Читать книгу Curly: A Tale of the Arizona Desert - Roger Pocock - Страница 11

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That same winter Lord Balshannon came down from Lordsburgh on the railroad, by way of Bryant's ranche, and tracked my round-up outfit to our camp at Laguna. That was the spot where the patrone and I fought the Apache raiders, but since then we had built corrals beside the pool, the ring-fences which are used for handling livestock. I had twenty Mexican vaqueros with me, branding calves; and the patrone found us all at supper.

While we ate he told me the news—how Dick Bryant was elected Sheriff of the county; how Mr. Ryan's eldest son had left college and gone into business in New York; how three bad men had been lynched by the Vigilance Committee at Grave City; and how Low-Lived Joe had shot up two Mexicans for being too obstreperous at cards. The boss had always some gossip for me at tea-time.

After supper he passed me a cigar. "Chalkeye," said he, "give these boys as much sleep as you can. At midnight you pull out of camp for Wolf Gap; strike in there at the first streak of dawn, gather the whole of our horses, then run them as hard as you can to Holy Cross, and throw them into the house."

"Indians?" I asked.

"No, horse rustlers. Bryant gave me the office that some outlaws have come down from Utah. They've heard of our half-bred ponies, and they're in need of remounts."

"We've only two days' forage at the house."

"After to-morrow let the herd into the home pasture under a strong guard by day. Throw them into the house every night, and post a relief of sentries on the roof. We mustn't—haw, allow the poor robbers to fall into temptation, so see that the men have—er plenty of ammunition."

"These robbers may round up our cattle."

"If they do they will have to drive slow, and Bryant will hold the railway-line in force, with troops if necessary, er—Chalkeye!"

"Yessir."

"A friend of mine has turned this gang loose on my stock. There's been crooked work."

"Ryan work, sir?"

"What makes you think that?"

"The birds. I want leave to go shoot Ryan."

"Indeed, ah! I've promised my wife not to—er shoot Mr. Ryan." He stood up and grabbed my paw. "Chalkeye, we must try to behave like—er Christians, for her sake. Now I must be off. You'll find me at Holy Cross."

At noon next day I brought our herd to Holy Cross, and watered all the horses at the dam below the house. This dam crossed a small hollow holding some two or three acres of water, directly under the western wall of the Hacienda. Some old trees sheltered the water, and one of these had been blown down by a gust of wind. As I drove the remuda to the gates, one of the mares got snarled up in the wrecked tree, broke her leg, and had to be shot. Then I threw the herd into the stable-court, and went to my quarters.

I reckon that I had been thirty-four hours in the saddle, and used up five horses, so I wanted much to get my eye down for a little sleep. While the peon pulled off my boots I gave orders mixed with yawns to my segundo.

"Take charge, Teniente, and report my obedience to El Señor Don Rex. Post a guard of four in the gate-house, close the gates, and place a relief of sentries on the North-west Bastion. If the sentry sees anybody coming, the guard is to call me at once. See that my riders get sleep till sundown, then send a couple of them to haul that dead mare from the water-hole."

I had not slept an hour when a man from the guard-house came running to wake me up. I jumped into my boots, grabbed my gun, and bolted to the gates, where Balshannon joined me at the spy-hole.

"Who's coming?" he asked.

"A white man, patrone, and a boy, on the dead run."

"Message from Bryant, eh? Let them in."

I swung the gates wide open, and we stood watching the riders—a middle-aged stockman and a young cowboy, burning the trail from the north. As they came surging up the approach I reckon their horses smelt a whiff of blood from that dead mare beside the water-hole. Horses go crazy at the smell of blood, and though the man held straight on at a plunging run for the gates, the boy lacked strength to control his mare. When she swerved he spurred, then she began to sunfish, throwing one shoulder to the ground, and then the other, while she bucked. At this the youngster lost his nerve and tried to dismount, the same being the shortest way to heaven, for when the mare felt his weight come on one stirrup she made a side spring, leaving him in the air, then bolted, dragging him by the foot while she kicked the meat from his bones. He was surely booked right through to glory but for Balshannon. My boss was a quick shooter and accurate, so that his first bullet caught the mare full between the eyes, and dropped her dead in her tracks. I raised the long yell for my men, as we rushed to get the boy from under her body.

It seemed to me at the time that the elder man never reined, but made a clear spring from his galloping horse to the ground, reaching the mare with a single jump before she had time to drop. Grabbing her head, he swung his full weight, and threw her falling body clear of the boy. When we reached the spot he was kneeling beside him in the sand.

"Stunned," he said, "that's all! Seh," he looked up at the patrone, and I saw the tears were starting from his eyes. "Seh, you've saved my son's life with that shot, I reckon"—his voice broke with a sob—"you've sure made me yo' friend."

"Nothing broken, I hope?" said Balshannon.

"No, seh. The stirrup seems to have twisted this foot."

I sent some men for a ground sheet in which the boy could be carried without pain. Balshannon sent for brandy.

Still kneeling beside his son, the stranger looked up into the patrone's face.

"You are Lord Balshannon?" he asked.

"At your service, my good fellow—well?"

"Do any of yo' greasers speak our language?"

"I fancy not."

"Then I have to tell you, seh, that I am Captain McCalmont, and my outfit is the Robbers' Roost gang of outlaws." He was bending down over his son.

"I asked no question, my friend," said Lord Balshannon, "we never question a guest."

"You make me ashamed, seh. I came with a passel of lies, to prospect around with a view to doing you dirt."

Balshannon chuckled, and I saw by the glint in his eye that he was surely enjoying this robber. "You'll dine with me?" said he.

Captain McCalmont looked up sharply to see what game the patrone was playing.

"You will notice, Captain," said the boss, "that my house is like a deadfall trap. Indeed—ah, yes, only one door, you see."

For answer the robber unbuckled his belt and let it fall to the ground. "Take my gun," he said. "Do you suppose I daren't trust you, seh?"

A servant had brought the brandy, and McCalmont rubbed a little on his son's face, then poured a few drops between his teeth. Presently the lad stirred, moaning a little.

"Let's take him to the house," said I.

"No, Mistah Chalkeye Davies," answered the robber, "not until this gentleman knows some more, a whole lot more. Here, Curly," he whispered, "wake up, bo'."

The lad opened his eyes, clear blue like the sky, and smiled at his father. "Air you safe, dad?" he whispered.

"Sure safe."

Curly closed his eyes and lay peaceful.

The hold-up was squatting back on his heels, looking out across the desert. "Don Rex," said he, "I had a warning sent to Sheriff Bryant that I was coming down to lift all yo' hawsses. My wolves tracked Bryant's rider to Lordsburgh, where he wired to you. You came running, and had all yo' hawsses rounded up convenient for me, in the stable-yard of this house. I thank you, seh."

"My good man, I'll bet you an even thousand dollars," said the patrone, "that you don't lift a hoof of my haw—remuda."

"It's a spawtin' offer, and tempts me," answered the outlaw. "Oblige me by taking my gun from the ground here and firing three shots in the air."

The patrone took the gun, and at his third shot saw a man ride out from behind the bastion on our right. McCalmont waved to him, and he came, putting a silk mask over his face as he rode, then halted in front of us, shy as a wolf, gun ready for war.

"Young man," said McCalmont, "repeat to these gentlemen here the whole of yo' awdehs fo' the day. Leave out the names of the men."

"You're giving us dead away!" said the rider, threatening McCalmont with his gun. "You mean that?"

"I mean what I say."

"Ah! Excuse me, McCalmont," said the patrone, "your—er—pistol, I think."

"Thanks, seh." McCalmont took the gun. "Repeat the awdehs!" he said. "These gentlemen are our friends."

"Well, you knows best," came the voice from behind the mask. "Three men to cover your approach to Holy Cross, and if there's trouble, to shoot Balshannon and Chalkeye. They're covered now. The wall of the stable court by the South-west Bastion to be mined with dynamite, and touched off at ten p. m. prompt; ten riders to get in through the breach in the wall, and drive out the bunch of horses; one man with an axe to split all the saddles in the harness-room, then join the herders."

"Leave out," said McCalmont, "all detail for pointing, swinging, and driving the herd. Go on."

"At one minute to ten, before the wall is blown away, ten riders are to make a bluff at attacking the main gate, and keep on amusing the garrison until the men with the naphtha cans have fired the private house.

"Rendezvous for all hands at Laguna by midnight, where we catch remounts, and sleep until daybreak, with a night herd of two, and one camp guard. At dawn we begin to gather cattle, while the horse wrangler and two men drive the remuda east. Rendezvous at Wolf Gap."

Lord Balshannon laughed aloud. "And how about poor old Bryant's posse of men?" he asked.

"Sheriff Bryant," said the Captain, "allows that he's to catch us in a sure fine trap, five miles due west of Lordsburgh. And now," he called to the mounted robber, "tell the boys that all awdehs are cancelled, that I'm supping to-night at Holy Crawss, and that the boys will wait for me at the place we fixed in case of accidents."

The man rode off hostile and growling aloud, while Balshannon stood watching to see which way he went.

"McCalmont," said he, and I took note of just one small quiver in his voice, "may I venture to ask one question?"

"A hundred, seh."

"You seem to know the arrangement of my house—its military weakness. How did you learn that?"

The outlaw stood up facing him, and took from the breast of his shirt a folded paper. Balshannon and I spread it open, and found a careful plan of Holy Cross. At the foot of the paper there was a memorandum signed "George Ryan."

"I may tell you," said the robber, "that if I succeeded in burning yo' home, stealing yo' hawsses, and running yo' cattle, Mr. George Ryan proposed to pay my wolves the sum of ten thousand dollars."

"Carry out your plans," the patrone was pleased all to pieces. "I'd love to fight your wolves. I've got some dynamite, too! Think of what you're losing!"

"Lose nothing!" said the robber. "I'll collect fifty thousand dollars compensation from Ryan!" He stooped down and gathered his son in his arms.

"And now, will you have us for guests in yo' home? Say the word, and we go."

Balshannon lifted his hat and made a little bow, much polite. "My house," he answered in Spanish, "is yours, señor!"