Kitabı oku: «Across Texas», sayfa 3
CHAPTER VII.
AN INTRUDER IN CAMP
THE minutes pass slowly at such times, and, though Herbert’s duty lasted only two hours, they seemed double the length of that period during the day, or when his companions were awake.
The listening ear caught no further sounds of the multitudinous feet, and he dismissed the matter from his mind. The still air now and then was moved by what seemed a slight breeze, or eddy of wind, but it was barely sufficient to stir the blaze. Once he heard the report of a gun, startlingly distinct, though he knew it might have been fired fully a mile away.
“We are not the only people in this part of the world,” he mused, giving expression to his reveries; “and that shot may have ended the life of some person.”
It was a disturbing thought, and, as if to drive off the oppressiveness that was weighing him down, he rose to his feet and threw more sticks on the flames. His watch showed that it was only half-past twelve. He held the time-piece to his ear, suspecting that it had stopped running; but the familiar ticking was audible, and a glance at the tiny second-hand showed that it was really moving, though it never seemed to creep so tardily around the little circle.
Then he watched the indicator as it marked its course, and resorted to the many artifices that occur to those who find time dragging wearily on their hands. No hour ever seemed longer than was required for the watch to show that a fourth of that time had passed forever.
“But it will be worse for Nick,” he concluded; “I think his task more wearisome than mine. We have all to take our share, however, as I suppose everyone must in the good and bad of life.”
Herbert waited till the full time was up, and several minutes over, when he stepped to where Nick was lying, and gently shook his shoulder. He awoke readily, prepared to act his part as sentinel for the next two hours.
The elder told his friend what had occurred, adding that he discovered nothing else to disturb him. Then bidding him good-night, he wrapped himself in his own blanket and lay down with his feet toward the fire, falling asleep almost as quickly as had the cowboys before him.
Nick examined his rifle and saw it was ready for instant service, as was his pistol, with which he had practised until quite expert in its use. He sat down just beyond the circle of illumination thrown out by the blaze, for, somehow or other, it always seemed to him that such a course was not only safer, but that he could maintain more effective watch by doing so. He was able to see every one of his friends, while a prowler was not likely to observe him, unless his approach to camp was such as to place the guardsman between him and the blaze. In that event, he was quite sure to notice his outlines against the fire.
That this was a wise proceeding was proven by what followed.
He had been on duty for a half hour or more when he was disturbed by the same cause that startled Herbert. One of the horses uttered a slight neigh, giving no other evidence of alarm, if that was the meaning of the sound.
At this moment Nick was well back, on the opposite of the camp from the animals. He was therefore confident that if anything threatened them, he himself was invisible to whatever it might be.
After listening a few minutes, he decided to investigate for himself. This he did, not by proceeding in a direct line, as he could have done, but by making a circle which took him beyond the light of the fire until nigh enough to observe the animals.
They were on the ground, as though they had cropped their fill, and now enjoyed rest more than food. They appeared to be reposing quietly, and he concluded that the slight noise which he had noticed signified nothing. Horses and other domestic animals often start in their sleep, as though disturbed by dreams, the same as do we, and that which Nick heard may have been evidence of the fact.
Still, it is also a truth that men, when in situations of peril, frequently find it safer to rely more on the acuteness of their horse than upon their own vigilance. The animal seems to have his senses sharpened to the finest point, for his master’s good.
“I guess there’s nothing wrong,” said Nick to himself, after inspecting the ponies; “but it is best to act as though danger always threatens. That’s what Strubell and Lattin say, and everyone must see its logic.”
The fire was now burning so low that he gathered up a lot of wood and threw it on the flames. While thus employed, his gun lay on the ground near the feet of Herbert. The thought that, if any hostile prowler was near, it was the easiest thing in the world to pick him off, caused a strange feeling to come over the youthful sentinel, and his relief was great when able to catch up his gun and slip back in the protecting gloom of the night.
He had taken occasion, while near the fire, to glance at his watch, and, like his companion, was astonished to learn how brief the time was that he had been on duty. It was less than half an hour.
About the same period passed without the most trifling alarm. Nick studiously held himself in the background, where he moved slowly about, dreading to sit down, though often tempted to do so. He knew that so long as he kept the erect posture his senses would be at command, and it was far easier to do this by motion, no matter how slight, than by standing still.
He had reached the conclusion that the night was to be as uneventful as those that had preceded it, when once more one of the ponies uttered the same sound that had disturbed him before. Nick was startled, for the belief flashed upon him that this signified something. There must be some cause for the alarm of the animals, outside of themselves.
He reflected for a minute upon the most prudent thing to do. He dismissed the thought of awaking the Texans, for, like Herbert, he shrank from asking their help until certain it was needed, for, by so doing, he confessed his own inability to meet the danger, whatever it might be.
He now determined to make a much larger circuit than before, his object being to bring the horses between him and the fire. This would not only show the animals, but was likely to reveal the disturbing cause. At the same time, Nick himself could remain in the gloom, where it was hardly possible to be seen. The moon, which might have interfered with the success of this plan, would not be above the horizon for several hours to come.
In order to traverse the distance he had in mind, he was forced to move around several large rocks and bowlders, cross the small stream which flowed near the camp, and pick his way with the utmost care. Stillness was necessary above all things.
The darkness, while favorable in many respects, had its disadvantages, as was quickly proven. At the moment when he believed he was opposite the ponies, and, therefore, near them, he stepped upon a rolling stone, and despite his expertness, fell with a thump to the ground.
He was impatient with himself, and could hardly repress an angry exclamation, for a snuff from one of the animals showed how alert they were to the slightest disturbance.
“The next thing to be done,” reflected Nick, “is to shoot off my rifle; then the job will be in fine shape.”
But, so far as he could judge, no harm had been done, and he pressed on with greater care than before. It took considerable time to reach the desired point, but it was attained at last. The horses were in a direct line with the camp fire, and he began stealing toward them.
This was the time for extreme caution, for, if the least noise betrayed him, all chance of success would be destroyed. It may be doubted, however, whether either of the Texans himself could have carried out the plan more skilfully than did Nick Ribsam.
When he halted, he was not fifty feet from his own animal, and had approached him so silently that no one of the ponies was disturbed. They were silent, as if asleep.
But at the moment when Nick was motionless and carefully studying the dark figures, whose upper parts were shown against the background of the fire, he saw one of the animals raise his head higher than the others and emit a snuff, louder than ever.
“It couldn’t be that I caused that,” was the decision of Nick, who was in a crouching posture; “it’s something else that alarmed them, and, whatever it is, it is closer to them than I am.”
He was right, for hardly had he begun creeping forward, when the head and shoulders of a man slowly rose between him and the horses, and in a direct line with the camp fire, which revealed the upper part of his body as distinctly as if stamped with ink against the yellow background of flame.
“It’s a white man,” was Nick’s conclusion, “and he is there for no good.”
The presence of the intruder now helped the youth in his hurried but stealthy approach; for, when the horses showed additional excitement, perhaps, at the coming of a second person, the stranger would believe it was caused wholly by himself. Apprehending no approach, too, from the rear, he would give no attention to that direction, but keep his eye on the camp to be ready for any demonstration from that quarter.
It is quite possible that he saw Nick when he withdrew beyond the light, but he had no reason to suspect he had flanked him and passed round to the other side.
It took the sentinel but a few more minutes to satisfy himself of the errand of the intruder. Nick’s own pony was approached and obliged to rise to his feet. The stranger was a horse thief, making a stealthy raid upon the camp, while all the campers but one were asleep.
Taking the head of Nick’s horse, he was in the act of flinging himself upon his bare back, when the youth stepped forward in the gloom and called out:
“Hands up, quicker than lightning!”
Nick imitated as nearly as he could the voice and manner of one of the Texans when making a similar startling demand.
CHAPTER VIII.
BELL RICKARD
NICK RIBSAM had no wish to figure as a rough border character, who ordered his captive to “throw up his hands,” when able to secure “the drop on him”; but the youth had the native shrewdness to suit himself to the situation. He and Herbert had been in the Lone Star State long enough to pick up a good deal of information.
When he discovered the stranger among the horses, there could be hardly a doubt of his business, but he waited till he was in the act of riding off with his own horse before he called out the startling words which told the thief he was caught.
A man who is used to getting the drop on others is quite sure to know when that little point is made on him. The intruder was on the point of leaping upon the back of Nick’s pony, but checked himself and promptly reached both hands upward.
“You’ve got the drop on me, pard, this time, but go easy,” said he in a voice as cheery as if he were talking about the weather.
“Face toward the fire, walk straight forward and don’t stop, turn round, or try anything till you get the word from me.”
All this time, the thief was striving to gain a sight of the individual who held him at his mercy. It was evident he did not recognize the voice, and there may have been something in Nick’s tones which led him to think he was not a full grown man. He was standing erect, with his Winchester levelled, and nothing in the world was easier than for him to send a bullet through his body.
Border law never would have questioned the act: rather it would have blamed him for showing mercy. But Nick Ribsam, like every right-thinking person, looked upon the taking of human life in its true light, and as never right unless to save his own. The man before him was trying to steal his property, but nothing more. No doubt he would have been quick to shoot Nick if their situations were reversed, but this could not affect the views of the youth. As yet he had no right to harm him.
Nick assumed a ferocity that he was far from feeling. He was playing a part, and doing it well.
When the thief heard the command, he hesitated, as if unwilling to obey it.
“I guess you hadn’t better insist on that,” he said, with a half laugh, full of significance.
“What do you mean, sir?”
“If you start to foller me to the camp, my pard, just behind you, will give it to you in the neck.”
This was alarming, and for a moment Nick was in doubt what to do. If he should start to drive the horse thief before him, only to find that his armed companion was doing the same with him, the tables would be turned in the highest style of the art.
But the youth’s brightness came to his aid. He knew that if this man had a comrade in his wrong doing, he would have put in an appearance before matters had reached this interesting stage: he never would have remained in the background, while Nick was securing the drop on the other.
He had no one with him. He was alone, and was trying a trick on his captor.
“Walk on,” said Nick; “when your partner shows up, we’ll attend to his case.”
The rogue saw there was no help for it, and, without another word of protest, walked sullenly in the direction of the camp fire.
The prisoner seemed to have concluded that, inasmuch as he had to submit, his true plan was to do so gracefully. He walked with a certain dignity along the line pointed out, while Nick kept a few paces to the rear, with his Winchester ready for instant call.
It was the first time he was ever placed in such a situation, and, as may be supposed, his emotions were peculiar. As the figure in front grew more distinct in the light of the camp fire, he saw that he was of unusual size, being at at least six feet tall, long-limbed, and thin of frame. There could be no doubt he was fully armed, with the exception of a rifle, which, for some reason or other, was absent. He had probably left it near by, in order that nothing might hinder the best use of his arms while committing his crime.
Nick cleverly shortened the space separating them, for he was afraid of some trick on the part of his captive. The scamp might open on the sleeping cowboys and riddle them before he could prevent. But such fears were causeless. A course of that kind, as he himself well knew, would insure his instant death at the hands of his captor. It would have been more reasonable had he turned like a flash, when in the partial gloom, and let fly at Nick, instead of pointing both hands at the stars with such readiness when ordered so to do.
Had the fellow known what he learned a few minutes later, he would have done that very thing, and with almost certain success; for his revolver could have been drawn and fired before the youth would have suspected what was going on.
At the moment the stranger came into full view, near the fire and the sleepers, his captor called:
“Halt! that will do!”
To Nick’s astonishment he saw two figures rise like shadows from the ground. They were Strubell and Lattin, who, flinging off their blankets, stood each with revolver in hand, ready for business. In fact, the loud call of Nick was meant to awaken one or both of them, for matters were assuming that shape that the young man felt he must have their help at once.
His loud summons, however, was unnecessary, for the words which had already passed between the captor and his prisoner had brought them to their senses. Men like them are light sleepers, and they were quick to discover what was going on. More than that, they recognized the voice of the intruder as that of Bell Rickard, one of the most desperate horse thieves in the Southwest.
Had the fellow tried the trick on Nick, the Texans held themselves prepared to bound into the affray, and rush it to a conclusion like a cyclone, but the words they overheard gave them a clue to what was going on. They saw that the great connoisseur in horse flesh had put his foot in it in the worst kind of a way. He was in the power of a boy, who had actually made him a prisoner – a feat which the sheriffs of half a dozen counties had been trying for months in vain to do.
They hardly expected Nick to bring him into camp without trouble; and though Strubell and Lattin lay motionless on the ground, listening and awaiting events, they had loosened their blankets, drawn their weapons, and were on the alert.
But the great Rickard, at the moment of halting, found himself face to face with the two cowboys, whom he had known well for several years, and with whom he had exchanged more than one shot, each fired with the intent to kill.
“Howdy, Bell?” said Strubell, with a smile on his handsome face which had a world of meaning; “I hope you feel well, pard.”
“Tollyble, thank you,” replied the rogue, extending his hand to each of the cowboys in turn; “how is it with you?”
Lattin answered for both that they were well, and then invited the new arrival to a seat by the fire. Rickard returned thanks as courteously as if he were receiving the greatest favor that could be granted him.
The next moment the three were lolling side by side, as smiling and seemingly on as good terms as though they were brothers. Bell carried his brierwood with him, and Strubell passed him his little sack of tobacco, from which he helped himself, the party mingling their smoke, smiling and even laughing at the jocose remarks that were passed.
Herbert Watrous slept on, undisturbed by the noise, while Nick Ribsam stood in the background, viewing the scene, which impressed him as the most extraordinary he had ever witnessed.
“Let me see,” said Lattin reflectively, “it’s several months since we last met: do you remember where it was?”
“I think,” replied Rickard, looking thoughtfully at the stars, as if busy with memory, “that it was in Laredo, at Brown’s place.”
“You’re right,” struck in the cowboy; “we had a shooting scrap, and I came near passing in my checks.”
“Yes,” laughed Bell, “I thought I had you that time, but I fired too quick; the lights went out, and then the room was full of smoke and bullets. When things cleared up, you wasn’t there.”
“No,” said Lattin, “you folks were too thick for me, and I lit out; I swum the Rio Grande, just as Ben Thompson did when he got catched in the same place and in the same way. He got off without a scratch, as he did hundreds of times before, only to catch it at Santone at last, as he was bound to do sooner or later.”
CHAPTER IX.
DEPARTURE OF THE GUEST
“BEN and me done travelled a good deal together,” said Rickard, with a faint sigh; “he was the quickest chap on the shoot I ever met; I never knowed him to miss when he had any show at all, and he was the luckiest fellow that ever walked. Do you know what Ben’s rule was?” asked Rickard, turning toward the cowboys, as if about to impart a piece of delightful news.
“It was to shoot whenever he had the slightest excuse,” replied Strubell, who evidently had little respect for one of the most famous characters that Texas ever brought to the surface.
“Whenever he got into a shooting scrap he always let the other chap fire first; for then, when he let fly, he had a good case of self-defence. He always done that, as he told me himself.”
I may be allowed to say that this remark about Ben Thompson, once City Marshal of Austin, was true. He informed me that he had followed the rule for years, and it doubtless helped to secure his acquittal in a large number of the cases where he was tried for slaying others, though the shameful admiration shown him by all classes had much to do with his immunity from legal punishment. As has been hinted, however, there came a time when Ben’s rule failed to work satisfactorily for himself. It was down in San Antonio, the scene of more than one of his crimes, that a half dozen men worked in a volley from their Winchesters ahead of Ben’s revolver, and he died with his boots on, the last shot which he fired before breathing his last causing the death of one of his assailants.
It is hardly worth while to give the conversation which went on by the camp fire for fully two hours, for it was not of a character that can be commended to readers. There were stirring reminiscences of those “bad men,” known a few years ago respectively as Bill Longley and John Wesley Hardin. I suppose that Texas never produced two more desperate men. When I saw Longley, he was as handsome a person as I ever met, and proved to be one of the few legally hanged individuals in the Lone Star State, his taking off occurring some years ago in Galveston.
Hardin was more ill-favored, as to personal appearance. He was the son of a preacher, and was named for one of the great founders of Methodism. When I last talked with the stumpy, broad-faced desperado he was in the Austin penitentiary, serving a twenty-five years’ sentence for horse stealing, the numerous capital crimes he had committed not being taken into account.
The point I am making is that Bell Rickard, who, in his way, was as evil a man as any one of those whom I have named, having entered the camp as a prisoner, was treated as a guest. No one unacquainted with the circumstances would have suspected there was any feeling other than the strongest friendship between them.
They recalled the numerous stirring scrimmages in which they had taken part, and generally with Strubell and Lattin as the deadly enemies of Rickard and his friends. They laughed over the many close calls, when their mutual escapes seemed to turn on a hair, and even referred to those that were likely to occur again in the near future.
Nick Ribsam grew so interested that he forgot his duty as sentinel, and, leaning on his gun, stared with open mouth at the attenuated Texan, with his scraggly beard, restless gray eyes, and alert movements, as he smoked and laughed and talked.
Suddenly Strubell turned to the youth and said:
“Nick, I guess you had better take a look at the animals; Bell may have some friends around; if you get sight of any, don’t bother to ask questions, but drop them at the first shot.”
Rickard stopped in the middle of a remark he was making, and looked at the young man with a smile. Then he resumed his words, and the conversation went on as before. Nick walked slowly out to where the ponies were lying on the ground, wondering and puzzled by the new phase of southwestern life as he saw it for the first time.
“Wal,” said Rickard, after talking a while longer, as he rose to his feet, stretched his limbs, and yawned, “I guess I’ll have to be going, pards. By-by.”
“By-by,” returned Strubell and Lattin, the latter adding:
“Take good care of yourself, Bell, till we meet again.”
“The same to you,” he returned, moving off in the darkness at a leisurely gait, which showed that personal danger was the last thought that entered his mind.
Nick Ribsam, who was still standing near the animals, saw the tall figure, with slightly stooping shoulders, approaching.
“Helloa, younker, where are you?” he asked, coming to a halt and peering round in the gloom, his opportunity for seeing the youth being less favorable than that of Nick for observing him.
“I am here,” replied the lad, holding his Winchester in a tight grip and apprehensive of trouble.
“I only wanted to say good-by to you; I think you and me will meet before many days; till then, the best of luck to you.”
“The same to yourself,” replied Nick, who kept his eyes on the fellow until he mingled with the gloom and became invisible.
Then he walked back to the camp fire, in answer to a whistle from Strubell, who asked the time. It was not quite three o’clock, but was so near that hour that the elder Texan told him to lie down while he and Lattin looked after things for the rest of the night.
Nick hoped his friends would give an explanation of the strange occurrence, but, though he waited several minutes, no reference was made to it, and he lay down in his blanket beside the sleeping Herbert, who had not once opened his eyes.
It was some time before the youth became unconscious, for he was affected by what he had seen and heard. He was convinced that, however friendly the feeling appeared to be between the Texans and their visitor, the latter was a deadly enemy of himself. He believed, too, that Rickard’s parting words contained a threat, and he was sure there would be a meeting between them before many days.
Finally slumber overcame him and he did not awake until he heard the voice of Herbert, and all were astir, with day fully come.
Strubell was busy preparing coffee over the coals, and cooking the remains of the maverick shot the day before. The climate and the life they were leading brought strong appetites, and all fell to with the vigor of health and strength. Herbert was in fine spirits, and said he felt better than at any time since leaving home. There was little doubt that he had received wonderful benefit from his trip, and, if nothing in the way of a set back occurred, he had the best reason to believe he would be fully restored to health, long before the time came for his return home.
The Texans still avoided all reference to Rickard, and Nick decided to await a good opportunity before telling his young friend of the remarkable incident. He was resolved to ask no questions and to show no curiosity.
“I can stand it as long as they,” he said to himself, “and shall give them their own time to speak about it or leave it alone as they may prefer.”
It took the party but a brief time to load up their two pack animals, and to saddle, bridle, and mount their ponies. Then, when they faced the northwest, they formed a picturesque sight.
Each of the four was mounted on a wiry pony of Spanish stock, active, intelligent, and enduring. Not one of them had ever felt the touch of currycomb or brush. Nick and Herbert, who had aimed to equip themselves as much like their adult companions as possible, were provided with ponderous saddles of wood and leather, weighing fully a dozen pounds apiece, with a pommel almost six inches in diameter. Those of the cowboys were quite costly, being sprinkled with silver stars on different parts of their surface.
Two cinches were required to hold each of the saddles in place, a forward and a flank girth. The wardrobe of the Texans has already been described, but I should have stated that the boys had imitated them in that respect also. They were provided with the broad-brimmed wool hat, known by the Mexican name of sombrero, with a jacket of ducking, shirts of calico or hickory, trousers of stout stuff, over which were worn leather leggings. All had heavy boots, to which were attached two-inch rowels, and the pack animals, besides the heavy blankets, simple cooking utensils, and various articles, carried a slicker of oiled linen for each, which, when the weather was threatening, enveloped the rider from head to heels.
There were two articles, however, carried by the cowboys which the boys did not have. Those were lariats (called in Southern California only by the name of lasso). They were about forty feet long and were composed of eight pliable rawhide thongs, plaited into ropes of a half-inch diameter. Strubell and Lattin were experts in the use of the lariat, an accomplishment which the boys could not hope to attain, since they had deferred the necessary practice until too late in life.
