Chapter 14

LAWLER'S "NERVE"

When Lawler spoke to Blackburn regarding the news that had been communicated to him by the horse-wrangler, Blackburn suggested that himself and several of the Circle L men ride back to ascertain the object of the trailers.

"We'll ride back an' make 'em talk!" he declared, heatedly.

Lawler, however, would not agree, telling Blackburn that the trail was free, and that, until the men made some hostile move, there was no reason why they should be approached.

So the men ate, selected new mounts from their "strings" in the _remuda_, and again started the big herd forward.

Lawler rode for a time with Garvin, keeping an alert eye on the back trail. But though he could see far up the cañon, where the trail--white with dust from the passing of the herd--wound its sinuous way upward into the dark recesses between the towering mesa walls, he could see no sign of life or movement.

The nonappearance of the mysterious riders was suspicious, for if their intentions were friendly they would have come boldly on. In fact, if they were abroad upon an honest errand, they must have found the slowness of the herd ahead of them irksome; and they would have passed it as soon as possible, merely to escape the dust cloud raised by the cattle.

When the afternoon began to wane the herd was far out in the basin, traveling steadily toward a point where the little river doubled, where Blackburn intended to camp for the night. And though both Blackburn and Lawler scanned the back trail intently at intervals, there was still no sign of the riders Garvin had mentioned.

Nor did the riders pass the herd in the night. Blackburn threw an extra guard around the cattle, making the shifts shorter and more frequent; and when daylight came a short conference among the Circle L men disclosed the news that no riders had passed. If any riders had passed the cowboys must have seen them, for there had been a moon, and the basin afforded in the vicinity of the herd, was clear and unobstructed.

Enraged at the suspicious nature of the incident, Blackburn took half a dozen cowboys and rode back, while the remainder of the trail crew sent the herd eastward. It was late in the afternoon when Blackburn returned, disappointed, grim, and wrathful.

"There's a bunch trailin' us, all right," he told Lawler; "about a dozen. We seen where they'd stopped back in the cañon a ways--where Garvin said he'd seen 'em sneakin' back. We lost their tracks there, for they merged with ours an' we couldn't make nothin' of 'em. But at the foot of the slope we picked 'em up again. Looks like they separated. Some of them went north an' some went south. I reckon that durin' the night they sneaked around the edge of the basin. It's likely they're hidin' in the timber somewhere, watchin' us. If you say the word I'll take some of the boys an' rout 'em out. We'll find what they're up to, damn 'em!"

"As long as they don't bother us we won't bother them," said Lawler. "It's likely they won't bother us."

Again that night the men worked in extra shifts; and the following morning the herd climbed out of the basin and straggled up a narrow trail through some foothills. At noon they passed through a defile between two mighty mountains; and when twilight came they had descended some low hills on the other side and went to camp for the night on a big grass level near the river they had followed for three days.

The level upon which they camped was much lower than the floor of the big basin, for the water from the river came tumbling out of a narrow gorge between the hills through which the herd had passed.

They were in a wild section, picturesque, rugged. There was plenty of water; and Blackburn and Lawler both knew that there would be water enough for the herd all the way to Red Rock. There was a section of desert before them, which they would strike before many days; but they would cross the desert in one day, barring delay; and there seemed to be no reason why the long drive should not prove successful despite the mountain trails--most of them hazardous--through which they must still pass.

And yet the men were restless. The continued presence of an invisible menace near them, disturbed the men. They had not seen the mysterious riders again, but there was not a man in the outfit who did not feel them--not a man but was convinced that the riders were still trailing them, watching them.

Long ago the younger men had ceased to laugh and joke. During the day they kept gazing steadily into the gulf of space that surrounded them, carefully scrutinizing the timber and the virgin brush which might form a covert; and at night they were sullen, expectant; every man wearing his gun when he rolled himself in his blanket.

It was not fear that had seized them. They were rugged, hardy, courageous men who had looked death in the face many times, defying it, mocking it; and no visible danger could have disturbed them.

But this danger was not visible; it was stealthy, secret, lurking near them, always threatening, always expected. It might stalk behind them; it might be flanking them as they rode; or it might creep upon them in the night.

Blackburn had fallen into a vicious mood. His eyes glowed with the terrible, futile rage that surged in his veins, it was a reflection of a wrath that grew more and more intolerant as the days passed and the danger that portended did not materialize.

"Boss," he said to Lawler on the tenth day following that on which Garvin had reported the presence of the riders behind them; "the boys is gettin' jumpy. They're givin' one another short answers, an' they're growlin' about things they never noticed before.

"I'm gettin' fed up on this thing, too. It's a cinch them riders is following us. I seen 'em dustin' north of us this mornin'. I ain't said anything to the boys, but it's likely they've seen 'em, too--for they've got their eyes peeled. It's gettin' under my skin, an' if they don't come out into the open pretty soon and give us an idee of what game they're playin', me an' some of the boys is goin' to drag 'em out!"

Yet Blackburn did not carry out his threat. He knew pursuit of the riders would be futile, for there were no further signs of them for several days, and Blackburn knew the riders would have no trouble in eluding them in the vast wilderness through which the herd had been passing for a week. They went on, continuing to watch, though there were no further signs of the men.

They had been on the trail twenty days when at dusk one day they moved slowly down a wide, gradual slope toward a desert. At the foot of the slope was a water hole filled with a dark, brackish fluid, with a green scum fringing its edges. The slope merged gently into the floor of the desert, like an ocean beach stretching out into the water, and for a distance out into the floor of the desert there was bunch grass, mesquite, and greasewood, where the cattle might find grazing for the night. Beyond the stretch of grass spread the dead, gray dust, of the desert, desolate in the filmy, mystic haze that was slowly descending.

The cattle came down eagerly, for they had grazed little during the day in the mountainous region through which they had passed. They were showing the effects of the drive. They had been sleek and fat when they started from the Circle L; they were growing lean, wild, and they were always ravenously hungry.

But where they could feed they required little attention; and the cowboys, after halting them, helped Garvin establish the lines of a rope corral into which they drove the _remuda_. Then they built a fire and squatted wearily around it--at a respectful distance--to watch the cook--and to listen to him as he complainingly prepared supper.

The men had finished, and the long shadows of the dusk were stealing out over the desert, when Lawler--sitting on the chuck-box--heard Blackburn exclaim sharply:

"_Hell's fire! Here they come!_"

Blackburn had sprung to his feet, his eyes blazing with the pent-up wrath that had been in them for many days. He was tense, his muscles straining; and his fingers were moving restlessly near the butt of the huge pistol that swung at his hip. The fingers were closing and unclosing, betraying the man's passion.

Lawler got to his feet. Following the direction of Blackburn's flaming eyes, he saw, perhaps a mile away, a large body of horsemen. They were descending the long slope over which the herd had been driven.

Lawler counted them--thirty-nine. But the menace was no longer invisible; it was now a material thing which could be met on such terms as might be, with the law of chance to govern the outcome.

Lawler did not doubt that the on-coming riders were hostile. He had felt that when he first had been made aware of their presence behind the herd. He saw, too, that the men of his outfit felt as he did; for they were all on their feet, their faces grim, their eyes glowing with the rage that had gripped them over the presence of the unseen menace; their muscles were tensed and their lips were in the sullen pout which presages the imminence of action.

Shorty, the tawny giant, was a terrible figure. He seemed to be outwardly cool, and there was not a sign of passion in his manner. His hands swung limply at his sides, not a muscle in his body seeming to move. Unlike the other men, he was calm, seemingly unperturbed. So striking was the contrast between him and the other men that Lawler looked twice at him. And the second time he saw Shorty's eyes--they were gleaming pools of passion, cold, repressed.

"Easy, boys!" Lawler called to the men. "Don't let them suspect you know they've been trailing us. They've got us two to one, almost--if they mean trouble we'll have to work easy!"

He saw the men relax; and several of them resumed their former positions at the fire.

The strange riders were coming steadily onward; they were not more than a hundred yards distant when Blackburn exclaimed, hoarsely:

"Lawler; it's Blondy Antrim an' his gang! Damn his hide! We're in for it!"

For the first time since Garvin had told him of the presence of the men on the trail behind the herd, Lawler's face betrayed passion--the glow in his eyes rivaled that in the giant's.

During the past year or so word had reached him--rumor unfounded, but insistent--that more than once Singleton and Blondy Antrim, the outlaw, had been seen together. He had placed no credence in the rumors, ascribing them to the imaginations of mischievous brains, prejudiced against Singleton because of his bluff, dominant manner. He first had suspected there might be truth in them when Joe Hamlin had told him that he had rustled cattle for Singleton. He now believed that Singleton had disposed of the stolen cattle through Antrim and the conviction that Singleton was behind the action of the outlaw in trailing the herd through the country seized him.

In an instant--following Blackburn's exclamation--he was aroused to the danger that confronted himself and his men. As though by previous arrangement, the men looked at him, noted the tenseness that had come over him, listened attentively when he spoke.

"Boys; don't offer to throw a gun. I know Antrim. He's a killer, and his men are like him. Take it easy--keep cool. The man who loses his temper will be guilty of the wholesale murder that will follow. When Antrim rides up, send him after me!"

He had not unsaddled Red King. He strode to the horse, swung into the saddle, and rode eastward, away from the advancing riders.

Blank astonishment, puzzled bewilderment shone in the eyes of the Circle L men as they watched him, and into the hearts of some of them crept the conviction that Lawler had deserted them; that he was afraid of the outlaw chief.

Blackburn saw what they thought, and his burning eyes bored into them with sarcasm unutterable. He laughed, hoarsely, with a grim mirth that startled them.

"Don't you worry about Lawler's nerve, boys; he's got more of it than the bunch of us put together! He's got some scheme in mind. You guys just set tight until you find out what it is. Do as he told you. Don't let that scurvy gang know that you're flabbergasted!"

When Lawler rode away there was a noticeable commotion in the group of advancing horsemen. One of them left the group, spurring his horse in the direction taken by Lawler. He must have been called back, for he wheeled his horse after he had ridden a dozen paces or so, and rejoined the group, which came on as before.

When the horsemen came to a halt near the fire, they were spread in a semi-circle about the Circle L men, and in their bronzed immobile faces was no answer to the question that agitated Blackburn and the other men. They had halted at a little distance from the fire, and one of them, a tall, slender, keen-eyed, thin-lipped man, urged his horse out of the circle and insolently inspected Blackburn and his cowboys. He lounged loosely in the saddle.

There was a sinister light in his eyes, a lurking threat in his manner.

"What outfit is this?" he demanded.

"Circle L, from Wolf River," answered Blackburn.

"Where you headin'?"

"To Red Rock."

"Railroad out of business?" jeered the outlaw.

"Far as the Circle L is concerned, it is, Antrim," smiled Blackburn. "We had a fuss, an' quit 'em."

The outlaw peered intently at the other. Then he grinned.

"It's Andy Blackburn!" he said. "Glad to meet you, Blackburn. This seems like old times--before the railroad went through; when old Luke Lawler used to jam 'em to Red Rock--sometimes--when he didn't pick up too many strays on the way." He laughed as though pleased over the recollection. "Got this stock vented, Blackburn?"

"Nary a vent, Antrim; the inspector wasn't feelin' in the humor."

"Ha!" exclaimed Antrim; "so you didn't get no vent. Well, we're aimin' to look through your herd. We've been missin' cattle all summer--from my ranch, the Circle Bar. About three thousand head. We've traced 'em as far as Kinney's cañon, an' lost 'em. But we've been thinkin', Blackburn, that it ain't no hard job to make a passable Circle L out of a Circle Bar. That's why we aim to look your cattle over."

He grinned slightly at Blackburn's scowl, aware of the impotent rage the latter felt over the worst insult that could be offered an honest cattleman. For an instant he watched Blackburn keenly, his lips sneering; and then when he saw that Blackburn had mastered his rage, he said, sharply:

"Who was that guy that rode away as we come up?"

"Lawler," said Blackburn. "He's figurin' on seein' you alone, looks like. He left word that when you come I was to tell you he wanted to see you."

The outlaw's eyes glowed with swift suspicion.

"He knowed me, eh?" he said. He glanced keenly over the level floor of the desert. Dimly, in the dusk, he could see Lawler riding near the herd. For an instant Antrim hesitated, plainly debating the wisdom of leaving his men; then he smiled with whimsical recklessness. And his movements became rapid, jerky.

"Slade," he said, addressing a rider near him; "you're runnin' things till I get back."

He wheeled his horse and sent him into the dusk toward the herd, riding cautiously, evidently not entirely convinced of the peaceableness of Lawler's intentions.

He rode a quarter of a mile before he came upon Lawler; and though the light was fading he could plainly see Lawler's face, set, expressionless.

The outlaw brought his horse to a halt within three or four paces of Red King. Antrim's manner exuded the insolent tolerance of the master, who has the confidence that comes from thoughts of an overwhelming advantage.

He knew Lawler; knew him as perhaps no other man in the section knew him. For he had seen Lawler using his gun. It had been some years before, when Lawler had been proving himself--proving that he had a right to the respect and consideration of his fellow-men; proving that no man could trifle with him.

Antrim had been a witness to the shooting. He had marked Lawler's coolness, the evenness of his temper; and had noted the deadly swiftness and precision of his movements when he had drawn his pistol. Lawler had not been the aggressor--a dozen other men had testified to that.

Antrim had not seen Lawler since, until now. And as he looked at him he saw that the years had brought a change in the man. He had been a tall, bold, reckless-looking youth then, with a certain wild waywardness in his manner that might have destroyed him, had he yielded to it. Now he was cold, calm, deliberate, imperturbable. The recklessness had disappeared from his eyes; they were now aglow with quiet determination. The waywardness had gone--ironlike resolution marked his manner.

And yet behind it all, Antrim could see the threat of those youthful passions; the lurking eagerness for violent action; the hint of preparedness, of readiness.

Antrim was startled, uneasy. He saw now that he should not have left his men; that he had made a mistake in coming alone to meet Lawler.

He was certain of it now, when he heard Lawler's voice, saw the cold, smiling light in his eyes.

"You're wanting my cattle, Antrim. Your men have been trailing me for two weeks. You don't get them. You've got thirty-nine men, and there are only twenty-three Circle L men over there. I'm not getting any of them killed. This thing is between you and myself. Get your hand away from your gun or I'll bore you!"

He moved his hand--where it had been--seemingly--lying on Red King's neck, under the mane; and Antrim saw the dark muzzle of a pistol showing in the hand.

"I'm not taking any chances, Antrim--you can see that. I'm not going to take any. If you do anything to attract the attention of your men, I'll kill you. Drop your guns, using your thumbs and forefingers." He waited, watching keenly, until the outlaw had complied with the demand, the two big pistols thudding dully into the sand beside his horse.

Then Lawler resumed, his voice low and even, as before:

"Now we're riding back to the fire, Antrim. Listen hard, for this means life or death to you.

"We're going back to the fire. You're going to act as though nothing had happened; and you are to tell your men that you have changed your mind about the cattle--you are to tell them that you are going with me to Red Rock; and you are sending them back to where you came from, to wait for you."

Antrim stiffened, and his face bloated poisonously. But he did not answer, for there was that in Lawler's eyes that convinced him of the futility of attempting resistance.

"You're going to Red Rock with me," went on Lawler. "I'm going to be personally responsible for you. I'm going to watch you; you're going to ride ahead of me. If you talk, or make any motion that brings any of your men back, you'll die so quick you won't know it happened! Do you understand?"

"Damn you, Lawler; you'll pay for this!" muttered the outlaw. "I'll go on your trail and I'll never let up till I get you!"

Lawler laughed, lowly. "Just be careful not to get any of that poison in your voice when you tell your men what I told you, Antrim, or you'll never go on anybody's trail. Get going, now; and be careful."

Antrim wheeled his horse, and Lawler spurred Red King beside him.

"I'll be watching you, Antrim," he warned. "If your men show they suspect anything wrong you go down, mighty rapid. You don't get off your horse until your men go. And there is to be no playing for time. You talk fast and earnest, and carefully. Go ahead."

Riding slightly in Antrim's rear, Lawler followed the outlaw to the fire. There had come no change in the positions of the outlaws or of the Circle L men. And when Antrim and Lawler rode up there was a silence during which the men of both factions looked interrogatively at their leaders.

Antrim's face was pale, and his voice was vibrant with emotion. But he did not hesitate.

"Slade," he said to the man he had left in charge; "I've changed my mind about those cattle. Lawler has given me proof that none of our stock is with them. I'm hittin' the trail to Red Rock with Lawler. You take the boys back to the ranch an' wait for me."

Slade's eyes widened; he flushed and peered keenly at Antrim. "You--why, hell's fire, Antrim; we----"

"Slade, do as I tell you!" said Antrim, coldly. "Are you runnin' my affairs? You hit the breeze, right now--you hear me!"

Slade grinned venomously, and waved a violent hand around the circle. "You hear your boss, boys!" he said; "Slope!"

The men hesitated an instant, sending sharp, incredulous glances at their leader. But Antrim, pale, knowing that if he betrayed the slightest sign of insincerity his men would suspect, met their looks steadily. The men wheeled their horses, muttering profanely, and rode slowly westward into the growing darkness.

When they had disappeared, Lawler smiled faintly at the outlaw chief.

"You can get down, now, Antrim." He drew the pistol from Red King's mane, where it had been concealed during Antrim's talk with his men, and sheathed it. And then Blackburn, who had been a silent, amazed witness to what had occurred, whistled softly, covertly poking Shorty in the ribs.

"There's one thing that's as good as a vent, ain't there, Shorty?" he said. "That's a gun in the hand of a man who's got plenty of nerve!"