Part 8 (1/2)

”I don't want to take any chances. Buck can get across with you all right, but if he's got us both on him he might go down and then we'd have to follow Emerson on foot. We're coverin' ground almighty slow, anyway. I'm the best swimmer, and you-all can take care of my boots and gun.”

They waited a few moments for a flash of lightning to show them the banks of the arroyo. By its light they saw a water course thirty feet wide and probably ten feet deep, bank-full of a muddy, foaming flood, in which waves two feet high roared after one another, carrying clumps of bushes, stalks of cactus, bones, and other debris. As they plunged into the torrent, Ellhorn seized the tail of Tuttle's horse, and, holding it with one hand and swimming with the other, made good progress. But in mid-stream a big clump of mesquite struck him in the side, stunning him for an instant, and he let go his hold upon the pony's tail. A high wave roared down upon him the next moment, and carried him his length and more down stream. He fought with all his strength against the swift current, but, faint and stunned, could barely hold his own. He shouted to Tuttle, who was just landing, and Tom threw the end of his lariat far out into the middle of the stream.

Ellhorn felt the rope across his body, grasped it and called to Tuttle to pull.

”Tommy,” he said, when safe on land, ”I hope we'll find the whole Fillmore outfit just a-walkin' all over Emerson. I don't want more'n half an excuse to get even with 'em for this trip. Sure and I wish I had 'em all here right now! I'm just in the humor to make sieves of 'em!”

CHAPTER X

Emerson Mead waited until the four hors.e.m.e.n were within two hundred yards of him, and then he called out a good-natured ”h.e.l.lo.” The others checked their horses to a slow walk, and after a moment one of them hastily shouted an answering salutation. Mead instantly called in reply:

”I reckon you'd better stay where you are, boys. We can talk this way just as well as any other.” The others halted and he went on: ”Suppose you say, right now, whether you want anything particular.”

They looked at one another, apparently surprised by this speech, and presently the foreman said:

”We thought you must be having trouble with your cattle. Stampede on you?”

”They're all right now. They're 'milling,' and won't give me any more trouble. But I reckon you didn't ride up here to ask me if my cattle had stampeded. You better talk straight just what you do want.”

They hesitated again, looking at one another as if their plans had miscarried. ”They expected I'd begin poppin' at 'em and give 'em an excuse to open out on me all at once,” Mead thought. Then he called out:

”Jim, you out here to buy some cattle? Can I sell you some of mine?”

”You know I don't want to buy cattle,” Halliday replied, sulkily.

”No? Then maybe you've come to ask me if it's goin' to rain?” Mead smilingly replied.

”I reckon you know what I want, Emerson Mead,” Halliday said angrily, as if nettled by Mead's a.s.sured, good-natured tone and manner. ”You know you're a fugitive from justice, and that it's my duty to take you back to jail.”

”Oh, then you want me!” said Mead, as if greatly surprised.

”That's what, old man!” Halliday's voice and manner suddenly became genial. He thought Mead was going to surrender, as he had done before.

He had no desire for a battle, even four to one, with the man who had the reputation of being the best and coolest shot in the southwest, for he knew that he would be the first target for that unerring aim, and he was accordingly much relieved by the absence of defiance and anger in Mead's manner.

”You want me, do you?” said Mead, his voice suddenly becoming sarcastic. ”Is that what you've been waitin' around the Fillmore ranch the last three weeks for? Why didn't you come straight over to my house and say so, like a man who wasn't afraid? You want me, do you?

Well, now, what are you goin' to do about it?” There was a taunt in Mead's tone that stirred the others to anger. Mead knew perfectly well what his reputation was, and he knew, too, that they were afraid of him.

”You won't surrender?”

”Whenever you've got any evidence for a warrant to stand on I'll give myself up. I let you take me in before to stop trouble, but I won't do it again, and you, and all your outfit, had better let me alone. I'm not goin' to be run in on any fool charge fixed up to help the Fillmore Company do me up. That's all there is about it, and you-all had better turn tail and go back to camp.”

While he was speaking the foreman said something to Antone Colorow, and the man left the group and trotted away toward Mead's left as if he were going back to camp. Without seeming to notice his departure, Mead watched the cow-boy's actions from a corner of his eye while he listened to Jim Halliday:

”Now, Emerson, be reasonable about this matter and give yourself up.

You know I've got to take you in, and I don't want to have any gun-fight over it. The best thing you can do is to stand trial, and clear yourself, if you can. That'll end the whole business.”

Antone Colorow turned and came galloping back, his lariat in his hand.

Mead's revolver was still untouched in his holster, and his horse, standing with drooping mane and tail, faced Halliday and the others.