Chapter XXI: The Randolphs

If it was madness for Meshackatee and his posse of four to ride back into the stronghold of the Scarboroughs, there was a method in their madness. The Scarboroughs would be swarming like a nest of red ants on account of the killing of Red, they would be scouring the country and watching every trail; but, even so, a man must eat. Maverick Basin was the hold-out of a gang of men so desperate that they set all law at defiance, shooting down whoever opposed them; but it had a store, full of flour and bacon, and Meshackatee's packs were flat. First he had shared his food with Hall, and then with the Bassetts, and finally with Grimes and the boy horse-thieves; and when they turned back there was nothing in the kyacks but coffee and cartridges and tobacco.

They took to the high ground, led by Winchester Bassett who had ranged the whole country with his hounds, and at evening they emerged on a wooded hill-top and looked out the Basin with their glasses. The sun had hardly set when they rode out from cover and headed straight for the darkened store. The storekeeper was a careful, not to say a stingy, man; and he had his reasons also for preferring to sit in the dark, since bright windows have often drawn bullets. He was hiding when they rode up but, finding his store surrounded, he lit up and opened the door.

"Oh, good evening," he cringed as Meshackatee loomed up before him. "Well, well, howdy do, Meshackatee!"

"I want some grub," returned Meshackatee, "and I want it quick, without any high signs to the Scarboroughs. So jest git out your pencil and keep tally on what we take--you'll be paid by Tonto County."

"But the county is practically bankrupt," protested Johnson in an ague.

"So'm I," replied Meshackatee, "and I'm hungry to boot. So use your own judgment, Mr. Johnson."

He stepped into the store-room and began to hand out the sacks of flour, and after a glaring silence Mr. Johnson saw the point and began sullenly to check up the requisition. For a requisition it was, such as armies are wont to make, and deputy sheriffs in pursuit of criminals; and soon bacon and coffee and beans came out to fill the sacks which they were slinging on the saddles of their spare mounts.

"Now, what's the news, Mr. Johnson?" spoke up Meshackatee abruptly. "Who's over at the Scarborough place now?"

"Why--er--Elmo," began the store-keeper, "and Miz Zoolah, of course----"

"Where's Isham?" demanded Meshackatee, and the others stopped to listen, but Johnson only shook his head.

"He's gone," he said, and Meshackatee drew his big six-shooter and laid it down impressively in the lamp-light.

"Gone where?" he asked, but not even the gun could make the frightened store-keeper tell.

"I don't know, boy, I swear it," he answered as they faced him, "but they say he's over in New Mexico. Been gone for a week, and now that Red is dead, young Elmo has taken things in charge."

"How many men has he got?" inquired Grimes, moving closer, and the store-keeper backed away instinctively.

"Oh, a great many!" he exclaimed. "Sometimes as much as forty. They're coming in all the time. This evening there were two all the way from Kentucky----"

"What were their names?" broke in Hall, and the store-keeper winced.

"Why--er--Randolph," he said, "and, now that you speak of it, I believe they were inquiring for you."

"Very likely," replied Hall, and slipped quietly outside, where he could think what this meant to him. And so Allifair's brothers had come! The feud of Tug Fork had been transplanted to Maverick Basin--the Randolphs had come to kill him. He stood in the shadows, looking out across the plain to where the lights of the Rock House still glowed. It was too late now; he had lost. Cal and Ewing were there, and as soon as they learned the country they would take up his trail like bloodhounds. They would follow him like a deer and like a deer he must flee, for Allifair loved her brothers. Bloody-handed as they were, and rough and brutal, she loved Cal and Ewing for what they might have been if the feud had not warped their whole lives. They were man-killers now, thin-lipped and cruel-eyed, and yet he dared not oppose them. Once more he must play the coward.

While the others lingered on, indulging in a few drinks and cross-questioning the reluctant Mr. Johnson, he sorted out a pack-load of the most substantial food and lashed it on his spare horse. He was mounting to go when Winchester Bassett stepped out, followed by Bill, carrying a big sack of food.

"W'y hello," exclaimed Winchester, "are you going to leave us? We're going up north and lay for Isham."

"Yes, I've got to go," said Hall, "but don't tell the store-keeper. The Randolphs have come out here to kill me."

"I had an idee they had," admitted Winchester. "Well, sorry to see you go. But say, wait a minute and you can start off with me and Bill--that storekeeper is a Scarborough spy."

Hall waited, still in the shadows, for the light from the store door might reveal his presence to his enemies; and as he watched the Rock House he saw a lantern leave the house and go bobbing out to the barn. There was a hair-trigger atmosphere about the whole raid which set his jangled nerves on edge; for he knew that the Scarboroughs kept close watch over the store, even dictating who should come there for supplies. They would be riding over soon to see who had been there, if they were not already skulking near; and the news of his presence would be the signal for the Randolphs to take up the trail again. For years, back in Kentucky, they had dogged his tracks, trying to catch him for a moment off his guard; and he, throwing great circles, had often swung in behind them, so that they in turn were pursued. More than once he had ambushed them, and once he had shot Cal; but they had always crept away leaving the battle undecided, for the feud had taught the value of stealth. The men who fought in the open had long before been killed--it was Indian warfare now.

Bill and Winchester came out, after taking a last drink, and rode off in silence down the road. The night was still, so that the sounds traveled far, and the circumstances of their home-coming were depressing. Except for a few times when, at the risk of their lives, they had crept in to leave their mother some fresh beef, they had never been near the house since that fatal day when Sharps and Old Henry had been killed. Old Susie had detected movements on the top of the hill where the Scarboroughs had once laid in wait, and Winchester and Bill had evidence of their own to show that the house was watched. It was the old system of the Scarboroughs, always to lie in wait and shoot down their enemies from the brush.

The hounds came rushing out at them, changing their baying to joyous yelps as they recognized their long-lost masters; and old Susie, for once, forgot her Indian stoicism and wept as she clung to Bill. He was her favorite boy, the baby she had carried when she had traveled overland in search of her husband; and when they had put down her supplies and were preparing to go she still clung desperately to Bill.

"You go on," he said to Winchester, "I'll stay with Maw a while. But I'll ketch you--get the boys and start ahead."

"Well, all right," grumbled Winchester, "but you be careful, kid; them Scarboroughs are on the prod."

They parted company at the gate, Winchester riding for the store and Hall turning off to the east; but as he rode through the darkness Hall halted on the trail, and at last he wheeled and turned back. The vague uneasiness which had held him all the evening suddenly took form and clutched at his heart. What if the Randolphs had come, not to run him down and kill him, but to carry their sister away? He circled the Basin and finally headed south, cutting across the open plain and taking shelter in the wooded hills beyond; and when the day dawned he crept out on a point where he could look down and see her from afar. She must know he was near, for the store-keeper had told him that he was believed to be the slayer of Red; and if that was the case how anxiously she must be waiting for the time when he would appear on the mound. How many times already she must have glanced out through the loop-hole, hoping to see his waiting form beneath the tree; and now he was slinking away, without even making trial of the Providence which he claimed as his guide. He focussed his glasses and gazed down at the Rock House, and at daylight Allifair appeared.

She stepped to the doorway, dressed in white like a bride though she was only a kitchen drudge, and her eyes seemed to be turned to the hills. Almost she seemed to see him, or to sense his distant presence, for she raised her hand in a sign; and then she waved him away, just as plainly as if she spoke to him, and turned sorrowfully back into the house. Soon the smoke from the huge chimney told the story of her industry--she was cooking while the rest of them slept. Hall watched them as they came out, Miz Zoolah and Elmo; and at last the men whom he never had feared--Cal Randolph and the tall, lanky Ewing. They were typical mountaineers in their high boots and slouched hats, and yet after all not so different from the Texans who came striding across from the bunk-house. But he feared them now, for they had come to take his life and his hands were tied by love. They were the brothers of Allifair and she had beckoned him away; yet he lingered, waiting to see their next move.

A dozen rash plans leapt up in his brain--to steal her and bear her away, to hide her from their fury and then return to Tug Fork, to make an end to the feud. But each time the vision of Cal and Ewing Randolph rose up to brand them as worse than dreams; the fate which had pursued him was still on his trail, nothing could be done while her brothers were there. He put down his glasses and gazed out across the Basin, seeking some end to the phantasma of his life. Even here, as in Kentucky, it had been a nightmare of death and violence, while his heart was sick for peace. All he wanted was peace, the same surcease we give the dead--a forgetting, oblivion, a new life. Yet even after one death his incognito had been discovered and the chase was on again. Nothing would stay the dark passions of the men he had warred against, they were ruthless as death itself.

He closed his eyes wearily to shut out the sight of this valley which had once seemed so fair, and sleep swooped to seize him in an instant. But while his senses swooned something came to his ears that roused him as nothing else could--a rifle-shot, far away. He listened, half convinced, and a volley ripped the air like the tearing of a strip of rough cloth. It came from the hill, where the Scarboroughs had hid before, the hill that looked down on the Bassetts'. But why did they shoot when Sharps and Henry were both dead, and Winchester and Bill---- His heart stopped and leapt again, and he knew the answer. Bill Bassett had stayed too long.