The Fugitive by Max Brand Read Free Book Online

edge of the marshes. There had been no available funds for bridging the great acreage of soft, drenched land that lay to the landward from the seaport. For that reason, the poor and the proud would all have to cross by this causeway. Only a desperate man or a strong wild beast would venture to leave the road and go by the miasmic jungles. He watched the day brighten and the sun rise. The instant it was above the horizon, it threw warmth as from a campfire into his face. But he pulled his cheap, tall-crowned hat of straw lower over his eyes and watched the road.
    A caravan of mules wound up the way, with shrill oaths coming from the lips of the muleteers. Yonder, the last of the lot, was his friend of the day before, a little more ragged than the rest. However, he was taking payment for his loss out of the hide of his mule. A group of wagons followed. Then, after a considerable time, a party of horsemen, wild fellows bound for the cattle ranges. They rode little ponies as shaggy as dogs, but the brightness of their eyes and the fineness of their legs told Stephen their quality. Still he crouched behind his rocks and watched the procession grow thicker and thicker.
    Presently a group of three stalwarts, well mounted, heavily armed, passed at a moderate pace up the road. It was easy to see, from the glances that they cast behind them, that they were the outposts of persons of importance who followed in the rear. Those persons came now into his view, but, before he knew a human face, he saw the bright body of Christy.
    He crouched lower, like a beast about to spring, and a savage impulse set all his nerves on edge. How beautiful she was, and how true to him. For now, as the procession drew nearer, he saw her pulling back on the rope that led her along. Her neigh rang again and again to him. She was calling for her master, and he knew it as though the call had been phrased in human words. But who were these who had secured her? Perhaps they were persons who were innocent enough and had simply bought her from that trebly dyed villain, the veterinary inspector.
    He saw a tall, gravely dressed gentleman, with the well-groomed mustaches of a Venduran of importance. At his side was a girl, the carriage of whose head was oddly familiar. She came closer—closer—Constancia Alvarez. A thousand plagues light on her lovely head. Innocent? No, she knew the mare as well as she knew him. Now she was turning back and murmuring baby talk to Christy. But the wild mare would have none of her, and it made the heart of Stephen swell with a savage satisfaction.
    Stephen began to calculate chances. If he aimed his leap well, he would be at her side before anyone could mark him. A slash of his knife would sever the rope that tied her, and a bound would place him in the saddle. After that, both his hands would be free for his weapons, for he could guide her by the touch of his knee or the sound of his voice. Once on her back, he was seated on a strong wind that obeyed him like his own thoughts.
    But it would not be easy; it would be far from simple. Behind them came four more men of the rear guard, and two in addition were close beside the mare. All, including the tall father of Constancia, were armed heavily.
    As the fury grew in his mind, he thought of taking careful aim from behind his rock. At this point-blank range, he could tumble them over like the iron ducks that circle around in the shooting gallery—and with a dozen bullets in his two revolvers, how many would be left living from that party at the end of two or three seconds? Constancia and her duenna—and no others.
    However, he checked that furious impulse. He had never fired from ambush before, and he would go to the end of his days without committing such a sin against manhood. Besides, it might not be necessary. One second to reach the mare; another to gain the saddle and cut the rope; another to run her down the road, hurtling through the four men of the rear guard, while