CHAPTER X
THE FIGHT FOR THE OLD JUAN
When a man's honor is questioned—his honor as a fighting man—it is the dictum of centuries of chivalry that he shall not seek to avoid the combat. A great fortune was at stake, many millions of dollars and the possession of a valuable mine, and yet Rimrock Jones did not move. He walked around the town and held conferences with his friends until word came at last that he was jumped.
"All right," he said and with Hassayamp and L. W. he started across the desert to his mine. Red-handed as he was from a former treachery, L. W. did not fail Rimrock in this crisis and his cactus-proof automobile took them swiftly over the trail that led to the high-cliffed Tecolotes. He went under protest as the friend of both parties, but all the same he went. And Hassayamp Hicks, who came from Texas where men held their honor above their lives; he went along as a friend in arms, to stand off the gunmen of McBain.
The news had come in that Andrew McBain had left Geronimo under cover of the night, with an automobile load of guards, and the next day at dawn some belated stampeders had seen them climbing up to the dome. There lay the apex of the Tecolote claims, fifteen hundred lateral feet that covered the main body of the lode; and with the instinct of a mine pirate McBain had sought the high ground. If he could hold the Old Juan claim he could cloud the title to all the rich ground on both sides; and at the end of litigation, if he won his suit, all the improvements that might be built below would be of value only to him. Always providing he won; for his game was desperate and he knew that Rimrock would fight.
He had flung down the challenge and, knowing well how it would end, he had had his gunmen barricade the trail. They were picked-up men of that peculiar class found in every Western town, the men who live by their nerve. There were some who had been officers and others outlaws; and others, if the truth were known, both. And as neither officers nor outlaws are prone to question too closely the ethics of their particular trade so they asked no questions of the close-mouthed McBain, except what he paid by the day. Now, like any hired fighters, they looked well to their own safety and let McBain do the worrying for the crowd. He was a lawyer, they knew that, and it stood to reason he was acting within the law.
L. W.'s auto' reached Ironwood Springs, where Rimrock had made his old camp, while the sun was still two hours high. From the Springs to the dome, that great "bust-up" of porphyry which stood square-topped and sheer against the sky, there was a single trail full of loose, shaly rocks that mounted up through a notch in the rim. They started up in silence, Rimrock leading the way and Hassayamp puffing along behind; but as they neared the heights, where the shattered base of the butte rose up from the mass of fallen debris, Rimrock forged on and left them behind.
"Hey, wait!" called Hassayamp with the last of his breath, but neither Rimrock nor L. W. looked back. It was a race to the top, Rimrock to get his revenge and L. W. to stop his mad rush; but in this race, as always, youth took the lead and L. W. lagged far behind. Like a mountain sheep on some familiar trail Rimrock bounded on until his breath came in whistling gasps; but, while the blood pounded against his brainpan and his muscles quivered and twitched, the strength of ten men pulsed through his iron limbs, and he kept his face to the heights.
He was all of a tremble when, in the notch of the trail, he was challenged by a ringing:
"Halt!"