The Apache had taken but a few steps on the trail
toward the east pasture when Custer reined him in suddenly
and wheeled him about.
“I’ll settle this thing now,” he muttered. “I’ll catch
her with them. I’ll find out who the others are. By
God, I’ve got her now, and I’ve got them!”
He spurred the Apache into a lope along the steep
and dangerous declivity leading downward into the basin.
The horse was surprised. Never before had he been allowed
to go down hill faster than a walk—his sound
forelegs attested the careful horsemanship of his rider.
Where the trail wound around bushes, he took perilous
jumps on the steep hillside, for his speed was too great
to permit him to make the short turns. He cleared them,
and somehow he stuck to the trail beyond. His iron
shoes struck fire from half embedded bowlders.
A rattler crossing the trail ahead coiled, buzzing its
warning. The hillside was steep—there was no footing
above or below the snake. The Apache could not have
stopped in time to save himself from those poisoned
fangs. A coward horse would have wheeled and gone
over the cliff; but the Morgan is no coward.
The rider saw the danger at the instant the horse did.
The animal felt the spurs touch him lightly, he heard
a word of encouragement from the man he trusted. As
the snake struck, he rose, gathering his four feet close
to his belly, and cleared the danger spot far out of reach
of the needle-like fangs.
The trail beyond was narrow, rocky, and shelving—the
thing could not have happened in a worse place. The
Apache lit, stumbled, slipped. His off hind foot went
over the edge. He lunged forward upon his knees.
Only the cool horsemanship of his rider saved them
both. A pound of weight thrown in the wrong direction
would have toppled the horse to the bottom of the rocky
gorge; a heavy hand upon the bit would have accomplished
the same result. Pennington sat easily the balanced
seat that gave the horse the best chance to regain
his footing. His touch upon the bit was only sufficient
to impart confidence to his mount, giving the animal’s
head free play, as nature intended, as he scrambled back
to the trail again.
At last they reached the safer footing of the basin, and
were off in a straight line for the ravine into which led
the mysterious trail. The Apache knew that there was
need for haste—an inclination of his master’s body, a
closing of the knees against his barrel, the slight raising
of the bridle hand, had told him this more surely than
loud cries of the punishment of steel rowels. He flattened
out and flew.
The cold rage that gripped Pennington brooked no
delay. He was glad, though, that he was unarmed; for
he knew that when he came face to face with the men
with whom Shannon Burke had conspired against him,
he might again cease to be master of his anger.
They reached the foot of the acclivity terminating at
the summit of the ridge beyond which lay the camp of
the bootleggers. Again the man urged his mount to the
necessity of speed. The powerful beast leaped upward
along the steep trail, digging his toes deep into the sun-baked
soil, every muscle in his body strained to the limit
of its powers.
At the summit they met Baldy, head and tail erect,
snorting and riderless. The appearance of the horse and
his evident fright bespoke something amiss. Custer had
seen him just as he was emerging from the upper end
of the dim trail leading down the opposite side of the
hogback. He turned the Apache into it and headed him
down toward the oaks.
Below, Shannon was waging a futile fight against
the burly Bartolo. She struck at his face and attempted
to push him from her, but he only laughed his crooked
laugh and pushed her slowly toward the trampled dust
of the abandoned camp.
“Before I kill you——” he repeated again and again,
as if it were some huge joke.
He heard the sound of the Apache’s hoofs upon the
trail above, but he thought it the loose horse of the girl.
Custer was almost at the bottom of the trail when the
Mexican glanced up and saw him. With a curse, he
hurled Shannon aside and leaped toward his pony.
At the same instant the girl saw the Apache and his
rider, and in the next she saw Bartolo seize his rifle and
attempt to draw it from its boot. Leaping to her feet,
she sprang toward the Mexican, who was cursing frightfully
because the rifle had stuck and he could not readily
extricate it from the boot. As she reached him, he succeeded
in jerking the weapon free. Swinging about, he
threw it to his shoulder and fired at Pennington, just
as Shannon threw herself upon him, clutching at his arms
and dragging the muzzle of the weapon downward. He
struck at her face, and tried to wrench the rifle from her
grasp; but she clung to it with all the desperation that the
danger confronting the man she loved engendered.
Custer had thrown himself from the saddle and was
running toward them. Bartolo saw that he could not
regain the rifle in time to use it. He struck the girl a
terrible blow in the face that sent her to the ground.
Then he turned and vaulted into his saddle, and was away
across the bottom and up the trail on the opposite side
before Pennington could reach him and drag him from
his pony.
Custer turned to the girl lying motionless upon the
ground. He knelt and raised her in his arms. She had
fainted, and her face was very white. He looked down
into it—the face of the girl he hated. He felt his arms
about her, he felt her body against his, and suddenly a
look of horror filled his eyes.
He laid her back upon the ground, and stood up. He
was trembling violently. As he had held her in his
arms, there had swept over him an almost irresistible desire
to crush her to him, to cover her eyes and cheeks
with kisses, to smother her lips with them—the girl he
hated!
A great light had broken upon his mental horizon—a
light of understanding that left all his world in the dark
shadow of despair. He loved Shannon Burke!
Again he knelt beside her, and very gently he lifted
her in his arms until he could support her across one
shoulder. Then he whistled to the Apache, who was
nibbling the bitter leaves of the live oak. When the horse
came to him, he looped the bridle reins about his arm
and started on foot up the trail down which he had just
ridden, carrying Shannon across his shoulder. At the
summit of the ridge he found Baldy grazing upon the
sparse, burned grasses of late September.
It was then that Shannon Burke opened her eyes. At
first, confused by the rush of returning recollections, she
thought that it was the Mexican who was carrying her;
but an instant later she recognized the whipcord riding
breeches and the familiar boots and spurs of the son
of Ganado. Then she stirred upon his shoulder.
“I am all right now,” she said. “You may put me
down. I can walk.”
He lowered her to the ground, but he still supported
her as they stood facing each other.
“You came just in time,” she said. “He was going
to kill me.”
“I am glad I came,” was all that he said.
She noticed how tired and pinched Custer’s face looked,
as if he had risen from a sick bed after a long period of
suffering. He looked older—very much older—and oh, so
sad! It wrung her heart; but she did not question him.
She was waiting for him to question her, for she knew
that he must wonder why she had come here, and what
the meaning of the encounter he had witnessed; but he
did not ask her anything, beyond inquiring whether she
thought she was strong enough to sit her saddle if he
helped her mount.
“I shall be all right now,” she assured him.
He caught Baldy and assisted her into the saddle.
Then he mounted the Apache and led the way along the
trail toward home. They were halfway across the basin
meadow before either spoke. It was Shannon who broke
the silence.
“You must have wondered what I was doing up there,”
she said, with a backward nod of her head.
“That would not be strange, would it?”
“I will tell you.”
“No,” he said. “It is bad enough that you went there
to-day and the Saturday before I was arrested. Anything
more that you could tell me would only make it
worse. Do you remember that girl I told you about—that
friend of Cousin William—who visited us?”
“Yes.”
“I followed you up here to-day to tell you the same
thing I told her.”
“I understand,” she said.
“You do not understand,” he snapped, almost angrily.
“You understand nothing. I only said that I followed
to tell you that. I have not told you, have I? Well, I
don’t intend to tell you; but my shame that I don’t is
enough without you telling me any more to add to it.
There can be no honorable excuse for your having come
here that other time, or this time, either. There is no
reason in the world why a woman should have any dealings
with criminals, or any knowledge that would make
dealings with them possible. That is the reason I don’t
want you to tell me more. Oh, Shannon”—his voice
broke—“I don’t want to hear anything bad about you!...
Please!”
She had been upon the verge of just anger until then.
Even now she did not understand—only that he wanted
to believe in her, however much he doubted her, and
that their friendship had meant more to him than she
had imagined.
“But I must tell you, Custer,” she insisted. “Now
that you have learned this much, I can see that your
suspicions wrong me more than I deserve. I came here
the Saturday before you were arrested to warn them
that you were going to watch for them on the following
Friday. Though I did not know the men, I knew what
sort they were, and that they would kill you the moment
they found that they were discovered. It was only
to save your life that I came that other time, and this
time I came to try to force them to go before the grand
jury and clear you of the charge against you; but when
I threatened the man, and he found what I knew about
him, he said that he would kill me.”
“You did not know that I was going to be arrested
that night?”
“Oh, Custer, how could you believe that of me?” exclaimed
Shannon.
“I didn’t want to believe it.”
“I came into all this information—about the work of
this gang—by accidentally overhearing a conversation
in Hollywood, months ago. I know the names of the
principals, I know Guy’s connection with them. To-day
I was trying to keep Guy’s name out, too, if that were
possible; but he is guilty and you are not. I cannot
understand how he could come back from Los Angeles
without telling them the truth and removing the suspicion
from you.”
“I would not let him,” said Pennington.
“You would not let him? You would go to the penitentiary
for the crime of another?”
“Not for him, but for Eva. Guy and I thrashed it
all out. He wanted to give himself up—he almost demanded
that I should let him; but it can’t be done. Eva
must never know.”
“But, Custer, you can’t go! It wouldn’t be fair—it
wouldn’t be right. I won’t let you go! I know enough to
clear you, and I shall go before the grand jury on Wednesday
and tell all I know.”
“No,” he said. “You must not. It would involve
Guy.”
“I won’t mention Guy.”
“But you will mention others, and they will mention
Guy—don’t doubt that for a minute.” He turned suddenly
toward her. “Promise me, Shannon, that you will
not go—that you will not mention what you know to a
living soul. I would rather go to the pen for twenty
years than see Eva’s life ruined. You don’t know her.
She’s gay and happy and frivolous on the outside; but
deep within her is a soul of wondrous sensitiveness and
beauty, which is fortified and guarded by her pride and
her honor. Strike down one of these, and you will have
given her soul a wound from which it may never recover.
She can understand neither meanness nor depravity
in men and women. Should she ever learn that
Guy had been connected with this gang, and that the
money upon which they were to start their married life
was the fruits of his criminality, it would break her
heart. I know that Guy isn’t criminally inclined, and
that this will be a lesson that will keep him straight as
long as he lives; but she wouldn’t look at it that way.
Now do you see why you must not tell what you know?”
“Perhaps you are right, but it seems to me she would
not suffer any more if Guy went than if her brother went.
She loves you very much.”
“But she will know that I am innocent. If Guy went,
she would know that he was guilty.”
Shannon had no answer to this, and they were silent
for a while.
“You will help me to keep this from Eva?” he asked.
“Yes.”
She was thinking of the futility of her sacrifice, and
wondering what explanation he was putting upon her
knowledge of the activities of the criminals. He had said
that there could be no reason in the world why a woman
should have any dealings with such men, or any knowledge
that would make dealings with them possible. What
would he think of her if he knew the truth?
The man’s mind was a chaos of conflicting thoughts—the
sudden realization of a love that was as impossible
as it was unwelcome—recollection of his vows to Grace,
which were as binding upon his honor as the marriage
vows themselves would have been—doubts as to the
character and antecedents of this girl who rode at his
side to-day, and whose place in his life had suddenly
assumed an importance beyond that of any other.
Then he turned a little, his eyes rested upon her profile,
and he found it hard to doubt her.
Shannon felt his eyes upon her, and looked up.
“You have been so good to me, Custer, all of you—you
can never know how I have valued the friendship of
the Penningtons, or what it has meant to me, or how I
have striven to deserve it. I would have done anything
to repay a part, at least, of what it has done for me.
That was what I was trying to do—that is why I wanted
to go before the grand jury, no matter what the cost
to me; but I failed, and perhaps I have only made it
worse. I do not even know that you believe me.”
“I believe you, Shannon,” he said. “There is much
that I do not understand; but I believe that what you did
was done in our interests. There is nothing more that
any of us can do now but keep still about what we know,
for the moment one of those actually responsible is
threatened with exposure Guy’s name will be divulged—you
may rest assured of that. They would be only too
glad to shift the responsibility to his shoulders.”
“But you will make some effort to defend yourself?”
“I shall simply plead not guilty, and tell the truth about
why I was up there when the officers arrested me.”
“You will make no other defense?”
“What other defense can I make that would not risk
incriminating Guy?” Custer asked her.
She shook her head. It seemed quite hopeless.
