CHAPTER XXX
BRENT'S MISTAKE
Following the trail that Brevoort and Pete had taken from the Ortez rancho, Arguilla and his men rode north and with them rode Ortez and several of his vaqueros. Within a few miles of the Olla the ragged soldiery swung west to the shelter of the low hills that ran parallel to the Olla line, while Ortez and his men rode directly to the Olla fence and entered a coulee near the big gate, where they waited the arrival of Brent and the herd.
About two hours before sundown one of Arguilla's lieutenants appeared on the edge of the coulee where he could overlook the country. At his signal the soldiers were to join the Ortez riders, but not until Brent and his men had the cattle delivered.
Arguilla, who was to keep out of sight, had told Ortez to pay the amount stipulated by Brent—and at the old established rate of twenty dollars a head—which meant that upon receipt of the cattle Ortez would give the foreman of the Olla four thousand dollars in gold. Ortez knew that Arguilla contemplated killing Brent and his men and recovering the money. Although his sympathies were with his own people, Ortez felt that such treachery was too black, even for a leader of guerillas.
He realized that the first word of warning to Brent would mean his own doom and the death of his men in the battle which would follow, for he knew the Gringo cowboys would fight to the last man. Against this he weighed the probability of a fight if he did not speak. In either event he would be dishonored in the eyes of the powers who had trusted him with handling the finances of the cause. It was in this state of mind that he waited for the arrival of the men whom he considered doomed, never imagining for a moment that Brent himself anticipated treachery.
The sun had almost touched the western sky-line when a solitary rider spurred out from the great gate of the Olla and up to Ortez, who recognized in him one of the young vaqueros that had escaped from Arguilla's guards the preceding night.
"Here's our tally." Pete handed Ortez a slip of paper. "Two hundred and three head. My patron says to call it two hundred even, and to give you a receipt for the money when you turn it over to me."
Arguilla's lieutenant had expected to see the herd turned over to Ortez before the payment of any moneys. He hesitated as to whether or not he should ride to the rim of the coulee and signal his company to interfere with the transaction then and there in the name of his superior officer. The lieutenant did not believe that Ortez would turn over the money for a mere slip of paper. But Ortez, strangely enough, seemed only too eager to close the transaction. Stepping to his horse, he took two small canvas sacks from his saddle-pockets. Still the lieutenant hesitated. He had had no instructions covering such a contingency.
"I await your receipt, señor," said Ortez as he handed the money to Pete.
Pete drew a folded slip of paper from his pocket and gave it quickly to Ortez. "Brent'll push the cattle through muy pronto." And whirling his horse round under spur, he was halfway back to the Olla gate before the lieutenant thought of signaling to Arguilla.
From the vantage of the higher ground the lieutenant could see that the gate was already open—that the Gringos were slowly pushing the cattle through, and out to the desert. He waved his serape. Almost on the instant Arguilla's men appeared in the distance, quirting their ponies as they raced toward the coulee. The lieutenant turned and gazed at the herd, which, from bunching through the gateway, had spread out fanwise. Already the Ortez vaqueros were riding out to take charge. But something was happening over near the Olla gate. The American cowboys had scattered and were riding hard, and behind them faint flashes cut the dusk and answering flashes came from those who fled. The lieutenant shouted and spread his arms, signaling Arguilla to stop as he and his men swung round the mouth of the coulee below. Some thirty riders from the T-Bar-T, the Blue Range, and the Concho swept through the gateway and began shooting at the Ortez vaqueros. Arguilla saw that his own plan had gone glimmering. Ortez had in some way played the traitor. Moreover, they were all on American territory. The herd had stampeded and scattered. In the fading light Arguilla saw one after another of the Ortez vaqueros go down. Did this noble captain of Liberty, Equality, and Fraternity rush to the rescue of his countrymen? He did not. Cursing, he swung his horse toward the south, followed by his amazed and altogether uncomprehending soldiery. There had been too many Gringoes in that wild, shrilling cavalcade to suit his fancy. Meanwhile the Mexican lieutenant wisely disappeared down the western edge of the coulee and rode wide until he deemed it safe to change his course and follow in the dusty wake of his noble leader's "strategic retreat."
Only one of the Ortez riders escaped the sudden and furious visitation of the northern cattlemen, and he escaped because his horse, mortally wounded, had fallen upon him. In the succeeding darkness he was passed unnoticed by the returning Americans.
The Olla men, also taken by surprise, had acted quickly. Better mounted than most of their pursuers, who rode tired horses, the Olla riders spread at the first warning shout. Familiar with the country, they were able to get away unscathed, partly because the attention of the pursuers was centered chiefly on the herd.
It had been a case of each man for himself with the Olla riders, the exceptions to this being Brevoort and Pete, who had ridden together from the moment that Pete had shouted that sudden warning to his companions at the gateway, where they had sat their horses waiting for him to return from his mission to Ortez. Brent himself had posted a lookout at the northern gateway of the ranch, with instructions to watch for any possible pursuit. This cowboy, wise in his generation, had caught sight of a large body of riders bearing down from the north. He knew by the way they rode that they meant business. He knew also that they were too many for the Olla men. He focused his glass on them, got one good look, and calmly turned his horse and rode along the line fence to an arroyo, where he dismounted and waited until the visiting gentlemen had got well onto the Olla territory. Then he mounted and took his leisurely way toward space. He knew that the Olla, as a safe and paying proposition, had ceased to exist.
Brent, mounted on one of the thoroughbreds, lost no time in heading for Sanborn and the railroad, once he had ridden clear of the running skirmish with the northerners. He surmised that Pete and Brevoort would make for Sanborn—and they had The Spider's money. Brent also knew that he had a faster horse than either of them. If he could reach Sanborn ahead of them, he would have the advantage of cover—and of taking them by surprise…
The country was fairly open from the eastern boundary of the Olla to within a few miles of Sanborn, where a veritable forest of cacti had sprung up—one of those peculiar patches of desert growth, outlined in a huge square as definitely as though it had been planted by man. The wagon-road passed close to the northern edge of this freakish forest, and having passed, swung off toward the railroad, which it finally paralleled. It was in this vantage-ground of heavy shadow that Brent had planned to waylay Brevoort and Pete. To avoid chance discovery, Brent had ridden considerably out of his way to keep clear of the regular trail from the Olla to Sanborn, and had lost more time than he realized. Brevoort, on the contrary, had taken the regular trail, which joined the main wagon-road.
Pete and Brevoort rode easily, as the local made the Sanborn stop at six in the morning. Moreover, they did not care to spend any great length of time in Sanborn. They had planned to leave their horses at the livery stable—to be called for later.
At first they talked of the raid, the probable fate of Ortez and his men, and of Arguilla's flight. And from that they came to considering their own plans which, if successful, would find them in El Paso with several thousand dollars which belonged in reality to Arguilla's backers. There was an unvoiced but evident understanding between them that they would keep together so long as safety permitted. Pete had made up his mind to look for work on some southern ranch—and have done with the high trails of outlawry. Brevoort, falling into his mood, as much because he liked Pete as anything else, had decided to "throw in" with him. Had Pete suggested robbing a bank, or holding up a train, the big, easy-going Texan would have fallen in with the suggestion quite as readily, not because Pete had any special influence over him, but purely because Pete's sprightliness amused and interested him. Moreover, Pete was a partner that could be depended upon in fair weather or foul.
Their plan once made, they became silent, each busy with his own more intimate thoughts: Brevoort wondering what Pete would say if he were to suggest dividing the money and making for the coast and Alaska—and Pete endeavoring to reconcile himself to the idea that The Spider was actually Boca's father. For Pete had been thinking of Boca, even while he had been talking with Brevoort. It seemed that he always thought of her just before some hidden danger threatened. He had been thinking of her—even aside from her presence in the patio—that night when the posse had entered Showdown. He had thought of her while riding to the Ortez rancho—and now he was thinking of her again… He raised his head and glanced around. The starlit desert was as soundless as the very sky itself. The soft creak of the saddles, the breathing of the horses, the sand-muffled sound of their feet… Directly ahead loomed a wall of darkness. Pete touched Brevoort's arm and gestured toward it.
"They call it the Devil's Graveyard," said Brevoort. "A sizable bunch of cactus alongside the road. We're closer to Sanborn than I figured."
"Well, we can't go any slower 'less we git off and set down," Pete remarked. "Blue Smoke here is fightin' the bit. He ain't no graveyard hoss."
"I notice he's been actin' nervous—and only jest recent."
"He always runs his fool head off—if I let him," asserted Pete. And he fell silent, thinking of Boca and the strange tricks that Fate plays on the righteous and wicked alike. He was startled out of his reverie by Brevoort. "Mebby I'm dreamin'," whispered the Texan, "but I'm plumb certain I seen somethin' drift into that cactus-patch."
"Cattle," said Pete.
"No. No cattle in these parts."
"Stray—mebby."
"I dunno. Jest sit light in your saddle and watch your hoss's ears. He'll tell you right quick if there's another hoss in there."
Pete knew that the Texan would not have spoken without some pertinent reason. They were drawing close to the deeper shadow of the cacti, which loomed strangely ominous in the faint light of the stars. Brevoort's horse, being the faster walker, was a little ahead and seemingly unconscious of anything unusual in the shadows, when Blue Smoke, range-bred and alert, suddenly stopped.
"Put 'em up—quick!" came from the shadows.
Pete's hand dropped to his holster, but before he could jerk out his gun, Brevoort had fired at the sound—once, twice, three times… Pete heard the trampling of a frightened horse somewhere in the brush.
"I got him," Brevoort was saying.
Pete's face was cold with sweat. "Are you hit, Ed?" he said.
"No, he missed me. He was right quick, but I had him lined against that openin' there before he said a word. If he'd 'a' stood back and kept still he could have plugged us when we rode past. He was too sure of his game."
"Who was it, Ed?"
"I got one guess. We got the money. And he got what was comin' to him." Brevoort swung down and struck a match. "I owed you that, Brent," he said as the match flared up and went out.
"Brent!" exclaimed Pete.
Brevoort mounted and they rode on past the sinister place, in the chill silence of reaction from the tense and sudden moment when death had spoken to them from the shadows where now was silence and that voiceless thing that had once been a man. "Got to kill to live!" Pete shivered as they swung from the shadows and rode out across the open, and on down the dim, meandering road that led toward the faint, greenish light glimmering above the desert station of Sanborn.