CHAPTER II
A MAN'S CURIOSITY
By the time Sanderson urged the brown horse up the crest of the slope,the men he had determined to follow were far out in the desert.Sanderson could see them, though the distance was considerable, ridingthe crest of a ridge, directly northeastward. As that was followingthe general direction in which Sanderson wanted to travel he was highlypleased.
"They're company," he told himself as he rode; "an' I've been a heaplonesome."
The men were not traveling fast. At times, when the first rider wascompelled to traverse high ground, Sanderson could see him--horse andrider faintly outlined against the sky. Sanderson would note thefigure of the first rider, then watch the point at which the firstrider appeared until the others reached that point. Then, noting theelapsed time, he could estimate the distance at which the pursuersfollowed.
"I reckon they're gainin' on him," was Sanderson's mental comment whenan hour later he saw the first rider appear for a moment on the skyline, vanish, reappear for an instant, only to be followed within a fewminutes by the figures of the other men.
Sanderson was closing up the space that separated him from the two men,and by that medium he knew they were not traveling rapidly, for thebrown horse was loping slowly. Thus he knew that the first man was notyet aware that he was being followed.
But some time later to Sanderson's ears was borne the faint, muffledreport of a firearm, and he smiled solemnly.
"That first guy will know, now," he told himself. Sanderson keptsteadily on. In half an hour he heard half a dozen rifle reports inquick succession, He could see the smoke puffs of the weapons, and heknew the pursuit was over.
The second riders had brought the first to bay in a section of brokencountry featured by small, rock-strewn hills. By watching the smokeballoon upward, Sanderson could determine the location of the men.
It seemed to Sanderson that the two had separated, one swingingwestward and the other eastward, in an endeavor to render hazardous anyconcealment the other might find. It was the old game of getting anenemy between two fires, and Sanderson's lips curved with anappreciative grin as he noted the fact.
"Old-timers," he said.
It was not Sanderson's affair. He told himself that many times as herode slowly forward. To his knowledge the country was cursed with toomany men of the type the two appeared to be; and as he had no doubtthat the other man was of that type also, they would be doing thecountry a service were they to annihilate one another.
Sanderson, though, despite his conviction, felt a pulse of sympathy forthe first rider. It was that emotion which impelled him to keep goingcautiously forward when, by all the rules of life in that country, heshould have stood at a distance to allow the men to fight it out amongthemselves.
Sanderson's interest grew as the fight progressed. When he hadapproached as far as he safely could without endangering his own lifeand that of Streak, he dismounted at the bottom of a small hill,trailed the reins over Streak's head and, carrying his rifle, made hisway stealthily to the crest of the hill. There, concealed behind anirregularly shaped boulder, he peered at the combatants.
He had heard several reports while dismounting and ascending the hill,and by the time he looked over the crest he saw that the battle wasover. He saw the three men grouped about a cluster of rocks on a hillnot more than a hundred yards distant. Two of the men were bendingover the third, who was stretched out on his back, motionless. Itappeared to Sanderson that the two men were searching the pockets ofthe other, for they were fumbling at the other's clothing and,seemingly, putting something into their own pockets.
Sanderson scowled. Now that the fight was over, he was at liberty toinvestigate; the ethics of life in the country did not forbidthat--though many men had found it as dangerous as interference.
Sanderson stood up, within full view of the two men, and hailed them.
"What's bitin' you guys?" he said.
The two men wheeled, facing Sanderson. The latter's answer came in theshape of a rifle bullet, the weapon fired from the hip of one of themen--a snapshot.
Sanderson had observed the movement almost as soon as it had begun, andhe threw himself head-long behind the shelter of the rock at his sideas the bullet droned over his head.
If Sanderson had entertained any thought of the two men beingrepresentatives of the law, trailing a wrongdoer, that thought wouldhave been dispelled by the action of the men in shooting at him. Hewas now certain the men were what he had taken them to be, and hegrinned felinely as he squirmed around until he got into a positionfrom which he could see them. But when he did get into position themen had vanished.
However, Sanderson was not misled. He knew they had secretedthemselves behind some of the rocks in the vicinity, no doubt to wait areasonable time before endeavoring to discover whether the bullet hadaccomplished its sinister object.
Sanderson's grin grew broader. He had the men at a disadvantage.Their horses, he had observed before calling to them, were in a littledepression at the right--and entirely out of reach of the men.
To get to them they would have to expose themselves on an open stretchbetween the spot where the horses were concealed and the hill on whichthey were secreted, and on the open stretch they would be fair targetsfor Sanderson.
The men had brought Sanderson into the fight, and he no longer had anyscruples. He was grimly enjoying himself, and he laid for an hour,flat on his stomach behind the rock, his rifle muzzle projectingbetween two medium-sized stones near the base of the large rock, hiseye trained along the barrel, watching the crest of the hill on whichthe men were concealed.
The first man was dead. Sanderson could see him, prone, motionless,rigid.
Evidently the two men were doubtful. Certainly they were cautious.But at the end of an hour their curiosity must have conquered them, forSanderson, still alert and watchful, saw a dark blot slowly appear fromaround the bulging side of a rock.
The blot grew slowly larger, until Sanderson saw that it appeared to bethe crown of a hat. That it was a hat he made certain after a fewseconds of intent scrutiny; and that it was a hat without any head init he was also convinced, for he held his fire. An instant later thehat was withdrawn. Then it came out again, and was held there forseveral seconds.
Sanderson grinned. "I reckon they think I'm a yearlin'," was hismental comment.
There was another long wait. Sanderson could picture the two menarguing the question that must deeply concern them: "Which shall be thefirst to show himself?"
"I'd bet a million they're drawin' straws," grinned Sanderson.
Whether that method decided the question Sanderson never knew. Heknew, however, that a hat was slowly coming into view around a side ofthe rock, and he was positive that this time there was a head in thehat. He could not have told now he knew there was a head in the hat,but that was his conviction.
The hat appeared slowly, gradually taking on definite shape inSanderson's eyes, until, with a cold grin, he noted some brown fleshbeneath it, and a section of dark beard.
Sanderson did not fire, then. The full head followed the hat, thencame a man's shoulders. Nothing happened. The man stepped from behindthe rock and stood out in full view. Still nothing happened.
The man grinned.
"I reckon we got him, Cal," he said. His voice was gloating. "Ireckoned I'd got him; he tumbled sorta offish--like it had got him inthe guts. That's what I aimed for, anyway. I reckon he done sufferedsome, eh?" He guffawed, loudly.
Then the other man appeared. He, too, was grinning.
"I reckon we'll go see. If you got him where you said you got him, Ireckon he done a lot of squirmin'. Been followin' us--you reckon?"
They descended the slope of the hill, still talking. Evidently,Sanderson's silence had completely convinced them that they had killedhim.
But halfway down the hill, one of the men, watching the rock nearSanderson as he walked, saw the muzzle of Sanderson's rifle projectingfrom betwe
en the two rocks.
For the second time since the appearance of Sanderson on the scene theman discharged his rifle from the hip, and for the second time hemissed the target.
Sanderson, however, did not miss. His rifle went off, and the man fellwithout a sound. The other, paralyzed from the shock, stood for aninstant, irresolute, then, seeming to discover from where Sanderson'sbullet had come, he raised his rifle.
Sanderson's weapon crashed again. The second man shuddered, spunviolently around, and pitched headlong down the slope.
Sanderson came from behind the rock, grinning mirthlessly. He knewwhere his bullets had gone, and he took no precautions when he emergedfrom his hiding place and approached the men.
"That's all, for you, I reckon," he said.
Leaving them, he went to the top of the hill and bent over the otherman. A bullet fairly in the center of the man's forehead toldeloquently of the manner of his death.
The man's face was not of so villainous a cast as the others. Therewere marks of a past refinement on it; as there were also lines ofdissipation.
"I reckon this guy was all wool an' a yard wide, in his time," saidSanderson; "but from the looks of him he was tryin' to live it down.Now, we'll see what them other guys was goin' through his clothes for."
Sanderson knelt beside the man. From an inner pocket of the latter'scoat he drew a letter--faded and soiled, as though it had been readmuch. There was another letter--a more recent one, undoubtedly, forthe paper was in much better condition.
Sanderson looked at both envelopes, and finally selected the mostsoiled one. He hesitated an instant, and then withdrew the contentsand read:
MR. WILLIAM BRANSFORD,
Tucson, Arizona.
DEAR BROTHER WILL: The last time I heard from you, you were in Tucson.That was ten years ago, and it seems an awful long time. I suppose itis too much to hope that you are still there, but it is that hope whichis making me write this letter.
Will, father is dead. He died yesterday, right after I got here. Heasked for you. Do you know what that means? It means he wanted you tocome back, Will. Poor father, he didn't really mean to be obstinate,you know.
I shall not write any more, for I am not sure that you will ever readit. But if you do read it, you'll come back, won't you--or write?Please.
Your loving sister,
MARY BRANSFORD.
The Double A Ranch.
Union County, New Mexico.
Sanderson finished reading the letter. Then folding it, he shoved itback into the envelope and gravely drew out the other letter. It borea later date and was in the same handwriting:
MR. WILLIAM BRANSFORD,
Tucson, Arizona.
DEAR BROTHER WILL: I was so delighted to get your letter. And I am soeager to see you. It has been such a long, long time, hasn't it?Fifteen years, isn't it? And ten years since I even got a letter fromyou!
I won't remember you, I am sure, for I am only nineteen now, and youwere only fifteen when you left home. And I suppose you have grown bigand strong, and have a deep, booming voice and a fierce-lookingmustache. Well, I shall love you, anyway. So hurry and come home.
I am sending you a telegraph money order for one thousand dollars, forfrom the tone of your letter it seems things are not going right withyou. Hurry home, won't you?
With love,
Your sister,
MARY.
Sanderson finished reading the letter. He meditated silently, turningit over and over in his hands. The last letter was dated a monthbefore. Evidently Bransford had not hurried.
Sanderson searched all the other pockets, and discovered nothing offurther interest. Then he stood for a long time, looking down at theman's face, studying it, his own face expressing disapproval.
"Mebbe it's just as well that he didn't get to the Double A," hethought, noting the coarse, brutal features of the other.
"If a girl's got ideals it's sometimes a mighty good thing the real guydon't come along to disabuse them. William ain't never goin' to get tothe Double A."
He buried the body in a gully, then he returned to the other men.
Upon their persons he found about nine hundred dollars in bills ofsmall denomination. It made a bulky package, and Sanderson stored itin his slicker. Then he mounted Streak, turned the animal's headtoward the northeast, and rode into the glaring sunshine of the morning.