CHAPTER IV
Two days later, about the middle of the forenoon, Duane dragged thetwo horses up the last ascent of an exceedingly rough trail and foundhimself on top of the Rim Rock, with a beautiful green valley at hisfeet, the yellow, sluggish Rio Grande shining in the sun, and the great,wild, mountainous barren of Mexico stretching to the south.
Duane had not fallen in with any travelers. He had taken thelikeliest-looking trail he had come across. Where it had led him he hadnot the slightest idea, except that here was the river, and probably theinclosed valley was the retreat of some famous outlaw.
No wonder outlaws were safe in that wild refuge! Duane had spent thelast two days climbing the roughest and most difficult trail he had everseen. From the looks of the descent he imagined the worst part of histravel was yet to come. Not improbably it was two thousand feet down tothe river. The wedge-shaped valley, green with alfalfa and cottonwood,and nestling down amid the bare walls of yellow rock, was a delight anda relief to his tired eyes. Eager to get down to a level and to find aplace to rest, Duane began the descent.
The trail proved to be the kind that could not be descended slowly. Hekept dodging rocks which his horses loosed behind him. And in a shorttime he reached the valley, entering at the apex of the wedge. A streamof clear water tumbled out of the rocks here, and most of it ran intoirrigation-ditches. His horses drank thirstily. And he drank with thatfullness and gratefulness common to the desert traveler finding sweetwater. Then he mounted and rode down the valley wondering what would behis reception.
The valley was much larger than it had appeared from the high elevation.Well watered, green with grass and tree, and farmed evidently by goodhands, it gave Duane a considerable surprise. Horses and cattle wereeverywhere. Every clump of cottonwoods surrounded a small adobe house.Duane saw Mexicans working in the fields and horsemen going to andfro. Presently he passed a house bigger than the others with a porchattached. A woman, young and pretty he thought, watched him from a door.No one else appeared to notice him.
Presently the trail widened into a road, and that into a kind of squarelined by a number of adobe and log buildings of rudest structure.Within sight were horses, dogs, a couple of steers, Mexican women withchildren, and white men, all of whom appeared to be doing nothing. Hisadvent created no interest until he rode up to the white men, who werelolling in the shade of a house. This place evidently was a store andsaloon, and from the inside came a lazy hum of voices.
As Duane reined to a halt one of the loungers in the shade rose with aloud exclamation:
"Bust me if thet ain't Luke's hoss!"
The others accorded their interest, if not assent, by rising to advancetoward Duane.
"How about it, Euchre? Ain't thet Luke's bay?" queried the first man.
"Plain as your nose," replied the fellow called Euchre.
"There ain't no doubt about thet, then," laughed another, "fer Bosomer'snose is shore plain on the landscape."
These men lined up before Duane, and as he coolly regarded them hethought they could have been recognized anywhere as desperadoes. Theman called Bosomer, who had stepped forward, had a forbidding face whichshowed yellow eyes, an enormous nose, and a skin the color of dust, witha thatch of sandy hair.
"Stranger, who are you an' where in the hell did you git thet bay hoss?"he demanded. His yellow eyes took in Stevens's horse, then the weaponshung on the saddle, and finally turned their glinting, hard light upwardto Duane.
Duane did not like the tone in which he had been addressed, and heremained silent. At least half his mind seemed busy with curiousinterest in regard to something that leaped inside him and made hisbreast feel tight. He recognized it as that strange emotion which hadshot through him often of late, and which had decided him to go out tothe meeting with Bain. Only now it was different, more powerful.
"Stranger, who are you?" asked another man, somewhat more civilly.
"My name's Duane," replied Duane, curtly.
"An' how'd you come by the hoss?"
Duane answered briefly, and his words were followed by a short silence,during which the men looked at him. Bosomer began to twist the ends ofhis beard.
"Reckon he's dead, all right, or nobody'd hev his hoss an' guns,"presently said Euchre.
"Mister Duane," began Bosomer, in low, stinging tones, "I happen to beLuke Stevens's side-pardner."
Duane looked him over, from dusty, worn-out boots to his slouchysombrero. That look seemed to inflame Bosomer.
"An' I want the hoss an' them guns," he shouted.
"You or anybody else can have them, for all I care. I just fetched themin. But the pack is mine," replied Duane. "And say, I befriended yourpard. If you can't use a civil tongue you'd better cinch it."
"Civil? Haw, haw!" rejoined the outlaw. "I don't know you. How do weknow you didn't plug Stevens, an' stole his hoss, an' jest happened tostumble down here?"
"You'll have to take my word, that's all," replied Duane, sharply.
"I ain't takin' your word! Savvy thet? An' I was Luke's pard!"
With that Bosomer wheeled and, pushing his companions aside, he stampedinto the saloon, where his voice broke out in a roar.
Duane dismounted and threw his bridle.
"Stranger, Bosomer is shore hot-headed," said the man Euchre. He did notappear unfriendly, nor were the others hostile.
At this juncture several more outlaws crowded out of the door, andthe one in the lead was a tall man of stalwart physique. His mannerproclaimed him a leader. He had a long face, a flaming red beard, andclear, cold blue eyes that fixed in close scrutiny upon Duane. He wasnot a Texan; in truth, Duane did not recognize one of these outlaws asnative to his state.
"I'm Bland," said the tall man, authoritatively. "Who're you and what'reyou doing here?"
Duane looked at Bland as he had at the others. This outlaw chiefappeared to be reasonable, if he was not courteous. Duane told his storyagain, this time a little more in detail.
"I believe you," replied Bland, at once. "Think I know when a fellow islying."
"I reckon you're on the right trail," put in Euchre. "Thet about Lukewantin' his boots took off--thet satisfies me. Luke hed a mortal dreadof dyin' with his boots on."
At this sally the chief and his men laughed.
"You said Duane--Buck Duane?" queried Bland. "Are you a son of thatDuane who was a gunfighter some years back?"
"Yes," replied Duane.
"Never met him, and glad I didn't," said Bland, with a grim humor. "Soyou got in trouble and had to go on the dodge? What kind of trouble?"
"Had a fight."
"Fight? Do you mean gun-play?" questioned Bland. He seemed eager,curious, speculative.
"Yes. It ended in gun-play, I'm sorry to say," answered Duane.
"Guess I needn't ask the son of Duane if he killed his man," went onBland, ironically. "Well, I'm sorry you bucked against trouble in mycamp. But as it is, I guess you'd be wise to make yourself scarce."
"Do you mean I'm politely told to move on?" asked Duane, quietly.
"Not exactly that," said Bland, as if irritated. "If this isn't a freeplace there isn't one on earth. Every man is equal here. Do you want tojoin my band?"
"No, I don't."
"Well, even if you did I imagine that wouldn't stop Bosomer. He's anugly fellow. He's one of the few gunmen I've met who wants to killsomebody all the time. Most men like that are fourflushes. But Bosomeris all one color, and that's red. Merely for your own sake I advise youto hit the trail."
"Thanks. But if that's all I'll stay," returned Duane. Even as he spokehe felt that he did not know himself.
Bosomer appeared at the door, pushing men who tried to detain him, andas he jumped clear of a last reaching hand he uttered a snarl like anangry dog. Manifestly the short while he had spent inside the saloon hadbeen devoted to drinking and talking himself into a frenzy. Bland andthe other outlaws quickly moved aside, letting Duane stand alone. WhenBosomer saw Duane standing motionless and watchful a strange changepassed
quickly in him. He halted in his tracks, and as he did that themen who had followed him out piled over one another in their hurry toget to one side.
Duane saw all the swift action, felt intuitively the meaning of it, andin Bosomer's sudden change of front. The outlaw was keen, and he hadexpected a shrinking, or at least a frightened antagonist. Duane knew hewas neither. He felt like iron, and yet thrill after thrill ran throughhim. It was almost as if this situation had been one long familiar tohim. Somehow he understood this yellow-eyed Bosomer. The outlaw hadcome out to kill him. And now, though somewhat checked by the stand ofa stranger, he still meant to kill. Like so many desperadoes of hisilk, he was victim of a passion to kill for the sake of killing. Duanedivined that no sudden animosity was driving Bosomer. It was just hischance. In that moment murder would have been joy to him. Very likelyhe had forgotten his pretext for a quarrel. Very probably his facultieswere absorbed in conjecture as to Duane's possibilities.
But he did not speak a word. He remained motionless for a long moment,his eyes pale and steady, his right hand like a claw.
That instant gave Duane a power to read in his enemy's eyes the thoughtthat preceded action. But Duane did not want to kill another man.Still he would have to fight, and he decided to cripple Bosomer. WhenBosomer's hand moved Duane's gun was spouting fire. Two shots only--bothfrom Duane's gun--and the outlaw fell with his right arm shattered.Bosomer cursed harshly and floundered in the dust, trying to reach thegun with his left hand. His comrades, however, seeing that Duane wouldnot kill unless forced, closed in upon Bosomer and prevented any furthermadness on his part.