THE RENDEZVOUS

Enoch Birdsall stared in amazement at the four he had admitted, despite the remembrance of the names they had whispered through the crack of the partly opened door, the light from a single candle making gargoyles of their hideously painted faces. Alonzo Webb was peering along the barrel of a newfangled Colt, his eyes mere pin-points of concentration, his breathing nearly suspended.

Hank's low, throaty laughter filled the dim building and he slapped Tom on the shoulder. "Didn't I say I could fix us up so our own mothers wouldn't know us?" he demanded.

"God help us!" said Enoch in hopelessly inadequate accents as he groped behind him for his favorite cask. He seated himself with great deliberation. "When Turley's man Allbright brought aroun' yer rifles in a packload o' hay, I knowed we'd be seein' ye soon; an' he told us plain that four Injuns had left 'em with him. But; h—l!"

Alonzo had cautiously put away the Colt and was readjusting his facial expression to suit the changed conditions. Then he suddenly leaned back against a bale of tobacco leaf, jammed an arm tightly against his mouth, and laughed until he was limp.

Zeb Houghton glared at him in offended dignity, not knowing just what to say, but determined to say something. He felt embarrassed and slightly huffed. "Caravan have airy trouble arter we left it?" he asked.

"Trouble?" queried Enoch, a wise grin wreathing his face. "Some o' us made more profits this year than we ever did afore. Soon's we found thar warn't no custom guard ter meet us at Cold Spring, thanks ter them Texans, we sent some riders ahead from th' ford o' th' Canadian, an' Woodson held th' caravan thar in camp fer a couple o' days. Them greaser rancheros air half starved 'most all year 'round an' they jumped at th' chance ter earn some good U.S. gold. Some o' us had quite some visitors one night an' some o' th' waggins, ourn among 'em, shore strayed away from th' encampment an' got lost in th' hills. He had said somethin' 'bout not wantin' to waste so much time, an' o' takin' a short-cut; an' everybody war so excited about bein' so clost ter Santer Fe, an' by this time used ter folks goin' on ahead, that we warn't hardly missed. Them that did miss us soon forgot it. We're ahead five hundred dollars a waggin, besides th' other imposts an' th' salve money; our waggins air waitin' fer us when we go back, an' our goods air comin' in from th' ranchos in carretas an' by pack mule, under hay, hoja an' faggots, an' other stuff. Thar's them two axles o' Joe Cooper's that he war so anxious about back at th' Grove an' at every stream we had ter cross. Thar empty now, but thar war plumb full o' high-class contraband when they got here. Woodson slung 'em under one o' his waggins that come through on th' reg'lar trail, an' brought 'em in. Over thar's what's left o' your stuff."

"Have you fellers looked in a glass yit?" demanded Alonzo, taking a mirror from the wall. "Hyar, Boyd, whichever ye air, see what ye look like."

The passing of the mirror and the candle was the cause of much hilarity, and the room was filled with subdued merriment until there came a peculiar knock on the massive door. The candle flame struggled under a box while voices murmured at the portal, and then there came a cautious shuffling of feet until the box was removed.

Joe Cooper's curious glance became a stare and his jaw dropped. Tearing his eyes from the faces of the villainous four he used them to ask a question of the grinning Enoch which his lips were incapable of framing.

Enoch looked at the four. "One o' ye, who knows who's who, interduce yer friends ter Mr. Cooper, o' St. Louis, Missoury," he suggested.

Hank shoved Jim Ogden a step forward. "This 'Rapahoe is Jim Ogden, o' Bent's Fort an' th' Rockies; this other un is Zeb Houghton, o' th' Louisiana Purchase, Mexico an' Texas; hyar's Tom Boyd, hopin' ter save his ear-tabs; an' I'm—" from his mouth sounded the twang of a bowstring.

Uncle Joe sank down on a pile of smuggled Mackinaw blankets, shoved a cigar in his mouth, lit it and took several puffs before he slammed it on the floor and crushed it with his foot. Then he recovered himself, joyously shook hands all around and started a conversation that scorned the flying minutes. During a lull Alonzo looked shrewdly at the cheerful Indians and put his thoughts into words.

"Boys, anythin' we've got is yourn fer th' askin'," he slowly said; "but I'd hate ter reckon it war through me an' Enoch that ye lost yer lives, an' yer ears. We all war clost friends in Independence an' on th' trail. Clost friends o' yourn air goin' ter be watched like sin from now on. Tom Boyd an' his friends left th' caravan ter go ter Bent's—an' a passel o' greasers went arter 'em hot foot. Mebby th' first gang didn't git ter Bent's—an' it's shore th' greasers ain't showed up yit—not one o' them. Bad as Armijo is he ain't no fool by a danged sight. Fer yer own sakes ye better stay with Armstrong till ye leave th' city. Now that I've warned ye, I don't give a cuss what ye do; yer welcome ter stay hyar till yer bones rot—an' ye know it."

Tom nodded. "Yer right, Alonzo. I just got a brand new reason fer livin' till th' return caravan gits past th' Arkansas. Patience Cooper has got to go with it; she ain't a-goin' ter spend no winter hyar, if I kin help it—an' if she does stay, then I do, too, ears or no ears." His face tensed, his eyes gleaming with hatred through the paint and dirt. "I come nigh ter commitin' murder tonight. 'Twasn't my fault that I didn't."

Hank clapped him on the shoulder and turned to Uncle Joe. "We war all a-lookin' in at th' fandango," he explained. "It war a mighty clost shave fer th' sheep-stealin' shepherd o' Chavez rancho, that growed up ter be governor. If 'twarn't fer th' gal I'd never 'a' grabbed Boyd."

Uncle Joe shook his head. "There'll be trouble comin' out o' that," he declared. "We couldn't do nothin' else, but Armijo'll never rest till he wipes out th' insult o' our turnin' our backs on him an' leavin' like we did. An' did ye see th' look she gave him? D——d if it wasn't worth th' trip from Missouri to see it! Us Americans ain't loved a whole lot out here, an' them blessed Texans has gone an' made things worse. I wish we all were rollin' down to th' Crossin'. Patience is goin' back. I've argued that out, anyhow; right up to th' handle!"

"Get her out of town now," urged Tom, wriggling forward on his box. "Us four'll whisk her up to Bent's, an' jine ye at th' Crossin'."

"If we do that her father will have to leave, too," replied Uncle Joe; "an' he's stubborn as a mule, Adam is. He says it'll be forgotten, an' if we make a play like that it'll raise th' devil."

"When her safety is at stake?" sharply demanded Tom.

"He says she ain't in no danger. Him an' Armijo is real friendly. Adam is th' one man th' Americans in this town depend on ter git 'em a little justice. I've been arguin' with him tonight, an' I aim to keep on arguin'; but he's set. I know Adam."

Tom cursed and arose to his feet. "An' I know Armijo! I know his vile history like a book, for I took pains to learn it. His whole career is built on treachery, sheep-stealin', double-dealin' and assassination. He robbed Chavez of thousands of sheep—even stealing them and selling them back to their rightful owner. He sold one little flock back to Chavez over a dozen times, an' had stolen it from him in th' beginnin'. Then he dealt monte and made a pile. Then he was made chief custom house officer in this town, got caught at some of his tricks an' kicked out. Governor Perez put another man in his place. The condition of politics in Mexico worked in Armijo's favor and he stirred up a ferment, headed a conspiracy, raised a force of about a thousand Mexicans an' Pueblo Indians up at La Canada, and when Perez moved against him Perez's troops went over to Armijo and the old governor had to flee to this town, and out of it on th' jump. With him went a score or so of his personal friends; but the next day the little party was caught, more than a dozen of them put to death, an' Perez was murdered in the outskirts of this town and his body dragged around through the streets. Armijo had not shown his hand openly and the new governor was one of the active leaders of the insurrection. This did not suit Armijo, who was playing for big stakes, and he started another revolution, adopted Federalism for a cloak, drove the insurgent governor from the city, later shot him and, after declaring himself governor, had his appointment made official by the Federal government at Mexico City, and ever since has played tyrant without a check. That's Adam Cooper's so-called friend. That's the man he trusts. God help Adam; an' God help Armijo if he harms Patience Cooper!"

His friends nodded, for they knew that he spoke the truth; and Uncle Joe thoughtlessly lit another cigar before he remembered its make. "Adam's last cent is sunk out here," he remarked. "He says he ain't goin' to turn himself inter a pauper an' flee for his life just because his fool brother is a-scared of shadows. He says th' beast was drunk tonight an' didn't know what he was doin'."

Tom spread out his hands helplessly, and then clenched them. He paced a few turns and stopped again. "All right, Uncle Joe; he's her father and he's backin' his best judgment. I'm an outsider an' have nothin' to say. Boys," he said, looking at his three hunter friends, "we got work ter do. We got ter watch Patience Cooper every minute that she's out o' th' house. Thar's too much at stake fer us to rendezvous hyar, we'll stay at Armstrong's. Enoch, git our rifles over thar as soon as ye kin. I want another repeatin' pistol, in a leather case, to hang under my shirt, below my left arm-pit. Thank th' Lord that Turley's plantin' a relay fer us up in th' mountains; I'm bettin' we'll need it bad." He looked at Hank. "Bet it's eighty mile to that place, ain't it?"

"Th' way we come it is," replied the hunter. "I know a straighter trail that ain't got so many people livin' along it. It's twenty mile shorter, but harder travelin'."

"If thar's anybody at Bent's ranch on th' Purgatoire, we might pick up a re-mount thar," muttered Tom. "That'd give us fresh hosses fer th' last ninety miles to th' fort; but we'll have ter cross th' wagon road ter git thar."

"We'll use that fer th' second bar'l," said Hank. "I know a better way, over an old Ute trail leadin' toward th' Bayou Salade; but we'll have hosses at Bent's ranch if I kin git word ter Holt, Carson or Bill Bent. We better go 'round an' see Armstrong right away; he may know o' somebody that's goin' up on th' trail through Raton Pass. He'll do anythin' fer me."

"Cover th' candle," said Tom. "Give us our rifles; we kin carry 'em all right at this time o' night, with everybody stayin' indoors on account o' th' Texans. Any time ye have news fer us, Enoch, an' can't git it ter Armstrong's, set a box outside th' door."

"It'll be stole," said Enoch, grinning.

"Then set somethin' else out."

"That'll be stole, too."

"What will?"

"Anythin' we put out."

"God help us!" ejaculated Uncle Joe. "Try a busted bottle."

"Glass?" laughed Alonzo, derisively. "No good. If you kin think o' anythin' that won't be stole, I shore want to larn o' it." He considered a moment. "Hyar! If I git flour on my elbow an' brush ag'in th' door, we got news fer ye. I don't think they kin steal that, not all o' it, anyhow!"

Enoch nodded. "If thar's any news we'll git it. This is th' meetin' place o' most o' th' Americans hyar. Thar banded purty clost together an' have made Armijo change his tune a couple o' times. Onct they war accused o' conspiracy ag'in th' government, which war a danged lie, an' th' scarecrow troops war ordered out ag'in 'em; but we put up such a fierce showin' that Armijo climbed down from his high hoss an' nothin' come o' it except hard feelin's. That's one o' th' reasons, I reckon, why Adam Cooper ain't worryin' as much as he might about his dater's safety. An' lookin' at it from a reasonable standpoint, I'm figgerin' he's right. Boyd, hyar, would worry powerful if she got a splinter in her finger."

After the laughter had subsided and a little more talk the four plainsmen slipped out of the building and cautiously made their way to Armstrong's store and dwelling where, after a whispered palaver at the heavy door, they were admitted by the sleepy owner of the premises and shown where they could spread their blankets. In the faint light of the candle they saw other men lying about on the hard floor, who stirred, grumbled a little, and went back to sleep again.

When they awakened the next morning they recognized two old friends from Bent's Fort, a trader from St. Vrain's, and an American hunter and trapper from the Pueblo near the junction of the Arkansas and Boiling Spring Rivers. The simple breakfast was soon dispatched and gossip and news exchanged, and then Hank led aside a hunter named Hatcher, who stood high at Bent's Fort, and earnestly conversed with him. In a few moments Hank turned, looked reassuringly at Tom and smiled. Bent's little ranch on the Purgatoire was being worked and improved and there would be men and a relay of horses there, providing that the Utes overlooked the valley in the meantime.

All that day they remained indoors and when night came they slipped out, one by one, and drifted back to the corral where the atejo still remained. They had lost their rifles, were sullen and taciturn from too much drink, and paid no attention to the knowing grins of the friendly muleteers. Thenceforth they drew only glances of passing interest on the streets, no one giving a second thought to the stolid, dulled and sodden wrecks in their filthy, nondescript apparel; and the guard at the palacio gave them cigarettes rolled in corn husks for running errands, and found amusement in playing harmless tricks on them.

At the barracks they were less welcome, Don Jesu and Robideau, both subordinates of Salezar, scarcely tolerating them; while Salezar, himself, kicked them from in front of the door and threatened to cut off their ears if he caught them hanging around the building. They accepted the kicks as a matter of course and thenceforth shrunk from his approach; and he sneered as he thought of their degradation from once proud and vengeful warriors of free and warlike tribes, to fawning beggars with no backbone. But even he, when the need arose, made use of them to fetch and carry for him and to do menial tasks about the mud house he called his home. He had seen many of their kind and wasted no thought on them.

He was the same cruel and brutal tyrant who had herded almost two hundred half-starved and nearly exhausted men over that terrible trail down the valley of the Rio Grande, and his soldiers stood in mortal terror of him and meekly accepted treatment that in any other race would have swiftly resulted in his death. He had played a prominent part in the capture and herding of the Texan prisoners and loved to boast of it at every opportunity, using some of the incidents as threats to his unfortunate soldiers. Tom and his friends witnessed scenes that made their blood boil more than it boiled over the indignities they elected to suffer, and sometimes it was all they could do to refrain from killing him in his tracks. At the barracks he was a roaring lion, but at the palacio, in the sight and hearing of the chief jackal, he reminded them of a whipped cur.