The Best Western Novels of William MacLeod Raine. William MacLeod RaineЧитать онлайн книгу.
toward the hills beyond which lay her home.
"I'm glad they haven't, because it must have made trouble; but I am surprised," she confessed.
"They have tried it—twice," he told her. "First time was Saturday morning, just before daylight. We trapped them as they were coming through the Box Cañon. I knew they would come down that way, because it was the nearest; so I was ready for them."
"And what happened?" Her dilated eyes were like those of a stricken doe.
"Nothing that time. I let them see I had them caught. They couldn't go forward or back. They laid down their arms, and took the back trail. There was no other way to escape being massacred."
"And the second time?"
Buck hesitated. "There was shooting that time. It was last night. My riders outnumbered them and had cover. We drove them back."
"Anybody hurt?" cried Phyllis.
"One of them fell. But he got up and ran limping to his horse, I figured he wasn't hurt badly."
"Was he—could you tell—" She leaned against the rock wall for support.
"No—I didn't know him. He was a young fellow. But you may be sure he wasn't hit mortally. I know, because I shot him myself."
"You!" She drew back in a sudden sick horror of him.
"Why not?" he answered doggedly. "They were shooting at me—aiming to kill, too. I shot low on purpose, when I might have killed him."
"Oh, I must go home—I must go home!" she moaned.
"I've got the sheriff's orders to hold you pending an investigation. What harm does it do you to stay here a while?" he asked doggedly.
"Don't you see? When my father hears of it he will be furious. I made Phil promise not to tell him. But he'll hear when he comes back. And then—there will be trouble. He'll drag me from you, or he'll die trying. He's that kind of man."
A pebble rolled down the face of the wall against which she leaned. Weaver looked up quickly—to find himself covered by a carbine.
"Hands up, seh! No—don't reach for a gun."
"So it's you, Mr. Keller! Homesteading up there, I presume?"
"In a way of speaking. You remember I asked you a question."
"And I told you to go to Halifax."
"Well, I came back to answer the question myself. You're going to turn the young lady loose."
"If you say so." Weaver's voice carried an inflection of sarcasm.
"That's what I say. Miss Sanderson, will you kindly unbuckle that belt and round up the weapons of war? Good enough! I'll drift down that way now myself."
Keller lowered himself from Flat Rock, keeping his prisoner covered as carefully as he could the while. But, though Keller came down the steep bluff with infinite pains, the rough going offered a chance of escape to one so reckless as Weaver, of which he made not the least attempt to avail himself. Instead, he smiled cynically and waited with his hand in the air, as bidden. Keller, coming forward with both eyes on his prisoner, slipped on a loose boulder that rolled beneath his foot, stumbled, and fell, almost at the feet of the cattleman. He got up as swiftly as a cat. Weaver and his derisive grin were in exactly the same position.
Keller lowered his carbine instantly. This plainly was no case for the coercion of arms.
"We'll cut out the gun play," he said. "Better rest the hand that's reaching for the sky. I expect hostilities are over."
"You certainly had me scared stiff," Weaver mocked.
From the first roll of the pebble that had announced the presence of a third party, Phyl had experienced surprise after surprise. She had expected to see one of the Seven Mile boys or her brother instead of Keller—had looked with a quaking heart for the cattleman to fling back the swift challenge of a bullet. His tame surrender had amazed her, especially when Keller's fall had given him a chance to seize the carbine. His drawling, sarcastic badinage pointed to the same conclusion. Evidently he had no desire to resist. Behind this must be some purpose which she could not fathom.
"Elected yourself chaperon of the young lady, have you, Mr. Keller?" Buck asked pleasantly.
The young man smiled at the girl before he answered. "You've been losing too much time on the job, Mr. Weaver. Subject to her approval, I got a notion I'd take her back home."
"Best place for her," assented Weaver promptly. "I've been thinking for a day or two that she ought to get back to those school kids of hers. But I'm going to take her there myself."
"Yourself!" Phyllis spoke up in quick surprise.
"Why not?" The cattleman smiled.
"Do you mean with your band of thugs?"
"No, ma'am. You and I will be enough."
The suggestion was of a piece with his usual audacity. The girl knew that he would be quite capable of riding with her into the hills, where he had a score of bitter, passionate enemies, and of affronting them, if the notion should come into his head, even in their stronghold. Within twenty-four hours he had shot one of them; yet he would go among them with his jaunty, mocking smile and that hateful confidence of his.
"You would not be safe. They might kill you."
"Would that gratify you?"
"Yes!" she cried passionately.
He bowed. "Anything to give pleasure to a lady."
"No—you can't go! I won't go with you. I wouldn't be responsible for what might happen."
"What might happen—another family impulse?"
"You know as well as I do—after what you've done. And there's bad blood between you already. Besides, you are so reckless, so intemperate in what you say and do."
"All right. If you won't go with me, I'll go alone," he said.
She appealed to Keller to support her, but the latter shook his head.
"No use. A wilful man must have his way. If he says he's going, I reckon he'll go. But whyfor should I be euchred out of my ride. Let me go along to keep the peace."
Her eyes thanked him. "If you are sure you can spare the time."
"Don't incommode yourself, if you're in a hurry. We won't miss you." Weaver's cold stare more than hinted that three would be a crowd.
The younger man ignored him cheerfully. "Time to burn, Miss Sanderson."
"You don't want to let that spring plowing suffer," the cattleman suggested ironically.
"That's so. Glad you mentioned it. I'll try to pick up some one to do it at the store," returned the optimist.
"Seems to me there are a pair of us, Mr. Keller, who may not be welcome at Seven Mile. Last time you were down there, weren't you the guest of some willing lads who were arranging a little party for you?"
"Mr. Weaver," reproached Phyllis, flushing.
But the reference did not embarrass the nester in the least. He laughed hardily, meeting his rival eye to eye. "The boys did have notions, but I expect maybe they have got over them."
"Nothing like being hopeful. Now I'd back my show against yours every day in the week."
The girl handed his revolver back to Weaver, after first asking a question of the homesteader with her eyes.
"Oh, I get my hardware back, do I?" Buck grinned.
Keller brought his horse round from back of Flat Rock, where it had been picketed. They started at once, cutting across the plain to a flat butte, which thrust itself out from the hills into the valley. Two hours of steady travel brought them to the butte, behind which lay Seven Mile ranch.
At the first glimpse of the roofs shining in the golden sunlight Phyllis gave