CHAPTER XXVIII

THE OUTLAWS

In reality, the ranch was a general meeting place, or station, for cattle rustlers, smugglers, and their kind, from both sides of the border.

All through these lonely months following the disappearance of Hugh Edwards, Marta Hillgrove had lived in the firm conviction that the man she loved would come again. She had nothing to justify her belief. She could not understand why, if he loved her, he had left no message--no word of hope. But her woman instinct had persistently swept aside all the opposing facts and held her to the truth which her heart knew. She was so sure of Hugh Edwards’ love that nothing could shake her faith in him or cause her to doubt that he would come again to claim her. With Saint Jimmy’s help she had endured the long days when there had been no word from the man to whom she had given, without reserve, the wealth of her first woman love.

Marta never dreamed what it cost Saint Jimmy to help her. She would never know. Many, many times Saint Jimmy had told himself that the girl must never know how hard it was for him to help her through those weeks of her waiting for Hugh Edwards.

Then, at last, Natachee had come with the explanation of Hugh’s silence, the story of the hunted man’s innocence of the crime for which he had been imprisoned, together with the promises of the freedom and happiness that was now, through the gold her lover had found, so near at hand for them both.

Every moment of that day her heart had sung:

“To-morrow Hugh is coming. To-morrow he is coming.” The hours were filled with rosy visions of the days, that were now so near, when she would be with him, with no fear of another separation. Again and again she assured herself that it was all true--that it was not another of her dreams. Hugh _had_ found the gold that meant freedom for him, and happiness for them both. The Pardners, when they had talked with Saint Jimmy, were willing to do their part in carrying out the plan, as they would have been willing to submit to any hardship to insure the happiness of their daughter. Saint Jimmy was arranging everything. “To-morrow, to-morrow, Hugh would come.”

There had been a long talk with her two fathers that evening, and when at last they had said good-night, the girl had not found it easy to sleep. She was too excited, too thrilled with her happiness. Her mind was too active with thoughts of what the morning would bring. She heard the noise at the barn and wondered what mischief Nugget was in. At the same moment she heard the Pardners stirring in their room, and knew that they too had been disturbed by the noise that Nugget was making. The door of her room was open and she could hear Bob muttering about the pinto as he passed through the living room on his way out to the barn.

The noise at the barn ceased. She waited, listening for Bob’s return.

There was the sound of steps in the kitchen and some one entered the living room. Thad moved in his room. She caught a whispered word outside her door. It was not Bob. What did it mean? Sitting up in her bed, she listened.

Suddenly all was confusion. Thad’s voice rang out, challenging the intruders. There was a trampling rush of feet toward her door--a tangle of straining, writhing figures--a spurt of fire accompanied by the deafening report of a gun--a cry of pain--a dull, sickening blow--a moaning voice: “Hay mamacita de me vido”--a dreadful silence.

Then another voice spoke sharply in Mexican, followed by a groaning reply; and then a man stood beside her bed telling her that she must prepare to go with him and assuring her that no harm should come to her if she was obedient and made no effort to escape. Dumb with terror, the girl started to dress and Sonora Jack went back to the wounded Mexican. Marta heard him call to the Lizard to bring up the horses and the pack mule, and to saddle the pinto. But when the outlaw went again to the girl he found her kneeling beside Thad, overcome with grief.

Lifting her to her feet, Sonora Jack said sternly:

“Come, this is no good! The old man, he will be all right when he wake up. You do what I say an’ make yourself ready to ride your own horse with me, or I finish him an’ pack you on a mule.”

He drew a knife and stooped over the old prospector.

With a cry, Marta sprang to do his bidding.

* * * * *

In those first hours of her enforced ride in the night with Sonora Jack and the Lizard, the girl was still too bewildered and frightened to think clearly. But when the outlaw ordered the Lizard to take the pack mule and go one way, while he with Marta went another, in order to confuse any possible pursuers, she caught, from her captors’ words and actions, a gleam of hope. Hugh Edwards and Natachee would arrive at her home in the morning. They would not be long in setting out to find her. With this hope, and the assurance from the outlaws’ manner toward her that she was in no immediate personal danger, the girl’s courage returned and she was able to consider her situation with some degree of calmness. She did not know that Bob had been killed. But certainly he had not returned after being called from the house by that noise at the barn; nor had she heard his voice. This, together with the fact that neither Sonora Jack nor the Lizard had mentioned the old prospector or referred to him in any way, led her to believe that he was dead. She could not know how seriously Thad was hurt. Try as she might, she could find no hint of the outlaw’s purpose in taking her away. When the Lizard would have talked to her, Sonora Jack ordered him, curtly, to keep his mouth shut and look after the pack mule.

Morning came and they were in the Vaca Hills. When Sonora Jack and the Lizard had made camp, and breakfast was over, the outlaw ordered the girl to rest and sleep because there was a long hard ride before her and she would need all her strength. Then, telling the Lizard that he would call him later to take his turn watching for any one following on their trail, Sonora Jack went to the top of a hill, from which he could overlook the country to the east.

No sooner had his leader left the camp than the Lizard approached Marta.

With a leering grin twisting his ratlike features, he said:

“You’re a-ridin’ with me after all, ain’t ye?”

The girl, making no effort to hide her disgust, did not answer.

“Still a-feelin’ high an’ mighty, be ye? Wal, you’d best be a-gettin’ over hit. You’re a long way from th’ Cañada del Oro right now an’ you’re a-goin’ a heap further.”

Marta forced herself to ask calmly:

“Do you know where we are going?”

The Lizard looked back at the hill toward which the outlaw had gone.

“I know whar Sonora Jack _says_ we’re a-goin’--whether we go er not depends on you.”

“What do you mean?” faltered Marta.

“What do ye reckon I’m here a-mixin’ up in this fer?” retorted the Lizard.

“I--I am sure I don’t know.”

“Oh, ye don’t, don’t ye? Can’t even make a guess, heh? Wal, I’ll tell ye, hit’s like this: Sonora Jack, he’s a-aimin’ t’ carry ye into Mexico. He ’lows he knows whar ther’s a feller what’ll be glad t’ pay an almighty fancy price fer a likely lookin’ gal like you an’ he’s goin’ t’ sell ye. Onct he’s south of th’ border, he kin work it easy enough. He’s a-takin’ good care of ye ’cause he’s got t’ deliver ye in first-class shape. Onct yer delivered an’ th’ other feller has paid Jack’s price--wal, I reckon you’ll be made t’ earn yer livin’ all right, an’ pay right smart on yer owner’s investment besides.”

The explanation of the outlaw’s purpose in abducting her was so plausible that Marta was stricken with horror.

After a moment the Lizard spoke again, emphasizing his words with significant care.

“That’s what Jack _thinks_ he’s a-goin’ t’ do. Jist like he _thinks_ I come along t’ help him.”

The girl caught the fellow’s suggestion with desperate eagerness.

“But you won’t help him--you--you couldn’t do such a thing. You came to save me.”

Then, as she saw the expression of the Lizard’s face, her voice broke and she faltered:

“That is what you mean, isn’t it?”

“What I mean depends on you. When Sonora Jack wanted me t’ come along an’ help him git you into Mexico, I seen th’ chanct I been a long time waitin’ fer. Hit’d be plumb easy t’ git shet of that half-breed Mex anywhere this side of th’ line. With th’ outfit we got, you an’ me could make hit on west t’ Yuma an’ California easy.”

The girl was watching him as if she were under a spell. The look in his shifty eyes, the expression of his loose mouth fascinated her.

“But,” he added deliberately, “you’ll have t’ go as my woman.”

With a low cry, the girl hid her face:

“No! no!! no!!!”

“You kin take your choice. I’ll help Sonora Jack sell ye t’ that feller in Mexico er ye kin go with me.”

Then the girl’s overstrained nerves gave way. Springing to her feet, she broke into wild laughter.

The hysterical merriment with which she received his proposal maddened the Lizard beyond reason:

“Hit’s funny, ain’t hit?” he snarled. “I’ve allus been funny t’ you--ye ain’t never done nothin’ but laugh at me. But I done made up my mind a long time ago that I’d have ye some day--an’ now--whether ye want t’ go with me er not--“ he sprang forward and caught her in his arms.

The girl screamed.

A moment later the Lizard was caught by a heavy hand and whirled twenty feet away. As he recovered his balance and snatched at the gun on his hip, Sonora Jack said sharply:

“Drop it!”

The Lizard, with his eyes fixed on the outlaw’s steady weapon, raised his empty hands.

When Sonora Jack, with the coolness of his long experience, had disarmed his companion, he turned to the girl.

“I’m sorry for this, Señorita. I have said that with me you would be all right. I don’t want you should be scared like this. Tell me, please, what did this hombre say?”

“It is nothing,” stammered the girl.

“You don’t cry loud like that for nothin’,” returned the outlaw. “You don’t get scared so for nothin’.”

For some time the girl, by refusing to answer or by giving evasive answers to his questions, tried to keep from telling him what the Lizard had proposed. But Sonora Jack, with persistent and cunning questions, with adroit suggestions and bold assertions, drew from her, little by little, the truth.

Then the outlaw faced the cringing Lizard.

“So you think you play a game with Sonora Jack, heh? Don’t I tell you how the Señorita is worth so much gold to me that she must be guarded with great care? What am I goin’ to do now? You’re traitor to me. I no can trust you this much while I’m gone such a little way to watch the trail. ’Fore we get to the border there’s goin’ to be plenty chances for you to betray me. I ain’t goin’ to be safe with you, even in Mexico. Come--the Señorita must not again be scared. Come! You an’ me we take a little walk over there behind that hill.”

Grasping the Lizard’s arm, he forced the frightened creature to accompany him.

The terrified girl, watching, saw them disappear over the low ridge.

Trembling, she listened.

There was no sound.

Presently she saw the outlaw coming back over the hill.

Sonora Jack was alone.

Leisurely he approached, and bowing low, said gently:

“I’m sorry, Señorita, you got so scared. It ain’t goin’ to be so no more.”

All night they rode and in the gray light of the early morning came to that small adobe ranch house near the Mexican border.

Save for a half-starved dog that slunk from sight behind the house as they approached, there seemed to be no life about the place. But when Sonora Jack, riding to within a few feet of the door, shouted, “Buenos dias, madre,” the door opened and an old Mexican appeared. He greeted the outlaw with a cordial welcome and came forward to take the horses. At the same moment an ancient crone hobbled from the house.

“Hijo mio! Gracias a Dios que volviste sin novedad,” she cried. “My son! Thanks to God you have returned without mishap.”

“Si, madre, sin novedad--Yes, mother, without mishap.”

“You found the Mine with the Door of Iron?”

“No, Mother, but I found something else that will bring much gold to me.”

He turned toward Marta and bade the girl dismount.

To the old man he said:

“We must eat and go on over the line quickly. Feed and water the animals but do not remove the saddles.”

Then leading Marta into the house, he took her to a little room and told her to lie down and rest until their breakfast was ready, and left her.

When she was alone, the girl looked about with wondering interest. She had felt, even as they were approaching the house, that there was something strangely familiar about the place. She seemed to have been there before or else to have seen it all in some dream. That corral--the well--the water trough--the adobe building--the hard-beaten yard--the pile of mesquite wood--the heap of old tin cans and rubbish. Surely, she had seen it all before. The interior of the house, too, was familiar in every detail. The bed upon which she was lying--the old rawhide bottom chairs--the cracked mirror on the wall and that print of the Holy Family. How strange it all was! She was certain that once before she had been shut in that room, and, lying on that bed, had heard those voices talking in Mexican on the other side of that door.

In her wanderings with the old prospectors, Marta had picked up enough of the Mexican language to understand a little of the conversation. She learned that the old woman was Sonora Jack’s mother. As she listened now, she gathered that they were discussing her. She caught the words prospectors, Cañada del Oro, and several times she heard, little girl, while the old woman and the man who had come in after caring for the animals exclaimed with astonishment. In a flash, the meaning of it all came to her. She was the little girl. This was the place from which the Pardners had taken her.

But try as she might, she could not bring back that childhood experience with any degree of clearness. It was a hazy fragment--a memory. She could not recall how she was first brought to that place, nor what her relationship to those people had been. If only Hugh and Natachee would come. If only they could be here now. Perhaps--perhaps, they could force these people to tell what they knew about her.

At breakfast, the old woman and the man treated Marta with great deference. Again and again, they assured her in Mexican and broken English that she must not be frightened, that she would come to no harm if she obeyed Sonora Jack. When, with Sonora Jack, she rode away to the south, they watched until she passed from sight.

They had ridden two or three hours when the outlaw said:

“Señorita, we goin’ come now to the end of our ride, for a little time. This is Mexico. The line is ten mile back. Over them hills ahead is a rancho. We goin’ stop there. It is not so good place as I like for you, but it is best I can do for now. Many men are goin’ to be there--vaqueros--all kinds--bad hombres. All the time they come an’ go. You no want to be scared, ’cause me--I’m goin’ take good care of you. It is best if we make like you was my wife.”

When the girl cried out with fear and he saw the horror in her eyes he hastened to explain:

“Señorita, you mistake--it is only that we make believe you are my wife. You sabe? If I take you to that place as Señorita Hillgrove, you goin’ to be in much danger. I can fight them, yes--they know that I can fight, but--“ he shrugged his shoulders, then: “Señora Richard would be safe, sure. Nobody is goin’ make insult to the wife of Sonora Jack. They know for that Sonora Jack would sure kill.”

When Marta would not, or more literally _could_ not, agree, the outlaw impatiently spurred his horse forward.

“All right, Señorita, we goin’ to see. I’m goin’ to tell that you are my wife. I promise it is only a make-believe. If you goin’ to tell it is not so--that you are not Señora Richards--then I can’t help what comes next.”

In a few minutes they were at the ranch. The house was a long, flat-topped, adobe building with several rooms opening on to a long ramada. In reality, the ranch was a general meeting place, or station, for cattle rustlers, smugglers and their kind from both sides of the border.

There were eight or ten men gathered in a group in front of the house as the outlaw and his prisoner arrived. All of them knew Sonora Jack, and, with two or three exceptions, greeted him cordially. When the outlaw told them that his wife was ill from the long ride and must at once retire, Marta made no protest. Frightened as she was at the villainous company, worn with the nervous strain and the physical hardship of her journey, the poor girl’s appearance made Sonora Jack’s statement that she was ill more plausible.

A room at the end of the building was soon made ready by a mozo who appeared in answer to a call from one of the men. The pack mule was relieved of his burden and the things taken inside. The room was rather large, with two doors--one opening on to the ramada in front and one connecting the apartment with another. Two windows supplied plenty of fresh air, and the place was fairly well furnished as a bedroom. Evidently it was the best apartment that the establishment afforded.

When the mozo was gone and the door was shut, Sonora Jack whispered:

“You done all right, Señorita. Now you goin’ be safe for sure. Everything goin’ be fine. You make like you too sick to get out of bed. Me, I bring what you want to eat, myself.” He smiled. “I goin’ tell them hombres a pretty story ’bout my poor Señora who is so sick. Then I’m goin’ play cards with them. All night we play an’ you will not be scared. _Adios_, Señorita, don’t you be scared, rest an’ sleep.”

Marta threw herself on the bed and, in spite of her situation, fell into a deep sleep. When Sonora Jack brought her dinner, she awoke and, realizing that she must keep her strength for what might come, forced herself to eat. Then once more she slept.

When she was again awakened, it was dark. She could not guess the time. A strip of light shone under the door from that next room and she could hear the men who were drinking and gambling.

At times, their voices were raised in angry dispute or in boisterous laughter; again, there was only the slap-slap of cards as they were thrown on the table with the accompanying thud-thud of heavy hands, the click of bottle necks against glasses, the scuffling sound of a boot heel, the jingle of a spur, or the scrape of a chair on the rough floor. Then a drunken yell of exultation would ring out, accompanied by a heavy grumbling undertone.

The girl, trembling with fear, listened and waited. Would Sonora Jack keep his promise? Was the incentive, which led him to protect her from even himself, strong enough to endure when he had become inflamed by drink?

Slowly the terrible hours passed. It must be nearly midnight. The voices of the men in the next room were becoming louder, more quarrelsome and reckless. Suddenly the frightened girl felt, rather than heard, that front door opening. In the dim light she saw it swing slowly, inch by inch.

She held her breath. She wanted to scream but she dared not. The door swung a little farther and she could see the stars through the opening. Then a dark form slipped into the room as soundless as a shadow. Noiselessly the door was closed.

Cold with horror, unable to move a muscle, the girl cowered on the bed.

The shadowy form moved toward her. It stopped--then came a low whisper.

“Miss Hillgrove, do not be frightened, be very still. I, Natachee, have come for you.”