Arizona -- Fiction; Love stories; Vendetta -- Fiction; Western stories
He shook hands with them gravely and dropped down into the hole; they
heard him digging, and then he was gone. Bill wriggled out after him,
bellying off through the weeds, and Hall watched from the bottom of the
hole.
Already the evening star was glowing in the west and the dusk gathered
deeper among the trees; every shadow veiled some movement, the very
earth seemed to whisper and the wind rustled by like a snake. He
started and crouched back as he heard a shot up the creek, then three
more and a racing through the brush; but still he held back until,
down towards the south, the night suddenly burst into flame. There
were shouts and loud challenges, a running fusillade that led away
rapidly around the hill; and then, like a shadow, he glided out of his
hiding-place and disappeared in the river-bottom below. A half hour
later, riding a Scarborough horse which he had stolen from its picket
on the plain, he circled around and edged in on the Rock House, where
the dogs were baying like mad.
Along the hillside to the east the fight was still raging, breaking out
after a short silence in a sudden rattle of pistol shots, punctuated
by the bang of heavy rifles. Winchester had carried the war into the
Scarborough camp, and, knowing every man for his enemy, he had set them
all to shooting by the swiftness with which he moved. When they were
not firing at him they were firing at each other; and from the Indian
mound, where he had agreed to meet Allifair, Hall could see that they
were scattered everywhere. Fights were springing up like wild-fire,
only to die down suddenly after a veritable blaze of shooting; and
in his man-hunter's mind he saw the wisdom of Winchester's move in
going among them alone. But he had come to find Allifair and hurry her
away before the Scarboroughs returned from their siege; and, standing
beneath the oak tree, where she could just see him against the sky, he
looked across the creek at the house.
It was dark, except for a dim light in the kitchen, and against the
square doorway he could see women's forms as they hastened to and fro.
And a woman's voice, loud, scolding and insistent, made known the
presence of the vixenish Zoolah. At long intervals, as he listened, he
could hear the voice of Allifair as she attempted some faint defense;
and then Miz Zoolah would burst out afresh as she hurried out to listen
to the shooting.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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