'You go to hell!' he roared. 'I see through yore hellish plot. You aims to git up there and kill all them Mexes before I has a chance at 'em. You thinks you'll outwit me! By golly, I got my rights, and--'
'Aw, shet up,' I says disgustedly. 'We'll both go.' I hollered to Old Man Richardson: 'You all lay low in the bresh and shoot at every Mex which comes outa the cabin.'
'What you goin' to do now?' he hollered. 'Don't be rash--'
But me and Bearfield was already headed for the ledge at a dead run.
THIS MOVE SURPRIZED the Mexicans, because they knowed we couldn't figger to ride our hosses up that ladder. Being surprized they shot wild and all they done was graze my sculp and nick Bearfield's ear. Then, jest as they begun to get their range and started trimming us clost, we swerved aside and thundered in under the overhanging rock.
We clumb off and tied our hosses well apart, otherwise they'd of started fighting each other. The Mexicans above us was yelling most amazing but they couldn't even see us, much less shoot us. I whirled my lariat, which is plenty longer and stronger than the average lasso, and roped the spur of rock which jutted up jest below the rim.
'I'll go up first,' says I, and Bearfield showed his teeth and drawed his bowie knife.
'You won't neither!' says he. 'We'll cut kyards! High man wins!'
So we squatted, and Old Man Richardson yelled from the trees: 'For God's sake, what are you doin' now? They're fixin' to roll rocks down onto you!'
'You tend to yore own business,' I advised him, and shuffled the cards which Bearfield hauled out of his britches. As it turnt out, the Mexes had a supply of boulders in the cabin. They jest opened the door and rolled 'em toward the rim. But they shot off the ledge and hit beyond us.
Bearfield cut, and yelped: 'A ace! You cain't beat that!'
'I can equal it,' I says, and drawed a ace of diamonds.
'I wins!' he clamored. 'Hearts beats diamonds!'
'That rule don't apply here,' I says. 'It war a draw, and--'
'Why, you--!' says Bearfield, leaning for'ard to grab the deck, and jest then a rock about the size of a bushel basket come bounding over the ledge and hit a projection which turnt its course, so instead of shooting over us, it fell straight down and hit Bearfield smack between the ears.
It stunned him for a instant, and I jumped up and started climbing the rope, ignoring more rocks which come thundering down. I was about half-way up when Bearfield come to, and he riz with a beller of rage. 'Why, you dirty, double-crossin' so-and-so!' says he, and started throwing rocks at me.
They was a awful racket, the Mexicans howling, and guns banging, and Bearfield cussing, and Old Man Richardson wailing: 'They're crazy, I tell you! They're both crazy as mudhens! I think everybody west of the Pecos must be maneyacks!'
Bearfield grabbed the rope and started climbing up behind me, and about that time one of the Mexicans run to cut the rope. But for onst my idiotic follerers was on the job. He run into about seven bullets that hit him all to onst, and fell down jest above the spur where the loop was caught onto.
So when I reched my arm over the rim to pull myself up they couldn't see me on account of the body. But jest as I was pulling myself up, they let go a boulder at random and it bounded along and bounced over the dead Mexican and hit me right smack in the face. It was about as big as a pumpkin.
I give a infuriated beller and swarmed up onto the ledge and it surprized 'em so that most of them missed me clean. I only got one slug through the arm. Before they had time to shoot again I made a jump to the wall and flattened myself between the loop-holes, and grabbed the rifle barrels they poked through the loop-holes and bent 'em and rooint 'em. Bearfield was coming up the rope right behind me, so I grabbed hold of the logs and tore that whole side of the wall out, and the roof fell in and the other walls come apart.
* * * *
IN A INSTANT ALL YOU could see was logs falling and rolling and Mexicans busting out into the open. Some got pinned by the falling logs and some was shot by my embattled Kansans and Bearfield's Illinois warriors which had jest come up, and some fell offa the ledge and broke their fool necks.
One of 'em run agen me and tried to stab me so I throwed him after them which had already fell off the ledge, and hollered: 'Five for me, Bearfield!'
'--!' says Bearfield, arriving onto the scene with blood in his eye and his bowie in his hand. Seeing which a big Mexican made for him with a butcher knife, which was pore jedgment on his part, and in about the flick of a mustang's tail Bearfield had a sixth man to his credit.
This made me mad. I seen some of the Mexicans was climbing down the ladder, so I run after 'em, and one turnt around and missed me so close with a shotgun he burnt my eyebrows. I taken it away from him and hit him over the head with it, and yelled: 'Six for me, too, Cousin Bearfield!'
'Lookout!' he yelled. 'Zamora's gittin' away!'
I seen Zamora had tied a rope to the back side of the ledge and was sliding down it. He dropped the last ten feet and run for a corral which was full of hosses back up the gorge, behind the ledge.
We seen the other Mexicans was all laid out or running off up the valley, persued by our immigrants, so I went down the ladder and Bearfield slid down my rope. Zamora's rope wouldn't of held our weight. We grabbed our hosses and lit out up the gorge, around a bend of which Zamora was jest disappearing.
He had a fast hoss and a long start, but I'd of overtook him within the first mile, only Cap'n Kidd kept trying to stop and fight Bearfield's hoss, which was about as big and mean as he was. After we'd run about five miles, and come out of the gorge onto a high plateau, I got far enough ahead of Bearfield so Cap'n Kidd forgot about his hoss, and then he settled down to business and run Zamora's hoss right off his laigs.
They was a steep slope on one side of us, and a five hundred foot drop on the other, and Zamora seen his hoss was winded, so he jumped off and started up the slope on foot. Me and Bearfield jumped off, too, and run after him. Each one of us got him by a laig as he was climbing up a ledge.
'Leggo my prisoner!' roared Bearfield.
'He's my meat,' I snarled. 'This makes me seven! I wins!'
'You lie!' bellered Bearfield, jerking Zamora away from me and hitting me over the head with him. This made me mad so I grabbed Zamora and throwed him in Bearfield's face. His spurs jabbed Bearfield in the belly, and my cousin give a maddened beller and fell on me fist and tush, and in the battle which follered we forgot all about Zamora till we heard a man scream. He'd snuck away and tried to mount Cap'n Kidd. We stopped fighting and looked around jest in time to see Cap'n Kidd kick him in the belly and knock him clean over the aidge of the cliff.
'Well,' says Bearfield disgustedly, 'that decides nothin', and our score is a draw.'
'It was my hoss which done it,' I said. 'It ought a count for me.'
'Over my corpse it will!' roared Bearfield. 'But look here, it's nearly night. Le's git back to the camps before my follerers start cuttin' yore Kansans' throats. Whatever fight is to be fought to decide who owns the canyon, it's betwixt you and me, not them.'
'All right,' I said. 'If my Kansas boys ain't already kilt all yore idjits, we'll fight this out somewhere where we got better light and more room. But I jest expect to find yore Illinoisans writhin' in their gore.'
'Don't worry about them,' he snarled. 'They're wild as painters when they smells gore. I only hope they ain't kilt all yore Kansas mavericks.'
SO WE PULLED FOR THE valley. When we got there it was dark, and as we rode outa the gorge, we seen fires going on the flat, and folks dancing around 'em, and fiddles was going at a great rate.
'What the hell is this?' bellered Bearfield, and then Old Man Richardson come up to us, overflowing with good spirits. 'Glad to see you gents!' he says. 'This is a great night! Jack warn't kilt, after all. Jest creased. We come out of that great fight whole and sound--'
'But what you doin'?' roared Bearfield. 'What's my people doin' here?'
'Oh,' says Old Man Richardson, 'we got together after you gents left and agreed that the valley was big enough for both parties, so we decided to jine together into one settlement, and we're celebratin'. Them Illinois people is fine folks. They're as peace-lovin' as we are.'
'Blood-thirsty painters!' I sneers to Cousin Bearfield.
'I ain't no bigger liar'n you air,' he says, more in sorrer than in anger. 'Come on. They ain't nothin' more we can do. We air swamped in a mess of pacifism. The race is degeneratin'. Le's head for Bear Creek. This atmosphere
