Part 45 (1/2)

He explained the details carefully to Loco, pointing out where the ditch was to be dug to conduct the water to the reservoir site.

”I want the wind-mill put up beside the reservoir, like the one at the house. I'll get the boys at work next week; but you can go on with the mill work before then. I am going over to Hot Springs for a few days.”

”How long did you live in Mexico, Senor?” asked Loco.

”I have never been there,” answered Traynor, wondering at the question.

”Only Americanos who have lived in Mexico speak as you do,” persisted Loco.

”I learned Spanish at college,” replied Traynor. ”By Jove! What a shot!

It's too far for a pistol!”

He was gazing up at a magnificent blacktail deer which stood like a statue on a ledge six hundred feet above them. Its head was thrown back, nostrils dilated, the slender legs were tense and ready for flight as it sniffed the wind. Then with a snort, it whirled and vanished.

Traynor had been so absorbed in admiration of the buck that he had momentarily forgotten Loco's presence. The Mexican, fifteen feet in the rear of Traynor had untied the riata which hung on his saddle and coiled it cautiously, watching the other man sharply. With a swift movement he flung the rope about Traynor's body, pinioning his arms firmly. Chinati, feeling the jerk on his bridle, leaped forward and Traynor fell helpless to the ground.

The sun was setting when Traynor again became conscious of his surroundings and saw Loco standing over him.

”What happened, Loco?” he asked stupidly. ”Was I thrown?”

Loco made no reply, and as Traynor still dazed from a deep gash on his head, tried to rise, he realized that he was securely bound, hand and foot. The loss of blood made him faint and sick, and his brain seemed incapable of lucid ideas. He had struck his head on a sharp rock in falling from his horse.

For a while he lay with closed eyes, then he looked up and saw Loco a short distance away, gathering pieces of dead wood, which he heaped systematically into a pile. Traynor recalled the Mexican's peculiar ways and wondered if the man had suddenly become insane. He knew that if such were the case, the best plan would be to avoid irritating him.

Traynor turned his head. The hope that Chinati had gotten away and might give the alarm by returning to the ranch riderless died, when he saw his own pony standing quietly beside Loco's. Then he noticed his pistol glistening a few feet from him, and wondered if he could worm his way to it without attracting Loco's attention. Keeping close watch upon the Mexican, Traynor slowly writhed toward the firearm until he was within a foot of it. By half turning he believed he could grasp the pistol as his hands were tied in front of him. Loco lit the fire, and with a fiendish grin untied the branding iron from his saddle and laid it on the flame.

A thrill of sickening fear shot through Traynor as he strained at the rope binding him. One more effort and he would be able to touch the pistol. The Mexican calmly arranged the wood which had fallen, then walked over to Traynor, who closed his eyes, hoping to throw the man off his guard; but Loco, with a malicious leer, picked up the pistol and seated himself on the ground beside his captive.

”I saw you, Senor;” he chuckled.

”What are you going to do, Loco?” asked Traynor, trying to appear unconcerned. He now understood that he was at the mercy of a maniac, and thought what a fool he had been to forget the many irrational actions of the man, whose name, Loco, should have been warning enough in itself.

The loco weed of Arizona and Mexico effects the brains of horses, causing even the most reliable and well-broken animal to develop sudden fits of viciousness. Loco's moodiness, his outbursts of anger, had fastened the nickname on him while he worked for Walton.

Loco rolled a cigarette, which he lighted deliberately.

”So! You have not been in Mexico, Senor?” he drawled sarcastically.

”Never! I have no object in lying typo about it;” said Traynor earnestly. ”Why should I deny it?”

”Oh, no, Senor! You never knew Ramoncita?”

”I never heard of her.” Then catching sight of a small crucifix that hung against Loco's breast where the blue flannel s.h.i.+rt fell apart, Traynor looked the man steadily in the eyes, and said slowly, ”Hold that crucifix before me, Loco, and I will swear that. I am telling you the truth.”

The man wavered a second, then laughed cunningly, ”A crucifix means nothing to a Gringo, and fear makes liars of all men.”

”Let me go, and I will give you money to make life easy for you, Loco.

You can go back to Mexico to your friends and be happy.”

The words roused the man to frenzy. He leaped to his feet, murder and insanity stamped on his distorted features.