I saw these horsemen, I understood very well why I had not been able to overtake the riders before.

It was at quite close range that I saw the riders, with such a light behind them that, though I could not make out features, yet the silhouette was wonderfully clear. I saw that these four horses were of a kingly breed, made like thoroughbreds, only that they were a little less leggy. I thought that they answered very nearly to my mind’s picture of what an Arab must be like. At any rate, they were four beauties, and I gaped at them in bewilderment.

Mind you, I had only a flash of those horses before they drifted on out of sight, but that flash was all that I needed. If there was an animal there that was worth less than five hundred dollars, I was willing to call myself blind and a fool. Quality and breeding emanated from them like a light.

What were they doing, then, under such riders as these? Or were the four outlaws, perhaps? Yes, but if they were outlaws, was it possible that the four of them would undertake the peril and the fatigue of a march which I already knew had consumed a fortnight going and coming? Would the four of them have ridden this great distance all for the sake of putting to death one clumsy-handed miner who, it seemed to me, could have been safely handled by any cool-eyed boy?

No matter how I looked at the death of Janvers, it grew more and more maddening. I could not understand! I put my impatience behind me. Behind that problem lay some great meaning. Four such horses could not be owned by four common men. If these four men had ridden a thousand miles to kill a common old prospector, it was because his death meant a great deal indeed either to them or to some one who had hired them. It was all very well to tell myself this, but still I followed them with a hungry heart.

From that moment I had them repeatedly in sight. I found that I had to go with caution all the time, for I never knew when I might come into their view; for, once I had caught up with them, I found that they were really no match for Spike. Across the flat, to be sure, they simply walked away from him with matchless ease. But when it came to the sides of ravines, and the rough and tumble of cut-up country, or when it came to plodding through deep, soft sand, then the matchless strength and the mule patience of Spike was too much for them. I was constantly drifting within sight of them during that day, but when the night came, I satisfied myself that I had not been seen by them.

After dark, however, I took the precaution of camping on a selected site. For that matter, after four years of a hunted life, it was instinct for me to protect myself as much as possible. I built no fire—not so much as a flame the size of the palm of my hand. I had a canteen of water and a slab of hardtack for my supper. Spike I put at a little distance from me among the brush, where he would be sure to find grass enough among the shrubbery. I knew, from of old, that he would not wander beyond the reach of my call. My own blanket I unrolled in the shelter of a nest of rocks and there I furled myself in it and folded my hands under my head with a good-night cigarette between my lips.

I was thinking of those four horses against the morning color—four marvelous pictures of beauty—and into the stillness of my thoughts came a rustling softer than the stir of a snake’s belly across the ground.

Instantly, I was wide awake, and my legs were gathered under me. Then I waited, not drawing a breath. The sliding sound was gone, but I heard an instant later a very soft noise which I should not have perceived had I not tuned my ears to an extra sharpness—the light crunching made by a heavy body as foot or knee presses against the ground.

That was enough. I acted on the first impulse which came to me. A very foolish impulse, you will think, but I have found that in a crisis very often the boldest and the apparently wildest move is really the most safe. Above all, the hunter is never more confused than when he finds that he has changed roles and become the hunted!

I leaped into the air with a gun in either hand and with a wild yell breaking from my throat.

It gained me what I wanted—the sight of two dim shadows crawling toward me among the rocks—and two quick exclamations of terror. But they were not so baffled that they could not act.

A gun blazed at me as I shot into the air like a jumping jack and a very honestly intentioned slug combed past my ear. I dodged as I landed, and fired from both hands. Whatever happened to one bullet, the other went home. It brought one of the creepers pitching to his feet with a scream, his arms flung into the air, and then he toppled backward.

I did not have to ask questions about him. That man was dead. The second, however, rising to his knees with a snarl, attempted to fire, and I heard the hammer click heavily, lifelessly. His gun had clogged. He did not pause. I saw the dull glimmer of steel as he tossed his gun aside and then he came at me with his hands.

I could have filled him with lead before he reached me, but there is something in me which has never let me shoot at a man without a gun in his hand. I dropped the Colt from my right hand and poised myself for the blow.

Aye, but this scoundrel did not intend an honest fight, hand to hand. At the last instant I saw the wicked gleam of the knife with which he was lunging at me. The thrill of that fear made me agile enough, I think. I dropped far down under the line of that stabbing knife and gave my man the benefit of two hundred and twenty pounds of reasonably hard muscle and bone all concentrated behind a flying right hand.

The blow caught him well down on the ribs, and I felt them crunch under the impact like an eggshell—a frightful feeling under my hand. There was weight enough in that punch to stop his mid-rush and flattened him on the ground and there he lay tied in a knot, kicking and gasping to regain his breath.

He would be perfectly helpless for some minutes. So I stepped to the first unlucky fellow and lighted a match to make sure of him. The flare of the light showed me a great tall fellow with a long, thin face, high features, and a sallow skin.

There was no use in examining his wound. I saw that the bullet had struck behind his neck, as he lay on the ground, and it must have ranged down into his vitals. It was only wonderful that it had left the instant of life in him which enabled him to leap to his feet and give his death cry.

I turned from him to a flurry in the brush. There I saw, suddenly, the figures of five animals rushing through the night, controlled by two riders.

Five—and one of them must be Spike.

I raised a mighty shout for him, and instantly one of the shadowy beasts detached itself from the rest and raced, riderless, toward me. The two riders followed Spike with a snap shot or two, but who can fire accurately from the back of a galloping horse?

At least, the scoundrels were away without doing me an injury, and having made up their minds that their two friends were lost, they were not remaining near to inquire after their hurts. The two were abandoned to my hands, to finish them in any way that I chose.

I came back to my second man—and just in time; for I found that, in spite of his half-winded lungs, and in spite of the agony which must be burning in his side, he had wormed himself over to a fallen revolver—my own—and he was gathering it into his hand when I kicked it out of his grip.

He turned on me with a snarl of such brute rage that I thrust him away with an exclamation of horror. Then I lighted the second match and saw the lean face of a Negro, as black as night!

I gave him not a bit more attention for the moment. There was no weapon near him, now. So I kindled a small fire as soon as I could bring together some dead brush. After the flame had warmed and grown to a comfortable point so that I could look over my captive, I sat down to watch him.

He lay flat on the ground, except for his shoulders, which were supported against a shelving edge of rock. The pain from his side, though it had not made him utter a cry, was nevertheless great enough to turn him to muddy gray. And yet I thought that there was more curiosity than malice in his glance as he stared back at me.

“So,” said I, “we are all here together like good friends at the end of a hard day’s work. What is your name, Tony?”

His eyes remained perfectly blank. I tried him in Spanish.

“What are you, friend?”

He nodded.

“Do you say friend?” said he, and he grinned a twisted smile.

“I say friend,” said I. “Matter of habit. I’m an amiable sort of a fellow.”

He tried to make a gesture of amused comment, but a pang in his side made him drop one hand to the hurt place in haste.

“I’m sorry,” said I, “but there’s nothing that I can do for you. The ribs are gone under there. They’ll set themselves, if you’ll give them a fair chance by keeping still for a time. But your friends have left you to take care of yourself, I see.”

He cast one glance in the direction in which they had fled. There was not a shadow of resentment in his expression.

“It is the order,” said he.