Part 19 (1/2)

”One of the foremen came in to say that the Craigmiles men were coming back. For the last half-hour hors.e.m.e.n by twos and threes have been trailing up the river road and heading for the ranch headquarters,” was the information he brought.

”It's Carson's gang,” said Ballard, at once.

”Yes; but I didn't give it away to the foreman. Their scheme is to make as much of a round-up as they can while it's light enough to see.

There'll be a small piece of a moon, and that'll do for the drive down the canyon. Oh, I'll bet you they've got it all figured out to a dot.

Carson's plenty smooth when it comes to plannin' any devilment.”

Ballard turned back to the telegraph key and rattled it impatiently.

Time was growing precious; was already temerariously short for carrying out the programme he had hastily determined upon in the few minutes of brown study.

”That you, Loudon?” he clicked, when, after interminable tappings, the breaking answer came; and upon the heels of the snipped-out affirmative he cut in masterfully.

”Ask no questions, but do as I say, quick. You said colonel had machine-gun at his mine: Rally gang stone-buckies, rush that gun, and capture it. Can you do it?”

”Yes,” was the prompt reply, ”if you don't mind good big bill funeral expenses, followed by labour riot.”

”We've got to have gun.”

”The colonel would lend it if--hold wire minute, Miss Elsa just crossing bridge in runabout. I'll ask her.”

Ballard's sigh of relief was almost a groan, and he waited with good hope. Elsa would know why he wanted the Maxim, and if the thing could be done without an express order from her father to the Mexican mine guards, she would do it. After what seemed to the engineer like the longest fifteen minutes he had ever endured, the tapping began again.

”Gun here,” from Bromley. ”What shall I do with it?”

The answer went back shot-like: ”Load on engine and get it down to end of branch nearest this camp quick.”

”Want me to come with it?”

”No; stay where you are, and you may be next Arcadian chief construction. Hurry gun.”

Fitzpatrick was his own telegrapher, and as he read what pa.s.sed through key and sounder his smile was like that which goes with the prize-fighter's preliminary hand-shaking.

”Carson'll need persuading,” he commented. ”'Tis well ye've got the artillery moving. What's next?”

”The next thing is to get out the best team you have, the one that will make the best time, and send it to the end of track to meet Bromley's special. How far is it--six miles, or thereabouts?”

”Seven, or maybe a little worse. I'll go with the team myself, and push on the reins. Do I bring the gun here?”

Ballard thought a moment. ”No; since we're to handle this thing by ourselves, there is no need of making talk in the camps. Do you know a little sand creek in the hogback called Dry Valley?”

”Sure, I do.”

”Good. Make a straight line for the head of that arroyo, and we'll meet you there, Blacklock and I, with an extra saddle-horse.”

Fitzpatrick was getting a duck driving-coat out of a locker.

”What's your notion, Mr. Ballard?--if a man might be asking?”

”Wait, and you'll see,” was the crisp reply. ”It will work; you'll see it work like a charm, Bourke. But you must burn the miles with that team of broncos. We'll be down and out if you don't make connections with the Maxim. And say; toss a coil of that quarter-inch rope into your wagon as you go. We'll need that, too.”