The Collected Western Classics & Adventures Novels. William MacLeod Raine
was a flash of steel as the ranger dived forward. Next instant he and the prisoner stood with their backs to the cottonwood, a revolver having somehow leaped from its scabbard to his hand. His hunting-knife had sheared at a stroke the riata round the engineer’s neck.
“Take it easy, boys,” urged Fraser, still in his gentle drawl, to the astonished vigilantes whom his sudden sally had robbed of their victim. “Think about it twice. We’ll all be a long time dead. No use in hurrying the funerals.”
Nevertheless he recognized battle as inevitable. Friends of his though they were, he knew these sturdy plainsmen would never submit to be foiled in their purpose by one man. In the momentary silence before the clash the quiet voice of the prisoner made itself heard.
“Just a moment, gentlemen. I don’t want you spilling lead over me. I’m the wrong man, and I can prove it if you’ll give me time. Here’s the key to my room at the hotel in San Antonio. In my suit-case you’ll find letters that prove—”
“We don’t need them. I’ve got proof right here,” cut in Fraser, remembering.
He slipped a hand into his coat pocket and drew out two photographs. “Boys, here are the pictures and descriptions of the two men that escaped from Yuma the other day. I hadn’t had time to see this gentleman before he spoke, being some busy explaining the situation to you, but a blind jackass could see he don’t favor either Kinney or Struve, You’re sure barking up the wrong tree.”
The self-appointed committee for the execution of justice and the man from the Panhandle looked the prison photographs over blankly. Between the hard, clean-cut face of their prisoner and those that looked at them from the photographs it was impossible to find any resemblance. Duffield handed the prints back with puzzled chagrin.
“I guess you’re right, Steve. But I’d like this gentleman to explain how come he to be riding the horse one of these miscreants stole from Maloney’s barn last night.”
Steve looked at the prisoner. “It’s your spiel, friend,” he said.
“All right. I’ll tell you some facts. Just as I was coming down from the Roskruge range this mo’ning I was held up for my team. One of these fellows—the one called Kinney—had started from Fort Lincoln on this roan here, but he was wounded and broke down. There was some gun-play, and he gave me this scratch on the cheek. The end of it was that he took my team and left me with his worn-out bronc. I plugged on all day with the hawss till about three mebbe, then seeing it was all in I unsaddled and picketed. I lay down and dropped asleep. Next I knew the necktie-party was in session.”
“What time was it y’u met this fellow Kinney?” asked Long sharply.
“Must have been about nine or nine-thirty I judge.”
“And it’s five now. That’s eight hours’ start, and four more before we can cut his trail on Roskruge. By God, we’ve lost him!”
“Looks like,” agreed another ruefully.
“Make straight for the Arivaca cut-off and you ought to stand a show,” suggested Fraser.
“That’s right. If we ride all night, might beat him to it.” Each of the five contributed a word of agreement.
Five minutes later the Texan and the ranger watched a dust-cloud drifting to the south. In it was hidden the posse disappearing over the hilltop.
Steve grinned. “I hate to disappoint the boys. They’re so plumb anxious. But I reckon I’ll strike the telephone line and send word to Moreno for one of the rangers to cut out after Kinney. Going my way, seh?”
“If you’re going mine.”
“I reckon I am. And just to pass the time you might tell me the real story of that hold-up while we ride.”
“The real story?”
“Well, I don’t aim to doubt your word, but I reckon you forgot to tell some of it.” He turned on the other his gay smile. “For instance, seh, you ain’t asking me to believe that you handed over your rig to Kinney so peaceful and that he went away and clean forgot to unload from you that gun you pack.”
The eyes of the two met and looked into each other’s as clear and straight as Texas sunshine. Slowly Neill’s relaxed into a smile.
“No, I won’t ask you to believe that. I owe you something because you saved my life—”
“Forget it,” commanded the lieutenant crisply.
“And I can’t do less than tell you the whole story.”
He told it, yet not the whole of it either; for there was one detail he omitted completely. It had to do with the cause for existence of the little black-and-blue bruise under his right eye and the purple ridge that seamed his wrist. Nor with all his acuteness could Stephen Fraser guess that the one swelling had been made by a gold ring on the clenched fist of an angry girl held tight in Larry Neill’s arms, the other by the lash of a horsewhip wielded by the same young woman.
Chapter III.
A Discovery
The roan, having been much refreshed by a few hours on grass, proved to be a good traveller. The two men took a road-gait and held it steadily till they reached a telephone-line which stretched across the desert and joined two outposts of civilization. Steve strapped on his climbing spurs and went up a post lightly with his test outfit. In a few minutes he had Moreno on the wire and was in touch with one of his rangers.
“Hello! This you, Ferguson? This is Fraser. No, Fraser—Lieutenant Fraser. Yes. How many of the boys can you get in touch with right away? Two? Good. I want you to cover the Arivaca cut-off. Kinney is headed that way in a rig. His sister is with him. She is not to be injured under any circumstances. Understand? Wire me at the Mal Pais mines to-morrow your news. By the way, Tom Long and some of the boys are headed down that way with notions of lynching Kinney. Dodge them if you can and rush your man up to the Mal Pais. Good-bye.”
“Suppose they can’t dodge them?” ventured Neill after Steve had rejoined him.
“I reckon they can. If not—well, my rangers are good boys; I expect they won’t give up a prisoner.”
“I’m right glad to find you are going to the Mal Pais mines with me, lieutenant. I wasn’t expecting company on the way.”
“I’ll bet a dollar Mex against two plunks gold that you’re wondering whyfor I’m going.”
Larry laughed. “You’re right. I was wondering.”
“Well, then, it’s this way. What with all these boys on Kinney’s trail he’s as good as rounded up. Fact is, Kinney’s only a weak sister anyhow. He turned State’s witness at the trial, and it was his testimony that convicted Struve. I know something about this because I happened to be the man that caught Struve. I had just joined the rangers. It was my first assignment. The other three got away. Two of them escaped and the third was not tried for lack of sufficient evidence. Now, then: Kinney rides the rods from Yuma to Marfa and is now or had ought to be somewhere in this valley between Posa Buena and Taylor’s ranch. But where is Struve, the hardier ruffian of the two? He ain’t been seen since they broke out. He sure never reached Ft. Lincoln. My notion is that he dropped off the train in the darkness about Casa Grande, then rolled his tail for the Mal Pais country. Your eyes are asking whys mighty loud, my friend; and my answer is that there’s a man up there mebbe who has got to hide Struve if he shows up. That’s only a guess, but it looks good to me. This man was the brains of the whole outfit, and folks say that he’s got cached the whole haul the gang made from that S. P. hold-up. What’s more, he scattered gold so liberal that his name wasn’t even mentioned at the trial. He’s a big man now, a millionaire copper king and into gold-mines up to the hocks. In the Southwest those things happen. It doesn’t