Foes in Ambush | Page 2

addressing no
one in particular, but looking plaintively around him.
Still leaning a brown chin on a nearly black hand, and stirring up his
spider with the forked stick he held in the other paw, the boy simply
tilted his head towards the dark opening under the farther end of the
shed, an aperture that seemed to lead to nothing but blackness beyond.
"What's he doing?"
"No sa-a-abe," drawled the boy, never lifting his handsome eyes from
the joys before him.
"Why hasn't he harnessed up?"
A shrug of the shoulders was the only reply.
"Hey?"
"No sa-a-abe," slowly as before.
"What's your name?"
"José."
"Well, here, José, you go and tell him I want him."
The boy slowly pulled himself together and found his feet; started
reluctantly to obey; glanced back at his captive, now scuttling off for
freedom; turned again, scotched him with his forked stick, and then

with a vicious "huh!" drove the struggling Araneid into the sandy soil.
This done, he lounged off towards the dark corner in the wall of the
ranch and dove out of sight.
Presently there slowly issued from this recess a sturdy form in dusty
blue blouse, the sleeves of which were decorated with chevrons in
far-faded yellow. Under the shabby slouch hat a round, sun-blistered,
freckled face, bristling with a week-old beard, peered forth at the staff
official with an expression half of languid tolerance, half of mild
irritation. In most perfunctory fashion the soldier just touched the
hat-rim with his forefinger, then dropped the hand into a convenient
pocket. It was plain that he felt but faint respect for the staff rank and
station of the man in goggles and authority.
"Sergeant Feeny, I thought I told you I wanted everything ready to start
at sunset."
"You did, sir, and then you undid it," was the prompt and sturdy reply.
The paymaster stood irresolute. Through the shading spectacles of
green his eyes seemed devoid of any expression. His attitude remained
unchanged, thumbs in the low-cut pockets of his wide-flapping trousers,
shoulders meek and drooping.
"W-e-ll," he finally drawled, "you understood I wanted to get on to
Camp Stoneman by sunrise, didn't you? Didn't my clerk, Mr. Dawes,
tell you?"
"He did, yes, sir, and you don't want to get there no more than I do,
major. But I told you flat-footed if you let Donovan and those other
men go back on the trail they'd find some excuse to stop at Ceralvo's,
and, damn 'em, they've done it."
"Don't you s'pose they'll be along presently?"
"S'pose?" and the sun-blistered face of the cavalryman seemed to grow
a shade redder as he echoed almost contemptuously the word of his
superior. "S'pose? Why, major, look here!" And the short, swart trooper

took three quick strides, then pointed through the western gap in the
adobe wall to the gilded edge of the range where the sun had just
slipped from view. "It's ten mile to that ridge, it's ten minutes since I
got the last wig-wag of the signal-flag at the pass. They hadn't come
through then. What chance is there of their getting here in time to light
out at dark? You did tell me to have everything ready to start, and then
you undid it by sending half the escort back. You've been here in hell's
half-acre three days and I've been here three years. You've never been
through Cañon Diablo; I've been through a dozen times and never yet
without a fight or a mighty good chance of one. Now you may think it's
fun to run your head into an ambuscade, but I don't. You can get 'em
too easy without trying here. I'm an old soldier, major, and too free
spoken, perhaps, but I mean no disrespect, only I wish to God you'd
listen to me next time."
"You wouldn't have had me leave those women in the lurch back at the
crossing, would you?" queried the paymaster, half apologetically.
"Why, I don't believe that story at all," flatly answered Feeny; "it's
some damned plant that fellow Donovan's springing on you,--a mere
excuse to ride back so they could drink and gamble with those thugs at
Ceralvo's. They've just been paid off and had no chance for any fun at
all before they were ordered out on this escort duty. That money's been
burning in their pockets now for three whole nights, and they just can't
stand it so long as a drop of liquor's to be had by hard riding. No soldier
is happy till he's dead broke, major, leastwise none I ever see."
"What makes you doubt the story, sergeant? It came straight enough."
"It came too damned straight, sir; that's just the trouble. It came straight
from Chihuahua Pete's monte mill. It's only a hook to