Part 4 (1/2)
”Senor, I would do much for you. But this--”
The Mexican spread his hands helplessly.
”I cannot. It would be too bad a thing to do.”
”Very well. I'll call Cash Dallam. Tell him who you are and how it was you who was concerned in the theft of those horses from Diablo River. You know what would happen to you then. You know--”
But the Mexican was down on his knees. His hands were raised in mute appeal. His teeth' chattered like the busy heels of a clog dancer.
”No, no, senor. Santa Maria, no, no!” he begged.
”It's entirely up to you,” was the cold response. ”Now will you do as I say?”
”Yes, yes. A thousand times yes, senor. Anything you say-- anything.”
”I thought so,” rejoined Bellew grimly. He turned with a look of triumph to the two silent spectators of the scene, who nodded smilingly. The Mexican's pitiful agitation seemed only to amuse those callous hearts.
”You will travel, as I said, with these gringos,” pursued Bellew, ”and glean all the information you can. Then, when you have found out all about where they mean to go, and how long they mean to stay and so on, you will find an opportunity to drop out of their company.”
”Si senor,” quavered the man, ”and then--”
”And then you will be met by us. We shall take care of you.”
”But Senor Bell and the senoritas?”
”We will take care of them, too,” was the grim response.
It was not till the next day, at noon, that the three desert hawks left the hotel, long after the departure of the Bell party. They rode slowly in the opposite direction to that in which the other party had gone, till they had gotten out of sight of the little town. Then, taking advantage of every dip and rise in the surface of the plain, they retraced their steps and soon were riding on the track of the Bell outfit.
”Whar wa'ar you all ther forenoon?” asked the black-mustached man of Red Bill as they rode along.
”I was doing a bit of profitable business,” was the rejoinder.
”Selling something?”
”No finding something out. Boys, Jim Bell's in our power.”
”In our power,” laughed the other, a laugh in which Bellew chimed in. ”I reckon you don't know him yet.”
”Don't eh?” snarled Red Bill, stung into acrimonious retort. ”I reckon your brain works just a bit too quick, Buck.”
”Waal, ef you know so much, let's hear it?”
The red-sashed, silver-spurred Buck Bellew reined in closer to his companions, rowelling his little active ”paint” horse as he did so, till it jumped and curvetted.
”It's just this,” said Red Bill Summers, unconsciously lowering his tone although there was no one about to hear but his companions, a few, blasted-looking yuccas and, far overhead, a wheeling buzzard.
”Jim Bell ain't never filed no location of ther mine with ther guv'ment.”
If he had expected to produce a sensation, he must have felt justified by the results of this announcement. Buck Bellew whistled. The black-mustached man gave a low, long-drawn-out exclamation of: