The San Francisco call. [volume] (San Francisco [Calif.]) 1895-1913, 1908-12-13

know that Ford had taken one of the
shorter trails from Copah to the camp
at Horse creek. Bueno! He. Ruiz
Gregorio. could slip across the river
in the dusk when the thing was done,
skirt the headquarters camp unseen,
and present himself a little later at
Senior Frisbie's camp of the track lay
ers, coming, as it were. direct from
Copah, almost upon the heels of Senior
Benson. After that, who could con-
meet him with the dead body of a man
fshed out of a river 90 so, 100 miles
away?
There was a weak link in the chain.
Ruiz Gregorio's childlike plot turned
upon one pivot of hazard-hazard most
likely TO be ignored by so good a
marksman as the man killer One
shot he might permit himself. with lit
tie danger of drawing a crowd from
the mess tent and the sleeping shanties
in the Horse creek camp. Two would
bring the men to their doors. Any
greater number would be taken as the
signal of a free fight needing specta-
tors Hence the first shot must suf-
fee.
The Mexican bore this in mind when,
arriving at his post opposite the camp
in the early dusk, he chose his am
bushing boulder so near the descending
Hill trail that a stout club might have
been substituted for the pistol. The
weather promise WAS for starless
night but the electric arc lights were
already scintillating at their mastheads
in the headquarters railroad yard across
the Pannikin. Later, when the day
light was quite gone and the electrics
were following out a bowl of stark
whiteness in the night, Ruiz Gregorio
wished he had chosen otherwise. The
camp lights shone full upon him and
on the mustang standing with dropped
head at his elbow, and the trail on
the other side OF the boulder was in
shadow.
He was about to take the risk of
moving farther up the hill path to
less exposed lurking place, was hest
tating only because his indolent soul
rebelled at the thought of having to
drag Ford's body so many added steps
to its burial in the river, when the
clink of shod hoofs upon stone warned
him that the time for scene shifting
had passed Pushing the mustang out
of the line of light from the trail he
fiattened himself against the great
rock and waited.
Ford rode down the last declivity
cautiously. for his horses sake. The
trail came out of the hills abruptly,
dropping into the rock strewn river
valley within hailing distance of the
camp. Well within the sweep OF the
masthead lights across the stream, the
boulder strewn fat was as light as
day, save where the sentinel rocks
flung their shadows; and promptly at
the first facing OF the bright electrics,
Ford's horse stumbled aside from the
path and began to take short cuts
between the thick standing boulders
for the river. This was how the Mex
lean, instead of having his victim al a
complete disadvantage, found himself
suddenly uncovered by the flank, eN
posed, recognized and hailed in no
uncertain tones.
Hello, Mattacheco. what are you do
ing here?" Ford had a flashlight pic
ture of the horse standing with his
muzzle to the ground: of the man fiat
tened against the rock. Then he saw
the dull CLEAN of the lights upon blued
metal. You devilr' he shouted; and
unarmed as he was, spurred his tired
beast at the assassin.
Here. then. was the weak link in
Ruiz Gregorio's chain twisted to the
breaking point at the very outset. In
stead of taking a deliberate potshot
at an unsuspecting victim, he was
obliged to face about to fire hastily at
a charging enemy, and to spring MINI
bly, aside to save himself from being
ridden down. The saving jump was an
awkward one it brought him into
breath taking collision with the up
Jerking head of the mustang. When
he had recovered his feet and his pres
ence of mind. the charging whirlwind
had dashed through the shadows of
the Pannikin and a riderless horse
was gathering across the tracks In
the railroad yard.
The Mexican waited prudently to see
what the camp would say to the single
shot: It said nothing; IT might have
been deserted for all the indications
there were of life in it. Ruiz Gre
gorio snapped the empty shell from
his weapon. replacing it with loaded
one and mounted and rode slowly
through the ford. The riderless horse
disappearing across the tracks gave
him good hope that the hasty shot
had accomplished all that a deliberate
one might have.
There was no dead man tumbled in
a heap in the railroad yard as he had
hoped to find. Silence, the silence of
desertion. brooded over the masthead
arcs. Painfully the Mexican searched,
at the verge of the river. in the black
shadows cast by the crowding material
cars. Finally he crossed over TO the
struggling street of the camp, walking
now and leading the spent mustang.
Silence here. too, broken only by the
sputtering sizzle of the electrics. The
huge mess tent was dark; there were
no lights, save in the closed commits
sary and In the presidents car; no
lights, and not man of the camp s
labor army to be seen.
At a less strenuous moment the man
killer would have been puzzled by the
unusual stiffness and the air of de-
sertion AS 1t was, he was alertly
probing the car1ung shadows. The en-
gineer. IL only wounded, would doubt
less try to hide in the shadows in
the railroad yard.
The Mexican left his horse in the
camp street and made an instant search
between and under the material cars,
coming out now and again to stare
suspiciously at the presidents private
, car. standing alone on the siding
directly opposite the commissary.
The Nadia was occupied 1t was
lighted within, and the window shades