Chapter 22

by Frank Norris

　　Within a month after his departure from San Francisco,Marcus had "gone in on a cattle ranch" in the PanamintValley with an Englishman, an acquaintance of Mr. Sieppe's.His headquarters were at a place called Modoc, at the lowerextremity of the valley, about fifty miles by trail to thesouth of Keeler.His life was the life of a cowboy. He realized his formervision of himself, booted, sombreroed, and revolvered,passing his days in the saddle and the better part of hisnights around the poker tables in Modoc's one saloon. Tohis intense satisfaction he even involved himself in agun fight that arose over a disputed brand, with the resultthat two fingers of his left hand were shot away.News from the outside world filtered slowly into thePanamint Valley, and the telegraph had never been builtbeyond Keeler. At intervals one of the local papers ofIndependence, the nearest large town, found its way into thecattle camps on the ranges, and occasionally one of theSunday editions of a Sacramento journal, weeks old, waspassed from hand to hand. Marcus ceased to hear from theSieppes. As for San Francisco, it was as far from him aswas London or Vienna.One day, a fortnight after McTeague's flight from SanFrancisco, Marcus rode into Modoc, to find a group of mengathered about a notice affixed to the outside of the Wells-Fargo office. It was an offer of reward for the arrest andapprehension of a murderer. The crime had been committed inSan Francisco, but the man wanted had been traced as far asthe western portion of Inyo County, and was believed at thattime to be in hiding in either the Pinto or Panamint hills,in the vicinity of Keeler.Marcus reached Keeler on the afternoon of that same day.Half a mile from the town his pony fell and died fromexhaustion. Marcus did not stop even to remove the saddle.He arrived in the barroom of the hotel in Keeler just afterthe posse had been made up. The sheriff, who had come downfrom Independence that morning, at first refused his offerof assistance. He had enough men already--too many, infact. The country travelled through would be hard, and itwould be difficult to find water for so many men and horses."But none of you fellers have ever seen um," vociferatedMarcus, quivering with excitement and wrath. "I know umwell. I could pick um out in a million. I can identify um,and you fellers can't. And I knew--I knew--good God! Iknew that girl--his wife--in Frisco. She's a cousin ofmine, she is--she was--I thought once of--This thing's apersonal matter of mine--an' that money he got away with,that five thousand, belongs to me by rights. Oh, nevermind, I'm going along. Do you hear?" he shouted, his fistsraised, "I'm going along, I tell you. There ain't aman of you big enough to stop me. Let's see you try andstop me going. Let's see you once, any two of you." Hefilled the barroom with his clamor."Lord love you, come along, then," said the sheriff.The posse rode out of Keeler that same night. The keeper ofthe general merchandise store, from whom Marcus had borroweda second pony, had informed them that Cribbens and hispartner, whose description tallied exactly with that givenin the notice of reward, had outfitted at his place with aview to prospecting in the Panamint hills. The possetrailed them at once to their first camp at the head of thevalley. It was an easy matter. It was only necessary toinquire of the cowboys and range riders of the valley ifthey had seen and noted the passage of two men, one of whomcarried a bird cage.Beyond this first camp the trail was lost, and a week waswasted in a bootless search around the mine at Gold Gulch,whither it seemed probable the partners had gone. Then atravelling peddler, who included Gold Gulch in his route,brought in the news of a wonderful strike of gold-bearingquartz some ten miles to the south on the western slope ofthe range. Two men from Keeler had made a strike, thepeddler had said, and added the curious detail that one ofthe men had a canary bird in a cage with him.The posse made Cribbens's camp three days after theunaccountable disappearance of his partner. Their man wasgone, but the narrow hoof prints of a mule, mixed with thoseof huge hob-nailed boots, could be plainly followed in thesand. Here they picked up the trail and held to it steadilytill the point was reached where, instead of tendingsouthward it swerved abruptly to the east. The men couldhardly believe their eyes."It ain't reason," exclaimed the sheriff. "What in thunderis he up to? This beats me. Cutting out into Death Valleyat this time of year.""He's heading for Gold Mountain over in the Armagosa, sure."The men decided that this conjecture was true. It was theonly inhabited locality in that direction. Adiscussion began as to the further movements of the posse."I don't figure on going into that alkali sink with no eightmen and horses," declared the sheriff. "One man can't carryenough water to take him and his mount across, let aloneeight. No, sir. Four couldn't do it. No, threecouldn't. We've got to make a circuit round the valley andcome up on the other side and head him off at Gold Mountain.That's what we got to do, and ride like hell to do it, too."But Marcus protested with all the strength of his lungsagainst abandoning the trail now that they had found it. Heargued that they were but a day and a half behind their mannow. There was no possibility of their missing the trail--as distinct in the white alkali as in snow. They could makea dash into the valley, secure their man, and return longbefore their water failed them. He, for one, would not giveup the pursuit, now that they were so close. In the hasteof the departure from Keeler the sheriff had neglected toswear him in. He was under no orders. He would do as hepleased."Go on, then, you darn fool," answered the sheriff. "We'llcut on round the valley, for all that. It's a gamble he'llbe at Gold Mountain before you're half way across. But ifyou catch him, here"--he tossed Marcus a pair of handcuffs--"put 'em on him and bring him back to Keeler."Two days after he had left the posse, and when he wasalready far out in the desert, Marcus's horse gave out. Inthe fury of his impatience he had spurred mercilesslyforward on the trail, and on the morning of the third dayfound that his horse was unable to move. The joints of hislegs seemed locked rigidly. He would go his own length,stumbling and interfering, then collapse helplessly upon theground with a pitiful groan. He was used up.Marcus believed himself to be close upon McTeague now. Theashes at his last camp had still been smoldering. Marcustook what supplies of food and water he could carry, andhurried on. But McTeague was farther ahead than he hadguessed, and by evening of his third day upon the desertMarcus, raging with thirst, had drunk his last mouthfulof water and had flung away the empty canteen."If he ain't got water with um," he said to himself as hepushed on, "If he ain't got water with um, by damn! I'll bein a bad way. I will, for a fact."* * * * * * * * * * * * *At Marcus's shout McTeague looked up and around him. For theinstant he saw no one. The white glare of alkali was stillunbroken. Then his swiftly rolling eyes lighted upon a headand shoulder that protruded above the low crest of the breakdirectly in front of him. A man was there, lying at fulllength upon the ground, covering him with a revolver. For afew seconds McTeague looked at the man stupidly, bewildered,confused, as yet without definite thought. Then he noticedthat the man was singularly like Marcus Schouler. Itwas Marcus Schouler. How in the world did Marcus Schoulercome to be in that desert? What did he mean by pointing apistol at him that way? He'd best look out or the pistolwould go off. Then his thoughts readjusted themselves witha swiftness born of a vivid sense of danger. Here was theenemy at last, the tracker he had felt upon his footsteps.Now at length he had "come on" and shown himself, after allthose days of skulking. McTeague was glad of it. He'd showhim now. They two would have it out right then and there.His rifle! He had thrown it away long since. He washelpless. Marcus had ordered him to put up his hands. Ifhe did not, Marcus would kill him. He had the drop on him.McTeague stared, scowling fiercely at the levelled pistol.He did not move."Hands up!" shouted Marcus a second time. "I'll give youthree to do it in. One, two----"Instinctively McTeague put his hands above his head.Marcus rose and came towards him over the break."Keep 'em up," he cried. "If you move 'em once I'll killyou, sure."He came up to McTeague and searched him, going throughhis pockets; but McTeague had no revolver; not even ahunting knife."What did you do with that money, with that five thousanddollars?""It's on the mule," answered McTeague, sullenly.Marcus grunted, and cast a glance at the mule, who wasstanding some distance away, snorting nervously, and fromtime to time flattening his long ears."Is that it there on the horn of the saddle, there in thatcanvas sack?" Marcus demanded."Yes, that's it."A gleam of satisfaction came into Marcus's eyes, and underhis breath he muttered:"Got it at last."He was singularly puzzled to know what next to do. He hadgot McTeague. There he stood at length, with his big handsover his head, scowling at him sullenly. Marcus had caughthis enemy, had run down the man for whom every officer inthe State had been looking. What should he do with him now?He couldn't keep him standing there forever with his handsover his head."Got any water?" he demanded."There's a canteen of water on the mule."Marcus moved toward the mule and made as if to reach thebridle-rein. The mule squealed, threw up his head, andgalloped to a little distance, rolling his eyes andflattening his ears.Marcus swore wrathfully."He acted that way once before," explained McTeague, hishands still in the air. "He ate some loco-weed back in thehills before I started."For a moment Marcus hesitated. While he was catching themule McTeague might get away. But where to, in heaven'sname? A rat could not hide on the surface of thatglistening alkali, and besides, all McTeague's store ofprovisions and his priceless supply of water were on themule. Marcus ran after the mule, revolver in hand, shoutingand cursing. But the mule would not be caught. Heacted as if possessed, squealing, lashing out, and gallopingin wide circles, his head high in the air."Come on," shouted Marcus, furious, turning back toMcTeague. "Come on, help me catch him. We got to catch him.All the water we got is on the saddle."McTeague came up."He's eatun some loco-weed," he repeated. "He went kindacrazy once before.""If he should take it into his head to bolt and keep onrunning----"Marcus did not finish. A sudden great fear seemed to widenaround and inclose the two men. Once their water gone, theend would not be long."We can catch him all right," said the dentist. "I caughthim once before.""Oh, I guess we can catch him," answered Marcus,reassuringly.Already the sense of enmity between the two had weakened inthe face of a common peril. Marcus let down the hammer ofhis revolver and slid it back into the holster.The mule was trotting on ahead, snorting and throwing upgreat clouds of alkali dust. At every step the canvas sackjingled, and McTeague's bird cage, still wrapped in theflour-bags, bumped against the saddlepads. By and by themule stopped, blowing out his nostrils excitedly."He's clean crazy," fumed Marcus, panting and swearing."We ought to come up on him quiet," observed McTeague."I'll try and sneak up," said Marcus; "two of us would scarehim again. You stay here."Marcus went forward a step at a time. He was almost withinarm's length of the bridle when the mule shied from himabruptly and galloped away.Marcus danced with rage, shaking his fists, and swearinghorribly. Some hundred yards away the mule paused and beganblowing and snuffing in the alkali as though in search offeed. Then, for no reason, he shied again, and startedoff on a jog trot toward the east."We've got to follow him," exclaimed Marcus as McTeaguecame up. "There's no water within seventy miles of here."Then began an interminable pursuit. Mile after mile, underthe terrible heat of the desert sun, the two men followedthe mule, racked with a thirst that grew fiercer every hour.A dozen times they could almost touch the canteen of water,and as often the distraught animal shied away and fledbefore them. At length Marcus cried:"It's no use, we can't catch him, and we're killingourselves with thirst. We got to take our chances." He drewhis revolver from its holster, cocked it, and crept forward."Steady, now," said McTeague; "it won' do to shoot throughthe canteen."Within twenty yards Marcus paused, made a rest of his leftforearm and fired."You got him," cried McTeague. "No, he's up again.Shoot him again. He's going to bolt."Marcus ran on, firing as he ran. The mule, one forelegtrailing, scrambled along, squealing and snorting. Marcusfired his last shot. The mule pitched forward upon hishead, then, rolling sideways, fell upon the canteen,bursting it open and spilling its entire contents into thesand.Marcus and McTeague ran up, and Marcus snatched the batteredcanteen from under the reeking, bloody hide. There was nowater left. Marcus flung the canteen from him and stood up,facing McTeague. There was a pause."We're dead men," said Marcus.McTeague looked from him out over the desert. Chaoticdesolation stretched from them on either hand, flaming andglaring with the afternoon heat. There was the brazen skyand the leagues upon leagues of alkali, leper white. Therewas nothing more. They were in the heart of Death Valley."Not a drop of water," muttered McTeague; "not a drop ofwater.""We can drink the mule's blood," said Marcus. "It'sbeen done before. But--but--" he looked down at thequivering, gory body--"but I ain't thirsty enough for thatyet.""Where's the nearest water?""Well, it's about a hundred miles or more back of us in thePanamint hills," returned Marcus, doggedly. "We'd be crazylong before we reached it. I tell you, we're done for, bydamn, we're done for. We ain't ever going to get outahere.""Done for?" murmured the other, looking about stupidly."Done for, that's the word. Done for? Yes, I guess we'redone for.""What are we going to do now?" exclaimed Marcus,sharply, after a while."Well, let's--let's be moving along--somewhere.""Where, I'd like to know? What's the good of movingon?""What's the good of stopping here?"There was a silence."Lord, it's hot," said the dentist, finally, wiping hisforehead with the back of his hand. Marcus ground histeeth."Done for," he muttered; "done for.""I never was so thirsty," continued McTeague. "I'm thatdry I can hear my tongue rubbing against the roof of mymouth.""Well, we can't stop here," said Marcus, finally; "we got togo somewhere. We'll try and get back, but it ain't nomanner of use. Anything we want to take along with us fromthe mule? We can----"Suddenly he paused. In an instant the eyes of the twodoomed men had met as the same thought simultaneously rosein their minds. The canvas sack with its five thousanddollars was still tied to the horn of the saddle.Marcus had emptied his revolver at the mule, and though hestill wore his cartridge belt, he was for the moment asunarmed as McTeague."I guess," began McTeague coming forward a step, "I guess,even if we are done for, I'll take--some of my truck along.""Hold on," exclaimed Marcus, with rising aggressiveness."Let's talk about that. I ain't so sure about whothat--who that money belongs to.""Well, I am, you see," growled the dentist.The old enmity between the two men, their ancient hate, wasflaming up again."Don't try an' load that gun either," cried McTeague, fixingMarcus with his little eyes."Then don't lay your finger on that sack," shouted theother. "You're my prisoner, do you understand? You'll do asI say." Marcus had drawn the handcuffs from his pocket, andstood ready with his revolver held as a club. "Yousoldiered me out of that money once, and played me for asucker, an' it's my turn now. Don't you lay your finger onthat sack."Marcus barred McTeague's way, white with passion. McTeaguedid not answer. His eyes drew to two fine, twinklingpoints, and his enormous hands knotted themselves intofists, hard as wooden mallets. He moved a step nearer toMarcus, then another.Suddenly the men grappled, and in another instant wererolling and struggling upon the hot white ground. McTeaguethrust Marcus backward until he tripped and fell over thebody of the dead mule. The little bird cage broke from thesaddle with the violence of their fall, and rolled out uponthe ground, the flour-bags slipping from it. McTeague torethe revolver from Marcus's grip and struck out with itblindly. Clouds of alkali dust, fine and pungent, envelopedthe two fighting men, all but strangling them.McTeague did not know how he killed his enemy, but all atonce Marcus grew still beneath his blows. Then there was asudden last return of energy. McTeague's right wrist wascaught, something licked upon it, then the struggling bodyfell limp and motionless with a long breath.As McTeague rose to his feet, he felt a pull at his rightwrist; something held it fast. Looking down, he saw thatMarcus in that last struggle had found strength to handcufftheir wrists together. Marcus was dead now; McTeague waslocked to the body. All about him, vast interminable,stretched the measureless leagues of Death Valley.McTeague remained stupidly looking around him, now at thedistant horizon, now at the ground, now at the half-deadcanary chittering feebly in its little gilt prison.