`You won't need many--Sturm an' his crew will be out on the range watchin' for rustlers, so you'll have a clear field. There must be no violence; if the girl is hurt in any way, payment will be in--lead.'
`Ain't threatenin' me, are you, Greg?' Bull fleered. `Be easy, I'll take care o' yore ladylove, an' mebbe shake a leg at yore weddin'.'
But when the Big C owner was receding in the distance, he shook a fist instead, and growled, `Damned mongrel. Lead, huh? You'll settle in gold, my friend, an' I'll fix the figure; the S P, with the dame thrown in, is worth a lot more'n three thousand.'
Chapter XIX
AT the Big C, Cullin bolted a meal, saddled a fresh mount, and hastened to Midway. Camort, lolling drowsily in his office, woke with a start when the great man entered.
"Lo, Greg, anythin' new?' he enquired.
`Yeah, we've got him.'
`Meanin'?'
Cullin swore impatiently. `That infernal nester, o' course. Where are yore wits?'
The sheriff smothered a sigh; he was rather weary of battling against the `infernal nester.' With a dubious expression, he remarked, `That jasper's as hard to hold as a greased rattler, an' as dangerous.'
`Don't talk like a weak-kneed quitter,' Cullin snapped, and proceeded to explain the situation. Camort brightened visibly. `It shore does seem we got him where the hair's short,' he admitted. `But if the gal lets us down....'
`She won't appear a-tall--I'm arrangin' that. Yo're actin' on a complaint about the rustlin' an' request for the punishment o' the culprits, received from her.'
`I ain't' the sheriff commenced, but got no farther.
`Don't be dumb,' Cullin said angrily. `Her protest was made to me, an' I'm handin' it on; she won't be there to deny it. In any case, you have yore duty to do.'
`Shore,' the officer smirked. `What she wants don't really matter--the welfare o' the public comes first.'
`Quite, but keep that admirable sentiment for the court. You will arrest Drait in the mornin', lock him up, an' see he stays that way. If he gets out, you'd better climb a tree, tallest you can find.'
`S'pose he resists?'
`Six o' my outfit'll be in town; you can use 'em. I don't fancy he'll fight, but if he does, it's yore duty to get him--dead or alive. Understand?'
`You bet. I'd rather hang him, but I ain't one to think o' my own pleasure.'
Cullin's next call was on the Judge, and again the position was set forth. Towler's fear of the rancher exceeded his dislike, but he had no affection for the nester either, so he readily promised to do his part.
`Within the Law, Mister Cullin,' he said. `Strictly inside the bounds of my office.'
`Of course, Judge,' Cullin smiled. `Have I ever asked you to do otherwise?'
`No, sir, you knew that such a request would be futile. This trouble-maker appears to have so acted that the Law can now deal with him--effectively.'
`Well, it's up to you an' the sheriff. I don't think he can wriggle out as he did last time.'
The reminder was unnecessary, the Judge had not yet forgotten the fiasco of the former trial. He frowned and said :
`We will endeavour to see he does not, sir,' which was the assurance the visitor wanted.
Midnight was near when a rider with a led horse paced noiselessly up to the S P ranch-house, dismounted, and dropped the reins, leaving the animals a few yards from the building. He had already ascertained that only one light was showing--from the parlour. Cat-footed, he stepped on the veranda and peered through the glass door. The girl he had come to find had fallen asleep over the fire, an account book lay on the floor beside her. He noted, with satisfaction, that her hat and coat were on another chair; this simplified matters. Pulling his own hat well over his eyes, and covering the lower portion of his face with his neckerchief, he stepped inside.
`Keep yore tongue still an' you won't be hurt,' he said, in a low tone.
Mary awoke with a jerk, made to rise, and sank back again as she saw the muzzle of a six-shooter within a few inches of her face.
`What do you want?' she managed to whisper.
`Obedience, just that,' was the reply. Put yore things on. We're goin' for a ride, an' remember, one scream'll be yore last.' She knew it was useless to resist. Lindy would be snoring, Milton, in his little shack next the kitchen, would hear nothing, and Sturm had told her that the men would be out on the range till dawn.
When she was ready, he motioned her to the door, turned out the lamp, and followed; she felt the barrel of the weapon against her spine. They reached the horses, mounted, and set off, the man still holding the lead-rope. Almost at once, four riders emerged from the shadows and fell in behind them.
It was very dark, the few stars, pin-points of light in the sky, seeming only to increase the gloom. Mary could form no idea as to the direction in which they were travelling, but from the fact that progress was slow, and frequent turns necessary to avoid black masses of foliage, she guessed they were breaking a new trail through the brush.
The captive, tired and despondent, rode like one in a dream, holding the reins slackly, and making no attempt to guide the beast she bestrode. Fortunately the animal was docile, sure-footed, and the shapeless dark bulk beside her was watchful. She was almost sure this was Bardoe, and the possibility filled her with dismay; she had heard much about him since their first meeting, none of it to his credit.
She became aware that he was speaking: 'Too damned dark to risk the Quake tonight, boys. Have to ride around her. Better be safe than sorry.'
`Yo're whistlin', Boss,' one of the men agreed.
`Shore is one hell of a place,' the leader remarked. `I hate crossin' it; one wrong step an' it's--curtains.'
The dreary miles dropped behind, and then Mary became aware that they were climbing, and that the stars were no longer visible. Also, the riders had strung out in single file. She surmised, correctly, that they were mounting a narrow pathway through a forest. The air grew colder, and there was a breeze which increased as they mounted higher. Then she saw a light, and one of the men said fervently:
`Home, sweet home, boys, an' I hope to Gawd grub's ready.' `Well, here we are,' the leader remarked, as he drew rein opposite the light, which proved to be an open door.
Mary got down, so stiff and fatigued that she would have fallen had he not placed an arm about her. Instantly, she straightened and recoiled.
`I'm all right,' she said.
`You done noble,' he replied gruffly. `There's warmth an' food waitin'.'
`I need sleep--that only. Where is my--prison?'
He conducted her to a small room, with a floor of bare boards, and an unglazed window only a cat could get through. The candle he lighted brought to view a pile of blankets on a pallet bed, a chair, pail of water, and a torn but clean towel. On one of the log walls a cracked mirror was hanging.
`Rough quarters, ma'am, but we'd little time,' the man said. `I ain't tyin' you up, but remember that the Quake lies between here an' the S P. The key o' the door will be in my pocket, so you can sleep easy.'
`Why have I been brought here?' she demanded.
`I dunno,' he lied. `All I can say is that if you make no trouble, you'll meet no trouble.'
The key grated in the lock. She bathed her face, removed hat and coat, spread her blankets, and lay down. Despite her determination to remain awake, she slept.
Bardoe returned to the big room, where, at a long table, the men who had accompanied him were eating, and washing the food down with generous doses of spirit. Four others were smoking round the log fire. One was Gilman, who looked up with a leer.
`So you got her?' he said. `I hear she was dressed ready, too. Yo're allus lucky.'
`Lucky?' chimed in Lamond from the table. `An' Bull all fixed to play the part o' lady's maid.'