Knights of the Range. Zane Grey

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ of his change to something intimately personal. Holly caught it, and was reining her horse aside when the raider stretched out a long arm and caught her bridle near the bit. “Hold on, my proud Señorita. Suppose you come in the cabin with me where we can have a little private confab about these hosses.”

      “You insolent ruffian! Let go that bridle.” Holly supplemented her sharp words by lashing down with her quirt. The leather thongs cracked on Heaver’s bare wrist. Cursing, he let go in a hurry.

      “You half-breed wench! I’ll——”

      “Heaver, you fool! Look out for Britt!” interrupted the cool dry voice of the raider’s subordinate.

      “Aw, to hell with him! You watch him, Covell. If he winks, bore him.”

      Before Holly could get out of his reach, the raider seized her arm so fiercely that he almost unseated her. The red spots left her cheeks. Suddenly Holly appeared to realize the actuality of brutal affront, if not real peril. She made no move to wrench free.

      “What do you mean?” she demanded, with incredulous amaze.

      “For two-bits I’d pack you off to the mountains,” he answered, thickly.

      “You—wouldn’t dare!” gasped Holly, shocked out of her poise.

      “The hell I wouldn’t!—But I’ll let you off easy. . . . With a little lovin’! Thet proud white face will go red from rubbin’ stiff whiskers. Haw! Haw! . . . Come on. We’re goin’ in the cabin.”

      “No!” she rang out.

      One powerful pull dragged Holly out of her saddle on to Heaver’s hip, but her far foot caught in her stirrup.

      “Britt, stop him!” she cried, struggling frantically. The horses began to plunge.

      In one leap Britt cleared the space between him and Dillon. He snatched the cowboy’s gun from its holster.

      “Open the gate,” he hissed, and with two guns extended low he wheeled to take his only chance. Heaver had hold of the girl and her bridle as well. The black was rearing, and the raider’s horse plunging. Heaver was at a great disadvantage in trying to hold Holly and draw her horse close so he could release her foot from the stirrup. The action of the horses and Holly’s furious struggle to free herself prevented Britt from getting in a shot at the outset of this fracas. He dared not fire for two reasons—fear of hitting Holly, and realization that if he killed Heaver while her foot was caught she would fall and be dragged. Suddenly Holly’s foot came free. The raider swung her clear, evidently oblivious to Britt’s rising gun. But as Britt had three horses between him and Covell he appeared momentarily protected from that quarter.

      “Stop!”

      A piercing command halted Heaver. It even shunted Britt for an instant from his deadly intent. Then from behind Britt and to one side a horse plunged in with screeching iron hoofs that sent sheets of gravel flying. Before he slid to a halt his rider leaped clear and with a single bound confronted Heaver and his men. The rowels of his long spurs kept up a whirling tinkle. This member of Heaver’s band was the striking new-comer whom Britt had glimpsed hanging in the background.

      “Frayne!” expostulated the raider, with a rising inflection of voice that had vast significance for Britt. He knew men. For twenty years he had observed and heard desperate characters of the frontier in meetings that were critical.

      “Let her go,” came the command, in icy staccato notes.

      “Wh-what?” stammered the raider chief, his swarthy face burning dark red.

      “Heaver, you heard me!” Frayne’s lithe form sank perceptibly, but even more significant were the quivering, claw-like hands that lowered as perceptibly over the big blue guns sheathed low on his thighs.

      “My Gawd—Man!—What’s eatin’ you?” yelled Heaver, hoarsely, and his red visage turned a dirty white. He lowered Holly to the ground and dropped her bridle. Hurriedly she snatched it up and dragged the black away out through the gate, where she mounted.

      Heaver leaned forward, shoving his huge sombrero back with nervous hand, showing his hard gray face beaded with sweat.

      “Frayne, you buckin’ me?”

      “What’s the sense of more talk?” queried the other, derisively.

      “But talkin’ is on the cairds,” went on the raider, hoarsely, his voice losing its tremble for a gathering might of rage. “This hyar is the second time you’ve bucked agin me. I’ll allow you had some reason, leastways this time. But I was only tryin’ to scare the gurl.”

      “Liar!”

      “Well, at that I might have hugged an’ kissed her till she swallowed her high an’ mighty talk. . . . What was it to you, anyway? I’ve seen before you was kinda touchy about wimmen. Holly Ripple sort of got you, huh, the pretty black-eyed hussy of a half-breed?”

      “Shut up, you dirty foul-mouthed dog! Miss Ripple is a lady, which is something you can’t appreciate. Leave her out of this.”

      “Hellsfire! . . . Frayne, I’ll allow fer your stand, if you’re so testy over a gurl. But I let her off. An’ you’ll lay off more insultin’ talk—or we’re through.”

      “Heaver, you’re dense. When I called you we were through.”

      “Aha, we air, eh? All right. It’s damn good riddance,” fumed the leader.

      “You’re not rid of me yet.”

      Uncertainty ceased for Heaver. He changed again, not subtly, but with sudden hard realization that the breech was irremediable and something dire hung in the balance. Turning to Covell he cursed him roundly: “—— —— —— ——! This comes of your takin’ on men of his lone wolf stripe. I told you. . . . An’ now, —— —— you! Show yellow or come in!”

      Britt wrenched his gaze from the infuriated Heaver to the man who had opposed him so strangely. In a flash then he caught the drift of events. This Frayne loomed as inevitable as destiny. Seasoned as Britt was, he felt galvanized through with the man’s terrible presence. Among hordes of Westerners, desperadoes, outlaws, he would have been recognized then as one of the few. He epitomized the raw wild spirit of the frontier. His lips curled in a snarl, his white teeth gleamed, his eyes were slits of gray fire. All his features combined to express an appalling power. And Britt had seen that power expended by more than one implacable and unquenchable killer.

      “Frayne—I savvy,” choked out the raider chief, in hoarse passion. “But why you forcin’ me?”

      “I don’t trail with your kind,” replied Frayne, deliberately. “You lied, same as you lied on the other deal. . . . I didn’t like the way you worked on Dillon to make him betray his outfit. We rode out here to steal a bunch of unbranded horses. But that wasn’t enough. When chance threw Miss Ripple in your way, out bristled the dirty dog in you. . . . You insulted her, pawed her off her horse. . . . You would have carried her off . . . leaving your men to fight this Texan. You’d have made your men accomplices in a crime that Westerners never forgive. You’d have put that stigma on me. . . . Now, Bill Heaver, have I made myself perfectly clear?”

      “Per-fickly—clear—Frayne,” СКАЧАТЬ