The Girl of the Golden West by David Belasco (interesting novels in english TXT) 📕

by Sonora's omission; it was merely most inconsiderate on his part of the feelings of others; and, therefore, there was a note of apology in the voice that presently said:

"Oh, yes, Mr. Ashby, I'm with you all right."

During this conversation the eyes of the greaser had been wandering all over the room. But as the men moved away from him to take their drinks he started violently and an expression of dismay crossed his features. "Ramerrez' saddle!" he muttered to himself. "_The Maestro_--he is taken!"

Just then there came a particularly loud burst of approval from the spectators of the dancing going on in the adjoining room, and instinctively the men at the bar half-turned towards the noise. The prisoner's eyes followed their gaze and a fiendish grin replaced the look of dismay on his face. "No, he is there dancing with a girl," he said under his breath. A moment later Nick let down the bearskin curtain, shutting off completely the Mexican's view of the dance-hall.

"Come, now, tell us what your name is?" The voice was Ashby's who, together with the others, now surrounded the prisoner. "Speak up--who are you?"

"My name ees Jose Castro;" and then he added with a show of pride: "_Ex-padrona_ of the bull-fights."

"But the bull-fights are at Monterey! Why do you come to this place?"

All eyes instantly turned from the prisoner to Rance, who had asked the question while seated at the table, and from him they returned to the prisoner, most of the men giving vent to exclamations of anger in tones that made the greaser squirm, while Trinidad expressed the prevailing admiration of the Sheriff's poser by crying out:

"That's the talk--you bet! Why do you come here?"

Castro's face wore an air of candour as he replied:

"To tell the Senor Sheriff I know where ees Ramerrez."

Rance turned on the prisoner a grim look.

"You lie!" he vociferated, at the same time raising his hand to check the angry mutterings of the men that boded ill for the greaser.

"Nay," denied Castro, strenuously, "pleanty Mexican _vaquero_--my friend Peralta, Weelejos all weeth Ramerrez--so I know where ees."

Rance advanced and shot a finger in his face.

"You're one of his men yourself!" he cried hotly. But if he had hoped by his accusation to take the man off his guard, it was eminently unsuccessful, for the look on the greaser's face was innocence itself when he declared:

"No, no, Senor Sheriff."

Rance reflected a moment; suddenly, then, he took another tack.

"You see that man there?" he queried, pointing to the Wells Fargo Agent. "That is Ashby. He is the man that pays out that reward you've heard of." Then after a pause to let his words sink in, he demanded gruffly: "Where is Ramerrez' camp?"

At once the prisoner became voluble.

"Come with me one mile, Senor," he said, "and by the soul of my mother, the blessed Maria Saltaja, we weel put a knife into hees back."

"One mile, eh?" repeated Rance, coolly.

The miners looked incredulous.

"If I tho't--" began Sonora, but Rance rudely cut in with:

"Where is this trail?"

"Up the Madrona Canyada," was the greaser's instant reply.

At this juncture a Ridge boy, who had pushed aside the bear-skin curtain and was gazing with mouth wide open at the proceedings, suddenly cried out:

"Why, hello, boys! What's the--" He got no further. In a twinkling and with cries of "Shut up! Git!" the men made for the intruder and bodily threw him out of the room. When quiet was restored Rance motioned to the prisoner to proceed.

"Ramerrez can be taken--too well taken," declared the Mexican, gaining confidence as he went on, "if many men come with me--in forty minutes there--back."

Rance turned to Ashby and asked him what he thought about it.

"I don't know what to think," was the Wells Fargo Agent's reply. "But it certainly is curious. This is the second warning--intimation that we have had that he is somewhere in this vicinity."

"And this Nina Micheltorena--you say she is coming here to-night?"

Ashby nodded assent.

"All the same, Rance," he maintained, "I wouldn't go. Better drop in to The Palmetto later."

"What? Risk losin' 'im?" exclaimed Sonora, who had been listening intently to their conversation.

"We'll take the chance, boys, in spite of Ashby's advice," Rance said decisively. It was with not a little surprise that he heard the shouts with which his words were approved by all save the Wells Fargo Agent.

Now the miners made a rush for their coats, hats and saddles, while from all sides came the cries of, "Come on, boys! Careful--there! Ready--Sheriff!"

Gladly, cheerfully, Nick, too, did what he could to get the men started by setting up the drinks for all hands, though he remarked as he did so:

"It's goin' to snow, boys; I don't like the sniff in the air."

But even the probability of encountering a storm--which in that altitude was something decidedly to be reckoned with--did not deter the men from proceeding to make ready for the road agent's capture. In an incredibly short space of time they had loaded up and got their horses together, and from the harmony in their ranks while carrying out orders, it was evident that not a man there doubted the success of their undertaking.

"We'll git this road agent!" sung out Trinidad, going out through the door.

"Right you are, pard!" agreed Sonora; but at the door he called back to the greaser: "Come on, you oily, garlic-eatin', red-peppery, dog-trottin', sunbaked son of a skunk!"

"Come on, you . . .!" came simultaneously from the Deputy, now untying the rope which bound the prisoner.

The greaser's teeth were chattering; he begged:

"One dreenk--I freeze . . ."

Turning to Nick the Deputy told him to give the man a drink, adding as he left the room:

"Watch him--keep your eye on him a moment for me, will you?"

Nick nodded; and then regarding the Mexican with a contemptuous look, he asked:

"What'll you have?"

The Mexican rose to his feet and began hesitatingly:

"Geeve me--" He paused; and then, starting with the thought that had come to him, he shot a glance at the dance-hall and called out loudly, rolling his r's even more pronouncedly than is the custom with his race: "Aguardiente! Aguardiente!"

"Sit down!" ordered Nick, vaguely conscious that there was something in the greaser's voice that was not there before.

The greaser obeyed, but not until he knew for a certainty that his voice had been heard by his master.

"So you did bring in my saddle, eh, Nick?" asked the road agent, coming quickly, but unconcernedly into the room and standing behind his man.

Up to this time, Nick's eyes had not left the prisoner, but with the appearance on the scene of Johnson, he felt that his responsibility ceased in a measure. He turned and gave his attention to matters pertaining to the bar. As a consequence, he did not see the look of recognition that passed between the two men, nor did he hear the whispered dialogue in Spanish that followed.

"_Maestro! Ramerrez!_" came in whispered tones from Castro.

"Speak quickly--go on," came likewise in whispered tones from the road agent.

"I let them take me according to your bidding," went on Castro.

"Careful, Jose, careful," warned his master while stooping to pick up his saddle, which he afterwards laid on the faro table. It was while he was thus engaged that Nick came over to the prisoner with a glass of liquor, which he handed to him gruffly with:

"Here!"

At that moment several voices from the dance-hail called somewhat impatiently: "Nick, Nick!"

"Oh, The Ridge boys are goin'!" he said, and seeming intuitively to know what was wanted he made for the bar. But before acceding to their wishes, he turned to Johnson, took out his gun and offered it to him with the words: "Say, watch this greaser for a moment, will you?"

"Certainly," responded Johnson, quickly, declining the other's pistol by touching his own holster significantly. "Tell the Girl you pressed me into service," he concluded with a smile.

"Sure." But on the point of going, the little barkeeper turned to him and confided: "Say, the Girl's taken an awful fancy to you."

"No?" deprecated the road agent.

"Yes," affirmed Nick. "Drop in often--great bar!"

Johnson smiled an assent as the other went out of the room leaving master and man together.

"Now, then, Jose, go on," he said, when they were alone. "_Bueno!_ Our men await the signal in the bushes close by. I will lead the Sheriff far off--then I will slip away. You quietly rob the place and fly--it is death for you to linger--Ashby is here."

"Ashby!" The road agent started in alarm.

"Ashby--" reiterated Castro and stopped on seeing that Nick had returned to see that all was well.

"All right, Nick, everything's all right," Johnson reassured him.

The outlaw's position remained unchanged until Nick had withdrawn. From where he stood he now saw for the first time the preparations that were being made for his capture: the red torchlights and white candle-lighted lanterns which were reflected through the windows; and a moment more he heard the shouts of the miners calling to one another. Of a sudden he was aroused to a consciousness, at least, of their danger by Castro's warning:

"By to-morrow's twilight you must be safe in your rancho."

The road agent shook his head determinedly.

"No, we raid on."

Castro was visibly excited.

"There are a hundred men on your track."

Johnson smiled.

"Oh, one minute's start of the devil does me, Jose."

"Ah, but I fear the woman--Nina Micheltorena--I fear her terribly. She is close at hand--knowing all, angry with you, and jealous--and still loving you."

"Loving me? Oh, no, Jose! Nina, like you, loves the spoils, not me. No, I raid on . . ."

A silence fell upon the two men, which was broken by Sonora calling out:

"Bring along the greaser, Dep!"

"All right!" answered the loud voice of the Deputy.

"You hear--we start," whispered Castro to his master. "Give the signal." And notwithstanding, the miners were coming through the door for him and stood waiting, torches in hand, he contrived to finish: "Antonio awaits for it. Only the woman and her servant will stay behind here."

"Adios!" whispered the master.

"Adios!" returned his man simultaneously with the approach of the Deputy towards them.

It was then that the Girl's gay, happy voice floated in on them from the dance-hall; she cried out:

"Good-night, boys, good-night! Remember me to The Ridge!"

"You bet we will! So long! Whoop! Whooppee!" chorussed the men, while the Deputy, grabbing the Mexican by the collar, ordered him to, "Come on!"

The situation was not without its humorous side to the road agent; he could not resist following the crowd to the door where he stood and watched his would-be captors silently mount; listened to the Sheriff give the word, which was immediately followed by the sound of horses grunting as they sprang forward into the darkness in a desperate effort to escape the maddening pain of the descending quirts and cruel spurs. It was a scene to set the blood racing through the veins, viewed in any light; and not until the yells of the men had grown indistinct,