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The Arizona copper camp. [volume] (Ray, Ariz.) 1910-1920, December 18, 1920, Image 2

Image and text provided by Arizona State Library, Archives and Public Records; Phoenix, AZ

Persistent link: https://chroniclingamerica.loc.gov/lccn/sn95060578/1920-12-18/ed-1/seq-2/

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fellow before he was assured of his
The Mexicans were still; whatever
deviltry they were up to, it was being
carried on now in silence; the only
sound was a muffled scraping. Bren-
Moore Lowered Himself at Arm's
Length Over the Narrow Rock
nan yet struggled for breath, but was
eager for action. He shoved his head
forward, listening.
“What do yer make o’ that noise?"
he asked, his words scarcely audible.
“I heerd it afore yer come up,” re
turned Moore. “’Tain’t nuthin’ regu
lar. I figure the Mex are goin’ in
through that winder they busted. That
sound’s their boots scaling the wall."
“Ever been inside?”
“Wunst, ter take some papers ter
“Well, what’s it like? For God’s
sake speak up—there’s goin’ ter be
h— to pay in a minute.”
“Thar’s two rooms; ther outside door
an’- winder are in the front one, which
is the biggest. The other is whar
Mendez sleeps, an’ tliar’s a door be
tween ’em.”
“No windows in the rear room?”
“None I ever see.”
“And just the one door; what sort
o’ partition?”
“Just plain log, I reckon.”
“That’s all right, Jim,” and Westcott
felt the marshal’s fingers grasp his
arm. “I got it sized up proper. Who
ever them folks are, they’ve barricaded
inter that back room. Likely they’ve
got a dead range on the front door,
an ’them Mexes have had all they want
tryin’ to get to ’em in that way. So
now T they’re crawiin’ in through the
window'. There’ll be some hullabaloo
in there presently to my notion, an’ I
want ter be tliar ter see the curtain go
up. Wharabouts are we, Matt?”
“Back o’ the bunk house. Whar do
yer want ter go? I kin travel ’round
yere with my eyes shut.”
“The front o’ Mendez’ cabin,” said
the marshal shortly. “Better take the
other side; if that door is down w'e’ll
take those fellows in the rear afore
they know what’s happening.” He
chuckled grimly. “We’ve sure played
in luck so far. boys; go easy now, and
draw’ yer guns.”
They were half-way along the side
wall when the firing began again—but
it was not the Mexicans this time w'ho
began it. The shotgun barked; there
was the sound of a falling body; two
revolver shots and then the sharp ping
of a Winchester. Brennan leaped past
the boy ahead, and rounded the cor
ner. A Mexican stood directly in front
of the shattered door peering in, a ri
fle yet smoking in his hands. With
one swift blow of a revolver butt the
marshal dropped him in his tracks, the
fellow’ rolling off the steps onto the
ground. With outstretched hands he
stopped the others, holding them back
out of any possible view from within.
“Quick now, before that bunch in
side gets wise to what’s up. We’ve got
’em cornered. You, Matt, strip the
jacket off that Mex. an’ get his hat;
bunch ’em up together, and set a match
to ’em. That’s the stuff-! Now, the
minute they blaze throw’ ’em in through
that doorway. Come on, Westcott, he
ready to jump.”
The hat was straw, and the bundle
of blazing material landed almost in
the center of the floor, lighting up the
whole interior. Almost before it
struck, the three men, revolvers gleam
ing in their hands, had leaped across
the shattered door, and confronted the
startled band huddled in one corner.
Brennan wasted no time, his eyes
sweeping over the array of faces, re
vealed by the blaze of fire on the fiocr.
“Hands up, my beauties—every
mother’s son of yer. Yes, I mean you,
yer human catapiller. Don’t waste any
time about it; I’m the caller fer this
dance. Put ’em up higher, less yer
want ter commit suicide. Now drop
them rifles on the floor —gently,
friends, gently. Matt, frisk ’em and
see what other weapons they carry.
Ever see nicer bunch o’ lambs, .Tim?” 1 *
his lips smiling, but with an ugly look
to his gleaming teeth, and steady eyes.
“Why, they’d eat outer yer hand.
Which one of yer is Mendez?”
“He dead, senor,” one fellow man
aged to answer In broken English.
“That heem lie dar.”
“Well, that’s some comfort,” hut
without glancing about. “Now’ kick
the guns over this way, Matt, and
touch a match to the lamp on that
shelf yonder; and, Jim, perhaps you
better stamp out the fire; we’ll not
need it any more. Great Scott! What’s
It w’as her dress torn,
her hair disroveled, a revolver still
clasped in her hand, half leveled as
though she yet doubted her realization
of what had- occurred. She emerged
from the blackness of the rear room,
advanced a step and stood there hesi
tating, her wide-open eyes gazing about
In bewilderment on the strange scene
| revealed by the glow of the lamp. That
i searching, pathetic glance sw’ept from
face to face about the motionless cir
cle—the cowed Mexican prisoners with
uplifted hands backed against the
wall; the three dead bodies huddled on
the floor; Moore, with the slowly ex
; pirihg match yet smoking in his fin
gers; the little marshal, erect, a re
volver poised in either hand, his face
set and stern. Then she saw West
cott, aud her whole expression changed.
| An instant their eyes met; then the
l revolver fell to the floor unnoticed, and
! the girl sprang toward him, both hands
i outstretched.
“You !” she c#ed, utterly giving way,
| forgetful of all else except the sense of
relief the recognition brought, her.
“I Was So Sure You Would Come.”
“Y©u! Oh! Now I know it is all right!
I was so sure you would come.”
He caught the extended hands eager
ly, drawing her close, and looking
straight down into the depths of her
uplifted eyes. To him, at that moment,
there was no one else in the room, no
one else in the wide, wide w’orld.
“You knew I would come?” he
echoed. “You believed that much in
“Yes; I have never had a doubt.
But,” her lips quivered, and there were
tears glistening in the uplifted eyes,
“you,came too late for him.”
“For him! The man who was with
you. you mean? Has he been shot?”
She bent her head, the lips refusing
to answer.
“Who was he?”
“Mr. Cavendish—oh!”
It was a cry of complete reaction;
the room reeled about her and she
would have fallen headlong had not
Westcott clasped the slender form
closely in his arms. An instant he
stood there gazing down into her face.
Then he turned toward Brennan.
“Leave us alone, Dan,” he said sim
ply. “Get that gang of blacklegs out
of here.”
In the Two Cabins.
The marshal’s lips smiled.
“Sure, Jim,” he drawled, “anything
to oblige, although this is a new one
on me. Come on, Matt; it seems the
gentleman does not wish to he dis
turbed Well, neither would I un
der such circumstances. Here you!
line up there in single file, and get a
move on you—pronto ! Show ’em what
I mean, Matt; put that guy that talks
English at the head Yes, he’s the
one. Now look here, amigo, you march
straight out through that door, and
head for the bunk-house—do you get
; that?”
“Si, senor; I savvy!” m
Westcott watched the procession file
! out, still clasping the partially .uncon
scious girl in his arms. Moore, bring
ing up the rear, disappeared through
the entrance, and vanished into the
night without. Except for the three
motionless bodies, they were alone.
From a distance Brennan’s voice
j growled out a gruff order to his line of
prisoners. Then all was still. The
I eyes of the girl opened slowly, her lids
trembling, but aS they rested on West
cott’s face, she smiled.
“You are glad I came?”
“Glad! Why I never really knew
I what gladness meant before.”
i He bent lower, his heart pounding
fiercely, strange words straggling for
| utterance.
“You love me?"
She looked at him, all the fervent
Irish soul of her in her eyes. Then
, one arm stole upward to his shoulder.
“As you love me,” she whispered
softly, “as you love me!”
“I can ask no more, sweetheart,” he
breathed soberly, and kissed her. At
last she drew hack, still restrained by
| his arrn», but with her eyes suddenly
grave and thoughtful.^
“We forget,” she chided, “where we
i are. You must let me go now, and
| see if he is alive. I will wait on the
bench here.”
“Poor old Fred. I’ll do what I can
(Continued on Page Four)
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