The man-killers

There was a hush, a boding silence, in Deadman Canyon, and skirling hawks, flying high against the cliffs, settled down and watched expectantly. A man was riding warily up the Maverick Basin trail, and ahead, like hunting animals, two men were skulking forth to cut him off at the creek. Above them, stuck tight as mud-wasp's nests to the shelves of sun-blackened crags, the white houses of cliff-dwellers, now desolate and tenantless, gazed down upon the age-old tragedy; but the man rode on, his rifle beneath his knee, and at the stalking place of the Scarboroughs he stopped. A stream of cold water, gushing out of a deep side chasm, formed a swirl in the tepid waters of the creek; and close to its edge a flat stone had been laid, where a man could kneel and drink. He knelt, and when he rose up he was looking down a gun.

"Put 'em up!" commanded a voice, and he started back defiantly, at which a second voice came from the side.

"Right quick!" it added, and as the stranger obeyed Isham Scarborough stepped out from behind his rock.

He was tall and slim, as befitted a Texan, with a red, freckled face, lips swollen by the sun, and eyelashes bleached yellowish white. A huge, black hat made him tower like a giant as he glowered down insolently upon his captive and after a long, searching look he jabbed him in the ribs and reached out to take his gun. But the stranger stepped away with waspish quickness and at the look in his eyes Isham flinched and drew back while his brother rose up to shoot. Red Scarborough was short and chunky, with flaming red hair and eyes with a piggish glint; and when he shouted out a warning the stranger's hands shot up, for he, too, had learned to read eyes. Red strode forth wrathfully and twitched away the prisoner's gun, then whirled on the startled Isham.

"You're going to get killed," he warned, "if you don't quit monkeying with these fellers."

"Huh, huh!" scoffed Isham, and swaggered up to the man, he regarded him with his head on one side. "You're bad, now; ain't ye?" he demanded. "Well, we'll soon break you of that. Where d'ye think you're going with that horse?"

The stranger blinked and regarded him intently, then drew down his lips to a line. He was dark and slender, with flashing black eyes and the high cheek-bones of a fighter, but now he was ominously calm.

"I am going," he said, "to Maverick Basin. Is this a hold-up, or what?"

"It's a hold-up," replied Isham, "and you're dad-burned lucky it didn't turn out a killing. I had my six-shooter on your heart and if you'd ever went for that gun--we'd've left you here for the buzzards. What takes you over into Maverick Basin?"

"That is my business," replied the prisoner, suddenly matching his arrogance, and Isham glanced meaningly at his brother.

"Oh, it is, eh?" he observed, reaching over behind a rock and fetching out a rawhide rope. "Well, I'll damn soon show you that it's mine!"

He shook out a loop, flipped it back into the sand and then, with the practiced skill of a cowboy, snapped it over his prisoner's head. Before he could move, the stranger's arms were pinioned; and as the rope was jerked taut Red caught him from behind and tied his hands hard and fast.

"Now!" cursed Red, "come through, Mister Man--are you going in to join them Sorry Blacks?"

"Never heard of 'em," answered the man, and Red's sunburned lips drew back in a hateful, distorted grin.

"I know that's a lie," he said, "so we'll jest cut you off right here."

He motioned to Isham, and, with their prisoner between them, they toiled up a trail to the east. The canyon wall was low on that side of the creek and at the base of the cliff there was a row of cliff-dwellings, strung along under the overhang of the rim.

It was from behind their loopholed walls that the Scarboroughs watched the trail, to cut off such chance travelers as he, and as the prisoner climbed up his lip curled scornfully at the sight of their elaborate precautions. In spite of their bluster something still seemed to tell him that they were not as bad as they looked; although often, as he knew, the most hideous crimes have been committed by cravens at heart. They entered a low door and passed on from room to room until at last he was thrust into a dark and noisome space and bound with his back against a post.

It was one of those black holes which the cliff-dwellers themselves had apparently used as a prison and against the square of light which poured in from above he saw the heavy lattice of bars. Wooden bars, and something else--and as he looked again he saw the sinister outlines of a loop. It hung from a beam like the slack body of a snake, and there was a hangman's knot on the end!

"Now," began Isham Scarborough, "perhaps you can talk. You ain't the first Sorry horse-thief that has tried to hold out on us, but they danged sure talked--or hung. So you never even heard of the Sorry Blacks?"

"No, I never did," answered the prisoner stoutly, and Isham shook down the loop.

"Say, now listen," he warned, "we know doggoned well that you ain't no friend of ours. We're from Texas, see, and back where we come from no white man rides a saddle like that. So you're ditched at the start by that center-fire rigging and the danged fresh way you've got, but before we stretch your neck we'll give you a chance to tell where you got that horse."

He paused and opened up the hangman's loop, and the prisoner found his tongue.

"I bought him in Bowie," he declared in a passion, "and I've got the bill of sale in my pocket. But I swear I never heard of the Blacks in my life--and I don't know what you're talking about."

"Well, the Bassett gang, then!" broke in Red Scarborough roughly, "ain't you never heerd tell of the Dirty Black Bassetts? Well, that's the outfit we're talking about!"

"Well, why didn't you say so?" demanded the prisoner resentfully. "Of course I've heard of the Bassetts. But is that any reason for holding a man up and threatening to hang him for a horse-thief? You must be some of the Scarboroughs, but they informed me back in Tonto----"

"Well, what did they inform you?" prompted Isham hectoringly, and the prisoner drew himself up.

"I was informed," he said, "that the Scarboroughs were Southern gentlemen."

"Uhr," jeered Red, but Isham stood silent.

"Well?" he inquired.

"And as a Southerner myself," went on the prisoner, but Isham cut him off short.

"You ignorant, black rascal," he burst out in a fury, "don't you dare to open your mouth and say a word agin the Scarboroughs or I'll kick your doggoned head off. You've got Injun blood yourse'f, if I'm any judge, and I know for a certainty you're going into the Basin to throw in with them dirty, black Bassetts!"

"No, you are mistaken," answered the prisoner firmly. "I'm just looking for a certain party that I know."

"Oho!" exclaimed Red, stooping to feel for his badge, "so we've picked up an officer, have we?"

"No, again," replied the prisoner. "I am looking for a friend, and your quarrels are nothing to me."

"Well, er--who is this friend?" inquired Isham suspiciously, but the stranger shook his head.

"I cannot tell you that, but I give you my word of honor I am not going in to join the Bassetts. And now, if you'll kindly untie these ropes----"

"Don't you think it!" raged Isham, "not after what you did! You murdering black hound, you started to grab your gun and gut-shoot me before I could pull. You're a Bassett gunman and you'll never git past here, so you might as well say your prayers. Come on, Red; let's string him up!"

"Naw, leave him wait!" answered Red impatiently. "I want to keep my eye on that trail. Let's git that other jasper and throw him in here too; and then, if they don't come through, we can hang 'em!"

They withdrew hurriedly and as he listened to their footsteps the prisoner ventured the ghost of a smile. It was very impressive, with the hangman's knot and all, but in spite of their bluster he still doubted their big words and their threats to take his life. And as for this other prisoner--he dismissed him with a shrug and turned to inspect his cell. But as he gazed at the blank walls he heard a scuffle without and the thud of heavy blows, and then a hoarse voice burst out in frightful oaths which were smothered as the struggles increased.

"You ain't man enough!" it roared, suddenly blaring out again. "No, you can't put me in there, the two of you!"