Hal camped in a ravine the entrance to which was fenced by nature with a thick growth of prickly pear. He waited until after dark before lighting a fire for fear somebody might come to the cove and see the smoke. The buckskin he picketed in a growth of alfilaria. He slept beneath the stars with his saddle for a pillow. Once he awoke, to hear the barking of a coyote, but fell asleep again almost at once.
While the darkness still held, he ate a breakfast of coffee, flapjacks, and bacon. Before the crystal dawn broke, he stamped out the fire. Objects were mysterious in the dim morning light, but as the sun rose the ocotilla and Spanish bayonets lost their ghostly appearance and the country took on its desert harshness.
There was no sign of life in the cabin. Hal watered the buckskin and picketed the pony in another place, after which he lay down in the shade of a mesquite where he could see the trail that descended from the rim. He had brought several books with him, in expectation of one or two long days of waiting. A volume of Shaw's plays he tried first. The acid tang of the humor suited his mood.
CHAPTER 33
Mullins Throws a Rope
HAL REMAINED a squatter on the Mullins place two days without seeing another human being. Though a man fond of activity, he had the capacity for patience acquired by years of life in the outdoors where nature cannot be hurried. He read and ate and slept. His pipe he smoked contentedly, no suggestion of restlessness in his easy indolence.
It was in the late afternoon of the third day that Ed Mullins came back to his ranch. Hal caught sight of him as he and his horse appeared in silhouette on the rim rock of the saucer where the rustler had homesteaded. The bay gelding moved down the ledge road and another horse and rider stood against the skyline. A third horseman appeared.
Hal sat up, a wry grin on his face. 'Holy smoke, it's an army,' he told himself aloud.
When he had finished counting, six riders were descending the steep trail into the ranch basin. Through his glasses he picked them out one by one — Mullins, Fenwick, Doc, Polk, Frawley, and Buck. One could not find a choicer bunch of ruffians in a visit to Alcatraz, he thought. No doubt they had gathered here on some definite mission of deviltry. It flashed into his mind that they might have come to get him, but he rejected this guess as improbable. They could not know he was on the place unless Sally Kendall had betrayed him, and he was quite sure she had not.
While they were still coming down the ledge road in Indian file, he walked through the brush to where his buckskin was picketed. The belly of the horse was full of alfileria, and fortunately he had watered it not more than an hour ago. He saddled, packed his belongings, and tied the animal to a mesquite. When he left, it was probable that he would be in such a hurry that every second counted.
From his observation post back of the prickly pears, Hal watched the riders unsaddle and turn their mounts into the pasture. Evidently they meant to spend the night here. Occasionally their voices drifted to him on the evening breeze, but they were too far away for him to make out what they said. He was pleased to see that Mullins's dog had reached home with his tail down and head dragging. Evidently the day's trip had exhausted him. After being fed the shepherd would very likely fall into a long sound sleep. Hal hoped so. An inquisitive and intelligent dog nosing about might destroy his chance of escape.
Some of the men hung around the corral. Doc went with Muffins into the cabin, from the chimney of which smoke presently rose. They were preparing supper for the party.
The long shadow from the mountain back of the park began to stretch across the floor of the little valley. In the crotch of two peaks the sky became a caldron of color, changing quickly from turquoise and magenta and rose to violet and purple. A film of mist softened the harsh outlines of the range. Night was dropping its blanket of darkness over the land.
Mullins came to the door and shouted, 'Come and get it.' The men outside hurried into the house.
Hal took from the saddlebags he had inherited from his father all the food that remained, a bit of dry cheese rind, a crust of bread, and a piece of chocolate. He announced formally, 'Dinner is served, Mr. Stevens,' and began his meal. If circumstances had been different, it would have been pleasant to drop in and eat a hearty meal with the outlaws. It amused him to wonder whether they would kill him at once or feed him first, in case he sauntered into the room and announced himself a guest. Probably he had got in their hair so much that they would rub him out before he could even speak.
He knew that it would be wise to lie low till they were asleep and then slip away from the ranch. Very likely he would be fortunate to escape with a whole skin, but the thought of such a termination of the adventure was not pleasing to him. He had made a gesture before his friends that could justify itself only by success. Unless he took Mullins back with him, he would feel a sense of humiliation. There might still be a slim chance of doing this.
He knew the habits of outdoor men. Each one of these outlaws would come out before turning in for sleep to have a look around and make sure everything seemed safe. Mullins might appear by himself. If there was a poker game there was more likelihood of men drifting alone from the hot room into the cool night.
To take advantage of such an opportunity, Hal had to be nearer the house. He crept forward from the ravine and took a position back of the stable. There was a manure heap beside him, luckily an old one. Though he did not find this pleasant, it might turn out an advantage if he had to crouch down to avoid detection.
His vigil proved a long one. There was a poker game, and hours slipped away before the door opened and Mullins stood in the spot of light thrown out by the lamp behind him. He came into the starlit night, closing the door, and walked to the corral. Presently he lit a cigarette, flung away a match, and turned toward the house.
A figure lounged forward to meet him. 'Damn the game,' a voice drawled. 'I can't win a pot, Ed.'
Mullins was not a quick thinker. He supposed another player had wandered temporarily away from the game. Not until the gun was rammed into his belly did he recognize Stevens.
'Goddlemighty!' gasped Mullins. 'You — again!'
'Right. We're going back to the corral.' Hal tucked an arm under his. 'Easy does it. No noise.'
When they reached the corral, Hal told him to pick up his saddle and bridle. They walked through a gate into the pasture. The horses could be seen, dim shapes in the darkness, feeding at the far end of the five-acre enclosure.
Hal ran a hand over the man's body, found a weapon, and flung it into the brush.
'Look here, Mr. Stevens,' remonstrated Mullins. 'You can't do this. You're crazy. Some of the boys are sure to come out and see you before you get away. The game is about ready to break up. You'd better skedaddle before they know you're here.'
'Exactly my idea,' Hal chuckled. 'We'll both go soon as you have saddled.'
'If I was you I wouldn't wait—'
Hal cut his advice short. 'Get your rope and catch a fresh horse,' his captor ordered.
They cornered the grazing animals. Mullins picked a roan and threw. The loop slid down the shoulder of the horse. He coiled the rope and made a second throw. Caught by the neck, the cowpony gave up at once.
Still protesting, Mullins put on the bridle and cinched the saddle. They walked back to the gate. Light from the lamp in the cabin shone through the open door. A man in the doorway wanted to know profanely where Ed was.