CHAPTER XL
PARTNERS
If Drew had done hard things in his life, few were more remorseless thanthe ride on the great bay horse that day. Starting out, he reckonedcoldly the total strength of the gallant animal, the distance to his oldhouse, and figured that it was just within possibilities that he mightreach the place before evening. From that moment it was certain that thehorse would not survive the ride.
It was merely a question as to whether or not the master had so gagedhis strength that the bay would not collapse before even the summit ofthe range had been reached. As the miles went by the horse loosened andextended finely to his work; sweat darkened and polished his flanks;flecks of foam whirled back and spattered his chest and the legs of hisrider; he kept on; almost to the last the rein had to be drawn taut; tothe very last his heart was even greater than his body.
Up the steep slopes Drew let the horse walk; every other inch of theway it was either the fast trot or a swinging gallop, not themechanical, easy pace of the cattle-pony, but a driving, lunging speed.The big hoofs literally smashed at the rocks, and the ringing of itechoed hollowly along the rock face of the ravine.
At the summit, for a single moment, like a bird of prey pausing in midcircle to note the position of the field mouse before it closes wingsand bolts down out of the blue, Drew sat his horse motionless and stareddown into the valleys below until he noted the exact location of hishouse--the lake glittered back and up to him in the slant light of thelate afternoon. The bay, such was the violence of its panting, literallyrocked beneath him.
Then he started the last downward course, sweeping along the treacheroustrail with reckless speed, the rocks scattering before him. When theystraightened out on the level going beneath, the bay was staggering;there was no longer any of the lilt and ease of the strong horserunning; it was a succession of jerks and jars, and the panting was asharper sound than the thunder of the hoofs. His shoulders, his flanks,his neck--all was foam now; and little by little the proud head fell,reached out; still he drove against the bit; still the rider had to keepup the restraining pressure.
Until at last he knew that the horse was dying on his feet; dying witheach heavy stride it made. Then he let the reins hang limp. It was sadto see the answer of the bay--a snort, as if of happiness; a pricking ofthe ears; a sudden lengthening of stride and quickening; a nobler liftto the head.
Past the margin of the lake they swept, crashed through the woods to theright; and now, very distinctly, Drew heard the heavy drum of firing. Hegroaned and drove home the spurs. And still, by some miracle, there wassomething left in the horse which responded; not strength, certainlythat was gone long ago, but there was an indomitable spirit bred into itwith its fine blood by gentle care for generations. The going washeavier among the trees, and yet the bay increased its pace. The crackleof the rifles grew more and more distinct. A fallen trunk blocked theway.
With a snort the bay gathered speed, rose, cleared the trunk with a lastglorious effort, and fell dead on the other side.
Drew disentangled his feet from the stirrup, raised the head of thehorse, stared an instant into the glazing eyes, and then turned and ranon among the trees. Panting, dripping with sweat, his face contortedterribly by his effort, he came at last behind that rocky shoulderwhich commanded the approach to the old house.
He found seven men sheltered there, keeping up a steady, dropping fireon the house. McNamara sat propped against a rock, a clumsy, dirtybandage around his thigh; Isaacs lay prone, a stained rag twistedtightly around his shoulder; Lovel sat with his legs crossed, staringstupidly down to the steady drip of blood from his left forearm.
But Ufert, Kilrain, Conklin, and Nash maintained the fight; and Drewwondered what casualties lay on the other side.
At his rush, at the sound of his heavy footfall over the rocks, the fourturned with a single movement; Ufert covered him with a rifle, but Nashknocked down the boy's arm.
"We've done talkin'; it's our time to listen; understand?"
Ufert, gone sullen, obeyed. He was at that age between youth and manhoodwhen the blood, despite the songs of the poets, runs slow, cold; beforethe heart has been called out in love, or even in friendship; beforefear or hate or anything saving a deep egoism has possessed the brain.
He looked about to the others for his cue. What he saw disturbed him.Shorty Kilrain, like a boy caught playing truant, edged little by littleback against the rock; Butch Conklin, his eyes staring, had grown waxypale; Steve Nash himself was sullen and gloomy rather than defiant.
And all this because of a grey man far past the prime of life who ranstumbling, panting, toward them. At his nearer approach a flash ofunderstanding touched Ufert. Perhaps it was the sheer bulk of thenewcomer; perhaps, more than this, it was something of stern dignitythat oppressed the boy with awe. He fought against the feeling, but hewas uneasy; he wanted to be far away from that place.
Straight upon them the big grey man strode and halted in front of Nash.
He said, his voice harsh and broken by his running: "I ordered you tobring him to me unharmed. What does this mean, Nash?"
The cowpuncher answered sulkily: "Glendin sent us out."
"Don't lie. You sent yourself and took these men. I've seen Glendin."
His wrath was tempered with a sneer.
"But here you are four against one. Go down and bring him out to mealive!"
There was no answer.
"You said you wanted no odds against any one man."
"When a man and a woman stand together," answered Nash, "they're worsethan a hundred. That devil, Sally Fortune, is down there with him."
A gun cracked from the house; the bullet chipped the rock with an evilclang, and the flake of stone whirled through the air and landed at thefeet of Drew.
"There's your answer," said Nash. "But we've got the rat cornered."
"Wrong again. Calamity Ben is going to live--"
A cry of joy came from Shorty Kilrain.
"Duffy says that he gave his horse away to Bard. Glendin has called backyour posse. Ride, Nash! Or else go down there unarmed and bring Bard upto me."
The shadow of a smile crossed the lips of Nash.
"If the law's done with him, I'm not. I won't ride, and I won't go downto him. I've got the upper hand and I'm going to hold it."
"If you're afraid to go down, I will."
Drew unbuckled his cartridge belt and tossed it with his gun against therocks. He drew out a white handkerchief, and holding it above him, at afull arm's length, he stepped out from the shelter. The others,gathering at their places of vantage, watched his progress toward thehouse. Steve Nash described it to the wounded men, who had draggedthemselves half erect.
"He's walkin' right toward the house, wavin' the white rag. They ain'tgoin' to shoot. He's goin' around the side of the house. He's stoppedthere under the trees."
"Where?"
"At that grave of his wife under the two trees. He waits there like heexpected Bard to come out to him. And, by God, there goes Bard to meethim--right out into the open."
"Steady, Steve! Drop that gun! If you shoot now you'll have Drew on yourhead afterward."
"Don't I know it? But God, wouldn't it be easy? I got him square insidethe sights. Jest press the trigger and Anthony Bard is done for. Hewalks up to Drew. He's got no gun on. He's empty-handed jest like Drew.He's said something short and quick and starts to step across the grave.
"Drew points down to it and makes an answer. Bard steps back like he'dbeen hit across the face and stands there lookin' at the mound. What didDrew say? I'd give ten years of life to hear that talk!
"Bard looks sort of stunned; he stands there with a hand shadin' hiseyes, but the sun ain't that bright. Well, I knew nobody could everstand up to Drew.
"The chief is talkin' fast and hard. The young feller shakes his head.Drew begins talkin' again. You'd think he was pleadin' for his life infront of a jury that meant him wrong. His hands go out like he wasmakin' an election speech. He holds one hand do
wn like he was measurin'the height of a kid. He throws up his arms again like he'd losteverything in the world.
"And now Bard has dropped the hand from his face. He looks sort ofinterested. He steps closer to the grave again. Drew holds out both hisarms. By God, boys, he's pleadin' with Bard.
"And the head of Bard is dropped. How's it goin' to turn out? Drew wins,of course. There goes Bard's hand out as if it was pulled ag'in' hiswill. Drew catches it in both his own. Boys, here's where we grab ourhosses and beat it."
He turned from the rocks in haste.
"What d'you mean?" cried Conklin. "Steve, are you goin' to leave us hereto finish the job you started?"
"Finish it? You fools! Don't you see that Drew and Bard is pals now? Ifwe couldn't finish Bard alone, how'd we make out ag'in' the two of them?The game's up, boys; the thing that's left is for us to save ourhides--if we can--before them two start after us. If they do start, thenGod help us all!"
He was already in the saddle.
"Wait!" called Conklin. "One of 'em's a tenderfoot. The other has lefthis gun here. What we got to fear from 'em?"
And Nash snarled in return: "If there was a chance, don't you think I'dtake it? Don't you see I'm givin' up everythin' that amounts to a damnwith me? Tenderfoot? He may act Eastern and he may talk Eastern, buthe's got Western blood. There ain't no other way of explainin' it. AndDrew? He didn't have no gun when he busted the back of old Piotto. Isay, there's two men, armed or not, and between 'em they can do more'nall of us could dream of. Boys, are you comin'?"
They went. The wounded were dragged to their feet and hoisted to theirhorses, groaning. At a slow walk they started down through the trees.Evening fell; the shadows slanted about them. They moved faster--at atrot--at a gallop. They were like men flying from a certain ruin. Beyondthe margin of the bright lake they fled and lost themselves in the vast,secret heart of the mountain-desert.