Chapter 31

"I been thinkin' we might as well move on a ways," said McHale. "Here's old Simon drops in on us. Somebody else might. I don't feel right about it. I want to git some place, like up in one o' them basins, where strangers won't be passin' by every day."

"Well, I'll go you," Sandy agreed; "but there's an old bear that I want first. He's got a foot as big as a fiddle; I'll bet he weighs as much as a steer."

"What'll you do with a bear? We don't want to go packin' a green hide about with us. The horses hate the smell of it."

"Let 'em get used to it, then," Sandy returned. "I'm starting after that bear now. Better come along. If I don't get him I'll go to-morrow."

But McHale refused to accompany him. He hated climbing. If he could go on a horse that would be different. Therefore Sandy set out alone.

He ascended a shoulder of the mountain, working his way upward to where he had located the range of the big bear. It was steady climbing, and rough as well, but Sandy was in hard, lean condition, with the limitless wind and springy muscles of youth. He arrived at his objective point, a spot which gave him a clear view of the mountain side for a mile on either hand. Somewhere in that area, he had already decided, the bear would be feeding. He settled down for a long, careful inspection; first with the naked eye, which yielded nothing, and next with a pair of binoculars. Sandy, when hunting, possessed unlimited patience. He settled himself comfortably, and kept the glasses at work. Finally his patience was rewarded. A mile or more up the hillside a huge, brown shape shambled into view.

"Lord! he's a big brute," Sandy muttered. "That's a hide worth getting. I'll wait till he settles down for keeps."

Apparently the bear had found food to his liking. He was busy with paw and tongue beside a rotten log. Sandy mapped out a route in his mind, and decided to make a start. It was then noon. As he rose he happened to look up the valley.

It lay below him, ashimmer in the summer sun, a panorama of green, light and dark of shade, with the silver ribbon of the Klimminchuck appearing and disappearing down its length. It was, perhaps, as beautiful a mountain valley scene as eye ever beheld; but Sandy McCrae would not have looked at it twice save for a thin, gray thread which appeared above the treetops some miles away. It became a column, ballooned, and then was invisible. But he knew that somebody had just started a fire.

He picked out the spot with the glasses. Smoke was plainly visible through the powerful lenses. It was close to the river--beside the bank, in fact--and he could catch glimpses of one or two horses. But, because of the trees, he could see little more.

"Darn the luck," said Sandy. "There's the biggest hide in the whole range waiting for me, and somebody has to come butting in. Well, there's only one thing to do."

That thing being to get back to camp as fast as possible, Sandy proceeded to do it. He went downhill at a pace that would have shaken an older and heavier man to pieces; for going downhill is, contrary to the popular idea, much harder on the human frame than going up. He broke into camp and roused McHale from a state of somnolence and tobacco.

"I could 'a' tanned your young hide when you bulled off after that bear," said the latter. "Now I seem to see what them salvation scouts calls 'the finger of Providence' in the play. In other words, it's plumb safe to keep one eye skinned. Do I look like I was scared, Sandy?"

"Nah!" said Sandy contemptuously.

"Well, you're going to see me act like I was." He rose swiftly, his laziness falling from him now that there was work to do. "Go and fetch in them cayuses. I'll break camp."

The horses being on picket caused no delay. When Sandy brought them in, McHale had their entire outfit in two heaps, ready to pack. With the skill and swiftness of experience they made the packs, threw the hitches, drew the lash ropes tight. The result was two compact bundles which could not work loose.

"I dunno who our friends are," said McHale, as they rode out of camp, "but if it's this here Dade bunch, say, what a surprise they'd have give me all by myself. I can just see me gettin' up in time to fall down."

"They've got no license to chase us all over," said Sandy. "We don't have to stand for it, do we? How'd it be if we held up their camp? Or else we could lay for them as they came along, and settle it right there."

"Bushwhack 'em?" said McHale. "No, I reckon not. We want to keep out of trouble. If we held 'em up what'd we do with them? We couldn't tie 'em and leave 'em; and we couldn't pack 'em around. Nothing for it but to run like men. The country's big enough for both of us."

Sandy grunted disapproval, but said no more. Personally he would have welcomed a fight. He was a marvellously quick and accurate shot with either rifle or revolver, and he was ready to make a friend's quarrel his own. However, he deferred to McHale's views.

Farther down the Klimminchuck they turned up a nameless tributary creek, following its course with difficulty, for the way was choked with down timber and slides, until they reached a beautiful little basin high up above the valley. There the creek had its source or sources; for the drainings of the basin were collected in a little lake lying beneath bare cliffs. The water was swarming with trout, so that one supply of food was assured.

Beside the lake and the cliffs they made camp. They could not see the valley, neither could they be seen thence; but by walking half a mile they could look down into it. Sandy, mindful of his disappointment, began to prospect for bear.

McHale relapsed once more into a morass of sleep and tobacco. But while Sandy was ranging afield he lay on the edge of the basin drowsing and watching the valley, for he did not intend to be taken by surprise.

But that was exactly what happened. He had withdrawn from his post of observation earlier than usual, and he and Sandy were smoking after supper in the fading light, when a little cavalcade rode into the basin, preceded by one who walked slowly, studying the ground.

McHale saw them at the same moment that they perceived the camp. He leaped to his feet with an oath, snatching up his rifle and a gunny sack, which, among other things, contained their cartridges. His belt gun he never laid aside.

Sandy also jumped for his gun, slamming the lever down and up as the weapon came to his shoulder. He stood fairly in the open, covering the foremost man. But McHale caught his arm.

"Come on and get back among them rocks," he cried. "We can't stand 'em off here."

Behind them as they ran a sudden yell went up, and a single bullet buzzed past like a mad bee. But they reached the shelter of the rocks fallen from the cliff at some remote period, and dropped to cover. Before them the great slabs formed a natural breastwork; behind them rose the sheer cliff, gray and weather-stained. Their backs were amply protected; in front they must take care of themselves.

The newcomers dismounted in the concealment of trees. Five minutes afterward a man walked leisurely forward. McHale recognized Dade. At fifty paces he halted him.

"I wouldn't come no nearer, Dade, if I was you."

"I'm coming a heap closer pretty soon."

"All right; you're expected," McHale retorted. "You call a feud on me, do you? Now you listen here: You call it off and call your bunch off, or there'll be doin's."

"I'm talkin' to your partner," said Dade. "I s'pose it's young McCrae. We got nothing against you, McCrae. You come out o' there, take your horse and your dunnage, and git. Nobody'll hurt you."

"Is that so?" sneered Sandy. "Go plumb to blazes, will you?"

"I'll think about it," said Dade coolly.

"You'll do more than think about it if you crowd in here," Sandy retorted.

"Nobody wants to crowd you," said Dade. "We're after McHale, and we're goin' to get him. Don't you mix up in it. If you do you may get hurt."

"That ain't such bad advice, kid," interrupted McHale. "I'm able for 'em, I reckon. Better pull your freight like he tells you. This ain't your show, nohow, and you've got your folks to think of."

"Do you think I'm a yellow dog, or what?" Sandy snapped back, glaring at him. "Quit? I think I see myself. I'll smash this Dade's belt buckle right now." He lifted his rifle.

"Hold on," said McHale. "This kid is some obstinate," he called to Dade. "His _tumtum_ is that he'll stick. _I_ don't want him in it."

"He's got his chance," said Dade. "It's up to him."

Young McCrae launched a string of epithets at him, the cream of the vocabularies of certain mule skinners of his acquaintance. Meanwhile his finger itched on the trigger.

"You're a durn poor persuader," said McHale. "The kid will stick. Far's I'm concerned, if you want me, come and get me. Don't show your hide no more. I'm surely done talkin' to you."

Dade turned and walked away. Sandy covered him.

"Not in the back," said McHale.

Immediately afterward a thirty-thirty struck a rock in front of them, glancing off at an angle, wailing away into the distance. Sandy McCrae, lying at full length peering along the slim barrel of his weapon, pressed the trigger and swore in disappointment.

"Centred a stump," he said. "There it is yet. It looked like somebody."

All was quiet for five minutes. Then a sleet of lead pelted their position, patting against the cliff behind them, and splashing upon the rocks in front. Splinters and particles of stone, lead, and nickel flew everywhere.

"Git down low," McHale advised, hugging a bowlder.

"I am down," said Sandy.

"Then dig a hole." McHale laughed, and then swore as a sharp fragment of rock ripped his cheek.

"Hit you?"

"Nope. Rock sliver. I'll bet their guns is gettin' hot. This won't last."

The fusillade ceased. McHale shoved his rifle barrel through a crevice.

"Maybe some gent will stick out his head to see how many corpses there is of us. This light's gettin' durn bad. I wish I had an ivory foresight, 'stead o' this gold bead. I can't see----"

His rifle muzzle leaped in recoil as he spoke. Two hundred yards away a man making a rush forward for a closer position winced and half halted. Instantly Sandy's rifle lanced the dimming light with a twelve-foot shaft of flame. The man straightened, staggered, and threw both arms upward as if to shield his face. Sandy fired again as the lever clashed back into place. The man fell forward.

"Got him!" cried Sandy exultantly. "Centred him twice, Tom!"

"I reckon you did. That's one out of it." He fired again without result. Sandy shot three times rapidly, and swore at the light.

"You're overshootin'," said McHale. "You can't draw the foresight fine enough in this light. Hold lower."

"Nothing to hold on," grumbled McCrae. "They're cached close. If one of them would only come out to fetch in that dead one I wouldn't do a thing to him."

McHale eyed him speculatively. "Seems like your young soul ain't swamped by no wave of remorse at killin' a man. Don't make you feel shaky nor nothin'?"

Young McCrae smiled grimly. "Not that I can notice. All that lead they slung at us scared remorse clean out of my system. I'm lookin' for a chance to repeat."

But darkness settled down without that chance, making accurate shooting impossible. Objects at fifty yards became indistinct. Only the smoky-red reflection of the sunset remained.

"Think they've got enough?" asked Sandy.

"Why, they ain't got started yet. Lucky we had our supper. We can stand quite a racket on a full stomach. Might as well smoke, I reckon."

Sandy shivered slightly as the chill of the mountain night air struck through his thin clothing. "Wish I'd grabbed a blanket or a coat."

"It'll be a heap worse before mornin'," said McHale.

"You're a cheerful devil!"

"Think of how good the sun'll feel. Maybe something will happen to warm us up before then."

A forty-pound stone suddenly crashed down to one side of them, smashing in the rocks and bushes with terrific impact. Sandy leaped to his feet, his revolver streaming continuous fire at the top of the cliff.

"Git down, you durn fool!" cried McHale.

Sandy dropped just in time. A volley came from in front, and a leaden storm howled overhead.

"Talk about luck!" said McHale. "Don't you take a chance like that again." He rolled over on his back and put his rifle to his shoulder. "If I could only git that cuss up there against the sky line----"

But the top of the cliff was fringed with bushes. Another stone bounded down, struck a projection, leaped out, and hit ten feet in front of them. McHale fired by guess; but, like most guesswork shooting, without result. Another stone struck in front. He moved in closer to the cliff and chuckled grimly.

"We're right under a ledge. Them rocks all bounced off it. Mighty lucky for us. You feelin' any warmer now?"

"You bet. Summer done come again. I wish I could see to shoot." He fired at the flash of a gun, and winced suddenly.

"Burned me that time!"

A glancing bullet had ripped the flesh of his left side along the ribs. McHale made a bandage of the handkerchief he wore around his neck.

"You'll sure have a sore side, kid. Keep down tight. Don't take no more chances." But a moment afterward he grunted and his rifle clattered against the rocks.

"What is it?"

"My right arm. Busted above the elbow." He breathed deeply with the first pain throbs following the shock, and gritted his teeth. "Ain't this hell? I'm out of it for rifle shootin'. Here, come and cut off my shirt sleeve and tie her up some. See how much blood she's pumpin'! Take a turn above the hole and twist her up tight. Blamed if I want to bleed to death. I got a lot of things to see to first."

Sandy examined the wound by the feeble light of matches, which McHale held in his left hand, and declared that the arteries were uninjured. He cut off a leg of his trousers below the knee, and, with McHale's shirt sleeve, organized a bandage, binding it with the thongs of his moccasins, swearing steadily below his breath.

McHale leaned back against the rock and demanded his pipe. Sandy filled it, and held a match to the load. McHale puffed great smoke clouds into the darkness.

"Tobacco's sure a fine anæsthetic. She beats chloroform and tooth jerkers' gas. And now, kid, you git!"

"Do what?"

"Make a get-away. Hike. Leak out o' this. You can do it in the dark just as easy as a weasel."

"Say," said Sandy, "you didn't get hit alongside the head, too, did you?"

"Not yet. This is straight goods. I mean it. There's no use you stickin'. There's too many accidents happenin'. Come mornin' maybe you don't git a chance."

"Come mornin'," Sandy replied, "when I can see my sights, I'll clean the whole bunch out."

"Other people can see sights then. Kid, they got me rounded up. I ain't no good except on a horse. If I could make a get-away I would. But I can't. You can. There's no sense in both of us bein' wiped out. Also, there's your folks. I ain't got any. And, then, I've lived longer than you, and I've had a heap more fun. I'm plumb satisfied with the deal. If I quit the game now I break better'n even. Shake hands and git out o' here while you can."

"Forget it!" snapped Sandy. "Would _you_ quit _me_? Not any. D'ye think I could look Casey in the face, or Sheila, or my old dad? Would one of _them_ quit _you_? You bet they wouldn't. I'll see this through. Here, gimme what rifle cartridges you got, and shut up that line of talk. I won't stand for it, and I won't go."

"'Most every family has one blame fool in it," said McHale. "All right, durn you, stay. If I could chase you out I'd do it. Reach down and pull my belt gun for me. I can shoot left-handed some."

They passed the night miserably, waiting for an attack which did not come. The pain of their wounds was added to the discomfort of the cold. Dawn found them shivering, numbed, weary-eyed, staring through the lifting gloom, their weapons ready. As the light grew they could see their own camp, but no one occupied it. Farther off a column of smoke rose.

"Cookin' breakfast down in a hole," said McHale. "Playin' it plumb safe. They ain't takin' a chance on your shootin'."

"They'd better not," said Sandy. His young face showed grimed and pinched in the growing light, but his eyes were hard and clear. "Do you s'pose I could sneak over and get a stand on them?"

"I wouldn't try. You bet somebody's keeping cases on these rocks."

Half an hour passed, an hour. The sun struck the basin, mottling its green with gold, striking their chilled bodies with grateful warmth.

"Say," asked Sandy, "don't you want a drink of water?"

"Quit foolin'," McHale replied. "I been thinkin' of it for hours. I could drink that there lake dry."

Still nothing happened. The waiting began to get on their nerves.

"What d'you s'pose they're framing up?" Sandy asked.

"Don't know. Durn it! I can't do nothin' unless they run in on us," McHale grumbled. "Wisht I could hold a rifle."

"Let 'em try to run in," said Sandy grimly. He had McHale's rifle in addition to his own. "They've got to come two hundred yards without cover. I'll stop every blamed one of them in one hundred."

Suddenly he lifted his rifle, hesitated, and lay with his cheek to the stock, staring along the sights.

"See somethin'?" McHale asked.

"Over there past those jack pines. Man on a horse. He'll come out again."

Far off among the trees they saw not one mounted man, but several. They could catch glimpses merely. The horsemen appeared to be making for the valley, but not by the way in which they had come.

"By thunder!" cried McHale, "it looks like they're pullin' out."

His further remarks were lost in a rolling fire as Sandy unhooked his entire magazine at the retreating figures. He caught up McHale's rifle and emptied that, too.

"Save some ca'tridges for seed," advised McHale. "What's the use of snapshootin' at that range? You can't hit nothin'."

"You never know what luck you'll have," said Sandy. "I couldn't draw a sight with them moving in the brush. How many did you count?"

"Five--near as I could make it."

"Say, how'd it be if I went after them?"

"It'd be one durn young fool the less," McHale replied. "You want to know when you're well off. Don't stand up yet. There may be some play to this that we don't savvy."

"Rats! They've got a bellyful, I tell you. Five's the bunch, ain't it?--all but that one we got. I ain't going to stay cached here all day. I want some grub."

But McHale persuaded him to wait ten minutes. Then, after exposing a hat and a rolled-up coat as decoys without the least result, they emerged from their fortress.

"Didn't rustle our hosses," said McHale. "That's luck. I wonder what they done with that feller you downed. Let's look at their camp."

Down in the hollow where the besiegers had built their fire they found what they sought. It lay covered by a blanket. Sandy stripped the covering away.

"Dade, by thunder!" he exclaimed. McHale looked down thoughtfully at the dead man.

"I'm sure glad it was him," he observed. "I reckon that settles this feud business. That's why them fellers pulled out. It was his war, and when he got downed they didn't see no sense carryin' it on."

"Well, they might have buried him, anyway," Sandy grumbled.

"Maybe they figured you'd want to peel off his scalp," said McHale, with mild sarcasm. "I'm sure willing to take a little trouble like buryin' Dade."

"So'm I," Sandy admitted, replacing the blanket. "I guess we're pretty lucky. Come on while I rustle some grub. We want to pull out of here. You've got to get to a doctor as soon as you can."

They were eating breakfast when Casey, Farwell, the sheriff, and Simon rode into the basin, causing Sandy to snatch up his rifle under the impression that their assailants were returning. The four had made the best time they could, but had been at a loss to know the exact point until Sandy's farewell fusillade.

"You sure missed a heap of fun, Casey," said McHale.

"Well, some of it didn't miss you," said Casey. "I'm blame sorry about that arm, Tom. It'll be a tough ride for you."

"I'm able for it, I reckon. I wish you'd run into them fellers."

"Never saw hair nor hide of them. Just as well, maybe. Now, Tom, this is Sheriff Dove. He wants you, and I think he wants Sandy. I told him that you both had too much sense to make things hard for him."

"Far's I'm concerned I'm his meat," said McHale. "I'd have to come in, anyway, now. Sandy was a durn fool ever to hide out. I shouldn't have let him. Lucky for me I did, though."

"That's sense," said the sheriff. "You boys will find I'm all right to get on with. I haven't heard you say anything, McCrae?"

"I guess I don't need to say anything," said Sandy. "Casey came along with you, didn't he? That's good enough for me."

"I'm right obliged to him, too," said Dove. "He's sure saved me a lot of trouble. Lemme see that arm of yours, McHale. I savvy a little about them things. Anyway, I'll fix up some splints for it till you can get hold of a regular medicine man."