Suddenly with a quick dramatic movement Lanky seized the burlap sack on his saddle, opened it and spilled the contents onto the earth at the Indian’s feet. The feathered snake writhed, coiled, then straightened out to attempt escape. Huareztjio jumped back in alarm, then approached the reptile. Cautiously he stooped and seized the diamondback in both hands. His sharp, beady eyes took in the cruelly sewed mouth and the fake ridge of feathers along its back. The expression about the Yaquente’s lips tightened, then suddenly he opened them in a wild, eerie cry that echoed along the village street.
The call brought an instant response. From every house along the way Yaquente heads appeared. Indians came leaping from all directions.
“What do we do now?” Lance asked.
“We ride like hell!” Lanky snapped. “They may not like the idea of us being in their temple last night when your Horatio explains matters. Me, I’m not aiming to stay and learn what their attitude is. C’mon!”
Wheeling their ponies, they jabbed in spurs and went dashing out of the Yaquente village.
XXII Action in Muletero
Once Lance glanced back over his shoulders. There weren’t any Yaquentes following him, though back in the canyon village he could see the street filled with a packed mass of gesticulating white-clad forms. At the end of a quarter of a mile, when they were drawing near to Muletero, Lanky signaled for Lance to slow down.
They pulled the ponies to a walk. Lanky said, “Maybe we’re lucky. Maybe their intentions would have been all right. Me, I wasn’t taking any chances.”
“I got your idea,” Lance said dryly, “but I’d sure like to know what those Yaquentes will do next. I’d figured to stay long enough to learn from Horatio where Fletcher was.”
“Everything seems to be up to your Horatio from now on,” Lanky replied. “We’ll just have to wait until he makes the next move.”
“You mean,” Lance asked, “that maybe we can go back and talk to Horatio later? Tomorrow, say?”
“You can if you like,” Lanky drawled, “and I’ll go with you—providing we got a troop of U. S. cavalry to lead the way.”
“Otherwise,” Lance said, “you’re staying away?”
“I’m staying away,” Lanky said promptly. “We’ve tipped our hand to those Indians. They know we’re in on their secret. How they’ll take it I don’t know, and I’m going to take good care of my carcass until I find out.”
They were approaching Muletero now. The hot morning sun reflected a brilliant white glare from the plastered adobe houses. They turned their horses into the hoof-chopped roadway that ran through the town. Muletero looked about as it had when they’d passed through an hour or so earlier. There may have been a few more Mexicans in sight hugging the shadows. Even the naked children who’d been playing in the dusty road earlier had retreated to the backs of the houses where more shade was to be found. Lance and Lanky were drawing abreast of the town cantina now.
Lanky said, “If I thought they had any cold beer in that joint I’d stop and wash out some dust.”
“They’d have tequila and beer,” Lance observed, “but I’m betting plenty it wouldn’t be cold.”
“Then we won’t stop,” Lanky said. They rode on.
The horses had passed the cantina at an easy walk, when Chiricahua Herrick emerged from the doorway of the building. He stiffened suddenly at sight of Lance and Lanky riding through the town. An angry scowl contorted Herrick’s face. His hand swept swiftly toward his holster. The gun came up, spitting flame and leaden death. At the same instant Herrick yelled, “Bert! Anvil! Come a-runnin’!”
Lance’s pony jumped suddenly even before Lance caught the report of the bullet. Then he noticed blood on his pony’s left ear. The flying slug had just removed the tip. Lance whirled in his saddle even as his pony went to bucking, drew his gun and thumbed one swift shot. He saw a spurt of plaster and dust leap from the cantina wall at Herrick’s back.
From the interior of the cantina Bert Ridge and Anvil Wheeler appeared, guns in hand. Lance heard Lanky swear, then from Lanky’s six-shooter there came a heavy booming report. Wheeler grabbed at one of the uprights of the cantina porch to keep from going down.
Lance’s horse was bucking madly by this time. Lance threw one leg across its back and dropped to the dusty roadway. A bullet fanned his cheek as he struck the earth. Again he fired and had the satisfaction of seeing Herrick stumble in mid-stride as he plunged toward the center of the road. Lance’s pony went leaping and sun-fishing crazily off to one side.
Again Lanky fired. Bullets from Bert Ridge’s gun were kicking up dust near Lanky’s feet. Ridge suddenly gave a wild scream and pitched forward on his face. Herrick was still approaching Lance, limping slightly and cursing as he moved. His gun was swinging in a wide arc to bear on Lance.
Lanky swung his gun toward Herrick, fired, missed. Herrick fired once at Lanky, then turned back to Lance. Anvil Wheeler, supporting himself with one hand gripping the cantina upright, fired two swift shots at Lanky.
Lance’s forty-five barrel tilted slightly. Smoke and fire mushroomed from the muzzle. Wheeler wilted suddenly, turned half around and stumbled to the earth. Bracing himself on one hand, he again shifted his aim toward Lanky.
Herrick was bearing in, planning to get close before he drew his bead on Lance. Lance waited coolly, then fired just a split instant before Herrick started to pull trigger.
Herrick’s shot flew high in the air as he clutched at his breast, then he staggered back to a sitting position on the earth, the gun falling from his weakening grasp.
Even as Lance fired he heard Lanky’s forty-five roar savagely. Wheeler groaned and slumped flat in the roadway.
Powder smoke drifted in the bright, dusty air. Lance’s pony had bucked itself out by this time and stood docilely at one side of the road. Three men were down in the roadway, two of them motionless. Only Chiricahua Herrick showed any sign of life, though he was on his back now rolling from side to side in agony. Wild, excited Mexican yells sounded through the town, though none of the Mexicans put in an appearance.
The dust was commencing to settle. Lance swung toward Lanky. “You all right, pard?”
“Not a one touched me,” Lanky said grimly. “Reckon I’m lucky. You?”
“Not even a scratch. Some of those slugs were coming close though.”
“You’re not telling me about ’em?” Lanky drawled. “Things was plenty hot for a minute. It looks like two of them hombres is finished.”
“I’m figuring the third, Herrick, won’t last long,” Lance said tersely. “Slip into that cantina, will you, and see if there’s any more of this breed looking for trouble?”
Lanky started across the road. Lance walked to Chiricahua Herrick who was quiet by this time. He knelt by Herrick’s side. Herrick’s eyes were open, but he hadn’t much longer to live. He forced a wan, defiant grin as his fading gaze focused on Lance.
“Some hombres have all the luck,” he muttered. “I muffed … my chance. Fletcher … will have … better luck….”
“Herrick,” Lance broke in, “Fletcher’s game is just about up. We know about his plans for a revolution. Where is Fletcher now?”
Something of surprise entered the dying man’s glazing eyes. “Know about … revolution, eh? You won’t stop it … though. Even if you … get Fletcher. Somebody … bigger ’n Fletcher … running things——”
“Who?” Lance interrupted quickly.