Clarence Edward Mulford

"THE TINKLING OF THE CAMEL'S BELL"

Johnny had a late breakfast, according to George. "You look like you made a night of it," said the cook.

"I reckon I did," replied Johnny, yawning; "I didn't get much sleep."

"Did Wolf make any remarks about shootin'?"

"When?"

"Last night."

"Didn't you see him start for home?"

"Thought mebby he come back to play."

"He didn't come back to play," replied Johnny. "I'm goin' for a ride an' see if I can wake up," he said, and he did.

As he loped along the Juniper trail he made a confidante of Pepper.

"Dearly Beloved," he muttered, "we are goin' to be th' center of a whole lot of eyes before long. People will pay attention when they sees us. We are going to be right popular—an' unpopular. If you knowed all th' trouble I'm brewin' for us, you'd reckon I wasn't no friend at all. But I know yo're with me to a finish, an' not worryin' about whose finish it's goin' to be. I've got to do some thinkin'. You listen.

"Wolf was sent up to find out who's been ticklin' th' Bar H with a prong, an' he didn't have no luck. Knowin' he was losin' patience, I knowed what a man like him would do when he came to th' end of it. He'd pick a fight an' start shootin'. Now you know I ain't scared of Wolf, but you don't know that I wasn't ready to start no open war just yet. I'll admit I hope I don't have to start none, but I wouldn't bet two bits on that. So what did I do? I sent him away, Pepper, but he'll come back. Uh-huh, he'll come back if he's got th' nerve—an' it'll take some. An' if he does you an' me'll have to step around right lively. If he figgers right he'll come back a-shootin', for he'll be all riled up. I couldn't have him trailin' me wherever I went, could I? Th' man wasn't reasonable—he didn't allow I had any rights.

"Now, then: Wolf won't be back before tomorrow mornin'. I'm bettin' he won't be able to sit a saddle before mornin', an' that brings him here tomorrow afternoon. Th' Bar H won't hunt for him, thanks to what you helped me do last night. If they find his cayuse without his saddle they'll think he come down an' got a fresh hoss. An' all we want is to see that little Peggy girl, an' go over to th' Double X. Then we'll turn th' Bar H upside down, an' let Wolf square up for his buggy ride if he wants. An' I'll give odds that he'll want to."

When he reached the rendezvous he was early and he grinned as he realized his unusual impatience. "Pepper, things are shore happenin' to me. I'm what you might call sober-drunk. Just settin' here quiet, lookin' at that little valley is plumb thrillin', little hoss—an' would you cock an eye at that gent down there! An' cussed if there ain't a cow in them sands! I reckon, mebby, it's goin' to be real thrillin' before long."

He jammed his sombrero tight on his head and waited, tense and eager for the overt act he felt sure would come, and send him down the hill like the swoop of a hawk.

Down in the valley Lang looked searchingly around and then, tying his rope to the remaining strand of wire, urged his horse ahead. He was standing up in the stirrups, his weight on one leg, leaning to one side to keep the rope from pressing against his other leg, his back to the hill, and he did not see the black thunderbolt dropping down the green slope; and so intent was he upon the work in hand that his ears did not give him warning of the charging enemy in time to attempt deliberate and well-sighted long-range rifle shooting. The wire had been torn loose from the first post and was straining at the staples in the next one before he had any intimation of the swiftly approaching danger. Surprised and galvanized into action by the sound of rolling hoofs pounding over a stretch of bare, hard ground, he turned in his saddle, flung a glance at the racing thoroughbred and jerked his rifle from its sheath. His horse, feeling the rope rub against one of its hind legs, kicked viciously and pranced. Twisting from one side to the other, rifle at his shoulder, Lang found himself in too awkward a position for well-aimed shooting against the racing enemy, who lay along the back of his horse and presented a discouragingly small target. Sliding the rifle back into the sheath, Lang worked desperately at the rope, trying to free it from the saddle. Cursing his clumsy fingers, he suddenly realized the trouble. "D—n my soul, if somebody ain't knotted it! Oh, th' cussed fool!"

Giving up the attempt, he reached again for the rifle, swiftly changed his mind and pulled angrily on the reins to back his horse so he could get the other end of the rope and free it from the wire. "Staked out like a calf!" he gritted. Hauling in the rope, he at last grabbed the knot, and swore again. It had pulled so tight that precious seconds were wasted before he could free it, and his temper was not sweetened any by the two bullets which Johnny, firing at long range, sent on a gamble. They missed him by feet, but had their effect. Dropping the freed wire, he spurred around to face the swiftly nearing danger and jerked out his Colt, firing hastily. Johnny now was standing up in his stirrups to offset the bouncing of the horse and his shots were coming nearer all the time. Lang swerved his horse suddenly and fired again, but the animal was prancing. Johnny's reply struck the horse and the pain-racked animal, leaping convulsively, bolted for the gap between the posts, straight for the quicksands. Lang, frantic at this new danger, fought the animal with one hand, trying desperately to turn it, and used the gun with his other hand, doing neither well. Johnny, drawing his second Colt, replied to Lang's last shot and the Triangle puncher, dropping his weapon, sagged forward in the saddle and fell sideways into a grassy hollow, where he sprawled grotesquely as his horse, freed of his weight, leaped forward at greater speed and dashed out onto the treacherous sands, stopping only when it became mired beyond the possibility of further progress. It floundered and strained with frantic energy until exhaustion made it pause, and then stood trembling, doomed by the inexorable sands which slowly crept up its quivering legs and caused its eyes to become wide with terror.

Johnny flashed past the prostrate puncher and then suddenly became aware of his danger. Pepper, holding her speed, kept straight on for the sandy trap. Johnny tried to swing her and she responded, but not enough in the restricted space and when he had pulled her back on her haunches she had crossed the quicksands' edge and slid, wallowing and struggling, to a stop far from safety. Her instinct warned her of her peril and she struggled frantically to retrace her steps, but succeeded only in turning part way and had to give up the fight momentarily, with her side to the firm ground she had just quitted. Panting and shaking with terror, she looked around appealingly at her rider, who shook his head.

"No use, Pepper Girl," he said. "You'll only get in deeper. Rest yourself an' wait—I'm th' only one who can help you now—an' I never thought I'd do a thing like that to you; an' I ain't goin' to do it till I has to. Good little cayuse—th' best I ever laid eyes on, an' I've seen th' best there was. We've had our last ride together, little hoss, an' mebby we'll go down together, too. Easy, girl; easy," he coaxed, and not wholly in vain. "You just rest an' mebby we'll make another try after I see what there is to be seen. We got th' coyote that caused it, anyhow!"

His words were contradicted almost as soon as spoken, for a derisive voice from the grassy hollow rang out in exultant laughter. Johnny, fearing a shot, although the fear was from instinct rather than from reason, fired instantly at the sound, and then lowered the gun. Lang was unarmed and could not get to his Colt without exposing himself.

"He won't get it while I'm alive," muttered Johnny, reloading his other gun.

"Shoot!" exulted Lang; "but you better save th' last for yoreself. That's right, shoot!" he jeered, as Johnny, stung by the words, wasted another cartridge. "Yo're comin' as close as anybody could," he continued. "You can shoot like th' hammers of h—l, an' that makes it all th' funnier. Shoot again!" he invited, holding up his hat. A hole appeared in it, to his surprise, but he jeered again instantly. "Fine! That's shootin'. Shoot again!"

Johnny stroked Pepper's neck and then leaned over and looked down. "Not so deep," he muttered.

"Shore; look it over," shouted Lang. "That's what I'm aimin' to do. I'm aimin' to look it over, right to th' finish. I've allus wondered how a man would act in them sands, an' I'm goin' to find out now. Mebby if yo're polite I'll put you out of yore misery when yore chin gets wet. Then I'll ride over to th' Bar H an' tell 'em who kidnapped th' Doc, an' did for Squint. I've seen shows, but this here is goin' to be th' best of th' lot."

Johnny's eyes glinted and he fired twice in succession—then a third shot after an interval, endeavoring to force Lang to keep his head down while his other hand worked swiftly under his slicker roll. Emptying one gun, he slipped it back into its holster and used the other, still struggling with the slicker. At the last shot in the second weapon he worked Wolf's gun loose and slipped it into the holster on the far side from Lang. Standing up in his stirrups he gave vent to a burst of profanity and hurled his Colts, one after the other, at the hidden observer.

Lang looked up in time to see the first gun bounce from the ground and then the second fell close to it. He laughed nastily and ducked down again as Johnny drew the heavy Sharps from its sheath and sent an ounce of lead smashing into the sand and pebbles close to his head. Another, another, and another struck the top of the ridge, the last striking a rock and screaming high into the air. Then Johnny gripped the heavy weapon at its muzzle with both hands, stood up in his stirrups, whirled it around his head and sent it through the air towards the hidden man. It struck loose sand and slid ten feet in a little cloud of dust. The Triangle puncher looked out again, chuckled, and slowly emerged from his place of refuge.

"I calls that kind," he laughed. "There wasn't no use of lettin' good weapons like them be lost. I can use 'em all—an' just for that I'm goin' to end yore misery like I said I might. First," he said, going over to the nearest Colt and picking it up, "I'm goin' to load this gun an' do somethin' for my hoss an' that cow." He walked unsteadily toward the edge of the sands, pulling half a dozen cartridges from his belt as he advanced. Reaching the danger zone, he tried each step before putting his weight into it and slowly advanced to the last tuft of grass, where he stood, swaying slightly as it moved gently under his weight. The sand at its outer edges moved a little and changed color as the water flooded and receded in it. "Reckon this is th' jumpin' off place," he said. "You'd be plumb tickled if I fell in, wouldn't you?" he jeered. "Well, I ain't aimin' to. I'm figgerin' on loadin' this gun—this way: Number One," he said, sliding a cartridge into the cylinder, "is for my hoss; Number Two is for th' cow; Number Three is for a hole through yore hat; this one is for yore hoss when only its head is out, or as soon as you jump off. I'm givin' you that chance to help it—an' to save my valuable time; these two are for yore head when yore chin gets under. One'll be enough, but two will be dead shore—I might miss th' first to hear you cuss."

Lang raised the Colt and put his horse out of its misery; then he did the same for the cow. "That's what I call fair shootin'," he said. "Of course, you might 'a' done it faster—but I'm in no hurry. Now, this next shot has got to be dead shore if I put it high enough in yore hat to miss yore head—an' I ain't aimin' to hit that yet. So if I takes plenty of time, don't you get jumpy."

He raised the gun above his head to increase the torment and there was a flash and roar at Johnny's hip. The Triangle puncher's hand opened and the gun dropped behind him as a look of great surprise flashed to his face, and remained there. Twisting sideways, he fell face down, sprawled full length upon the greedy sands.

"There, d—n you!" gritted Johnny. "Th' show's over, for you!" He brought the gun back on its mark, but did not release the hammer again. There was no doubt, this time, about Lang. He let the hammer down on an empty chamber and slid the weapon back in his holster.

Reassuring Pepper, he glanced down and saw that her legs were being pulled to the sides, which sprawled them out. "Slow," he said, and looked again to make sure. "Mighty slow. This stuff is different in places—but d—d sure," he added bitterly. "You take it easy, Pepper Girl. I won't let it last much longer—'though it's goin' to take a lot of nerve. Good little hoss—good little Pepper Girl."

He now knew there was no hope of riding out. He knew quicksands—he had seen them on other ranges, but never such a one as this, for the others had been small—the size of this bed was far beyond his experience. He studied it and watched the tremors running through it—the sand seemed to be moving and new surfaces to be forming. Wet spots appeared, became covered with water and then were uncovered again as it drained away. Hollows slowly formed here, slight bulges there, but with no stability. Undulations showed frequently near the bodies, which were slowly sinking. The cow was nearly under. This trap had no definite edges, for it met and merged with the honest sands around it in such a way as to show no lines; but he knew, by looking at the tracks of his horse, which, strangely enough, had not been quite obliterated, that he was too far from firm ground to have any hope of getting out in that direction. He cogitated upon the possibilities of escape in other directions, for it was possible that along some other course he might find firm earth closer to him. To his right was a grass tuft, not as far from him as was the place where Lang's body marked the other edge, but it lay too far away. Behind him the nature of the sands was evident for a like distance, and questionable for half as far again. To his left was the Triangle horse, which he could gain by leaping from his saddle; beyond that, half as far, was the cow, still useful if used soon enough and not rested on for too long. He believed that the cow could not have crossed much of the sands before becoming mired, and this gave him renewed hope. It was the only way worth trying with a chance of success. At the best it would be a gamble, but while those two bodies remained above the surface they would serve as stepping stones. From the body of the horse he would do the last kind act in his power for Pepper, and then, throwing away the gun to save its weight, jump to the cow. This would be easy; but from there on he would need all his strength and wits and will. Looking beyond the cow, he searched for something to put his rope on, and found nothing nearer than the fence posts, which were too far away. And then, while he looked, he saw water ooze up and cover the sand some distance beyond the cow, and he admitted that his case was hopeless; and as he admitted it the cow disappeared from sight.

Hopeless, but not to be submitted to without a struggle. He would neither sit apathetic nor frantic, nor turn the gun on himself. Hope had gone as a matter of reasoning; but something had taken its place which in power transcended hope—cold rage, and a savage, defiant hatred for that deadly, silent trap; a rage such as he seldom had felt before, which urged him to tear and rend the sands as though they were a sentient enemy. Hope, living in him, had been faint-hearted when he thought of how ghastly the thing was; how he, a man with all a man's strength of body and mind and will, mounted on the finest horse for hundreds of miles, armed with a weapon, the use of which no man knew better; how he could not do a thing to save his life. What is hope but a wish? But the dynamic rage which crept through him was a force of another kind—defiant, savage determination to cheat the workings of that mobile bed of horror, or go down to a death made glorious by the fight.

He shook his fist at it. His thin lips drew back over set teeth in a snarl primitive in its timbre and in the savage nature behind it "D—n you! You may win; but I'll make that winnin' hard!"

Gripping the pommel he climbed up onto the saddle and poised for the leap. Could he believe his ears? Glancing around, he saw a woman tearing down the valley toward him, the drumming roll of her horse's pounding hoofs growing ever louder. What a sound! What music ever was so sweet? What sight had ever been so beautiful as that trim figure mounted astride a horse which seemed to spurn the grass in its arrowy flight? Hatless her hair streaming behind her like a glorious battle flag of Hope, came Margaret, and her voice rang out like a trumpet.

"Wait!"

Hope returned again to bulwark Rage and give Determination a better footing and stronger lever.

"Pepper Girl," choked Johnny, "I'm glad I waited. There's mebby many a mile we'll do together, better friends than ever. I'm tellin' you that if there's any way outside of h—l to get you out of this, yo're goin'. Hear me, little hoss? An' that thoroughbred girl has brought us th' way. Cheer up—we're goin' out, you an' me. But we'll have bad dreams—plumb bad dreams—for many a night to come." He suddenly raised a warning hand. "Look out!" he shouted. "Don't come too close!"

"I know this grisly thing like a book," she replied. "What shall I do?"

"Don't come too close!"

"This is the edge; tell me what to do!" She looked at Lang's partly submerged body and shuddered.

"Hold your cayuse fast by th' reins an' get off, so I can put my rope around that pommel. But I'm afraid it's a little too far," he replied, swinging the braided lariat carefully around his head. She quickly obeyed, but led the horse to another point on the edge, and gained a few inches. The rope shot out and up, struck the saddle and then the sands. Jerking it back again, he coiled it carefully, and then looked up, and nodded. Margaret was holding to the pommel with one hand and leaning out over the sands, her other arm extended toward him. The second cast went over her wrist and she caught the rope, drew back to the saddle and made the loop fast around her pommel.

"Get up in th' saddle an' pull this rope tight—tight," he said, and at a word from him Pepper braced herself, as well as she could, as if a cow were at the other end. He slid from the saddle, touched the sand for an instant, and pulled himself at his best speed along the lariat, moving too rapidly to be caught, and soon stood at the side of the woman who had saved him.

"Can't we save that darling?" she asked, tears in her eyes.

"We're goin' to try mighty hard," he said. "Start ahead, slow—a little more. You watch yore cayuse an' stop instanter when I says th' word. I'm scared we'll break Pepper's laigs, 'though if it's done easy we may get along all right; it looks soft, right there. Ready? Then, pull. Come, Pepper! Come on, little hoss! Come on! Come on!" he cried, and then he whistled the well-known signal. "Come on! That's th' girl! That's th' girl! Keep a-churnin', tear it up! Come on! Come on, you black darlin'! That's th' way! Keep a-comin', keep a-comin'!"

Slowly Pepper went sideways, Margaret fearing that its legs would snap under the strain, but the struggling animal fell on its side, and then came the tug of war. Johnny added his strength to the rope and slowly, an inch at a time, they gained, and then had to rest for a moment because flesh and blood could not stand such a continued effort. Johnny breathed deeply and relaxed.

"Once more, Ma'am," he said, getting a fresh hold on the rope, "I'm glad that saddle is a rim-fire—I'd mistrust a center-fire, with its one cinch. An' I'm glad it was made by Ol' Hawkins—that pommel can stand twice th' strain. Now then—pull!" Again they rested, the blood pounding in his ears. "Yo're comin' fine, little hoss! We ain't handlin' you very gentle; but yo're comin'!" A few minutes later Pepper slid across sand that was dry and honest, and with the slackening of the rope she scrambled to her feet and trembled, weary but safe.

Johnny hung the lariat on his saddle and then rubbed the velvety muzzle which sought his cheek, and stroked the quivering shoulder. Impulsively he buried his face in the wet, sandy, roughened coat on her neck and flung an arm around it; and when he turned away his face was drawn and wet, and there were tears in his eyes despite all effort of will.

"Ma'am," he said, huskily, "Pepper an' me owe you a debt we never can pay; but we can try right hard to square up some of it. I'll never forget th' last half-hour, never."

"How did you come to get in it?" asked Margaret, glancing where she last had seen the body of Lang. It was gone, and so was the horse. The sands, still undulating, were slowly assuming their mask of innocence.

"Pepper got goin' so fast she couldn't stop quick enough, which was my fault. I didn't try to turn her in time."

"And that—that other—man. Who was he, and what happened to him?"

"I reckon he got tangled in th' wire, an' got his rope mixed up with it. An' somehow we got to shootin'. When th' excitement stopped he was there, an' I was where you found me."

"Who was he?" she demanded.

"He was a Triangle puncher, Ma'am; Lang was his name."

"He was one of the men whom I ordered to stay off our range—we couldn't keep the wire on those posts, and I suspected them strongly. Are you sure he was only tangled in the wire?"

"Well, I wouldn't just say nothin' about that. Mebby he was tryin' to help th' cow that was mired, an' got afoul of th' wire. But that don't make no difference, anyhow, now. Have you got any wire at th' ranch?"

"I think so," she answered.

"We'll put it up some day soon, so it'll take some time, an' more trouble, to get it loose."

She nodded and took a paper out of her waist. "Here are the figures for the year we took possession."

He looked them over. "Uh-huh," he said, "they're what I want."

"It is surprising that we have as many left as we have," she said. "We are about ready to give up, admit our failure, and go back East."

"Ma'am," said Johnny, with great earnestness, "don't you do it. Just sit tight an' see things come around yore way. Luck allus turns. Stick it out, an' see."

"Do you believe in luck?"

"I do; when somebody's behind it pushin' hard. Now, Ma'am, I reckon we hadn't ought to stay here no longer, where folks can see us. They might talk, an' there's no tellin' what harm it might do. Besides, this little Pepper hoss needs a bath an' I'm aimin' to take her into th' river as soon as she gets a little quieter—she looks like she mixed up with a tornado." He walked around collecting his guns, blowing sand from them, and cleaning them as well as he could. "There's shore some guns around here," he grinned, getting Lang's Colt and throwing it into the quicksand. "This here gun," he said, reloading Wolf's Colt and tying it under the slicker roll, "shore come in handy. Some folks would call that luck—mebby it was, as far as totin' it is concerned—but I'm tellin' you there wasn't no luck in th' way it was used. But as for totin' it, I reckon that was luck, even if I did carry it to fool somebody, sometime. Now, Ma'am, I'll be ridin' west. There's a regular bath tub near th' main trail, where th' river runs over solid rock: an' solid rock is th' only kind of river bottom I have any use for, today. Pepper an' I won't forget what you did for us—an' I'm tellin' you to sit tight, an' watch th' luck swing yore way. I'll be leavin' now—good-by, Ma'am."

She spurred her horse and shot even with him. "Why are you doing this?" she demanded. "You can't fool me about that—that man's rope fouling the wire. I know what he was doing. Why are you running such risks for total strangers?"

"Ma'am," he replied, smiling quizzically, "I don't know, unless it's because I can't keep out of trouble. I'm allus gettin' mixed up with it, somehow, an' th' habit's set, I reckon. I'm gettin' so I like it. But we shouldn't be ridin' like this. You have no idea how much folks can talk, or figger from a little thing like this."

"Can't you stop them, as you did that Bar H foreman?"

"Reckon so; but I ain't ready to," he grinned. "There's a time for everythin', an' I'm not shore th' time has come for that. When it does I'll know it without no doubts. I'm askin' how you learned all th' things you said yesterday?"

"I suppose it is a natural curiosity, even in a man; but I prefer to say nothing about the matter." She drew rein and he took off his sombrero. "I'm tempted to see if the luck will turn," she smiled. "Good-by."

"I'm thankin' you again. Ma'am," he replied. "It shore will, an' you can bank on it," and he pressed Pepper's sides. The horse struck into a stride suggestive of a wish to put miles between her and the scene of her torture, but he pulled her down to a walk. "Yo're entirely too willin', little hoss of mine," he reproved, patting the roughened coat "I was aimin' to do somethin' today, but it can wait. Wolf or no Wolf. If he horns in I won't waste no more time on him, none at all. There's a nice little wooded draw over there, an' we're goin' for it. You got to get rested up an' quieted a little—th' bath can wait a couple of hours. You got to keep in good shape, because th' time is comin' when I'll have to ride you like I had a remuda to draw on—an' I ain't worth a cuss unless yo're in good shape. Yo're my laigs. Pepper, an' no puncher is better'n his cayuse. An' mebby Two-Spot, th' tattle-tale, won't be surprised when he sees you!"

Margaret looked after him and smiled, and then turned and stared at the innocent patch of wet sand under whose hypocritical surface lay grisly death. Shuddering, she sent her pony into a sharp gallop and set out for home, a color in her face which might have been due to the exhilaration of horseback riding.