CHAPTER XXXVI
HOMER DINSMORE ESCORTS RAMONA
"I'm lost!" cried Ramona.
"Where from?" asked Dinsmore.
"From the A T O."
"You're Clint Wadley's daughter, then?"
She nodded. "We met Indians. I ... got away."
The girl knelt beside the brook, put her hands on two stones that juttedup from the water, and drank till her thirst was assuaged.
"I'm hungry," she said simply, after she had risen.
He led her back to the camp-fire and on the way picked up the bird hehad shot. 'Mona saw that he noticed her limp, though he said nothingabout it.
"I had an accident," she explained. "Fell down a rock wall while I wasgetting away from the 'Paches."
"They're out again, are they--the devils?" He asked another question."You said 'we.' Who was with you when the Indians took after you?"
"Quint Sullivan. I was on the other side of Crane Lake from him andheard shots. I saw Quint running for the horses with the 'Paches afterhim."
"Did he get away?"
She shuddered. "He reached the horses. They rode after him. I don't knowwhether...." Her voice thinned away.
The man at the camp-fire turned, and at sight of them dropped a sudden,startled oath.
Ramona looked at him, then at Dinsmore. A faint tremor passed throughher slight body. She knew now who these men were.
"What's _she_ doin' here?" demanded Gurley.
"She's lost. The 'Paches are out, Steve."
"Where are they?"
"Up at Crane Lake last night."
"Are they headed this way?"
"Don't know. She"--with a jerk of his thumb toward Ramona--"bumped into'em an' got away."
"We'd better light a shuck out o' here," said Gurley, visibly disturbed.
"Why? They ain't liable to come this way more than any other. We'll havebreakfast an' talk things over. Fix up this bird, Steve. Cook it in theskillet. She's hungry."
Ramona observed that both the men referred to her as _she_ whenever anyreference was made to her.
While they ate breakfast the girl told the story of her experience.Dinsmore watched her with a reluctant admiration. The lines of herfigure drooped with weariness, but fatigue could not blot out the graceof her young vitality.
"When can we start for home?" Ramona asked after she had eaten.
"For the A T O?" asked the lank, sallow outlaw brutally. "What's ailin'you? Think we're goin' to take you home with the 'Paches between us an'there? We ain't plumb crazy."
"But I must get home right away. My father--he'll be frightened aboutme."
"Will he?" jeered Gurley. "If he knew you was in such good company he'dbe real easy in his mind." The man flashed a look at her that made thegirl burn with shame.
"We could go round an' miss the 'Paches," suggested Ramona timidly.
"Forget that notion," answered Gurley, and there was a flash of crueltyin his eyes. "Mebbe you misremember that I'm obligated to you, miss, forwhat that condemned Ranger Roberts did to me when I fell over the box infront of the store. We'll settle accounts whilst you're here, I reckon."
The girl appealed to Dinsmore. "You're not going to let him ... mistreatme, are you?"
The pathos of her situation, the slim, helpless, wonderful youth of thegirl, touched the not very accessible heart of Dinsmore.
"You bet I'm not. He'll cut out that kind o' talk right now," he said.
The eyes of Ramona met his, and she knew she was safe. This man had therespect for a good woman that was characteristic of the turbulent Westin its most lawless days. He might be a miscreant and a murderer, but hewould fight at the drop of a hat in response to the appeal of any womanwho was "straight."
"Playin' up to Clint, are you, Homer?" sneered the other man. "Youbetter take her straight home like she wants, since you're so friendlyto the family."
"That's exactly what I'm goin' to do," retorted Dinsmore. "Anyobjections?"
Gurley dropped his sneer instantly. His alarm voiced itself in awheedling apology. "I didn't go for to rile you, Homer. O' course youcayn't do that. We got to stick together. The Indians is one reason. An'there's another. No need for me to tell you what it is."
"You'll have to wait for me in the canon till I get back. It's not farfrom here to you-know-where. I'm goin' to take the horses an' see thisgirl back to her home."
"You're good," Ramona said simply.
"You're not figurin' on takin' my horse, are you?" Gurley burst out withan oath.
"You've done guessed it, Steve. You'll have to hoof it into the canon."
"Like hell I will. Take another think, my friend."
The eyes of the men clashed, one pair filled with impotent rage, theother cold and hard as polished steel on a frosty morning.
Gurley yielded sullenly. "It's no square deal, Homer. We didn't bringher here. Why cayn't she go along with us an' hole up till the 'Pachesare gone an' till ... things kinda settle down?"
"Because she's got no business with folks like us. Her place is back atthe A T O, an' that's where I aim to take her. She's had one hell of atime, if you ask me. What that kid needs is for her home folks to tuckher up in bed an' send her to sleep. She's had about all the trouble ali'l' trick like her can stand, I shouldn't wonder."
"You ain't her nurse," growled Gurley.
"That's why I'm goin' to take her home to those that are. 'Nuff said,Steve. What I say goes."
"You act mighty high-heeled," grumbled the other man.
"Mebbeso," replied Dinsmore curtly. "Saddle the horses, Steve."
"I dunno as I'm yore horse-rustler," mumbled Gurley, smothering hissullen rage. None the less he rose slowly and shuffled away toward thehobbled horses.
'Mona touched Dinsmore on the sleeve. Her soft eyes poured gratitude onhim. "I'll remember this as long as I live. No matter what anybody saysI'll always know that you're good."
The blood crept up beneath the tan of the outlaw's face. It had beenmany years since an innocent child had made so naive a confession offaith in him. He was a bad-man, and he knew it. But at the core of himwas a dynamic spark of self-respect that had always remained alight. Hehad ridden crooked trails through all his gusty lifetime. His hand hadbeen against every man's, but at least he had fought fair and been loyalto his pals. And there had never been a time when a good woman need beafraid to look him in the face.
"Sho! Nothin' to that. I gotta take you home so as you won't be in theway," he told her with a touch of embarrassed annoyance.
No man alive knew this country better than Homer Dinsmore. Every drawwas like its neighbor, every rolling rise a replica of the next. But theoutlaw rode as straight a course as if his road had been marked out forhim by stakes across the plains. He knew that he might be ridingdirectly toward a posse of Rangers headed for Palo Duro to round up thestage robbers. He could not help that. He would have to take his chanceof an escape in case they met such a posse.
The sun climbed high in the heavens.
"How far do you think we are now from the ranch?" asked Ramona.
"Most twenty miles. We've been swingin' well to the left. I reckon wecan cut in now."
They climbed at a walk a little hill and looked across a wide sweep ofcountry before them. Ramona gave a startled cry and pointed anoutstretched finger at some riders emerging from a dry wash.
"'Paches!" cried Dinsmore. "Back over the hill, girl."
They turned, but too late. On the breeze there came to them a yell thatsent the blood from 'Mona's heart.