Man to Man Page 26

  CHAPTER XXVI

  YELLOW BARBEE KEEPS A PROMISE

  Terry started, shook off her apathy with a sudden effort and called out:

  "Steve! Steve! Come back!"

  He had gone but a half-dozen paces. He swung about and returned toher. It was not light enough yet for her to see his eyes; they seemedjust unfathomable, sombre pools in the shadow of his hat-brim. As heturned his head a little, harking to the distant sounds of men's voicesearning on, the rigid profile was harsh and implacable.

  "Terry," he said sternly, "you mustn't ask me to come back again. I amjust standing on my own rights this time, as a man must now and then.Old man Packard is over there. He is coming on. He wants trouble. Hedoesn't want the law courts. He always preferred to play the game manto man. He has cost me a number of cattle; when I can figure just howmany I am going over and collect from him--if we are both left alive,which is to be doubted. And now, if he wants fight----"

  Again he glanced over his shoulder. Still she could not read what layin his eyes. But a new, almost eager note, boyishly eager Terrythought in dismay, had burst into his voice:

  "If he wants fight--by God, Terry Temple, I'm as much Packard as he is!"

  She watched him wheel again and go. This time she did not call to him.Her little figure stiffened, her hands were down at her sides andclenched, her chin was lifted a little. The whole attitude wassoldierlike.

  "They are two of a kind," said Terry within herself. "They are men.They are Packards. I am proud and--and afraid--and-- Oh, dear God!Dear God! Bring him back to me!"

  She could hear Steve giving his brief orders crisply. Other figuresloomed about him, coming out of the night and the shadows. There wasyoung Yellow Barbee and Bandy Oliver; there was the Number Ten cowboywhom she knew only as "Spotty"; in a moment these and two or threeother men were with Steve. Six or seven; possibly eight of them alltold. And Barbee had said that there were about a dozen men with oldman Packard.

  "This is my fight, boys," Steve was saying. "Mine and mygrandfather's. I want you fellows to keep out of it unless the boyswith old man Packard mix in. If they do----"

  "We're with you," said Yellow Barbee. "Huh, boys?"

  And a little nervously and hurriedly they answered--

  "Yes."

  "Then," concluded Steve, "keep your eyes open. Hang back, now."

  She saw him lean forward in the saddle, noted how the horse leapedunder him, took anxious stock of the manner in which he carried hisrifle. Then suddenly there came back into Terry's cheeks the good hotblood, into her eyes the sparkle and shine, into her heart somethingakin to the sheer joy of battle. Had she a horse she would not havehung back for want of a rifle, but would have ridden after him, withhim. As it was she cried out ringingly:

  "God go with you, Steve Packard! I'm proud of you!"

  She might not ride with him; at least she would not crouch and cringeand hide her eyes. She would watch him as he rode, watch him as hefought, watch him to the end even though he slipped from the saddle.

  So she made her way hastily to a point of vantage, running the briefdistance lying between the slight knoll on which she stood and theeastern edge of the valley where the rugged peaks rose abruptly. Shescrambled up the first bit of slope, her heart beating wildly,expecting each second to hear the snap and crackle of rifle-fire. Sheturned and looked back; the floor of the valley was too uneven for herto have a sweeping view.

  She began climbing again. Great boulders rose in her path; somehow shegot on them and over them. Broken slabs of granite strewed the way;she made of them steps on which to mount higher and higher. Still nosound of a shot and at last, upon a narrow shelf of rock offeringsufficient foothold, she stopped.

  Here, with her back tight pressed to a rock, her hands gripping atirregularities on each side of her to steady her, she sent her questinggaze down into Drop Off Valley.

  Now she understood why there had as yet been no rifle-fire. The day,coming on slowly, still offered more gloom than radiance, but she couldpick out two figures clearly. One was that of Steve. He had ridden onahead of his men, perhaps a hundred feet ahead, and was upon a bit ofhigher ground.

  The other form, bulking big in the thin light, was indisputably that ofold man Packard. Like Steve, he had ridden on in advance of his men.She could just make out a dull mass yonder behind him which might havebeen but a group of boulders had not the impatient stirring showedwhere his horsemen were waiting.

  It was very still there on the uplands in the dim dawning. Inbreathless watchfulness a few men behind Steve watched; a few menbehind old man Packard watched; a girl upon a granite peak watched.Down toward the lower end of the valley where the floor of the plateaudropped precipitously into the steep-walled canon the fire Terry hadset was still burning fiercely. But the wind carried its fury awayfrom them, so that it was only an evil whisper.

  Here and there, elsewhere in the valley, the fires still burned on.There were wide stretches across which the flames had already swept sothat now they were ink-black, burnt-out, smoking a little. Upon suchan open space, still hot under their horses' hoofs, the two Packards,grandfather and grandson, came face to face. And they were stern,ominously set faces confronting each other.

  At last they had pulled rein, both of them, looking grotesquely likeclockwork mechanisms, being actuated by the same impulse at the sametime. Some ten feet only were between their horses' tossing heads.They were almost opposite Terry's lookout and at no great distance. Inthe quiet pervading the valley their voices came to her. Not eachword, but a word now and then, lifted above its fellows, and always thepurport. For there was no mistaking the quality of the two voices.

  Rage in old Packard was welcomed by wrath in young Packard. Heat andanger and explosive denunciation, these were to be looked for now.Never had it been the Packard way to temporize; always had it been thePackard way to leap in and strike. Few-worded always was the old man;as few-worded was the young man now.

  "You are a damn' scoundrel, sir!"

  "You will draw your men off. You will pay for the damage Blenham hasdone."

  "By God, sir!"

  There was little more said. That thunderous "By God, sir!" from theold man's lips carried to Terry where she stood tight pressed againsther rock. And then all unexpectedly and from an unexpected quarter,came the first rifle-shot.

  The first shot and the second, close together. The bullets passedbetween grandfather and grandson, kicking up little puffs of dustbeyond them. Neither looked to see whence the shots came. The thoughtwas in each mind:

  "Is this a Packard I am dealing with? Setting one of his hiredassassins to shooting from a blind?"

  The old man's rifle was thrown up before him; Steve's rose with it.Over yonder old Packard's men squared themselves in their saddles andmade ready for grim work. Yellow Barbee gave a signal all unneeded tohis men; his own rifle in his eager hands, was ready, the triggeryielding to his calloused forefinger.

  And then from the flinty spire of a peak rising between them and a sunthat was slowly wheeling into the clear sky, came scream after screamthat echoed and billowed across the open lands as Terry Temple, seeingsomething of the truth, cried out in terrified desperation and warning.

  A girl's voice screaming--Old man Packard turned sharply and stared inwonderment. Terry's voice--Steve swung about, his anger suddenlyquenched in alarm, his eyes seeking everywhere for her.

  It was Barbee who saw her first. Barbee called out, a strange note inhis voice, and clapped his spurs to his horse's sides and went racingacross the undulating lands toward her. Then Steve saw and old manPackard and the rest. Saw but at first could not understand: the sunwas just behind her, winking into their eyes. There was some one withher, struggling with her.

  "Blenham!" shouted Steve.

  And he was racing wildly along after Barbee, yearning to shoot to killand yet not daring to shoot at all. Blenham and Terry struggling uponthe iron side of the mountain, Terry striking
and striking at himfrantically, Blenham with his arms about her, dragging her back towarda wide fissure in the rocks, the sun bright above them.

  To Terry it seemed that the universe had come crashing down about herears. A moment ago, tense and rigid and breathless, she had stoodwatching two men face each other threateningly. Then there had beenthe crack of the unexpected, unseen rifle; the dust struck up betweenthem; the second shot. And the smoking rifle-barrel was not three feetfrom where Terry stood, Blenham's convulsed face laid against thestock, Blenham's one evil eye lining the sights.

  Almost on the instant she guessed something of the truth. Blenham inthis light was not sure of hitting; he would be a fool to shoot andmiss. Unless--and it was then that she screamed out her warning, thenbefore he had so much as put out his hand toward her.

  Unless Blenham, with all of the guile of him uppermost, knew that thatshot fired between the two would send them flying at each other'sthroats, ending all parley and bringing about unthinkable tragedy.Blenham had his own reasons for what he did; certainly it would fit inwith Blenham's plans to see the hand of a Packard set against a Packard.

  But she had not thought to have him seize her. Now his great,calloused, soiled, hairy hands shut down upon her, gripping hershoulders, jerking her from her place into the crevice from which hisface had emerged. She fought, seeking to get the revolver in herblouse.

  Blenham must have known that she kept it there. He snatched it andthrew it behind him and cursed her as he dragged her with him. AsBarbee came on and Steve came just behind him, the figures of Blenhamand Terry were both gone as though the mountain-side had split for themand closed after them.

  "They've got in a hole," called out Barbee. "Them mountains is full ofcaves. They can't get away far."

  As they went up the steep slope Barbee was still in the lead. Hemounted to the shelf of rock on which Terry had been standing. Hestepped into the crevice through which Blenham had dragged Terry.

  "There's a split in the rocks here," called Barbee. "He went this way."

  "Watch out for him!" warned Steve, now on the ledge close to the boy."Let me go ahead!"

  Barbee laughed.

  "Long ago I told him I'd get him!"

  But Blenham was waiting in a little rock-rimmed hollow. He shot fromthe hip, using a heavy revolver. Barbee stood a moment lookingfoolishly at the sky as he slowly leaned back against the rock. Thenhe lurched and fell, twisting, spinning so that he lay half in thefissure, his rifle clattering to the ledge outside, his body falling sothat his head and shoulders were across the rifle.

  Steve stepped over Barbee's twitching body, alert, every nerve taut,his finger crooked to the trigger of his rifle. But again Blenham hadwithdrawn. In the little rudely circular hollow from which Blenham hadfired point-blank at Yellow Barbee was Terry's hat, trodden underfoot.Again it was as though the mountain had swallowed the man and the girlhe had taken with him.

  But a moment later Steve saw and understood. Not ten steps from wherehe stood was the mouth of a cave. Into it Blenham had retreated. Inthere was Blenham now; Blenham and Terry with him. And the way, forthe moment at least, was securely blocked. Evidently here was ahangout known before, previously employed. It had a door made of heavycedar slabs. The door was shut, and, of course, barred from within.

  "Terry!" called Steve.

  Terry sought to answer; he heard her voice in inarticulate terror,little more than a gasp, choked back in her throat. Steve went deadwhite. He visualized Blenham's hands upon her.

  He came on to the door, his rifle clubbed. There was but the one thingto do; smash down the door and so come at Blenham the shortest,quickest, only way.

  Then Blenham called to him for the first time.

  "Fool, are you, Steve Packard? Look at that door. Don't you knowbefore you can batter it down I can pick you off! An' I can do more'nthat!"

  As though he had cruelly drawn it from her, there came again Terry'sscream. Steve sprang forward and struck at the heavy cedar planks.And Blenham called out again:

  "Maybe you can break your way in; there's enough of you. But you'llfind her dead when the door falls!"

  Steve had again lifted his rifle. Now he let it sink slowly so thatthe butt came to rest gently upon the rock at his feet. Blenham heldthe high hand; Blenham was unthinkably vile; Blenham was desperate.And Terry, his little Terry on whom Blenham had always looked with theeye of a brute and a beast, was in there, just beyond three inches ofsolid seasoned cedar planking.

  "If you harm her in the least--" It was Steve's voice though certainlyat first neither Blenham nor even Terry could have recognized it. "Ifyou harm her in the least, Blenham, I'll kill you. Not all atonce--just by inches!"

  Blenham answered him coolly.

  "I know when I've lost a trick, Steve Packard. This ain't the firs'one an' it ain't goin' to be the last. I've played 'em high an' Ialways knowed I took chances. But I'm playin' safe! Get me? Safe!"

  "Go ahead; what do you mean?"

  "Ol' man Packard is down there. This girl's yellin' spoiled my play.By now he has learned a thing or two. All right; that's jus' the runof luck, rotten luck!"

  Under the words the restraint was gone and his rage flared out briefly.But it was patent that Blenham's shrewdness was still with him. Hecontinued almost calmly:

  "You an' him can have two words together. Then come back here an' giveme your promises, both of you, to let me go. Then I'll let her go.Otherwise, I'm as good as dead--an' so's she. I'll jam a gun to herhead the las' thing an' blow her brains out. An', what's more, I'llget one or two of you besides before you drop me."

  Into their parley, interrupting it, his eyes flaming, his face hot withanger, mounted old man Packard.

  "Stephen," he said sternly, his eyes hard on his grandson's face, "tellme an' tell me the down-right truth, so help you God: Did you rent thispasture from Andy Sprague, thinkin' he owned it?"

  Though he wondered, Steve answered briefly, to have this done with sothat he could again turn to Blenham--

  "Yes."

  "An' the boys says you have been losin' stock an' blamin' it to me?An' that you've had stock poisoned an' shot? An' blamed it to me?"

  "Yes," said Steve.

  "So've I," said the old man heavily. "An' I've always blamed it toyou. An' I never sold to Andy Sprague. Him an' Blenham--Blenham hasplayed us both ways for suckers, has stole enough cows from one an'another----"

  His voice was swept up into the roar of rage which had given him hisname of the old mountain-lion of the north. He came stepping over poorBarbee's body, thrusting by Steve, towering over the door of the cave.

  "Hold back," commanded Steve queerly. "He's in there. But he's got iton us. We've got to promise to let him go!"

  "Let him go!" shouted the old man, his big bulk seeming actually toquiver with rage. "After all he's done, let him go? By the Lord,Stephen Packard, if you're that sort of a man----"

  "She is in there with him," said Steve heavily. "Terry is in there.Don't you see?"

  "Terry? That Temple girl? What have we to do----"

  "In the first place," cried Steve sharply, "she's a girl and he's abrute. In the second place, she is the next Mrs. Packard and I won'thave Blenham pawing over her!"

  His grandfather stared at him, long and keenly. Then he turned awayand called out commandingly--

  "Blenham, come out of that!"

  Blenham jeered at him.

  "And be shot down like a dog? There's a girl in here, Packard. YoungPackard is gone on her; he wants to marry her. An' unless you an' himgive your word to let me go, I'm goin' to jam a gun at her head an'blow her brains out. An' I'll get him as I come out; an' I'll get you."

  "Let him go!" called Terry faintly. "Let him go, Steve! Oh, dearGod--if you love me----"

  "Come out, Blenham!" shouted Steve. "I give you my word, so help meGod, to let you go scot-free. Come out!"

  "Not so fast," mocked Blenham, lingering over his high card.
"You'vegot to promise for your men; you've got to send 'em across the valley.You've got to have a horse handy for me to ride. You've got to backdown the valley yourse'f. An' ol' man Packard has got to do the same."

  Old man Packard roared out his curses, but in the end, seeing nothingelse to do, he went grumbling down the rocky slope, back to his horseand to his men. But first he had known perhaps the supreme humiliationof his life. He had said:

  "Blenham, on my word of honor as a Packard an' a gentleman, I'll letyou go. An' I'll make my men let you go."

  And there were actually tears hanging to his lashes as he swung againinto his saddle.

  "He has not hurt you, Terry?" asked Steve before he too would go downthe slope.

  "No," cried Terry. "No, no! But, oh, hurry, hurry, Steve. I feelthat I'll smother, I'll die!"

  From down in the valley they watched, close to a score of hard-eyed,wrath-filled men, as Blenham stepped out of the crevice and on to theledge. They saw how he jeered as he stepped over the body of the manhe had shot.

  "A fool was Barbee," he called. "A fool the Packards, ol' an' young!"

  They saw him come down the slope, carrying himself with a swaggeringair of braggadocio, but plainly watchful and suspicious. Terry hadcome out upon the ledge and she too watched him. He came down swiftlyand swung up into the saddle of the horse they had left for him.

  And now at last his suspicion was past. His triumph broke out like astreak of evil light.

  "I was ready to go," he called, "any time!"

  He swung his arm out toward the blue hills of Old Mexico.

  "Down there-----"

  Barbee whom they had thought dead stirred a little where he lay. Therifle under him he thrust forward six inches.

  "Blenham!" he called weakly.

  Blenham swung about and fired, again from the hip. But he had firedhastily. Barbee's rifle, resting upon the rock, was steady. Betweenits muzzle and Blenham's broad chest there was but the brief distanceof some fifty feet. The report of Barbee's rifle, the thin upcurlingsmoke under the new sun--these were the chief matters in all the worldfor their little fragment of time.

  Then Blenham threw out his arms and pitched forward. His foot caughtin the stirrup. The frightened horse was plunging, running, dragging aman whose body was whipped this way and that.

  "I promised--a long time ago," whispered Barbee, "that I'd get you,Blenham."