The Settling of the Sage

by Hal G. Evarts

"They were cached up there to pick us off if we rode down to try and turn the run," he said. "If it had been light they might have opened on the wagons. But they knew the rest hadn't started the cows."

She nodded without apparent interest. What might transpire now seemed a matter to be viewed with indifference.

"It's time for me to go," Harris said. "I'll hold the bunk house. Good luck, Billie—we'll hold 'em off."

He turned to Waddles who still worked to make a loophole through the blank wall.

"If it gets too hot put her outside and tell her to give herself up. Even Lang would know that the whole country would be hunting them to-morrow if they touched her. They won't if they can help it. But this is their last hope—to trust in one final raid. They'll go through with it. Make her go outside if it comes to that."

He opened the door and leaped across the twenty yards of open space which separated the main building from the bunk house. The fact that no rifle balls searched for him as he sprang inside was sufficient testimony that the raiders who might be posted in the hills back of the house were not yet within easy range. He barred the door and looked from the south window. The riders along the valley rims had descended to the bottoms. Smoke was already rising from one homestead cabin and they were riding toward the rest. Two men had dismounted by the head gate.

Harris cursed himself for not having anticipated this very thing. The whole plan was clear to him. Slade would have known of the implements at the railroad waiting to be freighted in. He would have known, too, that when the cowhands came in from the round-up there would follow the inevitable night at Brill's. Morrow had mapped out the raid long in advance, engaging Lang to gather the cows throughout the first night the round-up crew was in from the range and hold them a few miles from the ranch. In case the freighters failed to leave before the others came back from Brill's the raid would have been staged just the same; men cached along the lip of the valley to pick off all those who should attempt to ride down and turn the run; others ready to slip down from behind and torch the buildings while the fight was going on in the flat. Lang could not know that Slade was locked up and that Morrow was dead so the raid had gone through as planned.

Smoke was rising from two more cabins in the flats and Harris reproached himself for another oversight in allowing the wagons to pull out before the others arrived. The crop would have been ruined in any event but with the hands at home they could have prevented the destruction of the cabins.

He turned to the opposite side and scanned the face of the hills for signs of life. Not a sage quivered to show the position of bodies crawling through the brush; no rattle of gravel indicated the presence of men working down through any of the sheltered coulees behind; yet he knew they were near. The silence was in sharp contrast to the rumble and roar of the stampede just past. The only sounds which shattered the quiet were the muffled thuds of Waddles's hand-axe as the cook worked on a single idea and endeavored to gouge a loophole through the cracks of the twelve-inch logs. Harris transferred his attention to the long line of log buildings a hundred yards to the east. The row afforded perfect cover for any who chose that route of approach. They could walk up to them in absolute safety, screened both from himself and those in the main house.

As he watched the doors and windows for sign of movement within a voice hailed them from the shop.