Produced by Anne Soulard, Juliet Sutherland, Charles Franksand the Online Distributed Proofreading Team
THE LONG CHANCE
By Peter B. Kyne
Illustrated By Frank Tenny Johnson
1914
IT WAS THE DESERT CALL FOR HELP; THREE FIRES IN A ROW BYNIGHT. THREE COLUMNS OF SMOKE AGAINST THE HORIZON BY DAY.]
Printed At Garden City, N. Y., U. S. A.
THE LONG CHANCE
CHAPTER I
It was sunrise on the Colorado desert.
As the advance guard of dawn emerged from behind the serrated peaks tothe east and paused on their snow-encrusted summits before charging downthe slopes into the open desert to rout the lingering shadows of thenight, a coyote came out of his den in the tumbled _malpais_ at the footof the range, pointed his nose skyward and voiced his matutinal saluteto the Hosts of Light.
Presently, far in the distant waste, seven dark objects detachedthemselves from the shadows and crawled toward the mountains. Like motesswimming in a beam of light, they came out of the Land of Nowhere, inthe dim shimmering vistas over west, where the gray line of grease-woodmet the blue of the horizon. Slowly they assumed definite shape; and thecoyote ceased his orisons to speculate upon the ultimate possibility ofbreakfast and this motley trio of "desert rats" with their burro train,who dared invade his desolate waterless kingdom.
For, with the exception of the four burros, the three men who followedin their wake did, indeed, offer the rare spectacle of variety in thisland of superlative monotony. One of the men wore a peaked Mexican strawhat, a dirty white cotton undershirt, faded blue denim overalls anda pair of shoes much too large for him; this latter item indicating adesire to get the most for his money, after the invariable custom of aprimitive people. He carried a peeled catclaw gad in his right hand, andwith this gad he continually urged to a shuffling half-trot some one ofthe four burros. This man was a Cahuilla Indian.
His two companions were white men. The younger of the pair was a manunder thirty years of age, with kind bright eyes and the drawn butruddy face of one whose strength seems to have been acquired morefrom athletic sports than by hard work. He was tall, broad-shouldered,slim-waisted, big-hipped and handsome; he stepped along through theclinging sand with the lithe careless grace of a mountain lion. An oldgreasy wide-brimmed gray felt hat, pinched to a "Montana peak," wasshoved back on his curly black head; his shirt, of light gray wool, hadthe sleeves rolled to the elbow, revealing powerful forearms tanned tothe complexion of those of the Indian. He seemed to revel in the airyfreedom of a pair of dirty old white canvas trousers, and despite thepresence of a long-barreled blue gun swinging at his hip he wouldhave impressed an observer as the embodiment of kindly good nature andcareless indifference to convention, provided his own personal comfortwas assured.
The other white man was plainly an alien in the desert. He was slight,blonde, pale--a city man--with hard blue eyes set so close together thatone understood instantly something of the nature of the man as well asthe urgent necessity for his thick-lensed, gold-rimmed spectacles.He wore a new Panama hat, corded riding breeches and leggings. He wasclean-shaven and sinfully neat. He wore no side-arms and appeared asmuch out of harmony with his surroundings as might a South Americanpatriot at a Peace Conference.
"I say," he began presently, "how much further is it to this prospecthole of yours, if, indeed, you have a prospect as you represented tome a week ago?" His tone was fretful, peevish, complaining. One wouldreadily have diagnosed the seat of his trouble. He had come prepared toride--and he had been forced to walk.
The young man frowned. He seemed on the point of swearing, but appearingto think better of it, he replied banteringly, "_Por ahi. Por ahi._"
"What in blazes does that mean?"
"Oh, I was just talking the language of the country--a language, bythe way, toward which you seem most indifferently inclined. '_Por ahi_'means 'a considerable way,' 'a right smart piece, I reckon,' and conveysabout the same relative amount of definite information as _manana._Never having measured the distance to my prospect, I have tried for thepast two days to give you an approximate idea. But in this country youmust know that distance is a deceptive, 'find X' sort of proposition--soplease refrain from asking me that same question every two miles. If thewater holds out we'll get there; and when we get there we'll find morewater, and then you may shave three times a day if you feel so inclined,I'm sorry you have a blister on your off heel, and I sympathize with youbecause of your prickly-heat. But it's all in the day's work and you'llsurvive. In the meantime, however, I suggest that you compose yourrestless New England soul in patience, old man, and enjoy with ouruncommunicative Cahuilla friend and myself the glories of a sunrise onthe Colorado desert."
"Damn the sunrise," the other retorted. He would have damned histormentor had he dared. "I do not wish to be insulted."
"Listen to that coyote," replied the careless one, ignoring hiscompanion's rising anger. "Listen to him yip-yapping over there on theridge. There sits a shining example of bucolic joy and indifference tolocal annoyances. Consider the humble coyote, Boston, and learn wisdom.Of course, a coyote doesn't know a whole lot, but he does recognizea good thing when he sees it. His appreciation of a sunrise is alwaysexuberant. Ever since that coyote's been big enough to rustle his ownjack-rabbits he's howled at a lovely full moon, and if he's ever missedhis sun-up cheer it's because something he ate the night before didn'tagree with him."
"Sir," snapped the irascible one, "you're a trifler.You're--you're--a--"
"Say it," soothed the student of nature.
"Oh, damn it," rasped his victim, "talk business. This is a businesstrip, not a rehearsal for a comic opera. Talk sense."
"Well, all right--since you insist," drawled the other, smilingbrightly. "In the first place, after this morning you will permit yourwhiskers to grow. Out here water is too precious to waste it shavingevery morning. I suggested that point last night, but you ignored mypolite hint. I hate to appear boorish, but I must remind you that thesejacks are mine, that the four little kegs of water that they're carryingare mine, that this _mozo_--I beg your pardon--that this Indian is mine,and lastly--forgive me if I ascend once more into the realm of romanceand improbability--this country is mine, and I love it, and I won't haveit profaned by any growling, dyspeptic little squirt from a land wherethey have pie for breakfast. I positively forbid you to touch thatwater without my permission. I forbid you to cuss my mozo without mypermission, and I forbid you to damn this country in my hearing. Just atthis particular moment, Boston, the only things which you have and whichyou can call your own, and do what you please with, are your soul, yourprickly-heat and your blistered heel. I'm fully convinced that you'requite a little man back in Boston for the reason that you're one hell ofa small man out here, even if you do wear a string of letters after yourname like the tail on a comet.
"You were swelling around in San Berdoo, talking big and hollering foran investment. I showed you samples of ore from my desert prospect andyou got excited. You wanted to examine my claim, you said, and ifyou liked it you would engage to bring it to the attention of 'yourassociates' and pay me my price. I offered to bring you in here as myguest, and ever since you got off the train at Salton you've snarled andsnapped and beefed and imposed on my hospitality, and it's got tostop. I don't need you; I don't care for you; I think you're a renegadefour-flusher, bluffing on no pair, and if I had known what a nastylittle old woman you are I'd never have opened negotiations with you.Now, you chirk up, Boston, and smile and try to be a good sport, or I'llwork you over and make a man out of you. Savvy?"
Thoroughly squelched, the malingerer flushed, mumbled an apology andheld out his hand. The Desert Rat took it, a little sorry that he hadnot been more temperate in his language
.
"All right, we'll bury the hatchet" he said generously. "Maybe I'm alittle too exacting and hard to get along with. I've got more on mybrain than this prospect hole, and I'm worried. When I left the wifeat San Berdoo we were expecting an arrival in camp, and--well, we wereright down to bed-rock, and as it was a case of go now or never withyou, I had to bring you in here or perhaps lose the opportunity for afortune. She wanted me to go. She's a mighty brave little woman. Youdon't happen to be a married man, do you? With kids? I've got--"
The Indian had paused and was pointing with his gad to the south.Miles and miles away a great yellow cloud was gathering on the horizon,shutting out the sunlight and advancing with incredible speed.
"Sandstorm" warned the Desert Rat, and spoke quickly to the mozo inSpanish. The latter at once turned the cavalcade of burros toward thehills, less than a mile distant; shouting and beating the heavily ladenlittle beasts into a trot, the party scurried for the shelter of a rockydraw before the sandstorm should be upon them.
They won. Throughout that day and night they camped up the draw, safefrom the sand blast. Early next morning the wind had subsided and withthe exception of some slight changes in topography due to the sandstorm,the desert was the same old silent pulseless mystery.
The party resumed its journey. While the Easterner remained with theIndian, the Desert Rat circled out into the open, heading for a littlebackbone of quartz which rose out of the sand. He had not noticed thisexposed ledge during their flight into the draw, and it was evident thatthe sandstorm had exposed it.
Suddenly the mozo uttered a low "Whoa," and the burros halted. Off inthe sage and sand the Desert Rat was standing with upraised arm, as asignal for them to halt and wait for him. For nearly half an hourhe circled around, stepping off distances and building monuments.Presently, apparently having completed his investigations, he beckonedthe rest of his party to approach.
"What's up?" demanded the Boston man the moment he and the Indianarrived.
"I've just found Jake Revenner's lost claim. It's one of thesemarvelously rich ledges that have been discovered and located and lostand found and lost again, and cost scores of human lives. The sandstormsexpose them and cover them up again, and after a storm--as now--thecontour of the desert is so changed that a man, having staked his claimand gone out for grub, can't find the claim when he comes back. It wasthat way with the Nigger Ben placer. It's been found and lost half adozen times. There was a claim discovered out here by a man named JakeRevenner, but he lost it and blew out his brains in sheer disgust. Ihave just stumbled across one of his monuments with his old locationnotices buried in a can. The late sandstorm uncovered the ledge, and itlooks 'fat' enough for yours truly. _Mira?_"
He tossed a sample to the Indian, and another of about the same size tothe white man. The latter lifted it, examined it closely and sat down.He was quite excited.
"By thunder!" he managed to say. "We're in luck."
A slight smile flickered across the face of the Desert Rat, but hisvoice was as calm and grave as usual.
"Yes, it's rich--very rich. There's a comfortable fortune lying exposedon the surface. By the way, I think I shall pay you a liberal fee foryour lost time and abandon that prospect I was taking you in to see.Compared with this, it's not worth considering."
"I should say you should abandon it" the other exulted. "You'd havea fine time trying to get me away from this ledge now. Why, there'smillions in it, and I suggest we stake it out at once. Let's get busy."
He jumped up eagerly--from force of habit dusting the seat of his ridingbreeches--and turned peremptorily to the mozo.
"Get those packs off, Joe, or Jim or whatever your name is, and bequick--"
"You forget, old man," interjected the Desert Rat gently. "He doesn'tspeak English, and if he did he wouldn't obey you. You see," he addednaively, "I've told him not to."
"Oh, well, I didn't mean anything. Don't be so touchy. Let's get busy,for heaven's sake, and stake this claim."
The Desert Rat stretched himself with feline grace. "I'm sorry" hereplied with his tantalizing good-natured smile, "to be forced to objectto your use of the plural pronoun in conjunction with that certaintract, piece and parcel of land known and described as the Baby Mineclaim. The fact of the matter is, I have already staked it. You see, Iwas thinking of the little one that will be waiting for me in San Berdoowhen I get back. See the point? My baby--Baby Mine--rather a neat playon words, don't you think?"
"Do you mean to say that I'm not in on this find?" demanded the man fromBoston.
"Your penetration is remarkable. I do."
"But such a course is outrageous. It's opposed--"
"Please do not argue with me. I found it. Naturally I claim it. Icould quote you verbatim the section of the mining law under which I amentitled to maintain this high-handed--er--outrage; but why indulgein such a dry subject? I found this claim, and since I don't feelgenerously disposed this morning, I'm going to keep it."
"But I'm in the party with you. It seems to me that common justice--"
"For goodness' sake, Boston, don't throw up to me the sins of my past.Of course you're in my party. That's my misfortune, not my fault. Iobserved this little backbone of quartz and asked you to walk over herewith me for a look at it. You wouldn't come. You said your foot hurtyou. So I came alone. If you had been with me at the time, now, ofcourse that would have been different. But--"
"But I--well, in a measure--why, we're out here together, sort ofpartners as it were, and--"
"The Lord forgive you, Boston. My partner! You never were and nevercould be. I'm particular in the matter of partners. All Desert Rats ingood standing are. You're the last man on earth I'd have for my partner.A partner shares the expenses of a trip and bears the hardships withoutletting out a roar every half mile. A partner _sticks,_ Boston. Heshares his grub and his money and his last drop of water, and whenthat's gone he'll die with you like a gentleman. That's what a partnerdoes, but you wouldn't do it."
"Well, I'm entitled to a half interest and I'll see that I get it,"shrilled the other furiously. "I'll sue you--"
"How about the Indian?"
"Why, he--he's--"
"Only an Indian, eh? Well, you're entitled to your point of view. Onlythat mozo and I have slept under the same blanket so often--"
"You can't stop me from staking this claim, too" shouted the Boston man,and shook his skinny little fist under the Desert Rat's nose. The latterslapped him across the wrist.
"Pesky fly" he said.
"You can't stop me, I tell you."
"I can. But I won't. I'm not a bully."
"You think you can beat me out of my rights, do you? I'll show you. I'llbeat you out of your half before I'm through with you."
"On whose water!"
The bantering smile broadened to a grin--the graceless young desertwanderer threw back his head and laughed.
"You're such a card, Boston" he chortled. "Such exquisite notions ofsocial usage I have never observed outside the peerage. Really, youshouldn't be allowed to go visiting. You're unmannerly enough to ask fora third helping to cake."
"I insist that I am entitled to a half interest in this claim. As youdecline to recognize my rights, I must take the matter in my own hands.I, too, shall stake the claim and endeavor to get my location noticefiled in the land office before yours. If you haven't any sense ofjustice and decency, I have."
"Oh, all right, fire away. I'll take you back to civilization and seethat you don't starve or die of thirst on the way. I'm not entirelyheartless, Boston. In the meantime, however, while you're staking theclaim, it occurs to me that I can gather together a very snug fortune inthe next day or two. There appears to be more gold than quartz in thisrock--some indeed, is the pure quill. All hands, including the jacks,will go on a short ration of water from now on. Of course we're takingchances with our lives, but what's life if a fellow can't take a chancefor a fortune like this? I'd sooner die and be done with, it than livemy life without a thrill. That's why I've d
egenerated from a perfectlymatriculated mining engineer into a wandering desert rat. Would youbelieve it, Boston, I lived in your town once. Graduated from the Tech.Why, I once made love to a Boston girl in a conservatory. I remember hervery well. She spilled pink lemonade over my dress shirt. I took a longchance that time; but out here, even if the chances are longer, when youwin--"
He kissed his grimy paw airily and flung it into space.
"'The Lord is my shepherd,' he quoted, 'I shall not want.' This morningHe left the door opened and I wandered into His Treasure House, so Iguess I'll get busy and grab what I can before the Night Watchman comesaround. Ever see the Night Watchman, Boston? I have. He's a grave oldparty with a long beard, and he carries a scythe. You see him whenyou're thirsty, and--well, in the pursuit of my inborn hobby for takingchances, I'll introduce you to him this trip. Permit me to remind youonce more of the consequences if you help yourself to the water withoutconsulting me. It'll militate against your chances of getting to theland office first."
The Desert Rat helped the mozo unpack the burros, while the man fromBoston tore some pages from his notebook and proceeded to write out hislocation notices and cache them in monuments which he built beside thoseof his predecessors. He even copied the exact wording on the DesertRat's notices. He forgot his blistered heel and worked with prodigiousenergy and interest, receiving with dogged silent disdain the humoroussallies of the Desert Rat, to whom the other's sudden industry was asource of infinite amusement. The Desert Rat and the Indian were busywith pans and prospector's picks gouging out "stringers" and crevicesand picking up scattered pieces of "jewelry" rock. When all the "color"in sight had been cleaned up, the Desert Rat produced a drill and astick of dynamite from the pack, put in a "shot" and uncovered apocket of such richness that even the stolid Cahuilla could not forbearindulgence in one of his infrequent Spanish expletives. It was a depositof rotten honeycombed rock that was nine-tenths pure gold--what is knownin the parlance of the prospector as a "kidney."
The disgruntled claimant to a half interest in the Baby Mine reachedinto the hole and seized a nugget worth fully a thousand dollars. TheDesert Rat tapped him smartly across the knuckles with the handle of hisprospector's pick and made him drop it.
"If you please, Boston" he said gently. "You're welcome to share mygrub, and I'll whack up even with you on the water, and I'll cook foryou and wait on you, but I'll be doggoned if it isn't up to you tofurnish your own dynamite. There was ten thousand in loose stuff lying,on the surface, and you might have been pardoned for helping yourself toas much of it as you could carry personally, but you elected to restakethe claim and now all that easy picking belongs to the Indian and me.He's a good Indian and I'm going to let him have some of it. He won'ttake much because he's fond of me. I saved him from being lynched forkilling a white man who deserved it. But for years he's just hungeredfor a top-buggy, with side bars and piano box and the whole blamed rigpainted bright red, so he can take his squaw out in style; and I'm goingto see that he gets it. However, that's neither here nor there. You keepyour fingers out of the sugar bowl, old sport. It's a lovely sight andhard to resist, I know, but do be careful."
All that day the Desert Rat and his Indian retainer worked through thestringers and pockets of the Baby Mine, while the man from Boston satlooking at them, or, when the spirit moved him, casting about in theadjacent sand for stray "specimens" of which he managed to secure quitea number. The next morning, as soon as it was light enough to see,the work was commenced again, and by noon the last piece of rottenhoneycombed rock with its streaks and wens of dull virgin gold hadbeen cleaned up. The Desert Rat used the last of his dynamite in a vainendeavor to unearth another "kidney," and finally decided to call itquits.
"They took eighty-two thousand dollars out of one little carload of orein the Delhi mine in Nevada county" he announced, "but the Baby Minemakes that record look amateurish. It's the richest strike I have everheard of, with the exception, possibly, of the big strike at AntelopePeak. They took out nearly three hundred thousand there in less thanthree days, just scratching it out of stringers and crevices with theirjack-knives. Boston, my dear man, I have more than three hundred poundsof gold with, as I said before, some quartz, but not enough to bother.At twelve ounces to the pound, twenty dollars to the ounce, I'm goingback to San Bernardino and buy a bath, a new suit of store clothes anda fifty-dollar baby carriage for my expected heir. With my dear littlewife and the baby and all this _oro,_ I'll manage to be quite happy.
"However, just to show you that there isn't a mean bone in my body, I'mgoing to withdraw my claim to the Baby Mine. My mozo and I are about toload this magnificent bunch of untainted wealth into the kyacks, and hitfor civilization, and while we're getting ready to break camp you runout and destroy my location notices. I leave the whole works to you. Ido this for a number of reasons--the first being that you will thusbe induced to return to this section of California. Not knowing thecountry, you will doubtless perish, and thus from the placid bosom ofsociety a thorn will be removed. Secondly, if you should survive longenough to get in, you could never find your way out without me for aguide--and it wouldn't be safe to hire this Indian. He dislikes you. Thethird reason is that I believe this is just a phenomenally rich pocketand that I have about cleaned it out. The fourth reason is that anothersandstorm will probably cover the Baby Mine before long, and the fifthreason is: 'What's the use going desert-ratting until your money's allgone!'"
"Well, I'll see that I get my share of that plunder" snapped the unhappytenderfoot. "Of course, right now, it may seem perfectly properfrom your point of view to take advantage of certain adventitiouscircumstances, but--"
"Yes, the humble little jackass is really an adventitious circumstance.By jingo, that hadn't occurred to me at all. I guess you're right,Boston. I'll have to give you half the plunder. Now that we've settledthat point, let's divide the adventitious circumstances. I have fourof them and I'll sell you two for your half of the gold. No? Price toohigh? All right! I'll agree to freight your share in for you, only I'mafraid transportation rates are so high in the desert that the freightwill about eat up all the profit. I'm afraid that the best I can do foryou is to give you your half and let you carry it yourself. If you wantto tote it out on your back, Boston, help yourself. No! Well, well!"
"We'll not discuss the matter further, if you please. At another timeand place, perhaps--"
"Perhaps? Perhaps! Well, I'm stripping down our food supply to the barenecessities in order to make room for this gold, and the water is prettylow. If we don't strike water at Chuckwalla Tanks there'll be realeloquence to that word 'perhaps.' However, that discussion can wait.Everything appears to be propitious for an immediate start, so let'sdefer the argument and _vamoose._ Giddap, you hairy little desert birds.Crack along out o' this."
But following the dictates of his nature, when Fortune smiled and badehim "take a chance," the Desert Rat had already delayed too long hisdeparture from the Baby Mine. The supply of water still left in the kegswas so meager that with any other man the situation would have givenrise to grave concern. As it was, however, all that troubled the DesertRat was what he was going to do with the man from Boston when thatinconsistent and avaricious individual should "peter out." More thanonce, in his pursuit of the rainbow, the Desert Rat had known what itwas to travel until he couldn't travel another yard; then to jump up andtravel ten miles more--to water! He did not know the extent of hisown strength, but whatever might be its limitations he knew that theCahuilla was good for an equal demonstration of endurance. But the manfrom Boston! He was quickly read. The Desert Rat gave him until midnightthat night, but he wilted at ten o'clock.
"A sore heel, a mean soul and no spunk have killed more men than whisky"the Desert Rat commented whimsically, as he pulled the weak brother outof a cluster of catclaw. "Boston, you're an awful nuisance--you are, fora fact. You've had water three times to our once, and yet you go towork and peter out with Chuckwalla Tanks only five miles away. Why, I'veoften covered that distance
on my hands and knees. Come, now, buck up.Hang on to the rear cross of one of the pack saddles and let the jacksnake you along."
"I can't, I'm exhausted. I'll die if I don't have a drink."
"No, you'll not die. No such luck. And there isn't any more water.However, you've been spoiled in the raising, so I suppose we'll haveto defer to you--particularly since it's my fault that we're short ofwater. What can't be cured must be endured, and I can't let you die."
He spoke to the Indian, who took two canteens and departed into thenight.
"He's going to hike on ahead to Chuckwalla Tanks and bring back somewater for you, Boston" the Desert Rat explained. "He'll return aboutdaylight, and we'll wait here until he arrives. It's dangerous, but thejacks aren't in a bad way yet. They can make it to the Tanks, even aftersunrise."
"Thanks" murmured the sufferer.
The Desert Rat grinned. "You're getting on" he commented.
"Where is Chuckwalla Tanks?" The tenderfoot sat up and stared after thefigure of the departing Indian, still visible in the dim moonlight.
"In a little gorge between those low hills. You can just make out theiroutlines."
"Yes, I see them. And after that the closest water is where?"
"The Colorado river--forty miles due south. But we're headed northwestand must depend on tanks and desert water-holes. It's hard to tellhow close one is to water on that course. But it doesn't matter. We'llrefill the kegs at Chuckwalla Tanks. There's most always water there."
"And you say the Colorado river is forty miles due south."
"Well, between forty and fifty."
"Much obliged for the information, I'm sure."
He straightened suddenly and drew back his arm. The Desert Rat saw thathe was about to hurl a large smooth stone, and simultaneously he dodgedand reached for his gun. But he was a fifth of a second too slow.The stone struck him on the side of the head, rather high up, and hecollapsed into a bloody heap.
On the instant the footsore man from Boston developed an alacrity anddefiniteness of purpose that would have surprised the Desert Rat, hadhe been in condition to observe it. He seized the gad which the mozo haddropped, climbed upon the lightest laden burro and, driving the othersbefore him, set off for Chuckwalla Tanks. The Indian had disappeared bythis time, and there was little danger of overtaking him; so with thetwo low hills as his objective point, the Easterner circled a mile outof the direct course which he knew the Indian would take, and when thedawn commenced to show in the east he herded the pack-animals down intoa swale between two sand-dunes. With remarkable cunning he decided toscout the territory before proceeding further; hence, as soon as therewas light enough to permit of a good view, he climbed to the crest ofa high dune and looked out over the desert. As far as he could see noliving thing moved; so he drove the pack train out of the swale andheaded for the gorge between the hills. The thirsty burros broke intoa run, hee-hawing with joy as they sniffed the water, and within a fewminutes man and beasts were drinking in common at Chuckwalla Tanks.
The man permitted them to drink their fill, after which they fell tograzing on the short grass which grew in the draw. While he realized thenecessity for haste if he was to succeed in levanting with the gold, thetenderfoot had been too long a slave to his creature comforts to faceanother day without breakfast. He abstracted some grub from one of thepacks and stayed the pangs of hunger. Then he bathed his blistered feet,filled the water kegs, rounded up his pack train and departed up thedraw. After traveling a mile the draw broadened out into the desert, andthe man from Boston turned south and headed for the Rio Colorado. He waswalking now and appeared to have forgotten about his blistered heel, forat times he broke into a run, beating the burros, screaming curses atthem with all the venom of his wolfish soul, for he was pursued now bythe fragments of his conscience. His attack upon the Desert Rat had beenthe outgrowth of a sudden murderous impulse, actuated fully as much byhis hatred and fear of the man as by his desire to possess the gold. Onemoment he would shudder at the thought that he had committed murder; thenext he was appalled at the thought that after all he had only stunnedthe man--that even now the Desert Rat and his Indian retainer weretracking him through the waste, bent on wreaking summary vengeance.
He need not have worried so prematurely. A low range of black malpaisbuttes stretched between him and the man he had despoiled, and as yetthe direction of his flight could not be observed. He drifted rapidlysouth and presently disappeared into one of those long swales whichslope gradually to the river.
Here, weaving his way among the ironwood that grow thickly in thissection of the desert, for the first time since the commission of hiscrime he felt safe.