CHAPTER XVI
THE OPEN HOLSTER
If there ever was a morning calculated to inspire good-will andheartiness in a human being it was that morning. The dawn cameswiftly, battering through a fleece of clouds and painting the BlueMesa in all the gorgeous and utterly indescribable colors of an Arizonasunrise. The air was crisp and so clear that it seemed to sparkle,like water. Andy White whistled as he gathered up the blankets andplodded toward the cabin. Pete felt like whistling, but for somereason he was silent. He followed Andy to the cabin and saw that thecowboy Cotton was making coffee.
"All we got is cold grub," stated Pete, "but we got plenty foreverybody."
"We fetched some coffee and bacon," said Cotton. But he did not invitethem to eat.
Pete glanced at Andy. Evidently Cotton had had his instructions or wasafraid to make any friendly overtures. Gary was still lying on themattress by the window, apparently asleep.
Pete stepped to where his own gun hung and buckled it on. "Let's moseyover to the spring and wash," he suggested to Andy. "I ain't no dude,but I kind o' like to wash before I eat."
"Here, too," said Andy. "Mebby we can locate the horses on the way."
When they returned to the cabin, Gary and Cotton were eating breakfast.Pete flung a pair of broken hobbles on the floor. "Somebody's cayusegot rid of these," he stated casually. He knew that they had been onGary's horse, as he had seen Gary hobble him. Pete turned and strodeout. Andy was unwrapping their lunch. Presently Gary and Cottonappeared and picked up their ropes. Andy White, who had seen his owneasily caught pony, graciously offered the use of it in hunting thestrayed horse, but Gary declined the offer gruffly.
"He's so doggone mean his face hurts him," stated Pete, as Gary andCotton set off together.
"We'll lose some time if his hoss has lit out for home," said Andy.
"Gary's doin' all he kin to make a job of it," declared Pete. "But Idon't wait for him. Soon's we finish eatin' I'm goin' to locate BlueSmoke and git to work. We kin run that line without any help fromthem. Let 'em walk till they're tired."
"And what do you think of a couple of punchers--_punchers_, mindyou--that sit down and eat bacon and drink coffee and don't as much assay 'come in'?"
"I don't waste time thinkin' about such, Andy. You finish up the grub.I got all I want."
"Shucks! This ain't all. We ain't touched the grub in yoursaddle-pockets yet. Ma Bailey sure fixed us up right."
"That'll do for noon," said Pete. "I'll run your hoss in, when I gitBlue Smoke. Your hoss'll follow, anyway."
"Jest a minute till I git my rope."
"Nope, you stay here. That Blue Smoke hoss knows me. If he spots twoof us comin' he's like to git excited and mebby bust his hobbles andlight out. I'll ketch him all right."
"Jest as you say, Pete."
The sun was warming the air and it was pleasant to sit and watch thelight clouds trail along the far horizon. Andy leaned back against thecedar and rolled a cigarette. He grinned as he recalled how Pete hadcalled Gary at every turn, and yet had given the other no chance tofind excuse for a quarrel. Pete was certainly "a cool hand--for akid." White, several years Pete's senior, always thought of him as notmuch more than a boy.
Meanwhile Pete, who knew every foot of ground on the homestead, trailedthrough the scrub toward the spring. Down an occasional opening hecould see the distant forest that edged the mesa, and once he thoughthe saw a horse's head behind a bush, but it turned out to be the stubof a fallen tree. The brush hid the cabin as he worked toward thetimber. Presently he discovered Blue Smoke's tracks and followed themdown into a shallow hollow where the brush was thick. He wound in andout, keeping the tracks in sight and casually noting where the horsehad stopped to graze. Near the bottom of the hollow he heard voices.He had been so intent on tracking the horse that he had forgotten Garyand Cotton. The tracks led toward the voices. Pete instinctivelypaused and listened, then shrugged his shoulders and stepped forward.A thick partition of brush separated him from the unseen speaker. Petestopped midway in his stride.
"If you squat down here you can see the winder, right under this bush.The moon was shinin'. It was a plumb easy shot. And it sure stoppedhomesteadin' in this end of the country."
Gary was speaking. Pete drew a step nearer.
"You ain't sayin' who fired that shot,"--and Cotton laughedobsequiously.
Pete stepped from behind the bush. Gary was facing toward the cabin.Cotton was squatting near by smoking a cigarette.
"Tell him," said Pete. "I want to know myself."
"What's it to you?" snarled Gary, and he stepped back. Gary's veryattitude was a challenge. Pete knew that he could not drop his ropeand pull his own gun quick enough to save himself. He saw Gary's handmove almost imperceptibly toward his holster.
"I reckon I made a mistake," said Pete slowly--and he let the rope slipfrom his hand as though utterly unnerved. "I--I talked kind o' quick,"he stammered.
"Well, you won't make no more mistakes," sneered Gary, and he droppedhis hand to his gun. "You want to know who plugged that oldhoss-thief, Annersley, eh? Well, what you goin' to say when I tell youit was me?"
Pete saw that Gary was working himself up to the pitch when he wouldkill. And Pete knew that he had but one chance in a thousand ofbreaking even with the killer. He would not have time to draw--butMontoya had taught him the trick of shooting through the openholster . . . Cotton heard Pete's hand strike the butt of his gun asthe holster tilted up. Pete fired twice. Staring as thoughhypnotized, Gary clutched at his shirt over his chest with his freehand. He gave at the knees and his body wilted and settled down--evenas he threw a desperate shot at Pete in a last venomous effort to kill.
Cotton heard Pete's hand strike the butt of his gun asthe holster tilted up.]
"You seen it was an even break," said Pete, turning to Cotton, whoimmediately sank to his knees and implored Pete not to kill him.
"But I reckon you'd lie, anyhow," continued Pete, paying no attentionto the other's mouthings. "Hunt your cayuse--and git a-movin'."
Cotton understood that. Glancing over his shoulder at Gary he turnedand ran toward the timber. Pete stepped to the crumpled figure andgazed at the bubbling hole in the chest. Then he stepped hack andmechanically holstered his gun which he had pulled as he spoke toCotton. "They'll git me for this," he whispered to himself. "It wasan even break--but they'll git me." Pete fought back his fear with apeculiar pride--the pride that scorned to appear frightened before hischum, Andy White. The quarrel had occurred so unexpectedly andterminated so suddenly, that Pete could not yet realize the full extentof the tragedy. While quite conscious of what he was doing andintended to do, he felt as though he were walking in a horrible dreamfrom which he would never awaken. His instincts were as keen asever--for he was already planning his next move--but his sensibilitieshad suffered a blunt shock--were numb to all external influence. Heknew that the sun was shining, yet he did not feel its warmth. He waswalking toward the cabin, and toward Andy. He stumbled as he walked,taking no account of the irregularities of the ground. He could hardlybelieve that he had killed Gary. To convince himself against his ownwill he mechanically drew his gun and glanced at the two empty shells."Three and two is five," he muttered. "I shot twict." He did notrealize that Gary had shot at him--that a shred of his flannel shirtwas dangling from his sleeve where Gary's bullet had cut it. "Wonderif Andy heard?" he kept asking himself. "I got to tell Andy."
Almost before he realized it he was standing under the cedar and Andywas speaking. "Thought I heard some one shoot, over toward the woods."
As Pete did not answer, Andy thought that the horse had got away fromhim. "Did you get him?" he queried.
Pete nodded dully. "I got him. He's over there--in the brush."
"Why didn't you fetch him in? Did he get the best of you? You looklike he give you a tussle."
"I got him--twict," said Pete.
"Twict? Say, Pete, are you
loco? What's ailin' you, anyhow?"
"Nothin'. Me and Gary just had it out. He's over there--in the brush."
"Gary!"
"Yes. I reckon I got him."
"Hell!" The ruddy color sank from Andy's face. He had supposed thatGary and Cotton were by this time tracking the strayed horses towardthe T-Bar-T. "Where's Cotton?" he asked.
"I told him to fan it."
"But, Pete--!"
"I know. They's no use talkin', Andy. I come back to tell you--and togit your rope. Mine's over by Gary."
"What you goin' to do, Pete?"
"Me? Why, I'm goin' to drift as soon as I can git a saddle on Blue.Cotton he seen the shootin'--but that don't do me no good. He'll swearthat I pulled first. He'd say 'most anything--he was too scared toknow what come off. Gary's hand was on his gun when I let him haveit--twict."
Andy noticed then Pete's torn sleeve. "I reckon that's right. Look atthat!"
Pete turned his head and glanced at his sleeve. "Never knowed heshot--it was all done so quick." He seemed to awaken suddenly to thesignificance of his position. "I'll take your rope and go git Smoke.Then I'm goin' to drift."
"But where?"
"You're my pardner, Andy, but I ain't sayin'. Then you won't have tolie. You'll have to tell Jim--and tell him it was like I said--_ifGary come at me, that would be different_. I'm leavin' it to you tosquare me with Jim Bailey." Pete picked up the rope and started towardthe spring.
"I'm goin' with you," said White, "and ketch my hoss. I aim to see youthrough with this."
In an hour they were back at the cabin with the horses. Andy Whiteglanced at his watch. "Cotton is afoot--for I seen his hoss overthere. But he can make it to the T-Bar-T in three hours. That'll giveus a start of two hours, anyhow. I don't know which way you aim toride, but--"
"I'm playin' this hand alone," stated Pete as he saddled Blue Smoke."No use your gittin' in bad."
White made no comment, but cinched up his pony. Pete stepped to himand held out his hand. "So-long, Andy. You been a mighty squarepardner."
"Nothin' doin'!" exclaimed Andy. "I'm with you to the finish."
"Nope, Andy. If we was both to light out, you'd be in it as bad as me."
"Then what do you say if we both ride down to Concho and report to thesheriff?"
"I tried that onct--when they killed Pop Annersley. I know how thatwould work."
"But what you goin' to do?"
"I'm ridin'," and Pete swung to his horse. Blue Smoke pitched acrossthe clearing under the spur and rein that finally turned him toward thesouth. Pete's sombrero flew off as he headed for the timber. Andy,reining 'round his horse, that fretted to follow, swung down and caughtup Pete's hat on the run. Pete had pulled up near the edge of thetimber. Andy, as he was about to give Pete his hat, suddenly changedit for his own. "For luck!" he cried, as Pete slackened rein and BlueSmoke shot down the dim forest trail.
Pete, perhaps influenced by Montoya's example, always wore ahigh-crowned black sombrero. Andy's hat was the usual gray. In theexcitement of leaving, Pete had not thought of that; but as he rode, hesuspected Andy's motive, and glanced back. But Andy was not following,or if he were, he was riding slowly.
Meanwhile Andy cheerfully put himself in the way of assisting Pete toescape. He knew the country and thought he knew where Pete was headedfor. Before nightfall a posse would be riding the high country huntingthe slayer of Gary. They would look for a cowboy wearing a blacksombrero. Realizing the risk that he ran, and yet as careless of thatrisk as though he rode to a fiesta, Young Andy deliberately turned backto where Gary lay--he had not yet been to that spot--and, dismounting,picked up Pete's rope. He glanced at Gary, shivered, and swung to hishorse. Riding so that his trail would be easy to read he set offtoward the open country, east. The fact that he had no food with him,and that the country was arid and that water was scarce, did nottrouble him. All he hoped for was to delay or mislead the posse longenough to enable Pete to reach the southern desert. There Pete mighthave one chance in twenty of making his final escape. Perhaps it was afoolish thing to do, but Andy White, inspired by a motive of whichthere is no finer, did not stop to reason about it. "He that givethhis life for a friend . . ." Andy knew nothing of such a quotation.He was riding into the desert, quite conscious of the natural hazardsof the trail, and keen to the possibilities that might follow in theform of an excited posse not too discriminating, in their eagerness tocapture an outlaw, yet he rode with a light heart. After all, Pete wasnot guilty of murder. He had but defended his own life. Andy's heartwas light because of the tang of adventure, and a certain appreciationof what a disappointed posse might feel and express--and becauseRomance ran lightly beside him, heartening him on his way; Romance,whose ears are deaf to all moral considerations and whose eyes see onlythe true adventurer, be he priest or pirate; Romance whose eyes areblind to those who fear to dare.