The evil slitted eyes of Fenwick shuttled back to the slack body at his feet. 'Doc won't need a horse,' he said, almost in a whisper.
Polk tried to misread what he saw in the face of the young villain. 'That's right. If we left him here, they would take care of him better than we can. He's too sick to travel.'
'But not too sick to talk later. We'll leave him here, period.' Brick drew a revolver and put a bullet through the temple of the wounded man. 'Three horses — three men,' he said callously. 'That fixes everything nice.'
Impatiently Frawley cried, 'Let's get outa here before they jump us.'
Fenwick swung to the saddle of Doc's horse and turned it at the same moment. The big man followed him out of the draw. Polk leaned against his horse, weak and nauseated. Though a man who had long since turned his back on honesty and decency, he was not cold-blooded enough to stomach ruthlessness like this. For two or three minutes he stood there, clenched fingers clinging to the mane of the pony. Waves of fear and horror swept through him. If Fenwick decided he was a nuisance, or if some crazy suspicion filtered into his brain, it would be Polk's turn to go as Doc had gone.
Cash climbed to the back of his horse and moved down the draw. His two companions were just disappearing over the next rise. They cared nothing about what became of him. He was lucky that Brick had not destroyed him too. The little man came to an abrupt decision. He would cut loose from them and go his own way, clear out of the country if he could do so without being discovered. Maybe he could reach Big Bridge by the back road and from there get to Nogales. Across the line he could bury himself for a time.
CHAPTER 39
Two of a Kind
FRAWLEY PULLED his mount up sharply. 'Listen. Someone coming up the gulch. Several of them.'
To the fugitives came the sound of a horse's hoof striking a rock. A voice drifted on the wind. Into the ravine ran a draw, angling sharply fifty feet above its mouth. The outlaws turned into it, swung round the bend, and dismounted. Frawley held the horses, while the younger man, rifle in hand, soft-footed to a thick clump of prickly pears from back of which he could watch the travelers in the gulch. A horse nickered in the defile, and Frawley, already shaken by fear, felt the grip of terror tighten his nerves. If one of the ponies he was holding neighed an answer, they were lost.
Brick counted the riders as they appeared. There were six of them, Sheriff Elbert in the lead, mounted on stock from the Seven Up and Down remuda. The young killer held his rifle in both hands, ready to lift and fire if the posse turned up the ravine. Elbert held a straight course, and Fenwick breathed a deep lungful of air in relief.
He rejoined his companion. The hunted men discussed their plight. The hills above and around them would be full of men spreading out to comb the barrancas for them. What chance of safety there was lay below. Nobody at the Seven Up would be expecting their return. At least four or five cars must be parked at the ranch house now. If they could sneak back and get hold of one, they might make a getaway. That was the idea of Fenwick, the bolder of the two. Frawley did not like any part of it, but he liked even less the thought of returning to the valley on horseback.
'There may be nobody at the Seven Up except the girl and Stevens,' Fenwick urged. 'They figure we haven't a chance, and the whole boiling of them are probably out to get us. Nobody would expect us to double back to the ranch.'
That might or might not be true, Frawley argued. If Elbert had thought to leave a guard at the ranch, the fellows could mow them down.
The young killer looked at him with disgusted contempt. 'You talk as if we had a dozen choices. What else can we do — stay here and be trapped — ride down into the valley and be hunted by cars filled with men? It's going to take guts to get us out of this jam, fellow. If you haven't any, you'd better put a gun to yore head.'
Frawley growled an angry answer.
They rode in sullen silence till they came to a narrow gulch that ran down to the orchard back of the Lovell house. It was Fenwick's opinion that they had better leave their mounts in the ravine, near the lower end of it, and move forward from there cautiously on foot. Again Frawley was not sure. Perhaps they might have to make a very hurried getaway, and if they were afoot they would be hampered.
'Didn't I tell you we were going to leave in one of the cars at the ranch?' Fenwick snapped angrily.
'And if you don't get one?'
'It will be because I won't need one by that time. You and me, both, you white-livered rat.'
They tied to young ironwood trees and crossed the brushy slope that led to the mesa upon which the house had been built and the orchard planted. This stretch they took in laps, with mesquites and clumps of cactus as bases behind which to hide, creeping along the open spaces between with great care. As far as they could tell, the ranch headquarters was deserted. It might be there was not a soul there. The Lovell girl could have driven Stevens to town for medical attention. If so, one of the ranch cars must still be here. Frawley knew where the extra keys were kept in Dale's desk. This would be better luck than they could dare hope for, but it was time their bad luck ran out after a long spell of it.
Through the barbed wire fence at the back of the orchard they snaked, inching forward in the lush grass to the shelter of a peach tree. The fruit season was past, and it was not likely that anybody would be in this part of the orchard. But one could not be sure, and to be seen would prove fatal to any chance of escape. The mesa dipped toward the house. From this distance only the roof of it could be seen through the foliage. They advanced from tree to tree, anxious eyes scanning the terrain. Presently they found themselves in the apple section, and from it they had a clear view of the ranch buildings.
Frawley caught at the younger outlaw's arm. 'Look!'
A man had come out of the bunkhouse and was taking a leisurely survey of the landscape, north, south, east, and west. He strolled a few steps toward the orchard, stopped to light a cigarette, then turned to go back into the bunkhouse.
The face of Fenwick tightened. An evil light came into his eyes. 'It's that double-crosser Nuney. I've a mind to blast him now.'
'Are you crazy?' Frawley's hand pushed down the half-lifted barrel of the rifle. 'If they find out we're here, we won't have a dead man's chance.'
'Don't worry.' The face of the killer was feral rather than human. 'I'm saving my first bullet for Stevens.'
The big man looked at Fenwick suspiciously. He knew the reactions of the young ruffian were not dependable. Because his impulses were not under control, he was as dangerous as a tiger. In his warped mind now might be lurking the intention of killing Stevens now regardless of the cost.
'Listen, Brick,' he urged, a studied patience in his voice back of which were anxiety and irritation. 'We've got to plan to get out of this tight alive. That comes first. We slip into the house without being seen and cover everybody we meet. No shooting, or they'll come buzzing around us like hornets. If that vixen Dale Lovell is there we'll take her in the car with us. Then they can't shoot. Somewhere this side of Nogales we'll drop her in the desert. If we don't lose our heads, we can pull this off.'
The boyish desperado slid a sneering look at him. 'Okey, wise guy,' he agreed. 'We'll play it yore way.'
After they left the orchard, they were in the open for fifty yards. They crossed the vegetable garden and came into the house by way of the kitchen.
CHAPTER 40
Hal Says Something He Has Forgotten