Chapter XVI: There's Always a Way

Every window and door of the cliff-dwellers' castle had been sealed against man and beast--the mountain lion was at bay and as he crouched down to spring Hall shot him through the head. He leapt into the air and fell kicking on his back and the man took possession of his den. That was the way he had learned of getting what he wanted, and the castle had been his dream. But the doors had been walled up and plastered over with mud a thousand years before and he hesitated to break them in. Perhaps within those walls there lay the bones of chiefs, with their weapons close to their hands; and after the passage of the centuries it seemed an impious thing to break in and disturb their ancient dust. The court alone was large enough to give him room to live and the whole world lay at his feet.

At the crack of his rifle the echoes of Deadman Canyon had awakened from their week-long sleep; they bandied it back and forth, from cliff to distant cliff, the news that a man was there. Hall stood at the rampart and gazed up and down the canyon, and far away to the east; and as he watched he saw a horseman drop down into a ravine and ride for the Scarborough's stalking-ground. The rifle-shot had drawn him from a dim trail miles away, so keen had been his ears, and as he edged out on a point and crept forward to observe the spring Hall knew he was one of the man-killers. For an hour and more he scouted about the water, but when at last he stepped out into the open Hall saw at a glance it was Meshackatee.

There was the same huge bulk, the same battered hat, the jumper and the bulging chaps; and the horse which had blended into the landscape like a deer was the buckskin pony, Croppie. Yes, the man was Meshackatee; but what was his mission there, and why did he keep hid in the brush? A cold hand seemed to take McIvor by the throat--perhaps he was hunting for him! Although their relations had been friendly for the short time they were together, since then Meshackatee had had plenty of occasion to regret the trust he had bestowed. Instead of spying upon the Bassetts, Hall had joined them against the Scarboroughs; and later, when Meshackatee had sent him warning by Allifair, he had turned the information against them. Yes, more than that, he had left Meshackatee waiting down the creek while he stayed and did battle with the Slash-knives.

Hall watched him from his eyrie as he studied the trail for signs and finally retired to the cliff-dwellings, and then he went back through the cold blackness of the tunnel to store his hiding-place with food. What he feared most had happened, the first shot from his gun had brought the man-hunters upon him. Perhaps they had been watching through their high-powered glasses, or slipping down to look for his tracks; but now they knew he was there--or at least Meshackatee did--and there was nothing to do but to prepare for a siege. He ran hurriedly to the turkey traps which he had set up the canyon and came back with a pair of big birds; and then he went for acorns and filled his one canteen with water from the ice-cold creek. By that time it was dark and he returned to his lookout to await the next move of his enemies.

All that evening he watched the flicker from Meshackatee's lurking place, the loop-holed dwelling above the spring; but the fire was a blind for in the morning Meshackatee came back, leading a pack-animal down from the east. During the day he stayed close and Hall put in the time by skinning the mountain lion. But as evening approached again and none of the Scarboroughs rode in, his patience gave way before a yearning for human society, a craving for companionship--and food. So weary had he become of his perpetual turkey diet that he had broiled a steak from the haunch of the panther, and found it far from bad. But he could not live forever without coffee and salt; and, since he must make a move some time, he decided to make it right then and put Meshackatee's friendship to the test.

As darkness fell he crept down the gloomy chasm and waded across the creek; and then, with a stealthiness that not even an Indian could excel, he stalked Meshackatee's camp. He had retired within the cliff-dwelling, trusting to the watchfulness of his dog more than to any special vigilance of his own; and when Hall peered through the doorway he saw him sitting by the fire, deeply engaged in some mechanical task. In one hand he held a small bow with its string wound round a shaft which seemed to twirl in his grasp like a drill, and in the other he held some object that gleamed in the firelight and looked like a .45 cartridge. The dog 'Pache lay asleep on the far side of the fire, there was a whirring noise from the drill; and when Meshackatee looked up Hall was standing in the doorway with a questioning look in his eye. If Meshackatee noticed the rifle, held negligently at the hip, he concealed his knowledge well.

"Hello there!" he hailed, and the dog sprang up barking, his hair bristling forward with rage. "Aw, shut up, now, 'Pache!" rebuked Meshackatee indignantly, "you're a hell of a watch-dog, I swow! Come in, Hall; come in! Been looking for you everywhere! Shut up, you whelp, or I'll warp ye!"

He reached for a stick and the dog retired growling, skinning his teeth at the disturber of his dreams.

"Kinder startled him," explained Meshackatee, as Hall stepped inside, but McIvor spoke to the point.

"You've been looking for me?" he inquired. "Well, let's come to an understanding--are you still in the employ of the Scarboroughs?"

"Hell--no!" burst out Meshackatee with explosive emphasis, "I quit 'em two weeks ago. Their work got too raw for _me_."

"Then we can be friends," suggested Hall, holding out his hand and Meshackatee rose up and took it.

"You're whistling!" he said, "and I guess mebby you need one--how long since you had a square meal?"

"Well, some time," admitted Hall, "but tell me, first of all, have you heard any news from Allifair?"

"Ye-es," returned Meshackatee, "she's still with the Scarboroughs. I sent an Injun in last week to look around. He said there was lots of cowboys, and two womenfolks cooking, and the cowboys was rounding up stock. But I heard from other sources that Miz Zoolah has written home and told Allifair's brothers to come out."

"What--to get her?"

"Or you!" hinted Meshackatee grimly, and Hall nodded his head regretfully.

"I was afraid of it," he added. "Cal and Ewing are hard men--we've had several encounters already."

"Well, the word I git is that the Scarboroughs are sending everywhere to hire all the gunmen they can. And, since they've killed Sharps and old Henry Bassett, they've come right out into the open. Everybody always knew they had a weakness for stray stock, but now they've joined a gang that works in three states and steals horses from plumb down in Texas. That judge down in Tonto that give the Maverick Basin boys a tip to settle their differences with a Winchester--well, he claims he never said it, but he sure played merry hell, because the wrong outfit is coming out on top. Them ranchers down on the Verde and clean to Geronimo are making an awful howl, and this gang of Texas horse-thieves is driving their stock off by the hundreds and running them up into the Basin. It's a regular hold-out, a horse-thieves' exchange, where Arizona horses are traded into Texas and Texas broncs swopped the other way. I been down in Tonto and the folks is all het up over it--some talk of a Vigilance Committee, and so forth."

He paused and as Hall stared moodily into the fire Meshackatee reached over and picked up a coffee-pot.

"I'll cook you a little grub," he volunteered briskly, and Hall came back from his dreams.

"Of course," went on Meshackatee, having won his attention, "this business don't mean much to _you_. All you want is your girl and----"

"Yes, but how am I to get her?" demanded McIvor fiercely.

"Well----" began Meshackatee, and then he stopped. "Of course there's always a way."

"How do you mean?" inquired Hall, as he failed to elucidate, but Meshackatee only mumbled in his beard.

"Drink some coffee," he said; "git some grub under your belt. A man is a mouse when he's starved."

He heated up some bread and a kettle of beans and cut a can of fruit, and when Hall had eaten Meshackatee took up the discussion exactly where he had let it drop.

"There's always a way," he nodded impressively, "provided you've got the nerve. Them Texans are ranicky, I'll admit that from the start, and Isham has turned plumb bad. Always thought he was a blow-hard, a big bag of wind, but the scoundrel has turned out a killer. I'm nothing but a gunman, or that's what they call me, and I can't say I'm squeamish a bit. When them sheepmen come in I was in the fore-front of the battle--might have killed one or two of 'em myself. And furthermore, when they hired Paine and them Slash-knife boys to ride in and clean up on the Bassetts--I could stand for that stuff, too. It was rough, but they had a fighting chance. But this downright murdering, like shooting Old Henry and leaving Sharps out for the hogs--well, right there was where I quit. But I didn't quit quick enough--that Isham had gone bad, and he damned nigh got my skelp."

He rumpled his hair thoughtfully and shook his head at the fire. "You never can tell," he said.

"Did he attempt to kill you?" asked McIvor, but Meshackatee shrugged it away.

"Never mind," he grumbled, "that's between him and me. But lemme give you a tip--if you meet up with Isham you go for your gun right now. But you won't meet nobody--that ain't the way they fight; the first thing you meet will be a forty-five explosive bullet--they're fighting from cover entirely. I've been down to Tonto talking with the sheriff of the county and a few other old _compadres_ of mine, and it's the consensus of opinion that Maverick Basin is going to be damned on-healthy. Especially for officers and such. At the same time, as I said, there's always a way----"

"Well, what is that way?" broke in McIvor impatiently. "Are you thinking of going back?"

"I might be," admitted Meshackatee, "but I heard a gun down here yesterday, and I thought mebbe it might be Isham. He's the _hombre_ I'm gunning for, to tell you the truth, and so I've been watching the trail. And in the meantime, while my time was idle on my hands, I've been fixing up some more of these."

He picked up one of the cartridges upon which he had been working and McIvor examined it critically. A hole had been bored into the heart of the lead bullet and a smaller cartridge neatly imbedded.

"One of them explosive bullets," boasted Meshackatee shamelessly; "I claim to have invented 'em, myself. A twenty-two blank, set exactly in the middle of it, and the minute she hits something--zingo! she blows up like a bomb. Maybe you saw how they worked when we were chowsing them sheep? Well, the Scarboroughs are shooting them at _men_."

"I know that," nodded McIvor, "but you spoke of some plan."

"Oh, sure," replied Meshackatee, "well, what I had in mind was to go back and try these on _them_."

"And then?"

"Well, take to the brush; out-Injun 'em if we can--I'll admit it's kinder resky."

"I see," murmured Hall, and fell silent again while Meshackatee watched him narrowly.

"Of course," went on Meshackatee, "there's a hell-scad of them Texans----"

"That don't worry me a bit," put in McIvor abruptly. "I've been doing this kind of fighting all my life. But I promised Miss Randolph I'd keep out of this trouble and I aim to make my word good. At the same time, if the Scarboroughs have sent for her brothers----"

"They sure have!" affirmed Meshackatee, "and I'll tell you how I know it. One of them neutrals came out to buy 'em some cartridges and he showed me the letter himself. It was addressed to Cal Randolph, somewhere back in Kentucky----"

"That's all right," interrupted McIvor, "I believe you. It's only a question of whether I can get her away before her brothers arrive. Because of course you must see that I'm sure to lose her if I shoot Cal or Ewing now. I've simply got to disappear the moment they arrive and stay hid until they go home."

"Well, we can fix it to git her," spoke up Meshackatee at length, "or at least we can make a try. But the first thing to do is to bushwack old Isham and put the fear of God in their hearts. They're riding the hills in bands, or so they tell me, out gunning for Winchester and young Bill; and there's a bunch of them Bassett neutrals that'll soon have to move if some one don't tap off Isham. But here's one _hombre_, I'm telling you, that ain't skeered of them _all_--if I can jest git one man for a pardner. A man has got to sleep, and that's where they ketch you, unless you happen to have a pardner to keep watch."

"That is true," agreed Hall, "and I'd be more than pleased to join you if it were not for my promise to Allifair. But under the circumstances, Meshackatee----"

"What, do you mean to say," burst out Meshackatee provocatively, "that you're going to let Isham git away with it? Didn't he try to shoot you down the same time he killed Sharps, and leave you lay for the hogs? Didn't he shoot at your girl when she run out to save you and all but kill her too? I was under the impression----"

"Just a moment," broke in Hall, looking him straight in the eye, "I believe in telling the truth. Back in Kentucky, where I come from, a man who would attack a woman would be run out of the country over night--and his own family would do their part--but I have promised my intended not to join in on this feud, unless by so doing I can save her. But before we go any further--why is it, my friend, that you are so keen for this desperate adventure? As I said before, I believe in telling the truth----"

"Well--_there_ then!" exclaimed Meshackatee, throwing back his shirt and revealing a small star underneath, "I'm a deputy sheriff, that's why. The sheriff and all his deputies was afraid to come in here--leastwise they wouldn't none of 'em come--and I told 'em, gimme a badge and ten dollars a day and I'd go in and git him myself. Yes, Isham--he's the man--and I figger on shooting him on sight. When I quit and called for my pay he told me to go to hell or he'd fill me full of lead; and then, by grab, he made his brag before them Texans that he'd helped do this job on my ears. Well, if he _did_ he's the very, identical rascal I'm looking for; and it's him or me, that's all. Now, the cards are on the table and you can join in or pull out--if you stick you're a deputy sheriff."

"I'll stick," flashed back McIvor, and Meshackatee grabbed his hand. "I knowed it!" he said, and laughed.