rats, they were prepared to fight to the bitter end--all save one, for Tarman, conscious that the game was now going against him, was already framing a scheme by which he might save his neck. This plan he proceded to put into operation with a callous disregard for the fate of the men who were fighting for him. Stealing away unnoticed by those to whom a second's inattention to the work in hand might mean death, he went up to the room where Noreen, bound and gagged, was lying on the floor.
Carrying her downstairs he placed her near the back door of the house, which, owing to the assiduous efforts of Simple and Dirty had quickly become too dangerous a spot for defence. Then he opened the door a little and instantly two bullets crashed into it.
With one quick movement, Tarman slung the almost senseless girl across his shoulder and stepped out. A cry of astonishment and rage greeted his appearance, but as he had calculated, not a shot was fired, though half a dozen guns were aimed at his heart and as many fingers were itching to pull the trigger. For a moment he stood motionless, a grin of satanic triumph on his face, and then strode steadily towards the corral.
`Any attempt to interfere with me an' the girl dies,' he called out, and they now saw that in addition to the rifle in his left hand, his right held a revolver.
Dastardly as the threat was not one of the onlookers doubted but that it would be carried out, and the Recording Angel must have a busy time during the next few minutes. Larry, who had sprung up in readiness to intercept the ruffian before he reached the corral, subsided with a curse when Ginger growled: `Don't be a damn idjut; can't yu see the hound has got us throwed an' tied? P'raps he'll leave her an' make his getaway.' But they soon saw that such was not the rustler's intention; he was taking no chances of being shot down.
Reaching the corral, he did not relinquish his helpless burden, managing to rope and saddle a horse without doing so. Secure in his immunity, he went about the difficult job quite leisurely and the limp form draped over his shoulder seemed to hamper him scarcely at all. To the impotent watching men the operation was a maddening one but they dared make no move. At length he was ready, and mounting, he swung the horse round.
`My promise still holds good; follow me and she dies, pronto,' he shouted, and with a sneering `Adios' he plunged into the chaparral.
The rustlers defending the front of the house were not aware at first of their leader's defection, and those at the back did not realise his intention until it was too late to interfere. Green, from the slit which did duty as a window to the room in which he was confined, saw the whole proceeding and wrenched at his bonds in savage desperation. Suddenly the door opened and West came in.
`Couldn't make it afore--Durran had the key,' he said. `Hold out yore paws.'
`Where's Durran now?' asked the prisoner, as the Californian cut away the lashings on wrists and ankles.
`Dead, an 'a good few with him, an' that dirty houn' Tarman has left us holdin' the bag,' replied the other, with an oath ofdisgust. `Here's yore belt an' guns; the next room to this has a window yu can drop out of. Run that skunk down--I'd 'a' beefed him myself if it hadn't been for the girl.'
`This puts me in yore debt deeper than ever, an' I'll not forget it,' Green said, as he buckled the welcome belt round his hips. `Nothin' to that,' said West. `I gotta get back or I'll be missed. Good luck.'
The moment he had gone the prisoner followed. As West had said, the adjoining room, which he recognised as the one Noreen had been locked in, contained a fair-sized window. He was about to open it when a stealthy footstep sounded outside, and he shrank back so that the newcomer must enter the room in order to see the occupant. He could hear the approaching man's muttered words: `Where in 'ell is he? Durran said the small room. Must be in here with the gal. Why ain't the door locked? Damn fools--' The door was pushed back and Poker Pete entered.
`Drop that knife,' came the curt command.
For an instant the would-be assassin hesitated, gazing spellbound at the man he had expected to find bound and at his mercy, and then, comprehending that he had no chance against the levelled gun, with the implacable eyes behind it, he opened his hand; the murderous weapon clattered and gleamed as it rolled on the floor.
`Who turned yu loose an' where's the gal?' gasped the gambler, who had been too busy at the front of the house to notice his chief's exit. He too knew that the game was up and had determined to secure his revenge on Green, whatever happened.
`Tarman used her to save his own dirty hide,' Green replied. `As for yu, this is yore last hand.' He sheathed his gun as he spoke. `I'm givin' yu an opportunity to play it like a man. Pull yore gun.'
`Fine chance I'd have again yu, wouldn't I?' said the ruffian, playing for time while his cunning brain sought a way out.
`A better one than I'd have had, tied, against yore knife,' came the stern retort. `Pull, damn yu! I've got no time to waste.'
`I ain't invitin' myself to my own funeral,' said the gambler, and coolly elevated his hands above his head. `Shoot away, an' be damned to yu.'
The cowpuncher looked at him in disgust. At the same instant Pete's right hand dropped to his neck, rose again and flashed downwards, the blade of the second knife glinting as he struck. To one unacquainted with the gambler's habits, the ruse would have been fatal, but Green had seen the trick before and was, moreover, expecting something of the kind. Quick as light, he sprang in, gripped the descending right wrist in his left hand and pulled the man towards him, at the same time driving his own right fist into the savage face. The impact, with all the impetus of his spring behind it, was terrific. The assassin, hurled back as though by a mighty mind, staggered and dropped in a huddled heap; a foot twitched and that was all. For a moment the cowboy stood, panting, waiting for the next move. Then, gun in hand, he stepped forward, but a glance told him the man was dead; evidently, in falling, his arm had twisted under him, and he had impaled himself upon his own knife.
The cowpuncher wasted no more time. Taking off his handkerchief he waved it out of the window, and when no shots came, coolly climbed out and dropped to the ground. Then, at full speed, he ran for the corral. Larry's warning shout saved him from the fire of the attackers, but those in the house did their best to bring him down. But a running man who knows the tricks of unexpected swerves is a difficult mark, and Green dived into the sheltering brush unhurt, to find Larry awaiting him with a rope, saddle, and rifle.
`Good for yu,' gasped the late prisoner, as they raced for the corral.
The horses, scared by the shooting, were bunched together at the far end of the enclosure, but a whistle from Green brought the roan straight to where the two men stood waiting. In a few moments the saddle was on and Green mounted. Larry looked wistfully at the other horses.
`I'd give a year's pay to come with yu,' he said.
`Yu gotta stay an' help to clean up the mess,' his friend told him. `Say to Leeming that Poker Pete an' about half the rest of 'em's cashed in there.'
He touched the roan with his heels and shot off in the direction Tarman had taken. Larry stood watching him until nhe angry `spat' of a bullet striking a post beside him came as a reminder that he could be seen and reached from the ranch-house. Dropping to his hands and knees, he crept back to join Ginger, whose relief at his return was successfully concealed by a string of opprobrious epithets.
Chapter XXIII
AT first Green pushed the roan along at a good pace to make up for the start the quarry had obtained. He had this advantage, Tarman could not know he was pursued, and therefore was not likely to hurry unduly, the more so as his horse was carrying a double burden. The cowpuncher argued that the fugitive would make for the Big Chief range, through one of the passes in which he would be able to reach a town. Probably he would aim for Big Rock, where he had friends and could obtain supplies. The trail, which Green soon picked up, seemed to confirm this.
The firing from the ranch-house grew fainter and presently died away as the roan and its rider penetrated further into the wild country which guarded the lower slopes of the mountains. Though apparently heading for a fixed point, Tarman was breaking a fresh trail and making frequent detours to avoid obstacles. This helped the pursuer, who mounted on a superior horse, could make better time on the stretches of easy going.
For mile after mile Green pressed on, sometimes at full speed where a bit of open country permitted, at others at a walking pace, when the horse slipped and slithered down the side of a gully, rock and sand following in a miniature avalanche. Once, on the bank of a creek, the sign showed that Tarman had dismounted to drink. The footmarks in the soft sand were still slowly filling with moisture.
