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“They’ve seen some men riding on the desert,” said the girl. “They think they’re some of the Vigilance Committee. Williams’ Cache is in that direction, and Bozzam and Paisley are afraid to go. Bozzam said he thought he’d wait until the men came back.”

Kathleen had replaced her barricade at the door. They mounted to the top of the creaky table, and there, huddling close together, they passed the night. Both must have slept, for when Kathleen again looked out of one of the windows the dawn had come. And Jane was rubbing her eyes, yawningly.

The bright light of day banishes many of the terrifying recollections of the darkness, and—and there were the men that Bozzam and Paisley had seen in the desert. There was hope, there!

Shortly after sunrise Bozzam knocked on the door.

“Everything all right in there?” he asked gruffly.

Kathleen did not answer; but Jane called:

“Yes. Go away!”

They heard him try the door and shove against the barricade. The latter held—Bozzam’s deep laugh floated through the door to them.

“Locked out, eh?” he said. “Well, that’s all right. You want some grub, don’t you?”

“No!” said Jane, spitefully.

Bozzam chuckled. “Rather peeved, eh? Well, I’ll leave some grub on the door sill. You can get it when you think you need it.”

Later, they saw Bozzam and Paisley go together to the gray ridge. They took Ginger and Kathleen’s horse with them. Seizing the opportunity Jane and Kathleen opened the door, found the food that Bozzam had left for them, and went outside to eat and stretch themselves in the warm sunshine. Bozzam and Paisley, Kathleen noted, watched them closely; Paisley standing near the water’s edge, facing them, while Bozzam devoted his attention to the desert.

When Kathleen saw the men start on the return trip, she went into the house, urging Jane to do likewise. The girl refused.

“It’s too stuffy in there,” she objected. “I’m going to stay out in the sun. Besides, I’m not afraid of Bozzam and Paisley. And daddy will come pretty soon.”

When Bozzam and Paisley returned their faces wore worried expressions. Kathleen heard Bozzam curse. Later, about noon, Bozzam rode alone to the gray ridge. When he returned, this time, and spoke rapidly to Paisley, Kathleen, watching them from a window, saw Jane, standing near them, jump up and down and clap her hands in glee. Both men muttered at her.

Half an hour afterward, Jane entered the cabin again. Her face was aglow with delight.

“I told you daddy would hunt us!” she said. “Bozzam said he just saw a lot of men riding across the desert toward Williams’ Cache. Daddy was leading them. Bozzam says the men he saw last night must have been his own men. He was fooled. And now he will have to wait here until daddy and his men come back. And then, like as not, daddy will ride right over that gray ridge on Meteor and kill Bozzam and Paisley!”

But “Daddy” did not come riding across the gray ridge to kill Bozzam and Paisley. The day wore on, and the twilight came, then the dusk, and an early, moonless darkness. In the interval before moonrise, Gawne and his vigilantes returned, unsuccessful, having found Williams’ Cache deserted, except for one man. The Committee discovered, through the outlaw, that Reb Haskell had brought word of the Bozzam City disturbance to Blacky, and that, later, the other men of the Bozzam outfit had drifted in to corroborate Haskell’s news. Anticipating a visit from the Vigilance Committee, Blacky had discreetly decamped, leaving behind one of his men, with a message for the leader of the Vigilantes.

“Blacky don’t want none of your game,” was the burden of the message delivered by the lone outlaw to Gawne.

“Hame Bozzam been here?” Gawne questioned.

“Ain’t seen him.”

“Nigger Paisley? Or a woman?”

The man laughed. “Paisley ain’t been here. It ain’t no place for no woman.”

Gawne satisfied himself by searching every shanty about the place. After the search he conferred with the Committee. There was a grim patience in his voice.

“We’ve got to take this man’s word. Bozzam will bring up here, finally. He’s given us the slip, and is lying low, somewhere. We’ll break up. Some of you ride to Fillet’s Wells. Billings; you and your men hit the Las Vegas trail—hard! Some more of you scatter for the towns between Fillet’s Wells and Las Vegas. I’ll go back through Bozzam City, get some more of the Diamond Bar men and comb the basin and the mountains. If you see Bozzam, don’t wait for him to shoot first!”

Gawne had ridden a matter of ninety miles in twenty-four hours. He had partaken of food once.

But there were no signs of fatigue about him. When he headed Meteor toward Bozzam City he was conscious of no muscular weariness. There was no room in his brain for thoughts of his physical condition. A cold, seething, vicious rage against Hame Bozzam, dominated him. Approaching the rage in intensity was the bitter self-accusation that had gripped him since he had heard the Colonel’s story.

Meteor had fared little better than he during the past twenty-four hours. Yet the gray horse’s stride, as it swung in a steady lope toward Bozzam City, was not noticeably less sure and springy than it had been for many hours. Meteor could be depended upon for many miles, yet.

When Bozzam City’s lights flickered in Gawne’s vision, the gray horse quickened his pace appreciably. His rider was forced to pull him down that he might conserve his energy and strength. Gawne stopped at the Palace long enough to make inquiries, to feed Meteor sparingly, and to let him bury his muzzle for one delicious instant, in a pail of water. He took nothing, himself, except a glass of water at the Palace bar.

Hame Bozzam had not been seen in town.

“Some of the gang has pulled their freight,” volunteered the barkeeper in the Palace. “The out stage was packed. Gettin’ unhealthy, here, for a lot of ’em—eh? Well—the town can stand it. Blanche Le Claire drifted out—Denver—Ed Miller doin’ the honors.”

Gawne grinned with ghastly mirthlessness. He did not say that he wished Blanche Le Claire had never seen Bozzam City, but that thought was in his mind.

When Meteor had finished his meager meal Gawne mounted again. In an instant they had left the lights of Bozzam City far behind them. When the moon came up, Gawne rode more slowly, scanning the trail. When he reached the spot in the basin near the sand ridge—where the Colonel had told him Bozzam and Paisley had overtaken him and Kathleen—he studied the hoof prints in the sand long and intently. Many times he rode back and forth; and he followed three distinct tracks back toward Bozzam City—to the level above the basin. There the tracks stopped—and were joined by another—those of a lone horseman. The hoof prints that the lone horse had left led back toward Bozzam City. The others led back into the basin.

The moon made a clear, white glare, and Gawne had no difficulty in tracing the hoof prints; though several times—in sections where the sand was hard and dry—he had to dismount and search for the impressions on foot.

The whole story of the meeting between the Colonel and Kathleen, and Hame Bozzam and Nigger Paisley was written in the hoof prints; and as Gawne followed them he accused himself bitterly for not thinking of examining the trail that morning.

There was one puzzling feature. At a certain spot in the basin the trails separated—two sets of hoof prints veering off toward the Harkless ranch, and one continuing on toward the Diamond Bar.

Gawne did not stop to conjecture over this, once it was certain that the party had separated. He gave Meteor the word, and the gray horse whisked him through the basin rapidly, toward the Diamond Bar. For it had burst upon Gawne with paralyzing suddenness that if Hame Bozzam were leaving the country, his hatred would impel him to attempt some dastardly trick; and Gawne had a presentment that Bozzam would direct his blow at Jane—for Bozzam had always wanted the girl. And Nigger Paisley was with Bozzam!

Gawne was not surprised when he rode up to the Diamond Bar porch to see Aunt Emily and Uncle Lafe standing near the open doorway of the ranch-house, in the glare of light from within. Nor was he surprised when Aunt Emily screeched her lamentable news at him:

“Jane’s gone, Jeff! Clear gone! Her bed ain’t been slept in! An’ the lamp was burnin’ in the dinin’-room this mornin’—where she’d been readin’! An’ Ginger’s gone—too!”

Gawne swung off his horse and grasped the woman by the arms, turning her face to the light from the open doorway.

“Talk fast, now—and quit sniveling!” he said, coldly. “You say the lamp was burning this morning, and her bed hadn’t been disturbed. Why didn’t you tell me this morning?”

“I hadn’t got around—to go to her room,” wailed Aunt Emily. “I saw the lamp burnin’, but I thought she’d jes’ forgot it—goin’ to bed without blowin’ it out. An’ you came an’ went away ag’in so quick!”

“That’s all!” said Gawne. He stepped to Uncle Lafe. “Any horses here?”

“The—boys ain’t come in. They’re workin’ the north fork of the river. The remuda’s with ’em.”

“All right!” Gawne’s voice had a snapping metallic sound. He was off the porch in a bound; with another he was swinging into the saddle with Meteor already in a dead run. Heading toward the Harkless ranchhouse—toward which the two sets of hoof prints had led from the basin—he leaned over the gray horse’s head, whispering, his voice coming through his teeth:

“I’ll have to kill you tonight, Meteor—God bless you!”

CHAPTER XXVIII

AND WINS

After the coming of the darkness a fever of dread anxiety gripped Kathleen, in the Carter cabin. Jane had gone out again. Kathleen envied the girl her nonchalant disregard of the presence of Bozzam and Paisley; but she had objected when Jane had gone out the last time. She had watched Bozzam and Paisley from one of the windows, noting their strained, worried glances toward the desert; their furtive, significantly dark looks at the cabin, and she felt they meditated ruthless action of some sort.

She replaced the furniture against the door—after Jane’s departure—and then hurriedly sought one of the windows and watched her reception at the hands of the men. It was not nearly so cordial as formerly. Bozzam gave her a curt word. Kathleen could not see Bozzam’s face, for his back was toward her; but she saw Paisley’s face fairly in the white moonlight, as he looked at the girl, and its expression terrified her.

The men had built no fire. Bozzam was standing near where they had piled the saddles; Paisley was sitting on one, his hands clasped around a knee. The horses were picketed near by; Jane walked to them, and went from one to the other, patting their muzzles and stroking their manes. Paisley’s incessant gaze followed the girl; he smirked at her, when at times she turned to look toward the two men.

Bozzam was nervous; Kathleen saw his big shoulders twitch; and he kept turning his head from the gray ridge that rimmed the desert, to the side of the mountain that led upward from the Gap toward the Diamond Bar—as though he expected the Vigilantes to appear from either direction.

But Bozzam did not fear the Vigilantes half as much as he feared one man—Jeff Gawne. He regretted, now, that he had brought Jane with him. All day he had been cursing the slow wit that had made him think, last night, that the men he had seen going toward Williams’ Cache were Vigilantes. He might have known that his men would head straight for the Cache. If he was caught now, that mistake of judgment would be the cause of it.

But his rage, however great, over the mistake, did not lessen the danger of the present. He felt that, somewhere, Jeff Gawne would be looking for him; he was certain that the Vigilantes would scatter over the country, and that no trail would be safe for him.

He could not hope to reach Las Vegas or Fillet’s Wells; his only hope was in getting to Williams’ Cache. And with the Vigilantes blocking his way on the desert there was small hope of him getting there, tonight. Yet he would have tried it, in spite of Blacky Williams’ edict that no one, save his own intimates, was to be permitted to enter the Cache at night, had it not been that he knew the Vigilantes would be watching the desert for him. There was one chance.

He watched Nigger Paisley with a savage craftiness that the other did not see. He knew Paisley—Paisley was a beast at heart. The question was: Would Paisley take the chance? If Paisley would, there would be the slender hope of a quick dash over the desert to Messilina, across the line—for himself. By sending Paisley and Jane to the Cache, he could divert the attention of the Vigilantes to Paisley, while he went to Messilina.

He watched Paisley narrowly. He saw how Paisley kept his gaze riveted on Jane. He noted the smirks he threw at the girl. He decided that Paisley would risk it. He turned, and faced the man.

“Saddle up, Nigger!” he ordered, shortly. “We leave here—now!”

Paisley threw a glance of pale, naked fear at him. Yet his voice was silky and purring:

“We go—now; wit’ doze veegilantes in theeze desert? You t’ink they come back?”

“Yes. They didn’t find us at the Cache. They will think we had plenty of time to get there—if we intended to go. They will look for us some other place. Anyway, we go. Not together, though. That won’t be safe—we’ll make too big a crowd. I’ll take Kathleen, and cross toward Messilina; you take Jane and go to the Cache.”

Nigger closed his eyes, as though he were considering the risk. When he opened them, Bozzam saw they were glittering. Bozzam smiled sneeringly as Paisley got up.

“All right,” said Paisley; “we go.”

Kathleen heard no word of this conversation, though she stood at the window, watching. But she saw Nigger get up and go to the horses. He saddled his own horse, and Ginger. Then, when the saddles were on, he turned to Jane, who had been standing near, looking at him. He started to walk toward the girl; she retreating. As Paisley continued to approach her, she turned, to run toward the cabin.

While Kathleen was frenziedly demolishing the barricade in front of the door, she heard Jane shriek with terror. The shriek was smothered quickly. Kathleen tore the last barrier from the door, slipped the wooden bar out of its fastenings, and threw the door open. Paisley was carrying Jane toward the horses.

Kathleen darted toward him. She had almost forgotten Bozzam. But she had not taken more than a dozen steps away from the cabin when she was seized from behind; her arms pinioned to her sides, and her body bent back until she could see Bozzam’s face, repulsive with passion and triumph above her.

He held her, easily—without effort; though she fought him with the last ounce of her strength.

Helpless in his embrace, she watched Nigger Paisley ride away with Jane—the girl calling to her and holding out her hands entreatingly until both she and Paisley vanished over the crest of the gray ridge, into the desert.

Then Bozzam’s grip on Kathleen tightened.

“We’ll go that way, too—later,” he said. He lifted her and carried her toward the cabin, his laugh, full deep, and vibrant, smiting the flat, dead silence of the night.