From his plans for the breaking up of the criminal gang Lennon'sthoughts drifted into pleasant reveries about his adorable littlewife-to-be. Drowsiness crept upon him. When the lone candle on the tableburned down, flickered, and went out, he was too sound asleep to waken.But his sleep was troubled with uneasy dreams.
In the midst of a nightmare that lived over his flight from the bronchosacross the desert, he was roused with a start to alert wakefulness. Someheavy-breathing creature was stealthily shuffling about in the blacknight of the unlighted room. A thump, followed by a muttered curse,betrayed the identity of the prowler. With utmost caution Lennon slippedhis arm from the sling, drew Farley's revolver, and barricaded himselfbehind the chair. Slade shuffled nearer--so near that hiswhiskey-poisoned breath struck in Lennon's face. Again came a thud and acurse. The prowler had stubbed his stockinged toe against a chair leg.
Lennon aimed the revolver toward the sound, in expectation of anupflaring match. Discovery would mean instant attack by the huge-framedscoundrel. Of that he had no doubt. Slade would not be groping about inthe dark in this stealthy manner unless intent upon an evil purpose.
But no match flamed. The shuffling feet moved past Lennon to the walland along the wall toward the doorway that opened upon the short passageto the girl's room. No door barred the passage at either end. Thepurpose of the prowler was now unmistakable.
For the second time Lennon had cause to be thankful that he had notchanged to his boots. His moccasined feet noiselessly felt their wayafter the heavy-footed shuffler. Slade was already through the doorwayinto the passage. Lennon followed. The finger-tips of his outgropingleft hand touched the back of the prowler.
A startled grunt warned Lennon to dodge back a step and crouch. Aheavier grunt told him of a violent out-clutch or blow, which, meetingonly empty air, had wrenched the breath from the big body of thestriker.
Again Lennon pointed his revolver--and again the expected match failedto crackle and flare. Slade stood silent for several seconds, holdinghis breath. But Lennon was no less still. The tense listener expelledhis pent-up breath in a grunt of disgust.
"Huh! Must 'a' been the tizwin. Fools a man."
Lennon straightened up and again groped with his hand as he heard Sladeshuffle on along the passage. There was need of utmost caution. He didnot wish to shoot. But he knew that the grip of Slade's thick arms wouldbe as dangerous as the hug of a grizzly.
This time the outstretched finger-tips barely grazed the prowler'sshirt. Lennon took a quick step forward, clutched the back of Slade'sneck as a guide for his blow, and struck him with the butt of therevolver under the right ear. The massive body of the trader slumpeddown as if hit by a sledge.
The weight of the falling man dragged Lennon after. But the utterlimpness of the body under him stayed his hand from a second blow. Hethrust the revolver back into his pocket and grasped Slade under thearmpits. The body remained flaccid even when dragged out of the passage.
Lennon struck a match and bent low over the ghastly face of the man hehad felled. The scoundrel was only stunned. Lennon's look of anxietygave place to a stern smile. Though certain of the man's guiltyintentions, he could not put an end to him.
He again grasped the unconscious man and dragged him across the livingroom and out beside the crane of the hoist. A loop of the rope-end aboutthe clumsy ankles, and two or three turns of the windlass lifted theinert body so that it dangled head downward.
To swing the crane out through the opening and lower away on the ropewas the easiest part of the undertaking. Lennon reversed the crank ofthe windlass, around and around, with purposeful deliberation. He hopedthat Slade would recover consciousness while still swinging in mid-air.There was grim pleasure in the thought of how the scoundrel would firstbecome aware of the dim starlit precipice beside him and then wouldrouse to the shame and danger of his hanging.
When the rope was rather less than half unwound from the windlass Lennonpaused to shift his grip on the crank. At the same moment a candle thathad been masked by a blanket glowed out at him from the doorway of theliving room. The muzzle of a small revolver thrust forward above thecandle.
"Hands up--quick--or I'll shoot," threatened a vibrant, low-pitchedvoice.
The menace was very real. Most men would have obeyed the command and letSlade drop to a head-foremost smash on the cliff foot. Lennon cried backat the threatener without releasing his hold on the windlass:
"Pardon me, Miss Farley--I----"
"You!" Holding up the candle, Carmena stepped in to peer about the biganteroom. "Way you were stooped over I mistook you for---- Almost fired.What you doing?"
The query was charged with suspicion. Lennon thrust in the crank peg,folded his arms, and leaned against the windlass.
"I met your father's partner wandering about, and thought he needed anairing."
The girl stared from the windlass out along the taut rope.
"You don't mean----"
"Yes, dangling head down."
"Dead?"
"Merely knocked out--worse luck! But one way of restoring consciousnessis to raise the feet above the head. He may wake up any moment andappreciate the situation."
"Any moment?" cried Carmena. She half dropped her candlestick on thestone floor and sprang to the windlass. "Quick! We must haul him upbefore he comes to."
Lennon did not budge.
"No, Miss Farley. That beast shall not again set foot in this placeuntil Elsie is safe away."
The girl's eyes widened. Her hand clutched and drew close across herrounded bosom the folds of the blanket that she had flung about hershoulders to cover her night gown. Her face paled and as quickly flushedscarlet.
"I thought I heard sounds in the passage, but the rug curtain muffledthem," she murmured. "Was he trying to--to----"
"Had been drinking," replied Lennon. "My regret now is that the blow didnot kill him."
"And leave us no chance against Cochise? He's the only living creaturethat Cochise fears. Can't you see we must make believe--must keep upwith him until we are rid of the Apaches? Bad as he is, he's a whiteman. Cochise is a--devil! When he tired of Blossom, he'd give her to hismen."
Convinced against his will, Lennon began to wind in on the windlass.Carmena went to the edge of the cliff. When the body of Slade camespinning and swinging up out of the gloom she held down the light andpeered anxiously at the knot that held the rope about his thick ankles.It showed no signs of slipping. His down-hung head wobbled up into theflickering light of the candle. The face was purple; the bloodshot eyeswere glazed.
Carmena swung in the crane and freed the rope the moment Lennon easedoff. Slade was wheezing as if almost suffocated. At Carmena's urging,Lennon helped her drag the stupefied man back into the living room. Thegirl ran to fetch a bowl of water.
"Loosen your clothes," she whispered in Lennon's ear. "Hide yourmoccasins--look as if you'd just jumped out of bed--get your arm back inthe sling. That's it. Now lift his head and shoulders up against thischair."
As Lennon raised the flaccid upper body, Carmena began to dash waterinto the purple face. The blotched skin gradually lightened to itsnatural red. The pale eyes lost their fishy glaze. They stared dazedlyup into the deeply concerned face of Carmena. She flung the last cupfulof water from the bowl. Slade roused enough to mumble virulent curses.
"Oh!" exclaimed Carmena, in a tone of sympathetic relief. "He's notdead--he's coming to. Oh, Mr. Slade, what happened? Did you fall againstthe table? Or was it a fit? You looked terribly black in the face, as ifyou'd had a fit. That's why I used the water. Jack held you up to drainthe blood out of your head."
Slade scowled at his helpers. Lennon frowned back at him but followed upthe girl's lead.
"Once saw a man taken with apoplexy--stroke of paralysis, you know. Notparalyzed are you? Try lifting your arms and legs?"
Slade glowered morosely, but caught the look of concern in Carmena'sface and stiffened with sudden alarm. She watche
d with an intentscrutiny as he gingerly lifted one limb after another.
"Bunk!" he growled. "I ain't paralyzed. Needn't think you can con me."
"Wait--your face!" warned the girl. "It looked queer. Try smiling."
"No, it's all right now," said Lennon. "Sometimes these first strokes ofapoplexy paralyze only for a few moments."
Carmena changed her look of sympathy to one of sharp reproof.
"I don't think it's that at all. You've just been working on oursympathies, Mr. Slade. Own up now. You took too much tizwin to know whatyou were about. You came in here for a drink of water and fell againstthe table corner."
The glaring eyes of the trader narrowed in a look of crafty calculation.Lennon followed the man's thoughts by his expression. The effects of themoonshine whiskey, of the blow under his ear, and of the suffocation hadnot yet passed. They had left him lax and shaken and rather muddled. Hehad been given his fill for one night. Carmena's reproaches disarmedhis suspicion that she and Lennon knew what he had been about. Hisguilty anger at the two subsided into derision of their blindness.
"Well, what if I did git tanked up?" he growled. "It's my tizwin as muchas Dad's, ain't it? I'm going back to bed to sleep it off."
Lennon took the candle from Carmena.
"Permit me to carry the light for you, Slade. Your hand is too unsteady.I'm not so sure about Miss Farley's explanation of your mishap. I stillbelieve you had a stroke--not as heavy a stroke as it might havebeen--not fatal, you know, but heavy enough to put you down and out."
Slade was staggering to his feet. Lennon followed him to the room whereFarley lay sprawled in drunken slumber beside an empty whiskey jug. Assoon as Slade had dropped upon the bed Lennon took the candle back tothe living room. Carmena had gone.
He gathered up an armful of Navaho rugs and moved one of the heavychairs around to the doorway of the passage into the girl's room.