Sudden The Marshal of Lawless (1933) s-8 Page 14

In less than an hour Renton had picked his men, necessaries were packed, and the party set out for the spot where the dead horse had been found. This proved to be the mouth of a shallow arroyo about six miles from the ranch and somewhat south of the direct line to the Box B. Here the marshal called a halt.

  "Better let the Injun have a clear field," he said, and nodded to Black Feather.

  The redskin slid from his saddle and approached the carcass, or what the buzzards had left of it, walking slowly in a half-crouch, his keen eyes scanning every inch of the ground. They saw him circle round it and then head for a mass of brush some thirty yards distant. Behind this he vanished for several moments and then came striding back. His low, throaty words were addressed to the marshal:

  "Four Mexican fellas wait there long time," he said, pointing to the brush. "Girl ride by, see them, an' start run. One fella him shoot hoss an' they grab girl." He waved to the south. "Go that way. One hoss, two riders."

  The marshal nodded comprehendingly.

  "Guess he's got the straight of it," he commented. "The sooner we get on their trail the better. Go ahead, Black Feather; it's El Diablo we're after."

  The redskin's black eyes flamed for an instant at the name, but that was his sole sign of emotion. Leaping into his saddle, he led the way to the Border. The abductors had apparently made no attempt to hide their trail, and whenever they crossed a patch of sand the riders could see, from the deeper indentation?, that one of the horses--as the Indian had said--was carrying a double burden.

  "They got too big a start for us to catch 'em up," Andy remarked. "We'll have to smoke 'em outa their hole."

  "Yeah," the marshal agreed, and then, with a covert glance at his companion, "Funny Raven should get so hot under the collar; I figured the Greaser a friend o' his."

  "I'm gettin' new ideas 'bout Raven," Andy said darkly, and the impatience of youth flamed up, "Hell! why didn't yu blow that damned Greaser four ways, Jim?"

  "Nobody sorrier than I am, Andy," Green assured him. "Black Feather will search him out, yu betcha; he's got a debt to pay too."

  Mile after mile they pressed steadily on, strung out in a double line behind the guide. Once clear of the open range, they dived into the wilder country which lay between them and the Border. Here the pace slackened, for deep gulches and ravines, thick tangles of thorny scrub, hills along the sides of which they wound on ledges barely wide enough for one rider, all had to be faced and overcome. So that night was at hand by the time they reached the sluggish stream which here marked the northern limit of Mexico. Under an overhanging rock near the bank they found the dead ashes of a fire, and not far away the Indian picked up a small leather gauntlet.

  "That's one o' Tonia's gloves," Andy pronounced at once. "We're on the right track, anyways; mebbe we'll overhaul 'em yet."

  "No catch--find urn," the Indian said.

  "He reckons they're still more than twelve hours ahead of us," the marshal explained. "Nothin' to do but keep on their tails."

  Andy bit on an oath; he knew it was the only way, but the thought of Tonia in the hands of the bandit, of whose way with a woman there were many tales current on the Border, made him furious.

  Camp-fires were lighted, food eaten, sentries posted, and the rest of the men turned in, conscious of a still harder day's work to come.

  When the cold light of the coming dawn showed above the eastern horizon the rescue party forded the stream and plunged into what was to all of them, save perhaps the Indian, unknown territory. The tracks they were following headed straight into what appeared to be an expanse of open country, but the guide turned sharply to the right, pointing his horse's head towards a jumble of rocky ridges, the valleys and gorges between which were hidden by close-growing timber.

  "We're leavin' the trail; that's a risk, ain't it?" Andy asked. "The Injun is wise to his work," Green replied. "This way may be harder, but I'm bettin' he's got a reason, an' a good one."

  Midday found them clear of the barrier of broken country and they saw ahead a broad, billowing stretch of semi-desert, walled in on the far horizon by a jagged line of purple hills.

  "Git ready to be grilled, boys," Renton warned, his slitted eyes squinting at the view. "We're pointin' Pinacate way, seemin'ly--volcanic country--all lava an' cactus. I've heard of it. We'll need all the water we can carry; wells ain't any too frequent."

  A meal was eaten, canteens filled at a neighbouring creek, and the journey resumed. Speed was out of the question in the soft sand, and before they had gone very far the Double S foreman's prophecy was being fulfilled. From the sun flaming in the turquoise sky came a stream of heat which burnt like a hot iron, and absorbed perspiration before it had time to form.

  "I know now just how the steak feels in the pan," Rusty groaned. "All we want is a nice li'l dust-storrn."

  Hour after hour they plodded on, halting only at long intervals for a brief meal and a gulp of the tepid contents of their canteens. The approach of night, with cooler air, afforded welcome relief after the sweltering heat. The character of the desert too was changing; the sand was thinning out and hummocks of vitreous rock began to appear. Presently, at the base of a pile of these, the. guide pulled up and slid from his saddle.

  "Je-ru-sa-lem!" breathed one of the Double S riders. "Am I seein' things or is that real water?"

  At the foot of the rocks lay a little pool, shining like a mirror in the last rays of the setting sun.

  "It's water, shore enough," another assured him, and tugged on his reins. "Steady, yu son of a devil; vu ain't going to roll in it; we gotta use it too."

  Black Feather, who had brought them to it, was a popular member of the party, despite his copper skin. Pete voiced the general opinion:

  "Shore was a lucky day for us, Jim, when yu snatched that Injun back from the happy hunting-grounds," he said.

  The horses were watered, hobbled, and turned loose to search for the scattered clumps of gramma grass, while their masters squatted round the fires--for desert nights are bitterly cold--and swallowed a much-needed meal. The marshal had a chat with their guide and then joined Andy, Pete, and Renton.

  "We're pointin' for Moraga's headquarters, an' the Injun reckons we'll make it some time day after to-morrow," he told them. "Like I figured, this is a short cut, but if they've got the girl there ahead of us, we'll have to study the layout an' plan accordin'. Get all the sleep yu can; it'll be hard goin' the rest o' the way."

  The morning light confirmed his statement. In front of them stretched an apparently endless expanse of black lava, fantastically fashioned into ridges, shelves, spires, and massed blocks as though a mighty molten sea had suddenly been frozen into immobility. The edges of the broken lava were as keen as knives.

  "Good thing the Injun held out for shod hosses," the marshal remarked, as they commenced the journey. "A few miles o' this would peel the horn clean off their hoofs."

  "Well, I dunno what the other trail's like, but I'm votin' for it," Pete said, as his horse slipped on a shining slope and fought furiously to recover its footing.

  Helpless targets of a relentless sun, parched by a thirst they dared not satisfy, the riders slipped and slithered on across the burnt-out, forbidding wilderness. For the most part they rode in silence, for inattention to one's mount might mean an awkward accident, but occasionally a rider relieved his feelings with a fervent but humorous curse.

  "Hell won't interest me none at all now," Rusty was heard to complain. "Guess I'll have to try for the other place."

  Night found them still on the desert, camped at the base of a pinnacle of rock. They had found no more water, but by pulping the interiors of some barrel cactus they managed to supply the needs of themselves and their mounts. Dead mesquite branches provided a fire, but it was a miserable one, for fuel was hard to find. So that it was good news to hear that the next day would see them clear of the desert.

  And so it proved. Early in the afternoon they halted in a long, deep arroyo which contained more vegetation than they had s
een for two days. All of this meant water, and they soon found a tiny, sparkling creek.

  "Moraga's settlement ain't far away from here," the marshal said. "Me an' Pete is goin' to prospect it some. If we ain't back in a coupla hours yu better come an' look for us. This is a good place to leave the hosses."

  Discarding their own mounts and rifles, the two men traversed the arroyo and emerged, with due caution, into the open. Hidden behind lumps of storm-riven lava, they got their first view of the bandit settlement. It proved to be a mere collection of hovels, mostly with rock walls and sodded roofs, clustered beneath the shadow of a jagged cliff, the curving shape of which showed that it had once been part of the wall of a crater. Zigzagging steeply up the weathered face was a narrow path leading to a ledge about two-thirds of the way up. Only one building justifying the name was to be seen--a stout cabin of untrimmed logs standing in the centre of the other habitations.

  "That'll be Mister Moraga's mansion, yu betcha," Pete observed. "Lie close--there's a fella who might come our way."

  "I'm hopin' he does," the marshal said.

  His wish was granted; the man, stepping jauntily and humming a song, passed close to their hiding-place. A quick clutch, which effectively closed his windpipe, and he was behind the boulder, a gun-barrel boring into his ribs.

  "Silence, they say, is golden," a voice whispered. "Noise, for yu, amigo, will be leaden. Savvy?"

  Apparently the prisoner did, for he submitted silently while his pistol and knife were removed from his belt. Seated on the ground with his back to the rock, he glared in amaze at the grinning cowboys.

  "Now yu can talk, amigo, an' I'm advisin' yu to," the marshal said, "Where is El Diablo?"

  "Senor Moraga ees in ze beeg cabeen," he said sullenly, adding with vicious emphasis, "he keel you for dees."

  "Mebbe," the marshal agreed. "How many men has he got?"

  The Mexican's eyes gleamed cunningly. "Ten," he said. Green shrugged his shoulders and glanced meaningly at the cactus patch. The effect was immediate. "Twenty," came the correction. The Mexican stood up. "Madre de Dios! I spik true, senor; I swear it," the captive cried, crossing himself fervently. "Twenty onlee--no count me."

  "Yo're dead right to leave yoreself out," the marshal said. "Where's the girl?" The man looked at him stupidly. "The American senorita fetched in this mornin' by four o' yore men," Green added.

  It was a guess, but a good one. The Mexican hesitated, but an impatient movement on the part of Pete decided him; these thrice-damned Gringos were not to be trifled with.

  "In ze beeg cabeen," he muttered.

  Marching the fellow back into the brush, they tied his hands and feet securely, using his own sash for the purpose, and left him there.

  "If we don't make it back yu'll be in pore luck," the marshal told him. "Yu better pray--hard--for our success."

  CHAPTER XIX

  They found the rest of the party eagerly waiting for their return. After a short consultation with Andy and Renton, it was decided that the attack should be made at once. Moraga was known to control a numerous force, and more of his men might arrive at any moment. The marshal outlined a plan for the advance:

  "We'll spread out in a half-circle, Injun up an' drive 'em into the big cabin; that'll give us the shacks for shelter. Leave the broncs here, split up into pairs, an' keep under cover all yu can. Rusty, yu an' Yates make for their corral an' turn the hosses loose. Shoot any fella that tries to get away--they may have help near."

  Silently the men slipped away to their posts, with a final order not to shoot until they had a target. The marshal and his deputy returned to the point they had already visited, aiming from there to work up to Moraga's headquarters. From the shelter of the big boulder they could see the whole of the apology for a street. Several times men came out of the main hut and entered one or other of the shacks, but no shot shattered the silence; the marshal had warned his men to allow time for all to get into position.

  Suddenly came a wild yell and a Mexican dashed from one of the dug-outs towards the cabin. Ere he had got half-way, however, a rifle crashed and he went down, sprawling grotesquely in the dust. Instantly the place came to life. Like rats from their holes, men popped out of the sordid dwellings and raced for the more solid haven of the log house. Their appearance drew a volley from the invaders, several dropped, but the rest gained their objective. The marshal smiled grimly.

  They had been gradually advancing, crawling on their bellies and taking advantage of every stone or bush which offered protection. Foot by foot the attacking force advanced, closing in on the cabin, but still the problem of the open space in front of it had to be solved. Once the cowpunchers left the shelter of the shacks they would be at the mercy of Moraga's marksmen. Anxiously Green scanned the cliff, but it appeared to be unscalable save for the little path directly behind the cabin. They would have to rush the place, he decided, and in broad daylight, for it was hours yet to darkness and he dared not wait.

  The firing now became spasmodic; a defender, fancying he saw a movement, would send a questing leaden messenger, and an attacker would instantly reply, aiming at the other's smoke. The stifling air was further polluted by the pungent smell of burnt powder.

  Inside the cabin, Moraga and his men waited for the assault which they knew must come. Two .had been killed at the loop-holes and several nicked, but the defence still outnumbered the Americans, and although the guerrilla leader did not know this, he was unperturbed. Though the dispersal of the horses--for Rusty and Yates had done their work--prevented him sending for assistance, he was hourly expecting another of his raiding bands. That the invaders were Gringo punchers comprised his information of them, but he surmised that the abduction of the girl had brought them. With a smirk of satisfaction on his evil, brutish features he opened a door at the back of the main room of the building. On the right of the passage outside was a smaller room, when he entered. Seated on a chair to which her arms were bound was Tonia Sard. The bandit's eyes rested upon her possessively.

  "I come to tell you not to be alarm," he said. "The shooting is jus' a leetle argument with some foolish folk who not like me." He drew up his gaudily-attired form with absurd dignity. "There are many such," he went on. "El Diablo is feared, not loved; he desire only, to be loved by one." He swept off his hat in a low bow, and though his keen little eyes must have seen the contempt in her face, his voice did not betray the fact. "I have sent for a padre."

  "I would rather be dead than married to you," the girl said stormily.

  "There are worse things than death, or marriage to a Spanish caballero," he retorted.

  "A Spanish caballero!" Tonia repeated. "'A Mexican peon--a leader of ladrones--a yellow dog from whom my riders will strip the hide with their quirts when they catch him."

  The disdainful words, stung more deeply than the lashes they promised him. For a moment he stood, fingers convulsively clenched, inarticulate, and she thought he would kill her.

  "We weel speak of it again," he said, and there was a threat which chilled her blood in the softly spoken words.

  Rejoining his men, Moraga found something else to occupy his attention. The marshal, surveying the cabin from behind the nearest shack, had conceived a plan. It was a desperate chance but--

  "It's less'n forty yards an' that door ain't loopholed," he mused aloud. "If a man could get there--"

  "He could sit down on that chunk o' lava an' wait till they opened up," Pete said sarcastically.

  Green grinned at him. "That bit o' rock is the key to the situation--an' the door," he replied. "Mosey round to the boys an' tell 'em to fling lead regardless when I whistle."

  The deputy departed unwillingly, and presently returned with the news that he had passed the word along, and that, beyond a graze or two, there were no casualties among the cowboys. The marshal stood his rifle against the wall, and made sure that his pistols came freely from their holsters.

  Green gave the signal. The moment the firing began, he jumped from his sh
elter, and crouching low, ran for the cabin. Bullets whined past his ears and spat up the sand on all sides of him, but he reached his goal unhurt. Pausing to get some air into his lungs, he stooped to the lump of lava which lay by the cabin entrance. With an effort he raised and flung it at the door, which cracked and shook under the impact. Immediately a hand holding a pistol pointing sideways projected from the nearest loophole. Green drove a bullet into it, saw the weapon fall, and heard the curse of the owner as he withdrew his shattered fingers. Twice he hurled the stone and the door began to sag. Resting again, he wiped the perspiration from his brow and, with a wary eye on the loopholes, surveyed the damage.

  "One more an' I reckon she'll cave," he muttered. "Better call the boys."

  Uttering a shrill whistle, he lifted the missile once again and drove it at the obstacle. A sound of rending wood was drowned by the yell of the cowboys as they broke from cover and raced for the cabin. With both guns spurting lead, Green sprang through the breach he had made. Flashes lit up the dark interior, a bullet scorched his cheek, another tore off his hat, and then, clubbing his own empty guns, he leapt on the bandits, striking right and left. His men were close on his heels, swarming eagerly through the broken door and plunging into the combat. Driven back by the rush of the invaders, the Mexicans fought desperately, shooting, stabbing, and yelling out wild Spanish oaths and supplications. But they were no match for these hard riders of the plains who fought with a laugh on their lips and struck with an earnestness utterly out of keeping with it. Presently Green, in the medley of the fight, found himself beside Bordene.

  "Where's that damn coyote, Moraga?" panted the rancher.

  "Ain't seen hide nor hair of him," the marshal replied. "We'll get on his trail; the boys can clean up here."

  A search of the rest of the cabin revealed no trace of the girl or the bandit chief. Then Andy flung open a door at the rear of the building, and a bitter curse escaped his lips. Instantly the marshal saw the reason. Half-way up the little track which scored the face of the cliff was the man they sought, and hanging limply like a sack over his shoulder was Tonia. Andy lifted his rifle only to lower it again with a groan; he dared not risk a shot. Green sprang forward.