CHAPTER III
Late that day, a couple of hours before sunset, Duane and Stevens,having rested their horses in the shade of some mesquites near the townof Mercer, saddled up and prepared to move.
"Buck, as we're lookin' fer grub, an' not trouble, I reckon you'd betterhang up out here," Stevens was saying, as he mounted. "You see, townsan' sheriffs an' rangers are always lookin' fer new fellers gone bad.They sort of forget most of the old boys, except those as are plumbbad. Now, nobody in Mercer will take notice of me. Reckon there's beena thousand men run into the river country to become outlaws since yourstruly. You jest wait here an' be ready to ride hard. Mebbe my besettin'sin will go operatin' in spite of my good intentions. In which casethere'll be--"
His pause was significant. He grinned, and his brown eyes danced with akind of wild humor.
"Stevens, have you got any money?" asked Duane.
"Money!" exclaimed Luke, blankly. "Say, I haven't owned a two-bit piecesince--wal, fer some time."
"I'll furnish money for grub," returned Duane. "And for whisky, too,providing you hurry back here--without making trouble."
"Shore you're a downright good pard," declared Stevens, in admiration,as he took the money. "I give my word, Buck, an' I'm here to say I neverbroke it yet. Lay low, an' look fer me back quick."
With that he spurred his horse and rode out of the mesquites toward thetown. At that distance, about a quarter of a mile, Mercer appeared to bea cluster of low adobe houses set in a grove of cottonwoods. Pasturesof alfalfa were dotted by horses and cattle. Duane saw a sheep-herderdriving in a meager flock.
Presently Stevens rode out of sight into the town. Duane waited, hopingthe outlaw would make good his word. Probably not a quarter of an hourhad elapsed when Duane heard the clear reports of a Winchester rifle,the clatter of rapid hoof-beats, and yells unmistakably the kind to meandanger for a man like Stevens. Duane mounted and rode to the edge of themesquites.
He saw a cloud of dust down the road and a bay horse running fast.Stevens apparently had not been wounded by any of the shots, for he hada steady seat in his saddle and his riding, even at that moment, struckDuane as admirable. He carried a large pack over the pommel, and he keptlooking back. The shots had ceased, but the yells increased. Duane sawseveral men running and waving their arms. Then he spurred his horse andgot into a swift stride, so Stevens would not pass him. Presently theoutlaw caught up with him. Stevens was grinning, but there was now nofun in the dancing eyes. It was a devil that danced in them. His faceseemed a shade paler.
"Was jest comin' out of the store," yelled Stevens. "Run plumb into arancher--who knowed me. He opened up with a rifle. Think they'll chaseus."
They covered several miles before there were any signs of pursuit, andwhen horsemen did move into sight out of the cottonwoods Duane and hiscompanion steadily drew farther away.
"No hosses in thet bunch to worry us," called out Stevens.
Duane had the same conviction, and he did not look back again. He rodesomewhat to the fore, and was constantly aware of the rapid thudding ofhoofs behind, as Stevens kept close to him. At sunset they reached thewillow brakes and the river. Duane's horse was winded and lashed withsweat and lather. It was not until the crossing had been accomplishedthat Duane halted to rest his animal. Stevens was riding up the low,sandy bank. He reeled in the saddle. With an exclamation of surpriseDuane leaped off and ran to the outlaw's side.
Stevens was pale, and his face bore beads of sweat. The whole front ofhis shirt was soaked with blood.
"You're shot!" cried Duane.
"Wal, who 'n hell said I wasn't? Would you mind givin' me a lift--onthis here pack?"
Duane lifted the heavy pack down and then helped Stevens to dismount.The outlaw had a bloody foam on his lips, and he was spitting blood.
"Oh, why didn't you say so!" cried Duane. "I never thought. You seemedall right."
"Wal, Luke Stevens may be as gabby as an old woman, but sometimes hedoesn't say anythin'. It wouldn't have done no good."
Duane bade him sit down, removed his shirt, and washed the blood fromhis breast and back. Stevens had been shot in the breast, fairly lowdown, and the bullet had gone clear through him. His ride, holdinghimself and that heavy pack in the saddle, had been a feat little shortof marvelous. Duane did not see how it had been possible, and he felt nohope for the outlaw. But he plugged the wounds and bound them tightly.
"Feller's name was Brown," Stevens said. "Me an' him fell out over ahoss I stole from him over in Huntsville. We had a shootin'-scrape then.Wal, as I was straddlin' my hoss back there in Mercer I seen this Brown,an' seen him before he seen me. Could have killed him, too. But I wasn'tbreakin' my word to you. I kind of hoped he wouldn't spot me. But hedid--an' fust shot he got me here. What do you think of this hole?"
"It's pretty bad," replied Duane; and he could not look the cheerfuloutlaw in the eyes.
"I reckon it is. Wal, I've had some bad wounds I lived over. Guess mebbeI can stand this one. Now, Buck, get me some place in the brakes, leaveme some grub an' water at my hand, an' then you clear out."
"Leave you here alone?" asked Duane, sharply.
"Shore. You see, I can't keep up with you. Brown an' his friends willfoller us across the river a ways. You've got to think of number one inthis game."
"What would you do in my case?" asked Duane, curiously.
"Wal, I reckon I'd clear out an' save my hide," replied Stevens.
Duane felt inclined to doubt the outlaw's assertion. For his own part hedecided his conduct without further speech. First he watered the horses,filled canteens and water bag, and then tied the pack upon his ownhorse. That done, he lifted Stevens upon his horse, and, holding him inthe saddle, turned into the brakes, being careful to pick out hard orgrassy ground that left little signs of tracks. Just about dark he ranacross a trail that Stevens said was a good one to take into the wildcountry.
"Reckon we'd better keep right on in the dark--till I drop," concludedStevens, with a laugh.
All that night Duane, gloomy and thoughtful, attentive to the woundedoutlaw, walked the trail and never halted till daybreak. He was tiredthen and very hungry. Stevens seemed in bad shape, although he was stillspirited and cheerful. Duane made camp. The outlaw refused food, butasked for both whisky and water. Then he stretched out.
"Buck, will you take off my boots?" he asked, with a faint smile on hispallid face.
Duane removed them, wondering if the outlaw had the thought that he didnot want to die with his boots on. Stevens seemed to read his mind.
"Buck, my old daddy used to say thet I was born to be hanged. But Iwasn't--an' dyin' with your boots on is the next wust way to croak."
"You've a chance to-to get over this," said Duane.
"Shore. But I want to be correct about the boots--an' say, pard, if I dogo over, jest you remember thet I was appreciatin' of your kindness."
Then he closed his eyes and seemed to sleep.
Duane could not find water for the horses, but there was an abundanceof dew-wet grass upon which he hobbled them. After that was done heprepared himself a much-needed meal. The sun was getting warm when helay down to sleep, and when he awoke it was sinking in the west. Stevenswas still alive, for he breathed heavily. The horses were in sight. Allwas quiet except the hum of insects in the brush. Duane listened awhile,then rose and went for the horses.
When he returned with them he found Stevens awake, bright-eyed, cheerfulas usual, and apparently stronger.
"Wal, Buck, I'm still with you an' good fer another night's ride," hesaid. "Guess about all I need now is a big pull on thet bottle. Helpme, will you? There! thet was bully. I ain't swallowin' my blood thisevenin'. Mebbe I've bled all there was in me."
While Duane got a hurried meal for himself, packed up the little outfit,and saddled the horses Stevens kept on talking. He seemed to be in ahurry to tell Duane all about the country. Another night ride would putthem beyond fear of pursuit, within striking distance of the Rio Grandeand the hiding-place
s of the outlaws.
When it came time for mounting the horses Stevens said, "Reckon youcan pull on my boots once more." In spite of the laugh accompanying thewords Duane detected a subtle change in the outlaw's spirit.
On this night travel was facilitated by the fact that the trail wasbroad enough for two horses abreast, enabling Duane to ride whileupholding Stevens in the saddle.
The difficulty most persistent was in keeping the horses in a walk. Theywere used to a trot, and that kind of gait would not do for Stevens.The red died out of the west; a pale afterglow prevailed for a while;darkness set in; then the broad expanse of blue darkened and the starsbrightened. After a while Stevens ceased talking and drooped in hissaddle. Duane kept the horses going, however, and the slow hours woreaway. Duane thought the quiet night would never break to dawn, thatthere was no end to the melancholy, brooding plain. But at length agrayness blotted out the stars and mantled the level of mesquite andcactus.
Dawn caught the fugitives at a green camping-site on the bank of a rockylittle stream. Stevens fell a dead weight into Duane's arms, and onelook at the haggard face showed Duane that the outlaw had taken his lastride. He knew it, too. Yet that cheerfulness prevailed.
"Buck, my feet are orful tired packin' them heavy boots," he said, andseemed immensely relieved when Duane had removed them.
This matter of the outlaw's boots was strange, Duane thought. He madeStevens as comfortable as possible, then attended to his own needs. Andthe outlaw took up the thread of his conversation where he had left offthe night before.
"This trail splits up a ways from here, an' every branch of it leadsto a hole where you'll find men--a few, mebbe, like yourself--some likeme--an' gangs of no-good hoss-thieves, rustlers, an' such. It's easylivin', Buck. I reckon, though, that you'll not find it easy. You'llnever mix in. You'll be a lone wolf. I seen that right off. Wal, ifa man can stand the loneliness, an' if he's quick on the draw, mebbelone-wolfin' it is the best. Shore I don't know. But these fellers inhere will be suspicious of a man who goes it alone. If they get a chancethey'll kill you."
Stevens asked for water several times. He had forgotten or he did notwant the whisky. His voice grew perceptibly weaker.
"Be quiet," said Duane. "Talking uses up your strength."
"Aw, I'll talk till--I'm done," he replied, doggedly. "See here, pard,you can gamble on what I'm tellin' you. An' it'll be useful. From thiscamp we'll--you'll meet men right along. An' none of them will be honestmen. All the same, some are better'n others. I've lived along the riverfer twelve years. There's three big gangs of outlaws. King Fisher--youknow him, I reckon, fer he's half the time livin' among respectablefolks. King is a pretty good feller. It'll do to tie up with him ant hisgang. Now, there's Cheseldine, who hangs out in the Rim Rock way upthe river. He's an outlaw chief. I never seen him, though I stayed onceright in his camp. Late years he's got rich an' keeps back pretty wellhid. But Bland--I knowed Bland fer years. An' I haven't any use fer him.Bland has the biggest gang. You ain't likely to miss strikin' his placesometime or other. He's got a regular town, I might say. Shore there'ssome gamblin' an' gun-fightin' goin' on at Bland's camp all the time.Bland has killed some twenty men, an' thet's not countin' greasers."
Here Stevens took another drink and then rested for a while.
"You ain't likely to get on with Bland," he resumed, presently. "You'retoo strappin' big an' good-lookin' to please the chief. Fer he's gotwomen in his camp. Then he'd be jealous of your possibilities with agun. Shore I reckon he'd be careful, though. Bland's no fool, an' heloves his hide. I reckon any of the other gangs would be better fer youwhen you ain't goin' it alone."
Apparently that exhausted the fund of information and advice Stevens hadbeen eager to impart. He lapsed into silence and lay with closed eyes.Meanwhile the sun rose warm; the breeze waved the mesquites; the birdscame down to splash in the shallow stream; Duane dozed in a comfortableseat. By and by something roused him. Stevens was once more talking, butwith a changed tone.
"Feller's name--was Brown," he rambled. "We fell out--over a hoss Istole from him--in Huntsville. He stole it fuss. Brown's one of themsneaks--afraid of the open--he steals an' pretends to be honest. Say,Buck, mebbe you'll meet Brown some day--You an' me are pards now."
"I'll remember, if I ever meet him," said Duane.
That seemed to satisfy the outlaw. Presently he tried to lift hishead, but had not the strength. A strange shade was creeping across thebronzed rough face.
"My feet are pretty heavy. Shore you got my boots off?"
Duane held them up, but was not certain that Stevens could see them.The outlaw closed his eyes again and muttered incoherently. Then he fellasleep. Duane believed that sleep was final. The day passed, with Duanewatching and waiting. Toward sundown Stevens awoke, and his eyes seemedclearer. Duane went to get some fresh water, thinking his comrade wouldsurely want some. When he returned Stevens made no sign that he wantedanything. There was something bright about him, and suddenly Duanerealized what it meant.
"Pard, you--stuck--to me!" the outlaw whispered.
Duane caught a hint of gladness in the voice; he traced a faint surprisein the haggard face. Stevens seemed like a little child.
To Duane the moment was sad, elemental, big, with a burden of mystery hecould not understand.
Duane buried him in a shallow arroyo and heaped up a pile of stonesto mark the grave. That done, he saddled his comrade's horse, hung theweapons over the pommel; and, mounting his own steed, he rode down thetrail in the gathering twilight.