Part 24 (1/2)
”I'm not speaking of her and I'm not going to,” protested Gibson, in a changed tone. ”I'll promise! My horse is failing, Jeff. I rode hard and fast from Escondido. Your horse carried nothing much but a saddle--that pack was mostly bluff, you know. And those fellows' horses have come twenty miles less than either of ours.”
No answer.
”I don't believe we're going to make it, Jeff!” There was a forlorn little quaver in Charley's voice.
Jeff grunted. ”Uh! Maybe not. Griffith'll be real pleased.”
Gibson rode closer. ”Can't we turn off the road and hide?”
”Till daylight,” said Jeff. ”Then they'll get us. No way out of this desert except across the edges somewhere. You go if you want to. They won't bother to hunt for you, maybe, if they get me.”
”No. It's my fault.... I'll see it out.... I'm sorry, Jeff--but it was so funny!” Here, rather to Jeff's surprise, Charley's dejection gave place to laughter.
They rode up a sandy slope where mesquites grew black along the road.
Blown sand had lodged to hummocks in their thick and matted growth; the road was a sunken way.
”How far is it from here, Jeff?”
”Ten miles--maybe only eight--to the river. We're in Texas now--have been for an hour.”
”Think we can make it?”
”_Quien sabe?_”
Gibson drew rein. ”You go on. Your horse isn't so tired.”
”Oh, I guess not!” said Jeff. ”Come on.”
The sound of pursuit came clear through the quiet night. There was silence for a little.
”What'll you do, Jeff? Fight?”
”I can't!” said Jeff. ”Hurt those boys? I couldn't fight, the way it is--hardly, even if 'twas the sheriff. I'll just hang, I reckon.”
They reached the top of the little slope and turned down the other side.
”I don't altogether like this hanging idea,” said Gibson. ”I got you into this, Jeff; so I'll just get you out again--like the man in our town who was so wondrous wise. Going to use bramble bushes, too.”
Volatile Gibson, in the stress of danger, had forgotten his wrath. He was light-hearted and happy, frivolously gay. ”Give me your rope and your gun, Jeff. Quick now! No, I won't mention your girl--not once!
Hurry!”
”What you going to do?” asked Jeff, thoroughly mystified.
”Ever read the 'Fool's Errand'?” Charley chuckled. ”No? Well, I have.
Jump off and tie the end of your rope to that mesquite root. Quick!”
He sprang down, s.n.a.t.c.hed one end of the coil from Jeff's hand and stretched it taut across the road, a foot from the ground. ”Now your gun! Quick!”
He s.n.a.t.c.hed the gun, tied an end of his own saddle-rope to the stretched one, near the middle, plunged through the mesquite, over a hummock, paying out his rope as he went; wedged the gun firmly in the springing crotch of a mesquite tree, c.o.c.ked it and tied the loose end of the trailing rope to the trigger. He ran back and sprang on his horse.
”Now ride! It's our last chance!”