Randall Parrish - The Strange Case of Cavendish

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"Well, I'll be damned. Do yer hear that, Joe? Who told yer 'bout me?"

"Mr. Westcott; he mentioned you as being one of the men who attacked
him in the hotel office yesterday. He said you were one of Lacy's men.
So when I heard your name mentioned to-night I knew in whose hands I
had fallen. Was the brute who ordered you about Bill Lacy?"

"I reckon it was, miss," doubtfully. "It don't make no difference,
does it, Joe?"

"Not as I kin see," growled the other. "Leastwise, her knowin' thet
much. 'Tain't likely to do her no good, whichever way the cat jumps.
I reckon I'll have a smoke, Matt; I'm dry as a fish."

"Same here; 'bout an hour till daylight, I reckon, Joe; pass the
terbacco after yer light up."

The glow of the match gave her swift view of the man's face; it was
strange and by no means reassuring, showing hard, repulsive, the
complexion as dark as an Indian's, the eyes bold and a bit bloodshot
from drink. Meeting her glance, he grinned unpleasantly.

"I don't pose fer no lady's man, like Matt," he said sneeringly, the
match flaring between his fingers. "That's what Bill sent me 'long
fer, 'cause he know'd I'd 'tend ter business, an' not talk too much."

"Your name is Joe?"

"Out yere--yes; Joe Sikes, if it pleases yer eny ter know. Yer might
call me Mr. Sikes, if yer want ter be real polite."

He passed the tobacco-bag up to Moore, who thrust the reins under him
while deliberately filling his pipe, the team trotting quietly along
what seemed to be a hard road. The wagon lurched occasionally, as the
wheels struck a stone, but the night was still so dark, the girl could
perceive little of their surroundings in spite of the looped-up
curtains. There seemed to be a high ridge of earth to their right,
crowned by a fringe of low trees, but everything appeared indistinct
and desolate. Outside the rumble of their own progress the silence was
profound.

"And you will not tell me where we are going?" she insisted, "or what
you propose doing with me?"

The pipe-glow revealed Sikes's evil countenance; Moore resumed his
reins, and there was the sharp swish of a whip lash.

"'Twouldn't mean nuthin' ter yer if I did," said the former finally,
after apparently turning the matter over slowly in his mind. "Yer
don't know nuthin' 'bout this country. 'Tain't no place a tenderfoot
like you kin find yer way back frum; so, as fer as I see, thar ain't
nuthin' fer yer to do but just naturally wait till we takes yer back."

"I am to be held a prisoner--indefinitely?"

"I reckon so; not that I knows enything 'bout the programme, miss; but
that's 'bout the understandin' that Matt an' I has--ain't it, Matt?"

The driver turned his head, and nodded.

"Sure; we're just ter take keer of yer till he comes."

"Lacy?"

"Er--some word from him, miss. It might not be safe for him to come
himself. Yer see," apologetically, "I don't just know what the game
is, and Bill might want to skip out before you was turned loose. I
knowed wunst when he was gone eight months, an' nobody knowed where he
was--do yer mind thet time, Joe, after he shot up Medicine Lodge?
Well, I reckon thar must be some big money in this job, an' he won't
take no chance of gettin' pinched. That seems to be the trouble,
miss--you've sorter stuck yerself in whar it warn't none o' yer
business. Thet's what got Lacy down on yer."

"Yes; but what is it to you, and--and Mr. Sikes, here?"

Matt grinned.

"Nuthin' much ter me, or ter--ter Mr. Sikes--how's it sound,
Joe?--'cept maybe a slice o' coin. Still there's reason fer us both
ter jump when Bill Lacy whistles. Enyhow thar ain't no use a talkin'
'bout it, fer we've got ter do what we're told. So let's shut up."

"You say you do not know what this all means?"

"No, an' what's more, we don't give a damn."

"But if I told you it was robbery and murder---that you were aiding in
the commission of crime!"

"It wouldn't make a plum bit o' difference, ma'm," said Sikes
deliberately, "we never reckoned it wus enything else--so yer might
just as well stop hollerin', fer yer goin' whar we take yer, an' ye'll
stay thar till Bill Lacy says yer ter go. Hit 'em up, Matt; I'm plum'
tired of talkin'."

The grey dawn came at last, spectral and ghastly, gradually yielding
glimpse of the surroundings. They were travelling steadily south, the
horses beginning to exhibit traces of weariness, yet still keeping up a
dogged trot. All about extended a wild, desolate scene of rock and
sand, bounded on every horizon by barren ridges. The only vegetation
was sage brush, while the trail, scarcely visible to the eye, would
circle here and there among grotesque formations, and occasionally
seemed to disappear altogether. Nowhere was there slightest sign of
life--no bird, no beast, no snake even, crossed their path. All was
dead, silent, stricken with desolation. The spires and chimneys of
rock, ugly and distorted in form, assumed strange shapes in the grey
dusk. It was all grey wherever the eyes turned; grey of all shades,
grey sand, grey rocks, grey over-arching sky, relieved only by the soft
purple of the sage--a picture of utter loneliness, of intense
desolation, which was a horror. The eye found nothing to rest upon--no
landmark, no distant tree, no gleam of water, no flash of colour--only
that dull monotony of drab, motionless, and with no apparent end.

Stella stared about at it, and closed her eyes, unable to bear the
sight; her head drooped wearily, every nerve giving away before the
depressing scene outspread in every direction. Sikes, watching her
slightest movement, seemed to sense the meaning of the action.

"Hell, ain't it?" he said expressively. "You know whar we are?"

"No; but I never before dreamed any spot could be so terrible."

"This is the Shoshone desert; thar ain't nobody ever comes in yere
'cept wunst in a while a prospector, maybe, er a band o' cattle
rustlers. Even the Injuns keep out."

She lifted her eyes again, shuddering as they swept about over the
dismal waste.

"But there is a trail; you could not become lost?"

"Well, yer might call it a trail, tho' thar ain't much left of it after
a sand storm. I reckon thar ain't so many as could follow it any time
o' year, but Matt knows the way all right--you don't need to worry none
about that. He's drove many a load along yere--hey, Matt?"

"You bet; I've got it all marked out, the same as a pilot on the
Missouri. Ye see that sway-back ridge yonder?" pointing with his whip
into the distance ahead. "That's what I'm headin' for now an' when I
git thar a round rock will show up down a sorter gully. Furst time I
came over yere long with Lacy, I wrote all these yere things down."

Conversation ceased, the drear depression of the scene resting heavily
on the minds of all three. Moore sat humped shapelessly in his seat,
permitting the horses to toil on wearily, the wagon rumbling along
across the hard packed sand, the wheels leaving scarcely a mark behind.
Sikes stared gloomily out on his side, the rifle still between his
knees, his jaws working vigorously on a fresh chew of tobacco. Stella
looked at the two men, their faces now clearly revealed in the
brightening dawn, but the survey brought little comfort. Sikes was
evidently of wild blood--a half-breed, if his swarthy skin and high
cheek bones meant any characteristics of race--scarcely more than a
savage by nature, and rendered even more decadent by the ravages of
drink. He was sober enough now, but this only left him the more morose
and sullen, his bloodshot eyes ugly and malignant. The girl shrank
from him as a full realisation of what the man truly was came to her
with this first distinct view.

Moore was a much younger man, his face roughened, and tanned, to almost
the colour of mahogany, yet somehow retaining a youthful look. He was
not unprepossessing in a bold, daring way; a fellow who would seek
adventure, and meet danger with a laugh. He turned as she looked at
him, and grinned back at her, pointing humorously to a badly
discoloured eye.

"Friend o' yours gave me that," he admitted, quite as a matter of
course. "Did a good job, too."

"A friend of mine?" in surprise.

"Sure; you're a friend o' Jim Westcott, ain't yer? Lacy said so, and
Jim's the laddy-buck who whaled me."

"Mr. Westcott! When?"

"Last night. You see it was this way. I caught him hanging round the
office at La Rosita, an' we had a fight. I don't just know what I did
to him, but that's part o' what he did to me. I never knowed much
about him afore, but he's sure some scrapper; an' I had a knife in my
fist, too."

"Then--then," her breath choking her, "he got away?"

Moore laughed, no evidence of animosity in his actions.

"I reckon so, miss. I ain't seen nuthin' of him since, an' the way
Bill Lacy wus cussing when I got breathin' straight agin would 'a'
shocked a coyote. He'll git him, though."

"Get him?"

"Sure--Bill will. He always gets his man. I've seen more'n one fellow
try to put something over on Lacy, but it never worked in the end.
He's hell on the trigger, an' the next time he and Bill come together,
Westcott's bound to get his. Ain't that the truth, Joe?"

Sikes nodded his head, a gleam of appreciation in his eyes.

"I'd like fer to see the scrap," he said slowly. "They tell me
Westcott ain't so slow on the draw--but Bill will get him!"

The sun rose a red ball of fire, colouring the ridges of sand, and
painting the grotesque rocks with crimson streamers. As it ascended
higher into the pale blue of the sky the heat-waves began to sweep
across the sandy waste. In the shadow of a bald cliff the wagon was
halted briefly, and the two men brought forth materials from within,
making a hasty fire, and preparing breakfast. Water was given the team
also, before the journey was resumed; while during the brief halt the
girl was left to do as she pleased. Then they moved on again,
surrounded by the same drear landscape, the very depression of it
keeping them silent. Sikes nodded sleepily, his head against a wagon
bow. Once Moore roused up, pointing into the distance with one hand.

"What do yer make o' that out thar?" he asked sharply. "'Tain't a
human, is it?"

Sikes straightened up with a start, and stared blankly in the direction
indicated. Apparently he could perceive nothing clearly, for he
reached back into the wagon-box, and drew forth a battered field-glass,
quickly adjusting it to his eyes. Stella's keener vision made out a
black, indistinct figure moving against the yellow background of a far
away sand-ridge, and she stood up, clinging to Moore's seat, to gain a
better view. Sikes got the object in focus.

"Nothin' doing," he announced. "It's travellin' on four legs--a b'ar,
likely, although I never afore heard of a b'ar being in yere."

They settled down to the same monotony, mile after mile. The way
became rockier with less sand, but with no more evidence of life. A
high cliff rose menacingly to their right, bare of the slightest trace
of vegetation, while in the opposite direction the plain assumed a dead
level, mirages appearing occasionally in the far distance. Far away
ahead a strange buttress of rock rose into the sky resembling the
turret of a huge castle. The sun was directly overhead when Moore
turned his team suddenly to the left, and drove down a sharp declivity
leading into a ravine.

"Drop the canvas, Joe," he said shortly, "there's only 'bout a mile
more."

CHAPTER XVIII: IN MEXICAN POWER

The passage was so narrow, and so diversified by sharp turns, that Miss
Donovan, shut in behind the closed cover, could perceive little of its
nature. Apparently the ravine was a mere gash in the surface of the
desert plain, to be originally discovered purely through accident. One
might pass a hundred yards to either side, and never realise its
existence, the hard rock, covered by a thin layer of sand, retaining no
trace of wheel-marks in guidance. How Moore had ever driven so
unerringly to the spot was a mystery. Yet he had done so, and now the
team was slowly creeping down the narrow ledge utilised as a road, the
slipping wheels securely locked, as they drifted here and there about
the sharp corners, ever descending into the unknown depths.

The cliffs arose precipitously on either side, absolutely bare. To the
left nothing could be seen but black rock, but on the other side an
open space yawned, perhaps twenty feet across, its bottom
imperceptible. The horses stumbled over the rough stones, held only by
Moore's firm grip on the reins, and the light began to fade as they
descended. At last nothing appeared above but a narrow strip of sky,
and the glimmer of sun had totally vanished. Almost at the same moment
the driver released the creaking brake, and at a trot the wagon swept
forward between two pinnacles of rock, and came out into an open valley.

The transition was so sudden and startling as to cause the girl to give
utterance to a cry of surprise. She had been clinging desperately to
the seat in front, expecting every instant to be hurled headlong.
Intense fear gripped her and it seemed as if every drop of blood in her
veins stood still. The change was like a leap into fairy land; as
though they had emerged from the mouth of hell into the beauty of
paradise. They were in a green, watered valley, a clear stream
wandering here and there through its centre, shadowed by groves of
trees. All about, as far as eye could reach, stood great precipices,
their bold, rugged fronts rising hundreds of feet, unbroken, and
unscalable; the sun directly above bathed these with showers of gold,
and cast a blanket of colour across the sheltered valley.

This valley itself was nearly square, possibly extending not over a
mile in either direction, merely a great hole rimmed by desert, a
strange, hidden oasis, rendered fertile and green by some outburst of
fresh water from the rocks. Emerging upon it in midst of the barren
desolation through which they had been toiling for hours, blinded by
alkali dust, jolted down that dangerous decline, it seemed like some
beautiful dream, a fantasy of imagination.

Miss Donovan doubted the evidence of her own eyes, half convinced that
she slept. It was Moore's voice which aroused her.

"Mendez must have got back, Joe," he said eagerly. "There are horses
and cattle over yonder."

The other pushed up the canvas and looked out.

"That's right. Must just got here, or there'd 'a' been a guard up
above. The fellow is comin' now--see?"

He was loping along carelessly, Mexican from high hat to jingling
spurs, sitting the saddle as though moulded there, a young fellow, dark
faced, but with a livid scar along one cheek.

"Juan Cateras, the little devil," muttered Sikes, as the rider drew
nearer. "There's some pot brewing if he is in it."

The rider drew up his horse, and lifted his hat, his smiling lips
revealing a row of white teeth.

"A pleasant day, _senor_," he said graciously, his dark eyes searching
the faces of the two men, and then dwelling with interest on the woman.
"Ah, your pardon, _senorita_; your presence is more than welcome here."
He rested one hand on the wagon box, the expression of his face
hardening. "Yet an explanation might not be out of place--the Senor
Mendez may not be pleased."

"We came under orders from Lacy," replied Moore confidently. "You have
seen us both before."

"True, but not the lady; you will tell me about her?"

Sikes climbed down over the wheel.

"It is like this, _senor_," he began. "Lacy did not know your party
was here; he thought you were all south for another month yet. He
would keep this girl quiet, out of the way for a time. She is from New
York, and knows too much."

"From New York?" The quick eyes of the Mexican again sought her face.
"She is to be held prisoner?"

"Yes, _senor_."

"Again the case of that man Cavendish?"

"We were not told, only ordered to bring her here and guard her until
we heard otherwise. It was not known you were back."

"We came three hours ago; you see what we brought," with a wave of the
hand. "All was clear above?"

"Not a sign; I searched with field-glasses."

"Then I will ride with you to Mendez; 'tis well to have the matter
promptly over with."

The wagon, rumbled on, Moore urging the wearied team with whip and
voice to little result. Sikes remained on foot, glad of the change,
striding along in front, while the Mexican rode beside the wheel, his
equipment jingling, the sunlight flashing over his bright attire. He
made a rather gallant figure, of which he was fully conscious, glancing
frequently aside into the shadow beneath the canvas top to gain glimpse
of its occupant. At last their eyes met, and he could no longer
forbear speech, his English expression a bit precise.

"Pardon, _senorita_, I would be held your friend," he murmured, leaning
closer, "for it is ever a misfortune to incur the enmity of Senor Lacy.
You will trust me?"

"But," she ventured timidly, "I do not know you, _senor_; who you may
be."

"You know Senor Mendez?"

She shook her head negatively.

"'Tis strange! Yet I forget you come from New York. They know him
here on this border. If you ask these men they will tell you. Even
Senor Lacy takes his orders from Pascual Mendez. He care not who he
kill, who he fight--some day it come his turn, and then he liberate
Mexico--see? The day is not yet, but it will come."

"You mean he is a revolutionist?"

"He hate; he live to hate; to revenge the wrong. Twice already he lead
the people, but they fail him--the cowards. He return here where it is
safe: yet the right time will come."

"But you, _senor_?"

"I am his lieutenant--Juan Cateras," and he bowed low, "and I ride now
to tell him of his guest."

She watched him as he spurred forward, proud of his horsemanship, and
making every effort to attract her attention. Moore turned in his
seat, and grinned.

"Some tin soldier," he said sneeringly, "that's a feller I always
wanted ter kick, an' some day I'm a goin' ter do it."

"You heard what he said?"

"Sure; he was tellin' yer 'bout old Mendez being a Mexican
revolutionary leader down in Mex, wa'n't he? Hell of a leader he is!
I reckon he's been mixed up in scrapes enough down thar, but they had
mighty little to do with revolutin'. He's just plain bad man,
miss--cattle thief, an' all round outlaw. There's a price on his head
in three States, but nobody dares go after it, because of the dangerous
gang he controls."

Her eyes sought the distant figure doubtfully.

"And this man--this Juan Cateras--what of him?"

"One of the devil's own imps; I'd a heap rather play with a rattlesnake
than him." He paused, to assure him self that Sikes was safely out of
hearing. "I thought maybe I better tell yer while I had a chance.
That fellar is plumb pisen, miss."

She reached out her hand, and touched him.

"Thank you," she said gratefully, "I--I am glad you did. Am--am I to
be left here with these--these men?"

"No, not exactly. I suppose they'll naturally sorter expect to run
things while they're here, fer this yere valley is their camp, Mendez
has been hidin' out yere fer some time. But Joe and I are goin' to
stay, and even old Mendez ain't liable to make no enemy outer Bill
Lacy. They had a row wunst, an' I reckon they don't neither of 'em
want another. I ain't greatly afeerd o' Mendez, but I wouldn't put
nuthin' past this Cateras lad, if he got some hell idea in his head.
He's Injun-Mex, an' that's the worst kind."

The wagon lurched down a steep bank, splashed its way across the narrow
stream, and up the other side, the horses straining in their harness to
the sharp snap of the driver's whip. A towering precipice of rock
confronted them, and at its very foot stood two cabins of log
construction, so closely resembling their stone background as to be
almost imperceptible, at the distance of a few yards. Sikes leaned on
his rifle waiting, and as Moore halted the panting team, and leaped
over the wheel to the ground, Cateras came forth from one of the open
doors and crossed the intervening space on foot. He was smoking a
cigarette, the blue wreath of smoke circling above his head in the
still air.

"The lady is to be placed in my care," he said almost insolently.
"Your hand, _senorita_."

Miss Donovan hesitated, the memory of Moore's words of warning yet
ringing in her ears. The handsome face, with its smiling lips and
eyes, suddenly appeared to her a mask assumed to conceal the unclean
soul behind. Moore broke the silence with a protest.

"In your care, _senor_? The girl is here as prisoner to Bill Lacy."

"So I told Mendez," he said indifferently. "But he is in ill humour
this morning, and took small interest in the affair. It was only when
I promised to take full charge that he consented to your remaining at
all. 'Tis my advice that you let well enough alone. You know who
rules here."

"If there is evil done, the debt will be paid."

Cateras laughed, one hand at his incipient moustache.

"Billy Lacy, you mean, no doubt. That is a matter for him to settle
with Mendez. It is not my affair, for I only obey my chief. However,
_senors_, 'tis no evil that is contemplated, only we prefer guarding
the secrets of this valley ourselves. That is what angers Mendez, the
fact that Lacy uses this rendezvous as a prison during our absence. We
found one here when we returned--guarded by an American. Now you come
with another. _Caramba_! You think we stand this quietly? How do we
know what may result from such acts? What sheriff's posse may be on
your trail? Bill Lacy! _Dios_! if Bill Lacy would make prisoners, let
him keep them somewhere else than here. Mendez takes no prisoners--he
knows a better way than doing things like that."

"But, _senor_, this is a woman."

"Of which I am well aware," bowing gallantly. "Otherwise I should not
have interfered, and offered my services. But we have talked enough.
You have had the word, and you know the law of our compact. Do you
obey me, or shall I call the chief--God be merciful to your soul, if I
do."

Moore stood silent, realising the full meaning of the threat; he
glanced aside at Sikes, but that individual only shook his head.

"All right then," went on the Mexican sharply. "'Tis well you show
sense. You know what to do with your team; then the both of you report
to Casas at the upper camp--you know him?"

"Yes, _senor_."

"Tell him I sent you. He will have his orders; they are that you be
shot if you attempt to leave before Mendez gives the word. 'Tis not
long now till we learn who is chief here--Bill Lacy or Pascual Mendez.
Come, _senorita_, you are safe with me."

Concealing a dread that was almost overpowering, yet realising the
impossibility of resistance, Stella permitted him to touch her hand,
and assist her to clamber over the wheel. The baffled, helpless rage
in Moore's face was sufficient proof of the true power possessed by
Cateras, that his was no idle boast. Under some conditions the change
in captors might have been welcomed--certainly she felt no desire to
remain in the hands of the two who had brought her there, for Sikes,
plainly enough, was a mere drunken brute, and Moore, while of somewhat
finer fibre, lacked the courage and manhood to ever develop into a true
friend.

Yet she would have infinitely preferred such as these--men, at least,
of her own race--to this smirking Mexican, hiding his devilish
instincts behind a pretence at gallantry. She knew him, now,
understood him, felt convinced, indeed, that this was all some cunning
scheme originating within his own brain. He had hastened ahead to
Mendez; told a tale in his own way, rendering the chief's suspicions of
Lacy more acute, and thus gaining permission to assume full charge.
Her only hope was to go herself into the presence of the leader, and
make a plea to him face to face. Moore was already at the horses'
heads, and was turning them about in the trail. Cateras, smiling,
pressed her arm with his fingers.

"This way, _senorita_."

"Wait," and her eyes met his, showing no sign of fear. "You take me, I
presume, to Senor Mendez?"

"Of what need?" in surprise. "He has already placed me in charge."

"Yet without hearing a word as to why I am here," indignantly. "I am
an American woman, and you will yet pay dearly for this outrage. I
demand an interview with the chief, and refuse to go with you until it
is granted."

"You refuse! Ha!" and he burst into laughter. "Why, what power have
you got, you little fool? Do you know where you are? What fear do we
have of your damn Americanos. None!" and he snapped his fingers
derisively. "We spit on the dogs. I will show you--come!"

He gripped her shoulder in his lean hand, his eyes glaring into her
face savagely. The grasp hurt, and a sudden anger spurred her to
action. With a quick twist she freed herself, and, scarcely knowing
how it was done, snatched the heavy driver's whip from Moore's hand.
The next instant, before the astounded Mexican could even throw up an
arm in defence, the infuriated girl struck, the stinging lash raising a
red welt across the swarthy cheek. Cateras staggered back, his lips
giving utterance to a curse.

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