It was the demeanor of Stewart and his comrades that puzzled Madeline. Apparently they felt no anxiety or even particular interest. Don Carlos, who had been covertly watching them, now made his scrutiny open, even aggressive. He looked from Stewart to Nels and Monty, and then to the other cowboys. While some of his men prowled around the others watched him, and the waiting attitude had taken on something sinister. The guerrilla leader seemed undecided, but not in any sense puzzled. When he turned his cunning face upon Nels and Monty he had the manner of a man in whom decision was lacking.
In her growing excitement Madeline had not clearly heard Ambrose’s low whispers and she made an effort to distract some of her attention from those below to the cowboy crouching beside her.
The quality, the note of Ambrose’s whisper had changed. It had a slight sibilant sound.
“Don’t be mad if sudden-like I clap my hands over your eyes, Miss Hammond,” he was saying. “Somethin’s brewin’ below. I never seen Gene so cool. That’s a dangerous sign in him. And look, see how the boys are workin’ together! Oh, it’s slow and accident-like, but I know it’s sure not accident. That foxy Greaser knows, too. But maybe his men don’t. If they are wise they haven’t sense enough to care. The Don, though—he’s worried. He’s not payin’ so much attention to Gene, either. It’s Nels and Monty he’s watchin’. And well he need do it! There, Nick and Frank have settled down on that log with Booly. They don’t seem to be packin’ guns. But look how heavy their vests hang. A gun in each side! Those boys can pull a gun and flop over that log quicker than you can think. Do you notice how Nels and Monty and Gene are square between them guerrillas and the trail up here? It doesn’t seem on purpose, but it is. Look at Nels and Monty. How quiet they are confabbin’ together, payin’ no attention to the guerrillas. I see Monty look at Gene, then I see Nels look at Gene. Well, it’s up to Gene. And they’re goin’ to back him. I reckon, Miss Hammond, there’d be dead Greasers round that camp long ago if Nels and Monty were foot-loose. They’re beholdin’ to Gene. That’s plain. And, Lord! how it tickles me to watch them! Both packin’ two forty-fives, butts swingin’ clear. There’s twenty-four shots in them four guns. And there’s twenty-three guerrillas. If Nels and Monty ever throw guns at that close range, why, before you’d know what was up there’d be a pile of Greasers. There! Stewart said something to the Don. I wonder what. I’ll gamble it was something to get the Don’s outfit all close together. Sure! Greasers have no sense. But them white guerrillas, they’re lookin’ some dubious. Whatever’s comin’ off will come soon, you can bet. I wish I was down there. But maybe it won’t come to a scrap. Stewart’s set on avoidin’ that. He’s a wonderful chap to get his way. Lord, though, I’d like to see him go after that overbearin’ Greaser! See! the Don can’t stand prosperity. All this strange behavior of cowboys is beyond his pulque-soaked brains. Then he’s a Greaser. If Gene doesn’t knock him on the head presently he’ll begin to get over his scare, even of Nels and Monty. But Gene’ll pick out the right time. And I’m gettin’ nervous. I want somethin’ to start. Never saw Nels in but one fight, then he just shot a Greaser’s arm off for tryin’ to draw on him. But I’ve heard all about him. And Monty! Monty’s the real old-fashioned gun-man. Why, none of them stories, them lies he told to entertain the Englishman, was a marker to what Monty has done. What I don’t understand is how Monty keeps so quiet and easy and peaceful-like. That’s not his way, with such an outfit lookin’ for trouble. O-ha! Now for the grand bluff. Looks like no fight at all!”
The guerrilla leader had ceased his restless steps and glances, and turned to Stewart with something of bold resolution in his aspect.
“Gracias, senor,” he said. “Adios.” He swept his sombrero in the direction of the trail leading down the mountain to the ranch; and as he completed the gesture a smile, crafty and jeering, crossed his swarthy face.
Ambrose whispered so low that Madeline scarcely heard him. “If the Greaser goes that way he’ll find our horses and get wise to the trick. Oh, he’s wise now! But I’ll gamble he never even starts on that trail.”
Neither hurriedly nor guardedly Stewart rose out of his leaning posture and took a couple of long strides toward Don Carlos.
“Go back the way you came,” he fairly yelled; and his voice had the ring of a bugle.
Ambrose nudged Madeline; his whisper was tense and rapid: “Don’t miss nothin’. Gene’s called him. Whatever’s comin’ off will be here quick as lightnin’. See! I guess maybe that Greaser don’t savvy good U. S. lingo. Look at that dirty yaller face turn green. Put one eye on Nels and Monty! That’s great—just to see ’em. Just as quiet and easy. But oh, the difference! Bent and stiff—that means every muscle is like a rawhide riata. They’re watchin’ with eyes that can see the workin’s of them Greasers’ minds. Now there ain’t a hoss-hair between them Greasers and hell!”