Top-Notch Magazine/Volume 66/Number 3/East of Sunrise/Chapter 6
CHAPTER VI.
THE WHIP HAND.
RETURNING to the pool just below the little basin that caught the drip of the spring, Seward laid aside his coat and hat, unbuckled his holster harness and laid the gun on his coat, then unbuttoned his shirt at the neck, rolled up his sleeves and plunged his head into the water.
His hair was caked with sand, and his face was grimy with it. All his weariness seemed to drop from him with that refreshing dip. Now if the black curtain would only lift from before his eyes! If he could only see! Nevertheless, he still considered himself in luck, and he laughed softly as he shook the water out of his hair and dried his face on a bandanna handkerchief.
He had ceased to worry about the señorita. She was a designing person, and she had taken the canteen and had abandoned him to his fate in the desert; and she must have known that he was blind as she skulked away while the sandstorm was blowing itself out. Just what her designs were was a puzzling question; but she had missed the gold. If the “bandidos” were her confederates, then undoubtedly they had picked her up; very likely they had been keeping track of her from the hills all the while she was in his camp and afterward during that futile start for the pass.
Being well rid of her, he thought, was a cause for congratulation. He was smiling to himself as he reached gropingly for his six-gun, his coat, and his hat. His hands failed to find what they were searching for, and in a flash he realized that his luck was not all that he had believed it to be. Hat, coat, and gun had vanished; and, as that fact came home to him, he sensed the presence of some one else in the camp. It might be the girl, or the bandidos, or all of them. Ah, if he could have looked around! He would have given a year of his life for one minute’s use of his eyes.
Seward’s ability to think quickly in a pinch had many a time stood him in good stead during; his desert experiences. He made use of it now and adjusted himself to the evil circumstances as best he could.
“Where in blazes did I put that gun?” he said aloud, trying to make it appear that he did not suspect the presence of unseen, thieving hands. “Oh, well,” he added, rising, “I’ll find it later.”
Placing his fingers to his lips he gave vent to a shrill whistle. Sandy answered the call, drew close, and pushed his nose against his master’s shoulder. Seward removed the heavy saddlebags from the burro’s back and carried them into the encircling chaparral. He bent down under the mesquite, dipped a hand into his trousers’ pocket with all the eye-defying swiftness of a conjuror, and pushed the saddlebags out of sight in the bushes. From under the buckled flap of one of the bags glimmered, in plain view, the half of a twenty-dollar gold piece. Seward lifted himself, paused a moment to get his bearings, and then returned to the burro.
“Now, Sandy,” he remarked, “whatever happens that gold is safe. I’ll strip the pack gear from your back, and we’ll both try and take our comfort.”
Before he could begin, there was a stir behind him, and another voice broke the silence:
“Jest a minute, Seward; jest a minute. I reckon y’u thought y’u was alone here, huh? Well, it ain’t that way at all. Y’u see, old-timer, I’m around.”
Seward was not startled by the sound of the voice, although he sprang to an about-face and pretended to be. What really surprised him was the fact that the voice had a familiar ring.
“Good!” he exclaimed. “It’s a comfort to have somebody around just now. Who are you?”
A throaty chuckle prefaced the answer: “Yore old friend, Red Galloway, Seward. Can’t y’u see at all, amigo?”
Seward shook his head. “Sun-blind, Galloway,” he answered. “It came on me during the sandstorm. How is it that you happen to be here?”
“Jest a chance, Seward. I was ketched in that flurry o’ dust, and my caballo got away from me. That hoss is on his way to Cerillos by now, I expect. That’s where I got him from, and whenever he breaks away, or I give him his head, he lays a bee line fer his old stampin’ ground. I’m feelin’ tollable good over this, myself. I didn’t allow y’u was the sort that ever had any hard luck, same as bein’ sun-blind. Accordin’ to the stories about y’u that’s bein’ passed around, y’u’re bulletproof and hard-luckproof. Nothin’ to it, is the’?”
“No, Galloway,” returned Seward; “there’s nothing to it. Where’s your pardner, Eph Springer?”
“Him and me has cut adrift, Seward. We was to meet at Dead Mule Flat, but I’m changin’ my mind about that. I reckon I’ll cut loose from Eph for keeps. By goin’ through the pass east o’ Sunrise Cañon I’ll be within two days’ hikin’ of Sonora. With the five thousand in gold in them saddlebags, I reckon I can do right well acrost the line. One spell, Eph and me made a dead set at that gold, but y’u called the turn on us. Ever since then Eph and me has been yore little dog Fido, walkin’ lame, rollin’ over and playin’ dead whenever y’u crooked yore finger or cracked the whip. Them times, Seward, y’u could see; but now, bein’ blind, it makes a heap o’ difference. Don’t y’u allow it does?”
There was a quick sound of feet, and Seward felt a stinging blow across his face. He struck out with his fist, but the blow spent itself on space. There came the throaty chuckle again.
“Y’u was hittin’ south, Seward,” taunted the voice, “and I’m here to the north. I’ll admit I was scairt o’ y’u, one spell, but bein’ blind that a way sort o’ pulls yore fangs. I lost my hat durin’ the sandstorm, but now I got yore’n. Got yore coat, too, and that six-gun with the neat, little holster harness. That’ll come handy, I expect, down there in Sonora. I ain’t never comin’ back this side the line any more. If y’u ever meet up with Eph, jest tell him I said good-by; tell him I had a chance to make off with the five thousand pesos, and that I made the most of it. Him and me has about played out around these parts. Grubstakin’ suckers ain’t so plenty, and the old game has got so slow we’re apt to starve to death. Jest excuse me a minute. Seward, while I get the gold.”
“You can’t take that gold, Galloway!” cried Seward.
There was another quick movement, another blow, another throaty chuckle. Seward put up a hand to his face; and he could feel the warm tickle of red that rilled across his cheek from the broken skin.
“Shore,” gibed Galloway, “I’m yore right good friend, Seward! Nothin’ on earth I wouldn’t do fer y’u; and ain’t I provin’ it? If some o’ these old alkalis could see y’u now, I’ll bet they’d change their minds about y’u’re bein’ ten feet high and wearin’ horns. I can pound y’u around all I blame’ please, and it ain’t in y’u to put the double-cross on me. And don’t lie about my not bein’ able to take the gold. I seen where y’u put them saddlebags, y’u four-flusher! And I heard the bags clink as y’u toted ’em. Wait a minute!”
There followed a sound of scrambling in the chaparral. Under the little smudge of red a grim smile worked its way over Seward’s face as he stood and waited. There was another crashing of brush, a fall of heavy feet in the sand, and this time a dull chinking noise.
“Didn’t get the gold, huh?” jubilated Galloway. “Why, Seward, one o’ them double-eagles had spilled out from under the flap o’ the saddlebags! I’m takin’ the burro, too, and makin’ the bags fast to the pack saddle.” The saddlebags rattled as he maeuvered with them. “So fur, so good,” he mumbled. “There ain’t much more’n half yore pack on the burro, Seward. Here’s grub, but no canteens. Where’s the canteens? I’m askin’ y’u right friendly, Seward, about them canteens. I don’t want to strike out fer Sonora without a water supply.”
“The small one is lost, Galloway,” replied Seward; “you’ll find the big one in the brush to the east of the spring.”
“Losin’ yore nerve, ain’t y’u?” jeered Galloway. “Y’u know when somebody has got the whip hand of y’u, don’t y’u? Now I’ll fill that big canteen, if I can find it where y’u say it is, and I’ll be on my way. Somebody is liable to come huntin’ y’u, and I’m going to make myself scarce, muy pronto.”
Seward sat down in the sand, hunched up his knees in front of him, and clasped his hands about them. He could hear Galloway splashing in the water as he filled the canteen; then Galloway returned to the burro and secured the canteen to the packsaddle.
“Now,” he went on, “I allow I’m fixed till I cross the border." After that, I’ll get along fine. I ort to be able to loaf two or three years, down among the greasers, on five thousand pesos.”
“Let me tell you something before you go, Galloway,” said Seward.
“Spit it out, old-timer; I ain’t got much time to spare if I get through the pass and to the water hole beyond, come night. What’s on yore mind?”
“Just this,” Seward went on coolly, dispassionately: “I’ll have my sight again in a few days, and then I’ll be after you. I’ll have you, Galloway, if I have to chase you from Mexico to Central America, down through Panama and clear to Cape Horn. You’ve got my gun, and you could kill me with it; but you are yellow, clear through, and haven’t the nerve. The only way you can save your red scalp is by leaving those saddlebags, the burro, and the rest of the plunder. You can take the canteen, if you want to go; but you’ll do better by yourself if you show good sense, stay here, and lend me a helping hand. Make your choice, and make it now.”
The old look of fear rose in Galloway’s face. Seward had been his Nemesis, and his orders were backed with an appalling reputation to evil-doers for making good his threats. For a moment it seemed as though Galloway’s nerve would fail him. He dropped back against the burro, striking the saddlebags with one extended arm as he did so.
The clinking sound that followed focused his greed for gold upon his shrinking courage. He took heart. There had come to him, by the spring near the hogback, one chance in a million to make a big stake. Seward was blind and helpless. Suppose, with sight returned, he did trail him? Sonora was wide and filled with hiding places, and Galloway was adept at keeping himself out of sight.
“All right,” yelled Galloway, “I’m makin’ my choice! How d’y’u like it?”
Again he struck at Seward; but Seward, sensing what was coming, threw himself backward, and Galloway’s big fist cleaved the air. As Seward rolled to get out of the way, Galloway jumped on him with crushing force. Seward caught at the two feet on his chest, but Galloway kicked himself clear.
“Trail me!” shouted the grubber defiantly. “Find me if y’u can! Mebby I’ll have some greaser boys handy at my back, and we’ll give y’u more’n a handful.”
There came the dull thud of a kick, followed by a wheezy groan from Sandy.
“Get down there to the water, y’u imp o’ the devil,” roared Galloway, “and take yore last drink this side o’ the water hole t’other side the pass!”
Seward groped over the ground for a rock, but he could find none. A few minutes later, while he was crawling toward the spring in the hope of encountering Galloway and coming to grips with him, he heard the padded fall of hoofs on the slope of the hogback. From above floated the raucous voice of Galloway:
“Adios, Seward of Sacatone! Y’u’re some man, with yore eyes in workin’ order, but y’u couldn’t even side-step a sidewinder the way y’are now. Drop in on me over in Sonora! The latch-string is out fer y’u, any old time!”
“Galloway,” answered Seward, “you don’t know what you’re up against!”