The ride ahead of Kreff and his men was, the foreman knew, a long and hard one. There was some slight chance of borrowing a change of horses at a ranch near Cheetim’s place; but it was only a chance, and so Kreff conserved his horse flesh and did not push on too rapidly.

  As he rode he had time to think things out a little more clearly than he had in the excitement and rush of preparation, and he wondered why it had been that Cheetim had not organized a party to go after the rustlers and save the cattle for themselves. He could easily have done it, as there were always several tough gun-men hanging around his place who would commit murder for a pint of whiskey. Yes, that did seem peculiar. And if he had mistrusted the Mexican, why had he entrusted the message to him? Kreff did not trust Cheetim to any greater extent than a cottontail would trust a rattler, and now that he had an opportunity to consider the whole matter carefully he grew suspicious.

  Suddenly it occurred to him that he had left Wichita alone on the ranch with only the Chinese cook, and that the Mexican had remained behind after they had left. The more he thought about it the more it worried him. He called Luke to his side.

  “Kid,” he said, “we left thet Greaser there on the ranch. I don’t guess we should have. You ride back an’ look after things—an’ don’t let no grass grow under you while you’re doin’ it.”

  Luke, though disappointed at the thought of missing the excitement of a brush with the rustlers, reined in, wheeled his pony, and spurred back toward the ranch.

  Wichita, coming from the office door after breakfast, saw four strange men ride into the ranch yard. She saw the Mexican youth who had brought word of the stolen cattle ride up to them, but she could not hear what they said, nor was it apparent that the Mexican was acquainted with the newcomers.

  The four rode toward her presently, and as they neared her one of them removed his hat and asked if he could see the boss.

  “I’m the boss,” she replied.

  “We’re lookin’ fer work,” said the man; and as he spoke he dismounted and walked close to her, the others reining near as though to hear what her answer would be.

  When the man was quite close he suddenly seized her, whirled her about and held her hands behind her. At the same instant another of his fellows dismounted and stepped quickly to her. She struggled and fought to free herself; but she was helpless, and in another moment they had bound her wrists behind her.

  As they were lifting her to one of the horses the Chinese ran from the cook house, calling to them to stop; but one of the men drew his six-shooter, and a single, menacing shot was enough to send the unarmed domestic back into his kitchen.

  Cheetim, watching from the hills south of the ranch, saw all that transpired within the yard and was highly elated at the ease with which his nefarious plan was being carried out; but, alas, things were running far too smoothly.

  What was that? He bent an attentive ear toward the west and recognized the cadenced pounding of the hoofs of a rapidly galloping horse—the little rift within the lute.

  In the ranch yard the men had stopped to argue. Cheetim could see them but he could not understand the delay. He could only curse silently, dividing his attention between them and the road to the west, along which he could hear the approaching hoof beats.

  “What’s the use of packin’ this girl double?” the man who had been assigned to carry Wichita demanded. “We got plenty time an’ they’s a hoss standin’ right down there in the c’ral.”

  “‘Dirty’ said not to waste no time,” demurred another.

  The mention of Cheetim’s descriptive nick-name was the first intimation Wichita had received of the origin and purpose of the plan to abduct her. Now she understood—it was all clear, horribly clear. For years the man had hounded and annoyed her. Twice before he had tried to take her forcibly. It looked now as though he might succeed. Who was there to succor her?Her father dead and every man in her employ gone, for how long she could not guess. There was no one. She wondered why it was that at that moment the figure of an almost naked, bronze savage filled her thoughts to the exclusion of every other source of salvation, and that while she nursed her hatred of him she involuntarily almost prayed that some miracle might bring him to her.

  The man who had suggested a separate horse for Wichita insisted. “It wont take two minutes,” he said, “an’ if we are follered we kin make better time than if one of the hosses is packin’ double.”

  “Hell, then,” exclaimed one of his fellows, “instead of chawin’ the fat let’s git a hoss. Here, you!” he addressed Luis. “Fetch that hoss. Throw a saddle onto him an’ a lead rope.”

  As Luis hastened to obey, Cheetim, seeing the further delay, became frantic. The horseman was approaching rapidly along the road from the west, and the men in the ranch yard were wasting valuable time.

  Out on the east range Shoz-Dijiji, having finished his breakfast, mounted Nejeunee and turned the pony’s head toward the east, toward the distant mountains where the Gila rises, toward the ancient stamping grounds of the Be-don-ko-he.

  He had no plans for the future. He wanted only to get away. He had seen Wichita Billings through his field glasses, and the sight of her had but aggravated the old hurt. Sad and lonely, the war chief rode toward the deserted camp grounds of his vanished people, where now were only brooding memories.

  Luke Jensen galloped into sight of the ranch. Cheetim, lying behind a boulder at the top of a hill, covered him with his rifle sights and fired. Luke heard the bullet scream past his ear. Forewarned of some danger, he knew not what, he was prepared. He took two flying shots at the puff of smoke at the hill top where his unknown assailant lay, dug the rowels into his pony’s sides, and raced for the ranch gate that he saw was standing open.

  Cheetim fired once more; but again he missed, and then Luke was inside the yard. Coming toward him from the corrals he saw five men and Wichita, and he knew that something was radically wrong even before one of the men drew his gun and opened fire on him. Unable to return the man’s fire without endangering Wichita, Jensen spurred in the direction of an out-building that would give him shelter until he could get his rifle into action.

  The five men spurred toward the gate, quirting Wichita’s horse to equal speed. Three of them were firing at Luke; and just as he reached the out-building, just when he was within a second of safety, Wichita saw him lunge from his saddle, hit.

  Then her captors raced through the gate and into the hills south of the ranch, whirling Wichita Billings away with them.

  CHAPTER XVIII

  THE APACHE DEVIL!

  Out on the east range a horseman reined in his mount and listened as the rapid reports of rifle and pistol came faintly to his ears. There was something amiss at the Crazy B Ranch and Wichita was there, practically alone! Shoz-Dijiji wheeled Nejeunee so suddenly that the little pinto reared almost straight in air and then, at a touch of his master’s heels and a word in his pointed ears, leaped off in the new direction at a swift run.

  After sending Luke back to the ranch, Kreff’s suspicions, now thoroughly aroused, continued to increase. He began to realize that if they were well founded one man might not be sufficient. He wished that he had sent more. Presently he wished that he had gone himself; and soon he reined in, halting his companions.

  “Fellers,” he said, “the more I think about it the more I think that mebby Cheetim’s givin’ us a dirty deal. He may have jest wanted to git us all away from the ranch. He’s tried to get Chita twicet before, I’m a-goin’ back an’ I’m a-goin’ to take Jake an’ Sam with me. ‘Kansas,’ you take Charlie an’ Matt an’ ride after them rustlers.

  Ef you kin pick up some fellers along the way, all right; ef you can’t, do the best you kin alone. So long! Come on, fellers!”

  * * * *

  As the five men entered the hills with Chita, Cheetim joined them. It was evident that he was much elated.

  “Good work, boys!” he cried. “I reckon I didn’t pull the wool over ‘Smooth’s’ eyes nor nothin’, eh?” He rode to Chita’s side and grinned into her face. “Say, dearie,” he exclaimed, “you don’t hev to worry none. I’ve decided to do the right thing by you. We’ll spend our honeymoon up in the hills ’til things blows over a bit an’ then we’ll mosey down to the Hog Ranch an’ git married.”

  Wichita looked the man straight in the eyes for a moment and then turned away in disgust, but she did not speak. Luis Mariel, sober eyed, serious, looked on. He had not bargained on a part in any such affair as this.

  “Well, fellers,” said Cheetim, “let’s pull up a second an’ licker. I reckon we’ve earned a drink.”

  They stopped their ponies and from five hip pockets came five pint bottles.

  “Here’s to the bride!” cried Cheetim, and they all laughed and drank, all except Luis, who had no bottle.

  “Here, kid,” said Cheetim, “hev a drink!” He proffered his flask to Luis.

  “Thank you, Senor, I do not care to drink,” replied the Mexican.

  Deep into the hills they rode—five miles, ten miles. Wichita guessed where they were taking her—to an old two room shack that prospectors had built years before beside a little spring far back in the mountains. Apaches had gotten the prospectors, and the shack had stood deserted and tenantless ever since.

  She felt quite hopeless, for there seemed not the slightest foundation for belief that there could be any help for her. Luke, if he were not badly hurt, or possibly Chung, the cook, could get word to their nearest neighbor; but he lived miles and miles away; and any help to be effective must reach her within a few hours, for after that it would be too late. And even if men were found to come after her it might be a long time before they could locate Cheetim’s hiding place.

  Cheetim and his men had finished a flask apiece as they rode, but this was not the extent of their supply—each had another flask in his shirt —so that by the time they reached the shack they were more than content with themselves and all the world.

  Once Luis had ridden close beside Wichita and spoken to her. “I am sorry, Senorita,” he whispered. “I did not know what they were going to do. If I can help you, I will. Maybe, when they are drunk, I can help you get away.”

  “Thanks,” replied the girl. As she spoke she turned and looked at the youth, noticing him more than casually for the first time, and realized that his face seemed familiar. “Where have I seen you before?” she asked.

  “I brought the pinto pony from El Teniente King to your rancho a year ago,” replied Luis.

  “Oh, yes, I remember you now. You brought Shoz-Dijiji’s pony up from Mexico.”

  “Shoz-Dijiji’s pony? Was that Shoz-Dijiji’s pony? You know Shoz-Dijiji, Senorita?”

  “I know him,” said the girl; “do you?”

  “Yes, very well. He saved my father’s life; and twice when he could have killed me he did not.”

  Their conversation was interrupted by Cheetim who rode back to Wichita’s side.

  “Well, here we are, dearie,” he said, “but we aint goin’ to stay here long. Tomorrow morning we hit the trail fer a place I know where God himself couldn’t find us.”

  The shack, before which the party had stopped and were dismounting, was a rough affair built of stone and mud and such timber as grew sparsely on the slopes of the canyon in the bottom of which it nestled. A tiny spring, now choked with dirt, made a mud hole a few yards to one side of the building. The men led their horses to the rear of the building where there were a few trees to which they could fasten them. Two of the men started to clean out the spring, and Cheetim escorted Wichita into the shack.

  “We brung along some grub,” he said. “It wont be much of a weddin’ breakfast to brag on, but you wait ’til we git back to the Hog Ranch!We’ll have a reg’lar spread then an’ invite every son-of-a-gun in the territory. I’m goin’ to treat you right, kid, even if you haven’t been any too damn nice to me.”

  Wichita did not speak.

  “Say, you can jest start right now cuttin’ out thet high toned stuff with me,” said Cheetim. “I’ll be good to you ef you treat me right, but by God I aint a-goin’ to stand much more funny business. You kin start now by givin’ me a little kiss.”

  “Cheetim,” said the girl, “listen to me. You’re half drunk now, but maybe you’ve got sense enough left to understand what I am going to say to you. I’d a heap rather kiss a Gila monster than you. You may be able to kiss me because you’re stronger than I am, and I guess even kissing a Gila monster wouldn’t kill me, but I’m warning you that ef you ever do kiss me you’d better kill me quick, for I’m going to kill myself if anything happens to me —”

  “Ef you want to be a damn fool that’s your own look out,” interrupted Cheetim, with a snarl, “but it wont keep me from doin’ what I’m goin’ to do. Ef you’re fool enough to kill yourself afterward, you can.”

  “You didn’t let me finish,” said Wichita. “I’ll kill myself, all right, but I’ll kill you first.”

  The men were entering the room; and Cheetim stood, hesitating, knowing the girl meant what she said. He was a coward, and he had not had quite enough whiskey to bolster up his courage to the point of his desires.

  “Oh, well,” he said, “we won’t quarrel this a-way on our honeymoon. You jest go in the other room there, dearie”, and make yourself to home; an’ we’ll talk things over later. Git me a piece of rope, one o’ you fellers. I ain’t goin’ to take no chances of my bride vamoosin’.”

  In the small back room of the shack they tied Wichita’s wrists and ankles securely and left her seated on an old bench, the only furniture that the room boasted.

  Out in the front room the men were making preparations to cook some of the food they had brought with them, but most of their time was devoted to drinking and boasting. Cheetim drank with a purpose. He wanted to arrive, as quickly as possible, at a state of synthetic courage that would permit him to ignore the moral supremacy of the girl in the back room. He knew that he was physically more powerful, and so he’ could not understand why he feared her. Cheetim had never heard of such a thing as an inferiority complex, and so he did not know that that was what he suffered from in an aggravated form whenever he faced the level gaze and caustic tongue of Wichita Billings.

  The more Cheetim drank the louder and more boastful he became. Wichita could hear him narrating the revolting details of numerous crimes that he had committed.

  “Yo shua ah some bad hombre, ‘Dirty’,” eulogized one of his party.

  “Oh, I don’t claim to be no bad man,” replied Cheetim, modestly. “What I says is thet I has brains, an’ I use ’em. Look how I fooled ‘Smooth’— sent him off on a wild goose chase an’ then swipes his girl while he’s gone.” They all laughed uproariously.

  “An’ he better not get funny about it neither, even ef he don’t like it. I kin use my brains fer other things besides gettin’ me my women. Ol’ man Billings larnt thet. He kicked me out oncet; an’ I suppose he thought I was afraid of him, but I was jest waitin’. I waited a long time, but I got him.”

  “You got him? You did not. He was kilt by Injuns,” contradicted one.

  “Injuns, Hell!” ejaculated Cheetim. “Thar’s where I used my brains. I killed Billings, but I was cute enough to scalp him. I—”

  Drunk as he was, he realized that he had gone too far, had admitted too much. He looked wickedly about the room. “What I’ve told you is among friends,” he said. “Ef any of you fellers ever feels like you’d like to join Billings all you got to do is blab what I jest told you. Savvy?” In the other room Wichita Billings, listening, heard every word that Cheetim spoke, and her soul was seared by shame and vain regret for the wrong she had done the friendless red man. She reproached herself for not listening to the counsel and the urging of her heart, for she knew—she had always known —that she had battled against her love for Shoz-Dijiji, had trampled it beneath her feet, that she might encourage her belief in his perfidy.

  If she could only see him once more, if she could only tell him that she knew and ask his forgiveness; but now it was too late.

  She heard Cheetim speaking again. “You fellers finish rustlin’ the grub,” he said. “I’m goin’ in an’ visit my wife.” This sally was applauded with much laughter. “An’ I don’t want to be disturbed,” he concluded, “Savvy?”

  * * * *

  A pinto stallion, racing like the wind, bore its rider toward the Crazy B ranch house following the shots that had attracted the attention of the Apache. Fences intervened, but though there were gates in, them Shoz-Dijiji had no time to waste on gates. Straight for them he rode Nejeunee; and the pinto took them in his stride, soaring over them like a bird on the wing.

  Chung, kneeling beside Luke in the ranch yard, voiced a startled cry as he saw a pinto stallion, bearing a feared Apache warrior, rise over the bars of the corral; but Chung did not flee. He stood his post, though scarce knowing what to do.

  Luke’s six-shooter was close beside his hand; but Chung was too surprised to think of it, and a second later the warrior had reined in beside them, his pony sliding upon its haunches for a dozen feet.