'He's double-crossin' her--she's been persuaded that he's on'y usin' yore girl to get the ranch, but Luce has told us different,' the foreman pointed out. 'Signin' that paper won't fetch Miss Purdie back, though it might save her somethin',' he finished awkwardly.
The elder man rasped out an oath. 'I'd sooner see her dead than tied to that spawn o' the Devil. Spill yore plan, Jim.'
'I'm goin' to try Luce's trick, but in a different way. If I can't get them...'
'Them?' interrupted the rancher brusquely. 'Yu ain't goin' to bother about that Burdette fella, are yu?'
'He went there to save yore daughter,' Sudden reminded.
The owner of the C P was a fair-minded man, not afraid to admit when he was in the wrong. 'That's so, Jim; sorry I forgot, but the very name o' Burdette is pizen to me. Yu ain't said how yu propose to get 'em. I don't cotton to the notion o' yu bein' alone.'
'She's the on'y chance--the place'll be guarded,' Sudden told him. 'It'll mean Injun work, but I was raised amongst redskins.'
'An' I gotta sit here doin' nothin'?' Purdie grumbled. 'Not any; yo're goin' to have one busy session. Soon as I'm away, round up the boys. Tell 'em to come, fixed for trouble. Yu got any friends yu can trust in town?'
Purdie nodded.
'Send 'em word to meet yu some place, but they gotta get away without anyone knowin', 'specially the marshal. Yu Babe?'
The rancher nodded again. His air of despondency had vanished and his eyes were shining; the prospect of action was meat and drink to him.
'When yo're all set, fetch the men to the Circle B an' plant 'em in the brush to wait for the signal, which will be a 'Pache war-cry--twice. That'll mean we're clear o' the house an' yu can start to clean up. I don't know how long it will take me, but I figure yu won't get that signal till around daybreak. Yu gotta hold the boys back; if they start the ruckus too soon, there'll be hell to pay an' no pitch hot.'
A grim smile flitted across the cattleman's rugged features. 'Don't yu worry 'bout that,' he assured. 'They'll be good; they think a heap o' Nan, an' damn near as much o' yu. Get the prisoners in the open an' we'll give them Battle Butte bushwhackers somethin' else to occupy 'em. I'm a mite curious how yu aim to do it?'
'Ain't got it worked out yet,' the foreman evaded, for he did not wish to dash Purdie's hopes with details of the desperate endeavour he had in mind. 'Tell yu all about it later--mebbe,' he supplemented, with his whimsical grin.
To Bill Yago he was no more communicative, and the little man voiced his views plainly. 'Goin' to take another fool chance, huh?' he said. 'Well, I'm admittin' that up to now yore luck shore has been amazin'--too damn good to last.'
'Yore idea would be to sit back an' let King Burdette take all the tricks, I s'pose?' Sudden rejoined, knowing full well that he libelled his friend grossly.
'My idea is that two heads is better'n one,' was the sage, if ungrammatical, reply.
'Yeah, but it's a matter o' feet not heads,' the foreman retorted, with a sly glance at the generous extremities of the grumbler. 'Them wagons yu walk on would make as much noise trampin' through the brush as a herd o' cattle. 'Sides, the Ol' Man wants yu, now, pronto, an' at once.'
Yago departed with a snort of disgust, and when he returned Sudden had set out. Bill followed, but in a different direction, having first given orders which turned the hunkhouse into a hive of frenzied activity. Weapons were carefully overhauled, belts stuffed with ammunition, but only the menace of their preparations betrayed the fact that the men were about to engage in an enterprise which might result fatally to some of their number. Not one of them thought of this, but beneath the light banter there was a substratum of grim resolution. For the Circle B had stepped into the open--the abduction of Nan Purdie tipped the balance--and the opportunity of paying for many months of stealthy aggression and studied insult had come at last. They did not know the whole of the story--there was no need--the rancour between the two ranches was of long standing, and for months the outfits had but waited the word to fly at one another's throats.
'King Burdette has shore got his gal,' Moody said. 'Hi, yu thief, drop them shells; I'll want 'em all my own self.'
Flatty relinquished the box of cartridges of which he was about to take toll. 'An' that's whatever,' he said pointedly. 'Any hombre yu throw down on has on'y gotta stand still to be safe.'
Moody's reply to this libel on his marksmanship took the form of a chunk of wet soap; Flatty ducked sideways and got the missile in the neck, at which the thrower chuckled gleefully.
'Why didn't yu stay put, fella?' he gibed.
'On'y proves what I said,' Flatty responded, grabbing the nearest article to dry himself, which elicited a wail from Levens.
'That's my shirt yo're usin'.'
'Well, I don't mind--much,' the offender told him. 'Soap won't hurt it none--time it saw some anyways.'
'Strip allus washes his shirt once a year, whether she needs it or not,' was Curly's contribution.
The appearance of their employer put an end to the joshing. 'Get a wiggle on, boys,' he urged. 'Jim may be through quicker'n he figured, an' we gotta be on hand when he wants us.'
A few moments later they set out, every man of the outfit save the cook, who, from the bunkhouse door, watched till the darkness blotted them out.
'Hell! Rustlin' grub ain't no job for a man,' he told the world. 'Hope they bring back Miss Nan an' hang every thief at the Circle B.'
He dragged a chair to the door, lit a pipe and sat down, a loaded shotgun across his knees. For the first time in his life he was in sole charge of the C P, and he did not intend to be caught napping.
Something less than a mile from Windy, Sudden swung off to the left and began the task of finding a way through the brush and thicket-clad northern slope of the valley. It was imperative he should not be seen, the success of his audacious attempt depending entirely on a surprise. He had calculated that this way of approach would take twice as long as the open trail, but he soon discovered that he had underestimated the difficulties. The night was dark--no moon or stars in the black void overhead--and while he was grateful for that, it did not make the picking of a path through dense thorny undergrowth easier. Moreover, he had to rely on his sense of direction, and as progress meant frequent twists and turns to avoid impassable obstacles there was danger of losing his way.
'Durn it, a'most wish I'd chanced the trail,' he muttered, as, for the twentieth time perhaps, he found himself in a blind alley which necessitated retracing his steps and trying again. He felt his horse wince and quiver beneath him, guessing the reason. 'Thorn, huh?' he said. 'I feel like a blasted pincushion m'self.'
For what seemed like hours the weary struggle went on. At long intervals they found open spaces across which they moved swiftly only to renew the battle with the brush on the other side. Though the need for watchfulness was constant, Sudden's subconscious mind reverted to the man who was really responsible for his being there--that quiet little citizen with the compelling grey eyes which had twinkled when he said in all seriousness, 'If yu get into a mess, you must get out again; I can't help yu.' Well, he was in a mess, and whether he could get out remained to be seen.
For another half-hour man and beast pursued their painful progress. Owing to the tardy appearance of scattered stars the light was a trifle better, and through a break in the trees Sudden could make out a huge black mass looming up ahead of them, and guessed they had reached the end of the valley. He tried to locate his position, and decided that he was not far from the wagon road which slashed the face of the butte and formed the usual approach to the Circle B. But this he dared not use--it would certainly be watched.
Picketing his horse in a grassy grove, he began to climb the scrub-covered slope, heading in the direction he believed the ranch-house to lie. He made good progress at first, for the rise was gentle, but it grew steeper as he went on and soon, despite the chilly night air, he was perspiring freely. Slipping, twisting, hauling his body up by sheer strength, scratched by thorns and bruised by encounters with protruding rocks invisible in the gloom, he at length reached a tiny shelf and flung himself down to rest.
'Hell, I feel like I'd been washed an' wrung out,' he soliloquized. 'I'd give a month's pay for a smoke.' He had no means of discovering the hour, but calculated that it was well past midnight. 'Purdie an' the boys should be along soon.' He flexed his aching muscles and the resultant pain produced a grunt. 'Sittin' here won't buy me nothin' --gotta keep movin'.'
