Part 53 (2/2)
”You reckon somebody's goin' to steal me?” Beck asked, forcing his voice to be steady. ”I didn't realize I was valuable enough to be close herded by a two-gun man.”
With the moderation of temperature Tom's alertness revived.
”I'm goin' to sleep right here, Sam; where are you going to turn in?”
he asked. ”I sleep pretty well in th' open; how about you?”
He leaned forward slightly and his eye had a brighter glint. Question after question he flung at the other. Now and then McKee growled; twice he cursed Beck, in vile explosions of oaths. At these Beck nodded in a.s.sent.
”I sure am an undesirable,” he said.
Back and forth, bewildered, McKee walked. He dared not face the future with Beck alive; he dared not take Beck's life. He feared the punishment that might be his for this much he had done; he feared the relentless ridicule of Webb and Hepburn and of Hilton; he feared to go, he feared to stay. And gradually this last fear grew.
”I think you ought to start out an' ride after 'em, Sam,” Beck advised.
”Do they _sabe_ this country? You better go; they might get strayed. I'll be here. I figure on stayin' quite a time. I.... Honest, Sam, I've had a h.e.l.l of a good time today....”
McKee wheeled in his walking.
”You'll stay all right!” he screamed. ”You d.a.m.ned bet your dirty skin you won't go far! You've been talkin' a lot wiser than you know, you--!
You'll stay!”
He dropped to his knees beside Tom and with a wrench pulled off the man's boots.
The movement sent exquisite pains through Tom's body, but he shut his teeth against them. He smiled, demonstrating more of the Spartan by that smile than he had at any time during the day.
”You ain't figuring on walkin' your boots out, are you?” he asked in mock solicitation.
”Never you mind, you--!” McKee snarled.
He brought out his horse, tightened the cinch and led him toward the roan. He tied Tom's boots to his own saddle and then without looking at the man he had come to kill and who he was leaving bound, waterless, without boots or a horse, twenty miles from the first help, he lashed the roan with his quirt, sharply about the head and, when the big creature wheeled in surprise, about the hocks.
Kicking, frightened, stepping on the reins and breaking them off, Beck's horse ran away. Ran scot free, head up, out to the eastward, abused and headed for home. He began to buck, pitching desperately. The saddle worked back and under and down. He kicked it free. Somewhere between the tank and that fallen saddle, Beck knew was his canteen. But McKee did not know. He mounted and stuck into the wash through which he had ridden hours before, las.h.i.+ng the gray to a gallop, putting distance between his menace, his shame....
And back in the tank as night came on a man for whom every move was torment rolled and wriggled from place to place, searching doggedly for a ragged rock, among those that were water-worn and smooth.
The buzzard had ceased his wheeling, the stars came out. Beck talked aloud rather crazily. Everything seemed smooth; even the pain became less harsh; everything was soft and easy ... remarkably so.... Until his cheek felt a ragged, narrow edge of rock, close in against the base of the tallest spire. Moaning feebly he wriggled against it until the ropes touched the edge. Then, with great labor, he began to writhe and twist. It took hours to fray out a single strand, and his arms were bound by many ... hours....
And when finally his arms fell apart, sensations, fiendish, killing sensations, began to stab through them, he laughed lightly and ended shortly. He was free!...
Free?
Just at that time back in the HC ranch house a woman rose from her tumbled bed and dressed. Her eyes were dry though her breath came unevenly.
She looked into her mirror as she put on her hat.
”You're a fool!” she cried lowly. ”A fool!... False pride has taken two days out of your life ... two precious days!”
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