Part 51 (1/2)

”Sure thing, major,” said the conductor. He helped Kauffman aboard, then turned to Helen. ”Now, lady,” he said, holding out a hand, ”I'm sorry the step is so high, but--”

The ranger, stooping, took the girl in his arms and set her feet on the lower step. ”Good-by,” he said, huskily. Then added: ”For now. Write me soon.”

She turned and looked down upon him with a faint smile on her lips and a tender light in her eyes. ”I promise. Good-by,” she said, and entered the car.

The ranger stood for a long time gazing after the train, then languidly walked away toward his team.

Hanscom turned his face toward the forest with a full knowledge that his world had suddenly lost its charm. At one moment his thought went anxiously forward with the fugitives, at another it returned to confront the problem of his own desires. His act in thus a.s.sisting the main witness to escape might displease the court and would undoubtedly intensify the dislike which Kitsong had already expressed toward him.

”My stay in the district is not likely to be as quiet as it has been,”

he said to himself.

However, his own safety was not a question of grave concern. The mystery of Watson's death yet remained, and until that was solved Helen was still in danger of arrest. His mind at last settled to the task of discovering and punis.h.i.+ng the raiders. Who was Watson's a.s.sa.s.sin? What fierce desire for revenge had prompted that savage a.s.sault?

There was no necessary connection between that small footprint and the shooting, and yet, until it was proved to be the work of another, suspicion would point to Helen as the only woman of the vicinity who had the motive for the deed. To some the coroner's failure to hold her was almost criminal.

His return to the hills was equivalent to running the gantlet. From every ranch-gate men and boys issued, wall-eyed with curiosity. They, of course, knew nothing of the raiding-party of the morning, but they understood that something unusual had taken place, for was not the ranger's saddle in his wagon, and his saddle-horse under harness, not to mention a streak of blood along the flanks of its mate? The eyes of these solitary cattlemen are as a.n.a.lytical as those of trained detectives. Nothing material escapes them. Being taught to observe from infancy, they had missed little of the ranger's errand.

”Who were you taking to the train?” they asked.

Hanscom's defense was silence and a species of jocular, curt evasion, and he succeeded at last in getting past them all without resort to direct and violent lying. As he had reason to suspect that one, at least, of the riflemen of the morning belonged to the Blackbird outfit, he decided to avoid that ranch altogether.

It would be absurd to claim that his nerves were perfectly calm and his heart entirely unhurried as he crept across the mesa and dropped into the wooded canon just above the pasture fence. Although sustained by his authority as a Federal officer, he was perfectly well aware that it was possible for him to meet with trouble when the gang found out what he had done.

Another disturbing thought began to grow in his mind. ”If those raiders watched me go down the hill, they may consider it a clever trick to drop in on the Kauffman place and loot the house. They know it is unguarded.

Perhaps I ought to throw the saddle on old Baldy and ride over there to make sure about it.”

The more he considered this the more uneasy he became. ”They're just about sure to run off the stock, or be up to some other devilment,” he said. ”They might set fire to the house.” In the end he roped his extra horse and set out.

Even by the cut-off it was a stiff ride, and it was nearly midnight as he topped the last ridge and came in sight of the cabin. ”h.e.l.lo!” he exclaimed. ”Somebody _has_ moved in. I'm just in time.”

A light was gleaming from the kitchen window, and the ranger's mind worked quickly. No one but members of the raiding-party would think of taking possession of this cabin so promptly. No one else would know that the Kauffmans were away. ”That being the case,” he said, musingly, ”it stands me in hand to walk light and s.h.i.+fty.” And he kept on above the ranch in order to drop down through the timber of the canon.

After tethering his horse upon a little plot of gra.s.s just west of the garden, he adjusted his revolver on his thigh at the precise point where it was handiest, and moved forward with care. ”They mustn't have time even to _think_ fight,” he decided.

As he rounded the corner of the stable he heard the voice of a girl singing, and the effect of this upon him was greater than any uproar. It was uncanny. It made him wonder what kind of woman she could be who could carol in the midst of the band of raiders. She might be more dangerous than the men. She certainly added another complication to the situation.

Listening closely, he was able to detect the voices of at least two men as they joined discordantly in the refrain of the song. It was evident that all felt entirely secure, and the task to which the ranger now addressed himself was neither simple nor pleasant. To take these raiders unaware, to get the upper hand of them, and to bring them to justice was a dangerous program, but he was accustomed to taking chances and did not hesitate very long.

Keeping close to the shadow, he crept from the corral to the garden fence and from the covert of a clump of tall sunflowers was able to peer into the cabin window with almost un.o.bstructed vision. A woman was seated on a low chair in the middle of the floor, playing a guitar and singing a lively song. He could not see the men. ”I wonder if that door is locked?” he queried. ”If it isn't, the job is easy. If it is, I'll have to operate through a screen window.”

He remembered that both doors, front and back, were very strong, for Kauffman had been careful to have them heavily hinged and double-barred.

They could not be broken except with a sledge. The screen on the windows could be ripped off, but to do that would make delay at the precise moment when a quarter of a second would be worth a lifetime. ”No, I've got to gamble on that door being unlocked,” he concluded, with the fatalism of the mountaineer, to whom danger is an ever-present side-partner.

With his revolver in his hand, he slid through the garden and reached the corner of the house unperceived. The woman was now playing a dance tune, and the men were stamping and shouting; and under cover of their clamor the ranger, stooping low, pa.s.sed the window and laid his hand on the k.n.o.b. The door yielded to his pressure, and swiftly, almost soundlessly, he darted within and stood before the astounded trio like a ghost--an armed and very warlike ghost.

”What's going on here?” he demanded, pleasantly, as with weapon in complete readiness he confronted them.

He had no need to command quiet. They were all schooled in the rules of the game he was playing, and understood perfectly the advantage which he held over them. They read in his easy smile and jocular voice the deadly determination which possessed him.