The Girl Of Ghost Mountain/Chapter 11
CHAPTER XI
THE LIQUOR OF VASQUEZ
For the last few miles Sheridan and Jackson had traveled on their uttermost reserves. The mare, untroubled by the fears that beset the men of what they might find at their journey's end, was in far better shape, yet she was on her last legs, tormented by thirst, her swollen tongue lolling from the jaws from which Sheridan had removed the bit. She had shared with the men the last of their water. Jackson promised a stream and green feed in the canyon and it seemed as if the mare knew this and brisked up as the walls of the Painted Rocks were lit by the rising sun and loomed higher and closer. Neither of the men was recognizable. Their haggard faces were caked with the desert dust that had fallen away from the lines graved deeply overnight, down which the sweat had coursed. Their features were grey, grim masks of resolve. Sheridan, gripping the rifle, showed his set teeth between his blistered lips, lawful murder stamped upon his features.
They did not look at each other. What hope was left in the bottom of their souls was dregs. They feared to stir it up. There was no need for speech, since they knew, and dreaded, each the other's thoughts. Once Jackson glanced up to where two buzzards wheeled above the canyon but he averted his eyes swiftly. It was a common enough sight, but to him, at that stage of the game, they seemed an omen. They were slowly nearing the ground in long spirals, sure sign that there was something dead, or dying, within their vision.
And it was Sheridan who first saw the tracks in the sand, tracks of a small foot, plain and sharp enough though the signs showed plainly that the maker was tired. They had cut this trail, that caused him to halt Jackson with a hoarse croak of excitement, crossing their own at a sharp tangent.
"Headin' straight to'ards ranch. Alone."
Jackson's voice rasped this out in a throaty whisper. Their tongues were badly mushroomed, their mucuous membranes shrunken. Their eyes were gummed, bloodshot, scorched. But this sight gave them new life and energy. Sheridan followed the trail, Jackson close behind and the mare last of all, torn between her belief in water close by and duty to her master. So they found Mary Burrows resting in the shade of a cactus thicket, her face pillowed on her elbow—asleep.
The joy that surged into her face changed as she saw the grey mask of his face, the steely strips of his half-closed eyes as they searched her features. Here was a Sheridan she had not known, a man worn to the very core of purpose.
"It's all right, Peter," she said. "Nothing has—happened."
Relief showed through the dust and in the eyes that hardened again.
"Where is he?" It was all he could do to articulate the words, all she could do to understand them.
"I don't know, Peter. He's blind." Sheridan blinked at her uncertainly. Jackson croaked out a meaning "Ah!"
"Vasquez' booze," he said.
"Got to get him," managed Sheridan. He pointed to his throat. "Water?"
"In the canyon. Plenty of it. And Hollister has a cache somewhere. I think where he hid the horses last night. There is bacon—and coffee—I know." Jackson managed a cackle of approval. Sheridan whistled to the mare who limped up and he motioned for the girl to mount.
"No. She's lame. I'm not in bad shape. Now you've come."
She said it to both of them but it was meant for the man she had twice called Peter. And who had not forgotten it, despite his condition.
With due caution they entered the canyon and turned into the side ravine. Sheridan and Jackson drank and cleansed themselves of sand, then drank again in little swallows as if they were tasting nectar. The mare had had her share and fallen to nibbling grass.
"The man who says there's ennything better than water," announced Jackson presently, "is a plumb chump. The on'y trubble is it's too cheap an' plenty, an' it ain't been properly advertised. Me, I'm goin' to look for them hawsses. Incidentally, grub. Incidentally, Hollister."
Alone together, Mary Burrow outlined to Sheridan what had happened.
"Thank God you are unharmed," he said. "I've come through the night searching for you with hell in my heart and my finger on my trigger, aching to kill him, to shoot him like a mad dog, every foot of the way. I should have given him no chance. I would have shot his heart out. And the score is not even yet. Or, if it is, I want to see it written."
She shuddered a little at the implacability of his voice.
"If he is hiding somewhere, in ambush?"
"There's no cover within pistol range of us. And Jackson can take care of himself. If the liquor has blinded him he won't recover for hours yet, if he ever does. But I mean to be sure before I leave this place. We'll eat first because we all need it. Then we'll find him."
"He's blind, Peter." Her tone puzzled him.
"Would you forgive him—after all he did, all he attempted?"
"God stopped him. God kept me safe. You thanked him for that just now. Hollister went out into the night, blind. You say he may not recover. Is that not punishment enough?"
Sheridan sat stern and silent. The girl studied his face. It was relentless.
"For my sake, Peter," she ventured. "It was I he meant to injure."
"And me, through you. It is for your sake that we shall find him. He shall have no chance to say he carried you off for a day or a night, and embellish his yarn to his own glory with his lying tongue. If I don't put him in his grave I'll make him stand on the brink of it and tell him how deep it is, and how always open for his reception."
Mary Burrows sighed a little at the new Sheridan. But it was not a sigh of reproach.
They sat silent for a while and then Jackson hailed them. He was bringing two horses with him, saddled.
"Found 'em tucked in a rift screened off by brush," he said. "They was thirsty, I reckon, an' w'en they heard me they whinnied or I might have passed 'em. Here's bacon, coffee an' canned tommatties."
He handed the provisions to the girl and winked at Sheridan.
"Lead one of the hawsses down to water, will you?" he asked.
"Well?" asked Sheridan when they were out of earshot. He knew Red's wink had not been casual.
"I found him," said Red. "You can take my word for it. He's dead an' he ain't pritty. Swollen up like a pizened woodchuck. Vasquez has saved the county money an' some good rope from bein' spiled. Vasquez' booze done the trick an' Vasquez has got to stop brewin' it. But I don't reckon it 'ud be a good idea to arrest him for this partickler occasion. From my p'int of view he ought to have a medal."
"You're right. Red. We don't want any inquiry, for her sake. The Mexicans won't talk. Hollister is known to have sold his place and stock. No one will grieve after him. We'll have to go light on what we tell the outfit, that's all, and ship Juanita away as soon as we can. Thora will have kept her quiet so far. Where was he?"
"Twisted up in a pothole. Tryin' to git to the hawsses, I reckon. I spotted two buzzards as we rode in. They'd lighted an' was squattin' on a rock above him. That's what give me my tip where to look. I covered him up with rocks pritty thorough. Not that I was wishful to be his sexton, but, if ennything should ever break, it might be as well to be able to show there ain't no gunshot or other wounds on him. Sabe? So I staved off the coyotes an' buzzards. Saved their lives, mebbe. I wouldn't describe him as a healthy meal, even for them."
Sheridan walked back thoughtfully. His hate died slowly, the intense desire to kill that he had not dreamed himself capable of possessing.
"Red has found him," he answered the girl's mute question. "The score is settled. We'll eat and get out of this place."
Food and water had done wonders for the mare. Her limp, after cold applications and bandaging by Sheridan, was much less pronounced. She was easily able to bear the girl's light weight.
Red, cinching up the horse he was to ride, watched Sheridan as he set Mary Burrows in the saddle. There was a humorous twinkle to his eyes, a quirk to his mouth.
"She's leadin' him into the home corral," he said, half to himself, half to the mount. "An' he's followin', close an willin'. Hawse, you was too good a piece of flesh to ever git mixed up with that Hollister. I told you that, time I borrowed you for Quong. I'm goin' to ride you from now on, you ol' son-of-a-gun. You're adopted in place of my roan. If you behave I'll beg a piece of pie for you from Quong. He owes it to you, ennyway. An' you an' me 'll go out on front on the home trail, eyes to the front, ears to the front, all the way. Sabef? Three's a crowd, caballo."
Such was the order of their return. Once only Red turned off, with a gesture to Sheridan that the latter understood. Jackson rode off towards the range when they were opposite the little pass to Pioche, disappearing behind some cactus. There was a scramble and a sullen flight of buzzards in that direction which Mary, diverted by Sheridan, did not notice.
When Red joined them he brought back an extra saddle, his own, dug up from the sand, and took the lead once more. He said nothing about the dead Mexican, what was left of him. Only he began to sing just above his breath,
"Oh bury me not on the lone prair-ee,"
Where the coyotes wild will howl over me,
In a narrow grave just six by three;
Oh, bury me not on the lome prair-ee.
"Buzzards would fit in better than coyotes, caballo. I'll tell Thora what happened final to the hombre she jabbed in the jaw, some time when she's feelin' downhearted."
Towards the end of the afternoon he turned off at a long slant that cut the road to the Circle S. A mile from the ranch the outfit came galloping out to meet them. Pounding behind on the bony white horse was Thora, Juanita with her, impatiently restrained but minding her guardian.
Thora rode up to Mary as the latter slid from her horse. Thora dismounted and wrapped the girl in her motherly arms.
"Oh, my lamb. My pritty," she cried.
The cowboys instinctively moved off. Sheridan answered a few of their questions and promised them fuller details at the ranch.
"The main thing is, she's safe and sound," he said. "Boys, for her sake, the less said about this affair the better."
"Seguro," assured Stoney. "You won't have to worry about that, Boss." Then he joined Jackson.
"Where you git the likely lookin' hawss, Red?"
"Swapped him for my roan. Roan's gone to horse-heaven. Hollister's gone t'other direction. No cards, no flowers, an' no regrets. Mum's the word. Sabe?"
"I don't have to be told twice," said the indignant Stoney.
Thora's face had lost its plump outline, it had traces of tears, it was drawn with anxiety.
"I haven't slept nor ate, not till I bane know about you," she declared to Mary.
"Thora! I was more selfish."
"You don't bane have a selfish bone in your body. I had to watch that Juanita. She bane a minx. She bane want to flirt with all the cowboys. An' they bane want to go after you but I gave them their orders. Now we bane go back home to the mountain, pretty, an' fix up all over again. I wish I bane there to kill that Hollister," she added simply. "I kill him slow an' hard."
Sheridan gave his orders to Jackson.
"They'll be going home right after Thora gets something to eat, Red. We can't chance any gossip. And they'd rather be there. We'll give them the buckboard and you and I will ride with them. Tomorrow we'll start in to fix another gate. One that won't burn so easily. Though I don't think there will be any more trouble."
"Is Thora the only one goin' to eat?" demanded Red. "Me, I'm empty as a sucked aig. Which reminds me, I promised this hawss of mine a chunk of pie. I'll go see Quong."