Part 68

“They’re expectin’ company down below,” he said.

This information and the summary manner in which the cowboys soon led the party higher up among the ruined shelves of rock caused a recurrence of anxiety. Madeline insisted on not going beyond a projection of cliff from which she could see directly down into the camp. As the vantage-point was one affording concealment, Ambrose consented, but he placed the frightened Christine near Madeline and remained there himself.

“Ambrose, do you really think the guerrillas will come?” asked Madeline.

“Sure. We know. Nels just rode in and said they were on their way up. Miss Hammond, can I trust you? You won’t let out a squeal if there’s a fight down there? Stewart told me to hide you out of sight or keep you from lookin’.”

“I promise not to make any noise,” replied Madeline. Madeline arranged her coat so that she could lie upon it, and settled down to wait developments. There came a slight rattling of stones in the rear. She turned to see Helen sliding down a bank with a perplexed and troubled cowboy. Helen came stooping low to where Madeline lay and said: “I am going to see what happens, if I die in the attempt! I can stand it if you can.” She was pale and big-eyed. Ambrose promptly swore at the cowboy who had let her get away from him. “Take a half-hitch on her yourself an’ see where you end up,” replied the fellow, and disappeared in the jumble of rocks. Ambrose, finding words useless, sternly and heroically prepared to carry Helen back to the others. He laid hold of her. In a fury, with eyes blazing, Helen whispered:

“Let go of me! Majesty, what does this fool mean?”

Madeline laughed. She knew Helen, and had marked the whisper, when ordinarily Helen would have spoken imperiously, and not low. Madeline explained to her the exigency of the situation. “I might run, but I’ll never scream,” said Helen. With that Ambrose had to be content to let her stay. However, he found her a place somewhat farther back from Madeline’s position, where he said there was less danger of her being seen. Then he sternly bound her to silence, tarried a moment to comfort Christine, and returned to where Madeline lay concealed. He had been there scarcely a moment when he whispered:

“I hear hosses. The guerrillas are comin’.”

Madeline’s hiding-place was well protected from possible discovery from below. She could peep over a kind of parapet, through an opening in the tips of the pines that reached up to the cliff, and obtain a commanding view of the camp circle and its immediate surroundings. She could not, however, see far either to right or left of the camp, owing to the obstructing foliage. Presently the sound of horses’ hoofs quickened the beat of her pulse and caused her to turn keener gaze upon the cowboys below.

Although she had some inkling of the course Stewart and his men were to pursue, she was not by any means prepared for the indifference she saw. Frank was asleep, or pretended to be. Three cowboys were lazily and unconcernedly attending to camp-fire duties, such as baking biscuits, watching the ovens, and washing tins and pots. The elaborate set of aluminum plates, cups, etc., together with the other camp fixtures that had done service for Madeline’s party, had disappeared. Nick Steele sat with his back to a log, smoking his pipe. Another cowboy had just brought the horses closer into camp, where they stood waiting to be saddled. Nels appeared to be fussing over a pack. Stewart was rolling a cigarette. Monty had apparently nothing to do for the present except whistle, which he was doing much more loudly than melodiously. The whole ensemble gave an impression of careless indifference.

The sound of horses’ hoofs grew louder and slowed its beat. One of the cowboys pointed down the trail, toward which several of his comrades turned their heads for a moment, then went on with their occupations.

Presently a shaggy, dusty horse bearing a lean, ragged, dark rider rode into camp and halted. Another followed, and another. Horses with Mexican riders came in single file and stopped behind the leader.

The cowboys looked up, and the guerrillas looked down. “Buenos dias, senor,” ceremoniously said the foremost guerrilla.

By straining her ears Madeline heard that voice, and she recognized it as belonging to Don Carlos. His graceful bow to Stewart was also familiar. Otherwise she would never have recognized the former elegant vaquero in this uncouth, roughly dressed Mexican.

Stewart answered the greeting in Spanish, and, waving his hand toward the camp-fire, added in English, “Get down and eat.”

The guerrillas were anything but slow in complying. They crowded to the fire, then spread in a little circle and squatted upon the ground, laying their weapons beside them. In appearance they tallied with the band of guerrillas that had carried Madeline up into the foothills, only this band was larger and better armed. The men, moreover, were just as hungry and as wild and beggarly. The cowboys were not cordial in their reception of this visit, but they were hospitable. The law of the desert had always been to give food and drink to wayfaring men, whether lost or hunted or hunting.

“There’s twenty-three in that outfit,” whispered Ambrose, “includin’ four white men. Pretty rummy outfit.”

“They appear to be friendly enough,” whispered Madeline.

“Things down there ain’t what they seem,” replied Ambrose.

“Ambrose, tell me—explain to me. This is my opportunity. As long as you will let me watch them, please let me know the—the real thing.”

“Sure. But recollect, Miss Hammond, that Gene’ll give it to me good if he ever knows I let you look and told you what’s what. Well, decent-like Gene is seen’ them poor devils get a square meal. They’re only a lot of calf-thieves in this country. Across the border they’re bandits, some of them, the others just riffraff outlaws. That rebel bluff doesn’t go down with us. I’d have to see first before I’d believe them Greasers would fight. They’re a lot of hard-ridin’ thieves, and they’d steal a fellow’s blanket or tobacco. Gene thinks they’re after you ladies—to carry you off. But Gene—Oh, Gene’s some highfalutin in his ideas lately. Most of us boys think the guerrillas are out to rob—that’s all.”

Whatever might have been the secret motive of Don Carlos and his men, they did not allow it to interfere with a hearty appreciation of a generous amount of food. Plainly, each individual ate all that he was able to eat at the time. They jabbered like a flock of parrots; some were even merry, in a kind of wild way. Then, as each and every one began to roll and smoke the inevitable cigarette of the Mexican, there was a subtle change in manner. They smoked and looked about the camp, off into the woods, up at the crags, and back at the leisurely cowboys. They had the air of men waiting for something.

“Senor,” began Don Carlos, addressing Stewart. As he spoke he swept his sombrero to indicate the camp circle.

Madeline could not distinguish his words, but his gesture plainly indicated a question in regard to the rest of the camping party. Stewart’s reply and the wave of his hand down the trail meant that his party had gone home. Stewart turned to some task, and the guerrilla leader quietly smoked. He looked cunning and thoughtful. His men gradually began to manifest a restlessness, noticeable in the absence of former languor and slow puffing of cigarette smoke. Presently a big-boned man with a bullet head and a blistered red face of evil coarseness got up and threw away his cigarette. He was an American.

“Hey, cull,” he called in loud voice, “ain’t ye goin’ to cough up a drink?”

“My boys don’t carry liquor on the trail,” replied Stewart. He turned now to face the guerrillas.

“Haw, haw! I heerd over in Rodeo thet ye was gittin’ to be shore some fer temperance,” said this fellow. “I hate to drink water, but I guess I’ve gotter do it.”

He went to the spring, sprawled down to drink, and all of a sudden he thrust his arm down in the water to bring forth a basket. The cowboys in the hurry of packing had neglected to remove this basket; and it contained bottles of wine and liquors for Madeline’s guests. They had been submerged in the spring to keep them cold. The guerrilla fumbled with the lid, opened it, and then got up, uttering a loud roar of delight.