Essential Western Novels - Volume 10. Zane Grey

mean to say that one of your brothers was guarding Dingwell and that later your father went up to Meldrum's place. They are starving him to get something out of him. I serve warning on you that if they hurt my friend—"

      "Starving him!" she broke out fiercely. "Do you dare say that my people—my father—would torture anybody? Is that what you mean, you lying spy?"

      Her fury was a spur to him. "I don't care what words you use," he flung back wildly. "They have given him no food for three days. I didn't know such things were done nowadays. It's as bad as what the old Apaches did. It's devilish—"

      He pulled himself up. What right had he to talk that way to the girl who had just saved his life? Her people might be law-breakers, but he felt that she was clean of any wrongdoing.

      Her pride was shaken. A more immediate issue had driven it into the background.

      "Why should they hurt him?" she asked. "If they had meant to do that—"

      "Because he won't tell what he knows—where the gold is—won't promise to keep quiet about it afterward. What else can they do? They can't turn him loose as a witness against them."

      "I don't believe it. I don't believe a word of it." Her voice broke. "I'm going up to see right away."

      "You mean—to-night?"

      "I mean now."

      She turned up the gulch instead of down. Reluctantly he followed her.

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      Chapter XIII

      Beulah Interferes

      They felt their way up in the darkness. The path was rough and at first pitch-black. After a time they emerged from the aspens into more open travel. Here were occasional gleams of light, as if the moon stood tip-toe and peered down between the sheer walls of Chicito to the obscure depths below.

      Beulah led. Mountain-born and bred, she was active as a bighorn. Her slenderness was deceptive. It concealed the pack of her long rippling muscles, the deep-breasted strength of her torso. One might have marched a long day's journey without finding a young woman more perfectly modeled for grace and for endurance.

      "What are you going to try to do?" Beaudry asked of her timidly.

      She turned on him with a burst of feminine ferocity. "Is that any of your business? I didn't ask you to come with me, did I? Go down to the horse ranch and ask dad to help you out of the park. Then, when you're safe with your friends, you can set the officers on him. Tell them he is a criminal—just as you told me."

      Her biting tongue made him wince. "If I told you that I'm sorry. I had no right. You've saved my life. Do you think it likely I would betray your people after that?"

      "How do I know what a spy would do? Thank God, I can't put myself in the place of such people," she answered disdainfully.

      He smiled ruefully. She was unjust, of course. But that did not matter. Roy knew that she was wrought up by what he had told her. Pride and shame and hatred and distrust spoke in her sharp words. Was it not natural that a high-spirited girl should resent such a charge against her people and should flame out against the man who had wounded her? Even though she disapproved of what they had done, she would fly to their defense when attacked.

      From the dark gash of the ravine they came at last to the opening where Meldrum lived.

      The young woman turned to Beaudry. "Give me your revolver belt."

      He hesitated. "What are you going to do?"

      Plainly she would have liked to rebuff him, but just now he had the whip hand. Her sullen answer came slowly.

      "I'm going to tell my brother that father needs him. When he has gone, I'll see what I can do."

      "And what am I to do while you are inside?"

      "Whatever you like." She held out her hand for his belt.

      Not at all willingly he unbuckled it. "You'll be careful," he urged. "Meldrum is a bad man. Don't try any tricks with him."

      "He knows better than to touch a hair of my head," she assured him with proud carelessness. Then, "Hide in those trees," she ordered.

      Ned Rutherford answered her knock on the door of the jacal. At sight of her he exclaimed:—

      "What are you doing here, Boots? At this time of night? Anything wrong?"

      "Dad needs you, Ned. It seems there is trouble about that young man Street. Jess Tighe has sworn to kill him and dad won't have it. There's trouble in the air. You're to come straight home."

      "Why didn't he send Jeff?"

      "He needed him. You're to keep on down through the cañon to the mouth. Jess has the mouth of the arroyo guarded to head off Street."

      "But—what's broke? Why should Tighe be so keen on bumping off this pink-ear when dad says no?"

      "They've found out who he is. It seems Street is an alias. He is really Royal Beaudry, the son of the man who used to be sheriff of the county, the one who crippled Jess the day he was killed."

      The slim youth in the high-heeled boots whistled. He understood now why Tighe dared to defy his father.

      "All right, Boots. With you in a minute, soon as I get my hat and let Dan know."

      "No. I'm to stay here till dad sends for me. He doesn't want me near the trouble."

      "You mean you're to stay at Rothgerber's."

      "No, here. Tighe may attack Rothgerber's any time to get this young Beaudry. I heard shooting as I came up."

      "But—you can't stay here. What's dad thinking about?" he frowned.

      "If you mean because of Mr. Dingwell, I know all about that."

      "Who told you?" he demanded.

      "Dad can't keep secrets from me. There's no use his trying."

      "Hm! I notice he loaded us with a heap of instructions not to let you know anything. He'd better learn to padlock his own tongue."

      "Isn't there a room where I can sleep here?" Beulah asked.

      "There's a cot in the back room," he admitted sulkily. "But you can't—"

      "That's another thing," she broke in. "Dad doesn't want Dan left alone with Mr. Dingwell."

      "Who's that out there, Ned?" growled a heavy voice from inside.

      Beulah followed her brother into the hut. Two men stared at her in amazement. One sat on the bed with a leg tied to the post. The other was at the table playing solitaire, a revolver lying beside the cards. The card-player was Meldrum. He jumped up with an oath.

      "Goddlemighty! What's she doing here?" he demanded in his hoarse raucous bass.

      "That's her business and mine," Rutherford answered haughtily.

      "It's mine too, by God! My neck's in the noose, ain't it?" screamed the former convict. "Has everybody in the park got to know we're hiding Dingwell here? Better put it in the paper. Better—"

      "Enough of that, Dan. Dad is running this show. Obey orders, and that lets you out," retorted the young man curtly. "You've met my sister, haven't you, Dave?"

      The cattleman smiled at the girl. "Sure. We had a little ride together not long since. I owe you a new raincoat. Don't I, Miss Beulah?"

      She blushed a little. "No, you don't, Mr. Dingwell. The mud came off after it dried."

      "That's good." Dave turned to Rutherford. The little devils of mischief were in his eyes. "Chet Fox was with us, but he didn't stay—had an engagement,