The coupe bounced over rocks, climbed sharp rises along sloping ledge cuts just wide enough for a skillful driver to negotiate, and slithered down descents so precipitous that with the clutch in low Frank had to brake heavily to keep the car from crashing at the bottom. The radiator was blowing off steam like a kettle going dry.
'Nice treatment to give tires,' Lovell mentioned. 'A chuck wagon can make it, but no car ought to be asked to do it.'
Stevens grinned. 'We're getting too soft. When my dad came to this country, any road you could get over was a good one.'
'If I get into a tank division I'll probably think this was pretty easy,' the boy agreed.
'Yes. Hope you'll get a job in the army you like.'
'I don't want to sit at a desk all through the war. Two or three fellows I know are stuck in offices and can't get to the front. I'm a hell of a long way from being a hero, but I don't want to have to tell my kids, if I ever have any, that I won the war by filing papers at some camp in this country.'
'Some fellows have to do that, I suppose, but it's tough on them if they have lived outdoors and want to get into the scrap,' Hal said. He added ruefully: 'It isn't much fun either to be told every time you try to horn in to the armed forces that your job is to stay at home to raise beef. I was too young for the last war, and it looks as if I'm going to miss this one too.'
'I expect if I ever get where the going is pretty hot I'd be willing to let you have my share of it,' Frank admitted.
'No, you wouldn't. It's human nature for each of us to wonder how we would stand up to danger crowding on us, but when the time comes we take it. Oh, damn!'
The expletive had been jerked out of Hal by the blowing-out of a tire that had crashed down on a sharp boulder projecting from the ground.
Rifle in hand Hal climbed a bluff to search the terrain while Frank changed to the spare. Far down in the valley below him he saw a billow of dust behind a moving car.
'Somebody heading for Big Bridge,' he announced to Lovell. 'Likely some rancher going in for supplies.'
Frank was setting the jack under the hub. 'Hope so. If it is some of Black's boys going to welcome us, we'll know later.'
'Whoever it is will get there before we shall now. But they won't be expecting us to come down the cañon back of the hotel.'
They started again, climbed a long hill with a fairly easy grade, and dropped into Big Bridge Gulch. The road was better here, and the car did not have to take the jolting given it on the trail above. From the mouth of the cañon they came out to a sudden view of the little town.
'We'll have to stop at a filling station for water,' Frank said.
The place lay baking under the midday sun. Except a dog and a boy crossing the street there was no sign of life.
'Looks as safe as an old ladies' home,' Hal hazarded hopefully, his gaze sweeping the street.
They drew up at a filling station. No attendant was in sight. He had apparently closed up for dinner. Frank filled the radiator and Hal lounged against the fender. The rifle hung negligently from his right hand. Stevens looked a picture of easy unconcern, but every nerve in him was keyed to watchfulness. The cañon street cut the main one of the town at right angles. If they were seen, it would be from the hotel or from the back of some saloon or store. Frank put down the water can and screwed on the radiator cap. He glanced at the hotel as he moved toward the car door.
A man came out of the hotel and stood on the porch. He looked up and down the main street, started back through the door, and stopped to sweep with his eyes the cañon road. The man was Cash Polk. His gaze fell on them and instantly he darted into the building.
'Let's go!' Frank cried.
They piled into the car. It started like a bucking bronco and shot down the roadbed of rubble to the main highway. Frank swung the wheel sharply to the right, in time to miss the platform of a feed store.
From the window of the hotel a single shot rang out. The right front tire exploded with a bang and the car instantly was out of control. It lurched drunkenly and crashed into a telephone pole.
Hal was flung clear, rifle still in hand. He got to his feet dizzily and looked around. Frank was climbing out of the smashed car. A bullet whistled past the boy and flung a spurt of dirt from the adobe wall across the street. He snatched his rifle from the coupe and ran.
'This way!' Hal shouted, and raced for the shelter of the nearest building.
Guns roared again as their feet flung up dust from the road. They were inside, safe for the moment, battered but unwounded by the fire.
'Hey! What's all this about?' a voice demanded sharply.
A young woman confronted them, arms akimbo, challenge in her sparkling eyes. She was red-headed, pretty, and quite mistress of the situation.
One glance told Hal that they were in a restaurant. The tables were set for lunch. A Mexican waiter with a water pitcher in his hand stared at them, a glass he had been filling poised in the air.
Stevens swept the hat from his head and smiled. 'Sorry, Miss Barnes. A port in storm.'
'I heard shooting,' she said. 'And a car smashed.'
'Afraid you'll hear more. We'll get out the back door. Come on, Frank.'
'Wait a minute.' Her strong, firmly fleshed body blocked the way. 'You've been hurt. What's it all about?'
Hal put a hand to the side of his head and saw it was covered with blood. He must have landed there when he was tossed from the car.
A scatter of shots struck the adobe wall forming the front of the restaurant.
'No time to explain,' Hal told her. 'A bunch of Tick Black's men are trying to get us. We'll be on our way.'
'Where?' she asked.
'I wish I knew. This is an ambush.'
The girl did not faint. She did not even look frightened at being caught in this trap set for others. He could see a pulse of excitement beating in her throat.
'No,' she vetoed. 'You can't go. They'll have you in the open out there and shoot you down.'
The grin of the cattleman was sardonic. 'We can't go, and we can't stay. That's one for the book.'
'I'll go to the front door and talk with them.'
Frank was watching through a corner of the window the other side of the street. 'You can't do that,' he objected. 'They might shoot you down before they saw it was a woman.'
Hal frowned, considering the situation. 'Something queer about this. They could have killed us before we reached cover. Why didn't they? Looks as if they wanted to take us alive. Orders from Tick, I reckon.'
'You mean — they aren't trying to murder you,' Helen Barnes said.
'I'm only guessing. Not at this precise moment, I would say. The law would get them if they did. Tick has something up his sleeve. I wonder what.'
'The bullets all landed in the soft adobe,' Frank added. 'Not one came through the windows.'
'They didn't want to hit anybody else in the restaurant,' Miss Barnes suggested.
'Might be that,' Hal agreed dubiously.
'Man coming across the street with a white flag,' Frank spoke up. 'It's Dud Calloway.'
The young woman turned to the waiter. 'Manuel, lock the back door so that nobody can come in that way.'
Hal stepped to the window and looked out, exposing himself as little as possible. A fat man had stopped in the middle of the road to wave a white tablecloth. He was so obviously afraid of his reception that he made a ludicrous picture.
Through the open screened window Stevens called to him. 'All right, Dud. We're not on the prod. Come along. If your friends want to surrender, we'll give them terms.'