White Wolf's Law: A Western Story
by Hal Dunning · English · Gutenberg #46457 · 375,329 chars · public domain (US)
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Title: White Wolf's Law: A Western Story
Author: Hal Dunning
Release date: July 31, 2014 [eBook #46457]
Most recently updated: October 24, 2024
Language: English
Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/46457
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Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WHITE WOLF'S LAW: A WESTERN STORY ***
White Wolf's Law
A Western Story
_By_
HAL DUNNING
[Illustration]
NEW YORK
CHELSEA HOUSE
PUBLISHERS
------------------------------------------------------------------------
White Wolf's Law
Copyright, 1928, by CHELSEA HOUSE
Printed in the U. S. A.
All rights reserved, including that of translation into foreign
languages, including the Scandinavian.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
CONTENTS
I. APACHES OR LAVA GANG
II. AN UNEXPECTED GUEST
III. KING OF LIARS
IV. SONS OF THE DEVIL
V. THE WOLF SHOWS HIMSELF
VI. THE LAVA GANG IN ACTION
VII. THE SENTENCE
VIII. KIDNAPED
IX. THE MINE FORTRESS
X. A ROMAN BATTERING-RAM
XI. THE ATTACK
XII. THE WAMPUS ON STILTS
XIII. THE MINERS' MEETING
XIV. JIM-TWIN AND JACK-TWIN
XV. THE TRAP
XVI. THE MAIL ROBBER
XVII. THE WOLF FILLS THE JAIL
XVIII. THE LONG TRAIL
XIX. DOT REED
XX. SHORTY TALKS
XXI. CONFERENCE WITH SLIVERS
XXII. ON SQUINT'S TRAIL
XXIII. AN OLD FRIEND
XXIV. THE WOLF CALL
XXV. THE WOLF MAKES HIS KILL
------------------------------------------------------------------------
WHITE WOLF'S LAW
CHAPTER I
APACHES OR LAVA GANG
Death had struck twice on that September afternoon, and two riders
returning to Cannondale had marked the glow from a fire against the
early evening sky.
At first they had mistaken it for a brush fire and had swung their
horses off the trail and headed toward it as rapidly as the going would
permit. The brush was as dry as tinder, and a fire, unless checked,
spelled ruin both to townfolk and plainsmen.
The two riders slid their horses down the shelving bank of a wide
arroyo. After their horses had scrambled up the farther side, it was
"Toothpick" Jarrick who first realized the truth.
"Hey, 'Dutchy,' it's a house on fire!" he cried.
"Sure is!" Dutchy grunted and checked his horse to a trot.
"Get goin'!" Toothpick cried impatiently.
"Not any," Dutchy said shortly. "Lava Gang."
"Yuh sure talk as if words hurt yuh," Toothpick grumbled.
His companion's taciturnity was always a source of irritation to the
tall, lanky cow-puncher, and he lapsed into a sulky silence for a time,
chewing the ever-present toothpick in his mouth, from which he derived
his name.
"Yuh mean maybe the gents they calls the Lava Gang is makin' another
raid, and they may be still hangin' about?" Toothpick asked.
"Yep."
"Why don't yuh open yuhr mouth and let the words come out, instead of
choking yuhrself on 'em, and makin' me explain to myself what yuh aim
to say?" Toothpick asked scornfully.
Dutchy grunted, drew his rifle out of the boot beneath his saddle flap
and balanced it across the pommel.
"If we're goin' to war, I'm sure plenty glad to have yuh along,"
Toothpick grumbled as he followed the example of his companion; "but
yuh sure ain't no gent to relieve the tedium of existence with light
chatter."
Accustomed as they were to the grim tragedies of the border, they were
totally unprepared to find what they did close to the burning house.
There was nothing left save smoldering rafters and bare adobe walls.
Toothpick swung from his horse and quickly extinguished some brush that
had been fired by a spark. Then he gave an exclamation and cried
sharply:
"Hey, Dutchy, come here!"
Dutchy was a grizzled two-gun fighter who, rumor said, had once ridden
"the long trail." He had lived close to the border all his life, yet he
winced when he saw what the white-faced Toothpick pointed out to him.
A scant five yards from the doorway of the house, the body of a man lay
half concealed in the brush. It was mutilated and scalped.
"Apache?" Toothpick queried as he slid a nervous hand to the hammer of
his rifle and cast apprehensive glances into the darkness.
"Maybe so," Dutchy said shortly. "Let's see if we can find any others."
After a short search they discovered the body of a woman near a small
shed. Powder marks on the back of her head told the story. She had been
murdered deliberately--shot at close range.
"Skunks--downed a woman!" Toothpick swore.
"Cussin' never hurt no one," Dutchy growled. He wandered to the rear of
the ruined house and a little later called: "Here's a gent what's got
breath in him."
Toothpick hastened to the side of Dutchy and found him kneeling beside
a middle-aged man who was unconscious. The two cow-punchers dressed his
wound. After a time the man's eyelids fluttered open and he stared at
them with frightened eyes.
"We're friends, old-timer," Toothpick told him. The man sighed with
relief.
"Set fire to house to bring help," the man whispered.
"Well, it come," Toothpick soothed as he forced a little water between
the man's parched lips. "Who done this?"
The man's eyes flashed and he raised himself on his elbow.
"_Le fils du Diable à Cheval--oui_--I knew him----"
The man sank back and grew silent. Toothpick gave him more water.
"Who's the gent yuh knew?" he asked.
"_Le Diable à Cheval._" The man's voice was nothing but a faint
whisper. He sighed and closed his eyes.
"Dable Chaval--huh, that's a hell of a name," Toothpick grumbled.
"Reckon we'll have to wait until he comes to again. Will he live?"
"Certain--then he'll talk." Dutchy was positive.
"When he does I'm aimin' to start gunnin' for the gent what murdered
that woman," Toothpick cried savagely.
"Me, too," Dutchy said quietly.
They covered the wounded man with a blanket and once more continued
their search of the surrounding bushes. Fifteen minutes later, just as
they had decided there was nothing more to be found, a voice hailed
them from the darkness.
"Hey, Dutchy, what's goin' on here?" the voice asked.
At the sound of the summons, both Toothpick and Dutchy instinctively
leaped for cover. Recognition of the voice brought them to an abrupt
halt.
"Huh, it's the sheriff," Toothpick said with a shamefaced grin.
Dutchy nodded and lowered the hammer of his rifle.
Three riders materialized from the darkness and entered the circle of
light cast by the smoldering ruins. Tom Powers, the sheriff, came
first. He was followed by his deputy, "Silent" Moore, and Sam Hogg, a
wiry little man of fifty.
Tom Powers was a slender man of thirty. His face was gaunt, bony, and
burned a brick red by the sun. At first his face looked hard, but his
deep-set blue eyes told the character of the man. There was no hardness
there, only force. He cast one quick glance at Dutchy's grim face and
sensed the tragedy.
"Where's the Courfays?" he asked.
"Scattered about." Dutchy waved his hand.
Sam Hogg was good-natured and was forever cracking jokes. He now joined
in.
"You two boys sure scattered yourselves when you heard us shout," he
said, chuckling. "You acted skittish, like a pair of heifers just out
of school."
A second later his mirth came to an abrupt end when he saw the sheriff,
who had dismounted, kneel beside the body of the mutilated man. He
swore excitedly and joined the sheriff.
Toothpick briefly told what he knew of the tragedy. He led them first
to the body of the woman, then to where the unconscious man lay. The
man was muttering in delirium. The sheriff kneeled beside him and
listened, but after a moment he arose to his feet and shook his head.
"Can't catch a word. I know him, though--he was a brother of the woman
over there and came from across the border to visit last week," the
sheriff explained.
"He was talkin' when we----" Toothpick began, but Dutchy brought his
words to an abrupt halt by kicking him in the shins.
"Somebody comin'!" Dutchy warned in a low voice.
They listened and heard the noisy hoofs of a pair of horses and the
crunching of wheels. A minute later two men in a buckboard drove up.
The sheriff and Sam Hogg walked forward to greet them. Dutchy drew
Toothpick aside.
"Some day yuh'll dig yuhr grave with yuhr tongue," he growled. "Don't
tell no one that that gent talked to us private."
"But he didn't say nothin' I could understand," Toothpick protested.
"Maybe the Lava Gang wouldn't believe yuh," Dutchy said grimly.
Judge Ransom, one of the two men in the buckboard, climbed out and
listened gravely to what the sheriff had to say. He was a man of
fifty-five, with the face of a scholar.
"Who's that jasper?" Dutchy demanded as he nodded toward the buckboard.
"With the judge?"
"Yeh."
"Gent named Bill Anderson. He's the new political boss around here,"
Toothpick explained.
The man was in his forties, of medium height, and stockily built. He
had a round, apple-cheeked face and a jovial manner--one of those men
whom others like on sight and hail as a boon companion. Yet a close
observer might have detected something about the eyes that seemed to
contradict the first impression.
"He rides around with the judge a hull lot," Toothpick explained
further. "Why for did yuh ask?"
"Knew a gent what looks like him once," Dutchy muttered, with his eyes
still watching Anderson, "twenty years ago."
"Then it can't be him."
"Might have been his father," Dutchy grunted.
They walked toward the others and arrived in time to hear the judge ask
them:
"Who do you suppose did this?"
There was a moment of silence which was broken by Bill Anderson.
"I was over in Arizona last week, and the papers were talking about
some renegade Apache who were raiding along the border. Maybe they have
worked up this way," he suggested.
"Maybe so," the sheriff said doubtfully.
Silent Moore, the sheriff's deputy, carefully examined the mutilated
man for a moment; then, for the first time since his arrival, he opened
his lips.
"I've fit the Apache--'tain't their work," he said.
"Nonsense, man, it's impossible to tell," Bill Anderson exclaimed, and
the others, with the exception of Toothpick and Dutchy, were inclined
to agree with him.
"Greasers did that work--Apaches would have tracked down the man out
there and killed him, and they would have used a club on the woman,"
the deputy insisted stubbornly.
"Sure yuh're right," Sam Hogg cried with an oath. "White men or devils
started in to make it look like Injuns--got scared before they finished
and run for it."
"The Lava Gang!" Toothpick cried excitedly. "Judge, where's 'Snippets'
and Mary?"
The judge's face went white as he whispered: "You--you mean that letter
from _them_?"
"Yeah, but where are the girls?" Toothpick asked again.
"They're safe. I took them over to visit Sam Hogg's wife at the Frying
Pan Ranch this evening. Bill and I were coming back when we saw the
fire."
Toothpick relaxed and uttered a sigh of relief. The Lava Gang sometimes
stole girls for ransom and held them across the border.
"What's this--what letter?" the sheriff asked sharply.
"You all know that I am to preside at the trial of Pete Cable for
murder, which takes place a week from to-day. Last week I received a
warning signed by the Lava Gang, saying if I did not see that Cable was
acquitted, some terrible thing would happen to me."
"What did yuh do with the letter?" the sheriff demanded.
The judge shrugged. "I tore it up."
"You are not going to pay any attention to the letter?" Bill Anderson
asked curiously as his eyes searched the judge's face.
"I intend to see justice done," the judge replied firmly.
Bill Anderson pursed his lips and whistled soundlessly. The others
turned and frowned at him. He smiled apologetically.
"No offense, judge. I was admiring your courage. If, as you seem to
think, the Lava Gang did this, I would stay in after dark," the plump
politician said.
"To blazes with the Lava Gang! We'll have the whole bunch in jail
before the trial is finished," Sam Hogg exploded.
Bill Anderson lit a cigarette, then smiled.
"You have to catch them first."
"We'll do it."
Sam Hogg spoke positively, but somehow his words brought cold comfort
to the judge.
Some fifteen miles to the southwest there was a great barren waste of
lava rock. The Lava Gang had received their name from the fact that
after each raid their trail was lost on the smooth slopes of the lava
fields. No one knew a single member of the gang. It was suspected that
they had their real headquarters in Cannondale. They were as elusive as
ghosts. The thought that a member of the gang might be present at that
moment made the judge grow thoughtful.
Sam Hogg growled like an angry terrier.
"If we don't trail 'em to-morrow, I'll send for that little hellion,
'Jim-twin' Allen. I'm bettin' he'd trail 'em. I hears he's better than
a bloodhound."
Bill Anderson laughed.
"He'd probably throw in with the Lava Gang himself."
"Him? Not any!" Toothpick snorted. "He wouldn't have no truck with
hombres what steal girls. He'll come a-runnin' and a-shootin' if I
tells him about it."
"Fairy tales," the judge snorted.
"You tell him to come, judge, and watch his smoke," Toothpick pleaded.
"A judge ask help from an outlaw who is wanted for murder in a dozen
States?" Anderson laughed again.
"You gents stop gabbin' and help me get this hombre in the buckboard,"
the sheriff called.
A bed of blankets was made on the floor of the wagon, and the
unconscious man was lifted in.
"Mr. Anderson, yuh drive him easy to town," directed the sheriff. "An'
if he starts talkin', yuh listen hard, 'cause I got a hunch that hombre
will sure tell us a heap more about the Lava Gang than we knows now."
"I'll certain listen if he starts talking," Anderson replied. He
climbed into the buckboard and picked up the reins. Dutchy watched the
team until it vanished in the night.
"I'd sure like to know where I seen that gent before, an', if I ain't
seen him, who does he remind me of?" Dutchy muttered to himself.
Silent Moore was sent to town to gather a posse. The judge called
Dutchy aside and whispered an order to him. Dutchy was known as a
deadly fighter and a man who could be trusted.
"Dutchy, I want you to ride to the Frying Pan Ranch, and I don't want
you to let my daughter or Snippets out of your sight until this is
over."
The grizzled puncher mounted his horse and galloped off. The others
remained.
Toward morning Silent Moore returned with the posse, and at the first
streak of dawn they took up the trail of the murderers. For a time it
led due south toward the Mexican border; then it headed sharply to the
west, toward the lava fields. Here the trail was lost.
The lava fields were a maze of smooth slopes, abrupt ridges, and deep
depressions. For seventy miles they roughly paralleled the border. And
in all that expanse of rock there was no sign of verdure, save only an
occasional cactus.
The posse scattered and searched for the trail. The sun blazed down and
turned the desolate place into a furnace. The hunters were grim men,
not easily turned aside. The sun baked them, they suffered from the
lack of water, but they continued to search.
Toward noon, "Ace" Cutts, with five of the judge's riders from the Bar
X Ranch, joined the search. The men dismounted and climbed the jagged
slopes. They cut their hands and tore their boots on the knifelike
edges of the lava rock.
The sun rose past meridian. The rocks and sand were too hot to touch.
All that day the men of the posse continued their search, but found
nothing. At last, toward evening, they realized their hunt was in vain.
Beaten, baffled, they gathered for the return trip to town.
"Yuh figure Jim Allen could track those devils?" Tom Powers asked of
Toothpick.
"Sure could," the lanky cow-puncher replied.
The sheriff reined in his horse. "Then if yuh know where he is, go get
him."
Toothpick was about to answer when he saw Ace Cutts and three other
riders were closely watching him. He remembered Dutchy's warning. He
decided to remain silent. If he sought out Jim Allen, it would be well
not to let people know it. He shook his head.
"The little devil is like a flea--no one knows where to find him," he
declared. The remark seemed plausible enough.
They were close to Cannondale when another of the judge's riders joined
them. The lathered flanks of his pony told of a hard ride. He swayed in
his saddle as he sought out his boss.
"Judge, they jumped us an' downed Hank and Bill. They got me in the
shoulder----"
"And those two hundred two-year-olds?"
The judge knew the answer even before he asked the question.
"They run 'em off."
Judge Ransom gripped his saddle. No one there realized what this meant
to him--financial ruin. The Lava Gang had made good their threat.
The sheriff had hoped that the wounded man they had found the night
before would be able to identify one of the murderers. But this hope
was dashed when he met Bill Anderson as they entered the town.
"That poor fellow," Anderson told him, "got one of his bandages loose
and bled to death. I never heard him move, but he was dead when I got
to town."
The sheriff, followed by Toothpick, hurried to the doctor's house,
where they were shown the dead man.
"Toothpick, yuh helped do him up; look them bandages over," the sheriff
said.
After a brief examination Toothpick straightened, caught the sheriff's
eye and nodded.
"I ain't no match for sneaks. If yuh know where to find him, go fetch
Jim-twin Allen!" the sheriff cried passionately.
"Yuh might tell folks I've gone north to see my mother," Toothpick
warned.
CHAPTER II
AN UNEXPECTED GUEST
In spite of the fact that Cannondale was the county seat, and that it
had also the advantage of being on the transcontinental railroad, it
had always remained just a cow town.
Main Street, little over a block in length, was the business center. It
was paralleled by Madison and North Streets. Madison was given over to
one or two boarding houses, a few cottages, and many empty lots. North
Street was closely lined with Mexican shacks. State and Depot Streets
intersected Main.
The town had three hotels, two large, combination dance-and-gambling
halls, and ten smaller saloons. Of the gambling halls the Red Queen was
far the most pretentious. Located in the center of the block on Main
Street, it was really the hub of the whole town.
On the day before the trial of Pete Cable for murder the Red Queen was
doing a land-office business, for Dame Rumor had been busy, and it was
freely predicted that there was bound to be trouble at the trial.
Just what form this trouble would take no one seemed to know, but a
murder trial, with the added attraction of a possible jail breaking or
lynching, was sufficient to send every able-bodied man within riding
distance scurrying into town.
Thus, on this occasion, every hotel was full and the hitching racks
along Main Street were lined with horses and buckboards; crowds milled
about the courthouse, surged in and out of saloons, gathered in hotel
lobbies and in the street, drank, sang, and excitedly discussed the
coming trial. The general opinion was that Pete Cable would hang. In
spite of this, however, odds were offered freely in the Red Queen that
the accused man would be acquitted.
In the late afternoon, "Tad" Hicks, "Windy Sam," and "Kansas" Jones,
three Frying Pan punchers, rode into town. They tied their horses to
the hitch rack of Moe's Emporium and went across the street to the
Comfort House. They pushed through the crowd at the bar and shouted for
a drink. But, having thirstily downed that, they refused a second round
virtuously. They had been ordered by their boss, Sam Hogg, to remain
sober until after the transcontinental train arrived. Now they
swaggered down Main Street; and as they passed the Hogg Hardware Store,
run by Sam's brother, its owner greeted them.
"Howdy, boys. This town's so durned full of strangers, and I'm so glad
to see a gent what I know, that I'll buy yuh a drink," Jim Hogg said
heartily.
"Yuh're durn right. She's so full of strangers I don't know her," Windy
agreed.
"An' they is all bad-lookin' hombres," Kansas said. Suddenly he was
struck with an idea and he added hopefully: "Do yuh reckon there's
anything in this talk about the Lava Gang bustin' up the trial
to-morrow?"
"Hello, Toothpick, you ole hoss thief!" Kansas hailed a passing rider.
Toothpick Jarrick pulled in his pony and edged it toward the sidewalk.
The pony's head drooped; its coat was rough with dried sweat and dust.
Its rider's genial, grinning face was streaked with grime; dust covered
his jeans. Both he and the pony bore evidence of having come far and
fast that day.
"'Lo," he greeted. "Mr. Hogg, ain't yuh afraid of being seen with three
mutton eaters like them jaspers?"
"Howdy, Toothpick. Hit the ground and have a drink," Jim Hogg invited.
Toothpick shook his head and turned his horse into the street again.
"Where yuh been all week?" Windy asked.
"Me? Fellow, I've been playin' the messenger of destiny." Toothpick
grinned over his shoulder as he headed his horse toward the livery
stable.
"Darn idiot!" Jim Hogg spluttered as the four lined up at the bar of
the Lone Star. "I'm plumb sick of this here mystery. My brother Sam is
packin' a gun under his vest and another on his hip. The sheriff is
nutty with worry, an' if yuh ask him anything he looks sick and scared.
Tough hombres drift into town, and the sheriff gets him more deputies.
I hear gents betting the judge don't dare come back to town, and now I
hears he's due to arrive. I'm bettin' Sam sent yuh boys to town to help
guard him when he comes in."
"Safe bet," Windy admitted, "for he sure enough told us plain to stay
sober and meet him at the depot."
"Why for, did he tell yuh? Not any!" Jim Hogg continued his complaint.
"Yuh can't talk natural without some gent sayin', 'Hush!' Toothpick
disappears and comes back an' says he's the 'messenger of destiny.'
What in blazes did he mean by that, and where's he been for the last
six days? Lava Gang! Why, this town is gettin' so scared it's going to
drop dead of heart failure, an' if yuh ask some one what he thinks, he
looks over his shoulder and says, 'Hush.' Maybe yuh boys knows what
it's all about."
Windy put his finger to his lips, looked over his shoulder, then
whispered: "This here town is goin' to have its sins wiped out, like
Sodom an' Gomore."
"Yuh dang fool!" Hogg spluttered.
Here the bartender cut in. "I ain't boastin' that I knows anything, but
I've kept bar all over this here territory, an' I'm tellin' yuh I never
see so many tough gangs gathered together as they is in this town. Hell
is sure goin' to pop."
"Why? How? When?" The irate little storekeeper shot out his questions
like a machine gun. "What makes yuh think so?"
"Feel it in my bones," the bartender hedged mysteriously.
They left the bar and headed toward the station.
The arrival of the Limited was a big event in Cannondale, and a large
group of loafers always watched it hurl itself across the prairie and
come to an impatient stop at the little station. On this night the
three riders found nearly a hundred people lounging there. Sam Hogg was
walking up and down impatiently and talking to Tim Lynch, owner of the
Lone Star Saloon. The three punchers found perches on a baggage truck,
rolled their cigarettes, and looked about for some one to annoy.
They saw Toothpick and the sheriff whispering together in the shadow of
the freight house, but the lanky cow-puncher was too quick on the
come-back for their taste, and Sheriff Tom Powers was touchy these
days, so they continued to search for easier prey. Tad Hicks jerked his
thumb toward Dutchy and Silent Moore, leaning against the wall.
"Wish I'd thought of tellin' Jim Hogg to go question them hombres," he
grinned.
The others chuckled and then grew glum at this lost opportunity, for
Dutchy and Silent had the reputation of being morose and taciturn.
Mrs. Ransom, the judge's wife, her daughter, Mary, and Snippets
McPherson strolled by.
"Howdy, ladies," Kansas called.
Mrs. Ransom nodded, Mary giggled, and Snippets smiled.
"Hello, boys," she cried. "Kansas, when are you going to bring me over
that dun horse to break for you?"
Kansas flushed and the others guffawed. The week before, the said dun
had set him afoot ignominiously, where he had been found by Snippets.
"Never mind, Kansas. I was only funnin'. I know your cinch broke,
'cause I found your saddle," she added contritely.
"Now, yuh darned tadpoles, will yuh believe what I tole yuh? Yuh know
darn well _that_ girl don't lie!" Kansas cried. He gazed after Snippets
gratefully, for, if the truth be known, his cinch had not broken; that
had been his alibi for the greatest disgrace that can happen to a
puncher--to have a broken horse throw him and leave him afoot.
"She's sure a swell gal," Tad Hicks said admiringly.
"She's more like a fellow than a gal, an' she sure rides like one,"
Windy agreed.
The three women passed on down the platform. When they reached
Toothpick and the sheriff, Snippets stopped and stared at the tall
cowboy.
"Why, Snip," Mary giggled. "Are you in love with Toothpick? You're
blushing."
Snippets did not heed her. When Toothpick failed to see her she plucked
at his sleeve.
"Toothpick?" Her greeting was a question.
The lanky cow-puncher swung about and snatched off his hat. He had
known Snippets ever since she was a child. Then he had worked for her
father up North.
"'Lo, kid," he greeted.
"Did yuh see him?" she asked in an eager whisper.
"See who?" Toothpick feigned ignorance.
"Don't tease. You know," she pleaded.
"Yuh can spill it to her," Tom Powers said as he went over to join Mrs.
Ransom and Mary.
"Yeh, I seen him," Toothpick told the girl.
She waited for him to go on. Her dark eyes, wistfully eager, were fixed
upon him.
"I goes to El Crucifixo, like yuh tells me to," drawled Toothpick. "An'
I'm tellin' yuh I seen there a million dollars' worth of outlaws,
'cause a gent down there ain't known socially unless he carries a
thousand, dead or alive. I ambles into the Palace Saloon, and the gents
look hard at me, an' that bunch can sure look hard. A couple slid up to
me and ask me bluntlike who I am. I tell 'em quick I'm huntin' Jim-twin
Allen. At that they eye me different. Then I spots Jim sittin' at a
table by his lonesome, and I calls him. He's darned glad to see me. Fie
tells those hard hombres I'm his friend, and they get soft, pronto."
His deliberation irritated the girl.
"But is he coming?" she demanded impatiently.
"Sure is."
Snippets' eyes lighted with joy.
"I tell him about the Lava Gang, and he won't come. Then I tell him yuh
want him to come, and still he refuses. He gets sorta bitter an' says
he ain't no cow-thief catcher--that's his brother Jack's job. I plead
with him and tell him how your uncle's in danger. He says he's not
comin' up here to help your uncle hang a man. By accident I tell how
the Lava Gang now and then runs off gals across the border fer ransom
and how they murdered that Courfay woman. At that he says quicklike
he'll come a-runnin'."
"When is he coming?" she asked quickly.
He shook his head. "I dunno."
"And when you told him I wanted him to come, he wouldn't?" she asked
softly.
"Positively not," Toothpick said bluntly.
Another question trembled on her lips, but her eyes clouded and she
turned away, leaving it unsaid. Toothpick called to her.
"Yuh know why he refused," he grumbled. "Yuh know darn well Jim Allen
is an outlaw and hasn't a Chinaman's chance of being pardoned. He'd be
a hell of a fellow if he came to see a girl like yuh. But I'll tell yuh
this: He talked a heap about yuh and made me promise I'd tell yuh he
was no good, an' that he thought yuh was only a fool romantic gal what
thinks yuh like him' cause he's the famous 'White Wolf.'"
"That's not true, Toothpick," she said quietly.
"Sure, I knows," he told her.
"It's not the Wolf I like, but----"
"Sure, you and me and Dutchy is the same. We likes the kid, Jim Allen,
what blubbers about his hosses." Toothpick twirled his hat to hide his
emotion.
"It's a damned shame!" he exploded. "Just the same, kid, yuh want to
forget yuh ever see him and marry some nice tame gent."
"Like you, Toothpick?" she asked, smiling.
"Me?" Toothpick grunted. "Not any! I knows yuh too well. Yuhr tongue is
too darned sharp. It keeps a man hoppin' all the time. Come on! Here's
the train."
The Limited rose from a far murmur to a rasping, grinding rush of sound
and roared to a stop, grumbling, sputtering, like some great steel
animal suddenly foiled in its rush through the prairie night. Within
the lighted cars, passengers turned in casual curiosity to look at the
station throng. But, contrary to its usual custom, that throng did not
return the stares. For once interest was not centered on the Limited
itself; all eyes were turned toward one man as he descended alone,
slowly, with dignity. He faced the curious eyes calmly as he greeted
his wife and daughter.
Erect, distinguished with his white goatee and the broad black hat that
shaded sincere gray eyes, by no gesture did he betray excitement. And
yet he knew that, of that crowd, almost every one knew his
difficulties, knew why he had gone to the capitol, were avidly curious
about the outcome of the visit, and were even more on edge concerning
the trial to-morrow.
Cannondale knew that the judge had been in financial straits ever since
the Lava Gang had stolen two hundred of his steers. He had tried
unsuccessfully to get his notes renewed at the local bank; finally, he
had made this trip to the capitol, where he had friends. But there,
also, failure stalked him. His ranch was in debt, and it was hinted
that his political position was none too secure.
Rumor said the judge had incurred the antagonism of the Mexican vote
and would not be re-elected. How this story had reached Washington he
did not know. But of the two banks where he was best known, one refused
outright to make a loan and the other postponed it until the judge was
forced to leave for Cannondale to preside at the murder trial. Vaguely
he suspected that the tentacles of the Lava Gang stretched even into
the furthermost political and financial centers. As he boarded the
train for home he resolved to fight the gang to the end, whatever that
end might be.
No trace of emotion, beyond pleasure at seeing her, tinctured the
greeting kiss he gave his wife; no hint of the sword above their heads.
Yet one glance at his eyes told the kindly, white-haired little woman
that their difficulties were still unsolved. She pressed his hand in
the comforting reassurance of her own courage and understanding.
His daughter Mary gave him a resounding kiss and a cheery "Hello, dad."
The family troubles had as yet only vaguely affected Mary; they had not
toned down her treble giggle nor her natural nineteen-year-old interest
in the arrangement of her blond curls. Snippets, though a year younger,
was far more seriously concerned than Mary, because she understood
better the gravity of the judge's situation.
The conductor waved his lantern, the engine snorted response, and the
Limited slid majestically past the spectators. At its rear there
trailed a smoking car. As this drew abreast of the station platform,
the door banged open and a husky brakeman appeared, dragging a small
man by the scruff of the neck. The brakeman seized his victim by the
collar and, catching him by the seat of the pants, he heaved him
outward.
The small man rolled head over heels, to the spectators' howls of
mirth. He fetched up at the feet of the judge and his friends.
"You darned drunken hobo, it takes money to ride on this train," the
brakeman bawled as he shook his fist at the forlorn figure.
The little man stumbled to his feet and disclosed a dirty face largely
obscured by blue glasses. His trousers were too large and bagged at the
waist. His threadbare coat hung in tatters. A battered bit of felt
draped his head in the semblance of a hat, and one toe protruded from
an overlarge shoe. He clinched a grimy fist and shook it after the
jeering brakeman.
"You mutton face! Just you dare come back here, and I'll give you a
licking so your mother won't know you!" he cried shrilly.
His futile rage, his puny fists, brought another gale of mirth from the
onlookers.
As if stirred by the laughter, his rage mounted, and he lapsed into
shrill abuse mixed with oaths. Toothpick seized him by the shoulder and
shook him.
"Hey, you little runt, there's ladies present," he warned sharply. "Get
out of here, pronto!"
He gave the hobo a rough shove that sent him staggering. The small man
gave one glance at the tall Toothpick and limped forlornly up the
platform.
"Poor fellow!" Mrs. Ransom fluttered after the tattered figure. Even in
her own troubles she pitied this scarecrow of a man. "Why did they
throw you off the train?"
He paused, then drew down his mouth and whined to gain her sympathy.
"I bought me a ticket to Chi--that's Chicago--where I live, ma'am. Me
muvver is sick. That feller stole my ticket and guv it to a friend,
then threw me off."
Mrs. Ransom struggled between the contrary emotions of pity and common
sense. She knew the story was not true, yet he was so forlorn and
hungry looking. Pity won.
"Here's a dollar. Go buy yourself some food," she said. Then, struck
with an idea, she added sternly: "Promise you won't drink it up."
The tramp straightened up.
"Me, ma'am?" He was all injured innocence. "Why, ma'am, I never touch
the stuff."
The crowd chuckled. Tom Powers snorted disgust. He seized the man's arm.
"What's yuhr name?" he snapped.
The hobo glanced at the star on the sheriff's coat and tried to slink
away. Pinioned by the heavy hand, he cowered as if he expected a blow.
"Mister, I ain't done nothin'. I'll get out of town on the first
train," he pleaded.
"You got until to-morrow afternoon to do it," warned the sheriff.
As the hobo slunk away the three Frying Pan riders looked after him
longingly. He was an ideal mark for their humor. Sam Hogg sensed their
longing.
"It's all right, boys," he said. "You can go along now. Looks like they
ain't goin' to be no trouble here, after all. Not right now, leastways."
As one man the three humorists started after the scarecrow. Mrs. Ransom
bristled to his protection.
"You bullies!" She shook a warning finger. "If I hear of you tormenting
that poor little fellow, I'll--well, I'll be angry."
"Huh, ma'am," Tad Hicks stuttered. "We wa'n't thinkin' of doin'
nothin', nohow."
"We figured we'd take him to dinner with us-all," Windy added with
defensive genius.
Mrs. Ransom shook her head, smiling, as they joined the hobo. They
towered above him--a tatterdemalion dwarf between three guardsmen.
She rejoined her husband. The sheriff nodded, and the judge and his
family moved toward their home. Ransom was flanked by two deputies and
further protected by Silent and Dutchy, who brought up a grim rear
guard.
Snippets turned back and ran to Toothpick.
"Thank you for protecting me from that man," she smiled, teasing.
"Huh?" Toothpick queried dumbly.
"Oh, you men! How dumb you are!" She stamped her foot. Then, on tiptoe,
she delivered a quick kiss on the nose of the astounded Toothpick and
ran to rejoin her party.
Toothpick stared after her. He felt gingerly of his nose and scratched
his head.
"She meant somethin' by that. But what was it?" he asked himself, and
gave up the answer.
CHAPTER III
KING OF LIARS
Tad Hicks, Windy Sam, and Kansas Jones, out of sight of the depot
platform, seized the little hobo's arms and dragged him willy-nilly
behind a saloon.
"Yuh promised yuh wouldn't drink up that cartwheel Mrs. Ransom guv
yuh," Tad Hicks reminded him.
"Aw, get out and leave me be," the hobo said truculently, with an
evident attempt at bravado.
"What's that?" Windy roared as he tightened his grip on the arm.
The hobo's truculence vanished, and he whined: "Nothin'--where we goin'
to eat?"
They led him to a Mexican eating house on Depot Street, where they were
joined by Toothpick. Having planked their charge in a chair and ordered
food, they settled back to have a little fun with the victim.
"What's yuhr name?" Windy Sam commenced.
"Jim Anson. What's yours?" the hobo asked.
"Windy Sam, now----"
The man called Jim Anson interrupted him.
"Is you called that because you talk too much, or because what you say
don't mean nothin'?" he asked innocently.
"Ha-ha!" the others exclaimed, and dug the red-faced Sam in the ribs.
One after the other they plied him with questions, but his answers
always left them floundering. He had a way of turning a thrust into a
boomerang. He did this with such a guileless, cringing air that they
were never sure whether he was secretly laughing at them or if his
answers were accidental. Before the meal was over he had them grinning
at his absurd tales. In spite of themselves they listened, absorbed,
and momentarily almost believed what he said.
"Rise up, liars, and salute yuhr king!" Toothpick shouted.
For a moment there was a change in the hobo's face. The fawning
expression was replaced by a broad, lovable grin that made the
punchers' hearts warm toward Jim Anson. Toothpick started. For a moment
he studied the hobo's face, saw the fawning smile there again, and
shook his head.
The five adjourned to Maria's Cantina, on the corner of Depot Street.
Jim Anson insisted that the first drink was on him and ordered it in a
loud voice. Another followed and another. Toothpick chuckled when he
saw that, while Jim Anson always ordered the drinks, one of the three
riders paid for them.
All the while Jim Anson asked them questions in such a way that they
never realized they were being pumped. He turned on Toothpick and
skillfully ferreted from him the story of the murder of the Courfay
family two weeks before.
"When we got there they was all dead, except one gent what says: 'Fees
do dible chable' which I figures is French." Toothpick rambled on with
his story, but Jim Anson was not listening.
"_Fils du Diable à Cheval_," he muttered to himself. "Sons of the Devil
on Horseback. Gosh!"
A little later "Mac" Kennedy, an Eastern dude, sauntered in. Jim Anson,
after studying him a minute, turned to the others.
"Who's that gazebo all dressed up like a Christmas tree?" he asked.
"He's a white-livered dude," Windy snorted contemptuously.
"He comes out here about three months back and says it's for his
health," Kansas elaborated. "Buys the Bar X, a little runt of a ranch
what backs up against the lava fields."
"He don't look yellow," Anson said meditatively.
"He is, though. Plumb yellow, from the neck down and feet up," Tad
Hicks hiccuped.
Ten minutes later Bill Anderson stepped into the _cantina_. He
hesitated for a moment when he saw the group at the table; then he
nodded to them.
"Boss in the back room?" he asked of Maria.
"_Si_, _si_, señor."
Anderson walked quickly to a door in the back, glancing over his
shoulder at the five at the table. Apparently they were too interested
in themselves to note his actions. Quietly he passed through and closed
the door after him.
Jim Anson insisted on buying one last drink here, despite his comrades'
urging to try the liquor elsewhere. Maria brought the drinks. Kennedy,
the dude laughed as he watched them. He leaned over the bar and
whispered something to Maria, then left the _cantina_.
The cow-punchers began to sing, and the woman came forward and ordered
them to leave.
"All right, we'll go," Jim Anson said with drunken dignity. He
staggered to his feet and swayed toward the rear door. He turned the
handle and kicked it open. It led to a storeroom.
"That's not the way, stupid." The woman gave him a violent shove after
the others. He grinned drunkenly at her and staggered out.
About ten that evening Bill Anderson swung in at Judge Ransom's gate
and knocked at the door. When he and the judge were comfortably
installed in easy-chairs before a fire, he looked squarely at Ransom.
"What are you going to do about the trial to-morrow?" he asked bluntly.
"My duty," the older man replied with equal bluntness.
"Judge, don't think I'm asking you to do anything else," Anderson added
quickly. "You know I'm not in politics for my health. When I came here
a couple of years ago, every one was at odds. The leaders of the party
were fighting among themselves. I'm not flattering myself when I say
that all stopped when I took hold. Judge, you understand that I'd soon
lose my leadership if I nominated men who were not elected."
The judge had hoped against hope that Bill Anderson would back him
because of his record, even if the Mexican vote was against him. He was
sure, if he could get the nomination, he would be re-elected. Now his
heart sank.
"Let's be frank, judge. If you insist on bearing down too heavily in
the trial to-morrow, you lose the Mexican vote, and, much as I want to,
judge, I don't see how I can propose you for renomination."
The judge pulled thoughtfully at his goatee. For the first time since
he had known Bill Anderson, he detected a certain sinister quality
beneath his bland air of good fellowship.
"But, Anderson, this Pete Cable isn't a Mexican," he said.
"That's not the question," Anderson replied. "For some reason the
Mexican vote is interested in him. Now, why not be sensible? Go easy at
the trial. Cable was drunk, he made a mistake and killed this
Easterner. Other men have killed in this town and gotten away with it.
Why not be reasonable? Remember, you are not being asked to do anything
dishonorable. All these people ask you to do is to sit quiet--to do
nothing."
"You ask me to do nothing--nothing but pervert justice," the judge said
quietly.
The political boss' good nature and blandness dropped away. A stranger
to the judge stood before him, with a face that was hard and cruel.
"This house is mortgaged, isn't it?" Anderson snapped.
This hit home, for the place was mortgaged to the hilt, and the notes
were due the following month. Ransom paled, but his eyes were steady as
he gazed into Anderson's granitelike brown ones.
"Is that a threat?" he asked.
"Only a reminder," Anderson said savagely. The next moment the judge
heard the front door slam, and he was alone.
Slowly he paced the floor. He and his wife had struggled for his
present position, for this home. What sacrifices she had made to allow
him to finish law school, and through the years of poverty that had
followed his graduation! Little by little, after that, came success,
until recently they had dreamed of the time when he would go to
Washington, a United States senator. All that rosy future had seemed
assured--until last month.
Now, not only the future, but the present, might be wiped out. Their
savings were wasted; his hope of reëlection crumbled; their home would
go next. All because of a murder trial with its mysterious
ramifications. There would be no college for Mary, no ease in old age
for his wife.
Rebellion and temptation seized him. What right had he to bring ruin on
his family? All he had to do was to let events take their course, as
Anderson had directed. His credit would be good once more; his dreams
of Washington might come true. Back and forth he walked and struggled
with the devils of temptation.
A door opened gently, and Snippets stood before him.
"Uncle," she said softly, "I heard. I couldn't help it."
"You heard?" he said, and his voice was harsh. "Then what shall I do?
Ruin my wife and child?"
"No. Make them proud of you," she said firmly.
The judge's face cleared, and he smiled. "Thank Heaven for you, my
child," he said. "You're right. That's the one thing I must do."
Anderson left the judge's house in a high rage, but the moment he was
in the open his anger gradually left him, and he was once more his
cool, calculating self.
"That's the first time I lost my temper in nine years," he told
himself. "Now what's to be done? First thing to-morrow I've got to see
the judge and apologize. I guess I better go and talk it over with my
dear brother. How pleased he would be if he knew I'd lost my temper!"
He laughed and strode briskly down Main Street toward the Red Queen.
Across from the Lone Star he saw Toothpick, Tad Hicks, Windy Sam, and
Jim Anson, staggering along, arm in arm. They had left Kansas asleep at
the Lone Star. Anderson waved at them; he was once more the politician.
"Come on, boys, I'll buy you a drink," he called.
They staggered after him into the Red Queen and lurched against the
bar. The place was filled with shouting, singing men. The back of the
long bar shone ornately with polished glasses, mirrors, colored
bottles, and other glittering paraphernalia.
Anderson ordered the drinks, and his four guests drank thirstily, with
profuse thanks. He nodded to them, told them he would see them later,
and pushed his way through the milling crowd toward the gambling room.
Unseen, Jim Anson slipped through the crowd in his wake.
The gambling room of the Red Queen was on the left of the dance hall.
Here Francisco Garcia, the owner, could be found on any night. The
Toad, as he was called by some, but always behind his back, acted as
lookout for a big game. He sat on a raised platform between the two
faro tables. He was so powerfully built that he looked squat despite
his height. Heavy jowls, thick lips, and protruding eyes relieved the
monotony of his full-moon face. His swarthiness hinted at Mexican
blood. Garcia himself never carried a visible weapon; he relied on his
two paid killers for protection--"Yuma Kid" and "Baldy" Flynn. And
because his enemies had a strange habit of disappearing or ending
violently, he was more feared than any other man along the border.
Bill Anderson, with Jim Anson, still unnoted, at his heels, sauntered
to the table and watched the play for a moment. Then he smiled to
Garcia.
"Having a big game?"
The Toad grunted.
"I wanted a word with you, but to-morrow will do." Anderson turned away.
Jim Anson, that ubiquitous hobo, flopped drunkenly at a near-by table.
From beneath his tattered hat brim he studied the gross Mexican and the
two killers who lounged against the wall behind him. "Gosh! The Devil
on Horseback," murmured Anson to himself. "And he had four sons! Horned
lizards. Rattlers. Coyotes, mixed up with tiger and Spanish bull."
He wandered out to the dance hall, staggering; yet, strangely enough,
when a bully struck at him, he seemed to float away to escape the blow.
His comrades at the bar were now noisy and riotous with drink.
"I'd sure like to see some of this money that's bein' bet that Pete
Cable won't get his neck stretched," Windy announced to the world.
"Yuh wanta see it? Take a look at this." A wad of bills dropped on the
bar. The three punchers swung about to stare at the money and at the
man with the high, cackling voice who had produced it.
They met the toothless leer of old Baldy Flynn. Behind Baldy lounged
the Yuma Kid, twenty-one-year-old, two-gun killer. The Kid's pale eyes
met theirs, and his two buck teeth shone in a menacing sneer. Most men
could easily whip the narrow-chested Yuma Kid in a hand-to-hand
encounter, but he did not fight that way; and he was feared along the
border.
Baldy and the Kid, Garcia's two hired slayers, were inseparable. They
were bound together by the bond of skill with a Colt and by their
unscrupulous cruelty, despite their varying characters. The Yuma Kid
seldom talked, never laughed, and never drank. He avoided quarrels,
save for profit. Baldy, on the contrary, loved his liquor, his own
jokes, and above all loved to quarrel with those who failed to laugh
with him.
Toothpick realized that he and Windy stood no chance against these two
killers; he knew their reputation. Yet the bar was crowded; people were
listening and were already commencing to shuffle to one side in the
hope of a fight.
"Yuh gents is talkin' loud. I'm bettin' yuh my roll that Pete don't get
his neck stretched," Baldy cackled.
Toothpick saw the menace in the killer's eyes, and it sobered him. He
tried to gather his scattered wits. He glanced at his friends and saw
that they were incapable of action. Tad Hicks, with drooping head,
clung to the rail of the bar. Toothpick knew that Baldy would push the
affair and try to force Windy to take water. This, no matter what the
consequences, Toothpick would not permit; certainly not, with that
crowd of spectators all watching and listening. Windy had been a fool;
Toothpick would have to use his wits to get him out of it. He chose his
words carefully.
"That roll of yallerbacks sure makes me hungry like a coyote, 'cause
it's three days to pay day," he said, grinning. Both he and Windy moved
to the left. If it came to gun play, their right hands would not be
hampered in the draw.
Baldy cackled derisively again. He turned to the hushed bystanders and
grinned. Out of the tail of his eye Toothpick saw Jim Anson squirm
through the crowd toward them.
Baldy spoke slowly and raised his voice: "Gents, I'm askin' yuh to step
up an'----"
_Boom!_ A Colt roared behind Toothpick. Like flashes of light, guns
leaped into the hands of Baldy and the Yuma Kid.
"What the hell?" snarled Baldy.
Toothpick swung about and saw Jim Anson looking foolishly at a smoking
Colt on the floor.
"Darn it!" the hobo wailed. "The durn thing was loaded."
He looked so foolish as he stared at the gun that the crowd rocked with
mirth, but Baldy spat like a wild cat.
"What did yuh expect, yuh bum?" he shrieked.
Tad Hicks had been aroused from his sleep by the shot and stared
stupidly at Jim Anson.
"When yuh guv it to me, yuh didn't say it was loaded," Anson stuttered
reproachfully.
Tad held out a wavering hand and picked up the gun.
"Kick that hobo out o' here," cried Baldy. Hands seized Jim Anson and
sent him spinning to the sidewalk.
Jim Anson disposed of, Baldy turned again to Toothpick and Windy; but
before he could speak, Bill Anderson shoved his way to the bar between
the killer and the two riders.
"It's right kind of you, Baldy," he remarked.
"Huh?" Baldy blinked with surprise. "What yuh mean?"
Bill Anderson looked at him blandly.
"Didn't you say, just as that fool hobo learned that guns are loaded:
'Gents, I'm askin' you to step up and name your poison'? There's your
money on the bar."
The crowd chuckled and moved a step closer to the bar. Anderson,
without waiting for a reply, called to the bartender:
"I'll take straight whisky for mine."
After one look into Anderson's eyes, Baldy grinned ingratiatingly.
Toothpick and Windy decided that discretion was the better part of
valor. Dragging Tad Hicks with them, they slipped out of the bar.
"Huh!" Windy complained, as the cool air refreshed him. "I was lit up
considerable, but now I'm plumb sober."
"Me, too. Baldy scared me sober," Toothpick agreed. "I'm goin' to buy
that hobo drinks aplenty, 'cause he sure stopped Baldy from hurtin' my
feelings."
"Sure did. But I'm tellin' yuh that Bill Anderson is some nervy hombre,
runnin' in on a sidewinder rattler like that toothless old ape. Folks
says he's a grafter, but I'll vote for a coyote, if he tells me to,
just because he made that Baldy draw in his horns," Windy confided.
Toothpick did not reply. He was puzzling out an answer to a riddle. Why
had Baldy backed down, when Anderson confronted him? He left Windy and
Tad Hicks at the Lone Star and then went to look for Jim Anson.
"That little runt sure saved my reputation, an' he can have half of my
bed, even if he is a dirty little tramp," he told himself.
He wandered about, searching bar after bar. At last he discovered the
hobo asleep in Maria's. Before him on the table stood a half-empty
bottle. Toothpick shook him awake. However, Anson refused to move until
they had finished the bottle. Toothpick was agreeable because he was
now stone sober. They had emptied the bottle when, to their surprise,
Anderson stepped out of the back room. His face clouded when he saw
them.
"Darned good of yuh, Mr. Anderson, to steer Baldy away to-night,"
Toothpick called.
Anderson smiled genially.
"That's nothing. Is that the little bum who just discovered guns are
loaded?" he asked.
Toothpick nodded.
"Who is he?"
"A hobo what got hisself thrown off the train this evenin'."
Anderson called good night and left. The moment he was gone Jim Anson
grasped Toothpick's arm and staggered out with him. To better support
the drunken hobo, Toothpick slipped a hand beneath his armpit. He
jerked the hand away suddenly.
"Say, who are you?" he demanded. "Yuh got a gun there in a shoulder
holster, and yuh made believe yuh didn't savvy guns."
The hobo dropped his stagger and stood erect.
"Where's my hosses, Toothpick?" he asked softly.
Toothpick jumped; the whine had left that voice, and he knew it now.
"Gosh! Jim-twin Allen!" he whispered.
Allen laughed.
"Huh! That's what Snippets meant by callin' me stupid," said Toothpick.
"Yuh sure got everybody fooled except her."
"Maybe so," Allen said indifferently. "I give the brakeman five bucks
to throw me off that train."
The two rode together out of town toward the lava fields.
"Why for did yuh watch Anderson at Maria's to-night?" asked Toothpick.
"'Cause I was plumb curious to savvy why Anderson went in that back
room and come out with straw on his boots. Is there a stable in that
block?"
"Yeh. They's one behind the Red Queen."
"Thought so," Allen grunted sleepily.
CHAPTER IV
SONS OF THE DEVIL
By eight o'clock the following morning, every seat in the courtroom was
taken; men crowded the aisles and perched on the window sills. At eight
thirty the sheriff closed the doors and refused to allow any more to
crowd in. Exactly at nine Judge Ransom stepped from his house and
walked slowly down Main Street toward the courthouse. As he passed
State Street, Dutchy and Silent Moore stepped up and followed him. The
judge did not look back, but he knew they were there. He quickened his
pace, for their presence reminded him forcibly of his danger.
The crowd before the Red Queen grew silent as the judge approached. He
nodded to several friends on the porch of the Comfort Hotel, as he cut
across Depot Street toward a small door which led to his chambers. At
his knock it was opened by the sheriff. The judge and his two shadows
passed in, and the door was locked behind them.
A few minutes later he entered the courtroom and took his seat on the
bench; outwardly he was calm, inwardly he twitched with nervousness.
The prisoner was brought in, the charge was read, and the trial was on.
Pete Cable, a big brute of a man, grinned insolently. The judge
realized with something of a shock that, in spite of the prisoner's
pale skin and American name, he was a Mexican; he understood now why
the Mexican vote would be against him in the next election.
The Honorable J. T. Williams, the defense lawyer, had been imported
from Washington at great expense. He towered over Bill Herrick, the
little prosecuting attorney, who was obviously nervous and frightened.
The judge wondered if Herrick, too, had been threatened, and, if so, if
he had weakened.
Tom Powers had seen to it that there was no chance to fix the jury. He
had collected his panel only the night before, and no man knew he was
to serve until given a summons, when he was straight-way conducted to
the jail and locked up in a large room.
From the first it was apparent that Williams sought delay. He did all
in his power to make the trial drag and to encumber it with
technicalities. He offered objection after objection, forced the judge
to rule on a fine point of law at every opportunity.
One by one the jurymen were called, and Williams challenged them
peremptorily. He had no idea of the size of the panel called by the
sheriff and hoped to force him to call another. If he were successful,
the defense would not be caught napping again and would see that among
those called there were several who would bring in a verdict of
acquittal, no matter what the evidence.
But by late afternoon Williams saw his challenges mostly used up, and
still there was no sign of the end of the panel. The jury box was full
before the court adjourned for the day.
The judge was thoughtful as, followed by his two shadows, he walked
home that evening. The die was cast; he had clearly shown that he was
in the camp of justice. He refused to think of the consequences.
Bill Anderson was waiting for him when he arrived at his house. The
political boss apologized for losing his temper the evening before. His
regret appeared so sincere that the judge almost forgot that momentary
flash he had seen of the man's real character.
A little later Mac Kennedy and Ace Cutts arrived. Kennedy was a
frequent visitor at the house and a great favorite of Mrs. Ransom's.
Ace Cutts was a sleek-haired young fellow of twenty-three, who went in
for flashy clothes and handmade boots. He had full charge of the Bar X,
and the judge had brought him up as his own son, although he had never
adopted the boy legally. At times Ace's wildness bothered him. Now Ace
drew his foster father aside.
"Look here, dad. Why lean over so straight you fall over backward? Be
sensible. Take things easy. They can't possibly acquit Pete Cable. Why
not work things to have a hung verdict? Then you grant a new trial. You
can be in Washington, and another judge will hang him."
"I'm sorry to hear you talk like that, my boy," the judge said severely.
Ace flared up.
"Rats! It's sense. They'll break you," he cried angrily.
"Ace, come on, if you're going to dinner with me!" Kennedy called
sharply.
Kennedy said good night to the judge and departed, followed by the
sulky Ace.
The judge watched them thoughtfully. He wished Ace would get control of
that temper; he said foolish things when he was angry, and people might
misunderstand him.
About ten that night Toothpick and Jim Allen arrived back in town. All
day they had lain flat on their stomachs, under cover of brush, and
watched the lava fields with a pair of powerful binoculars. Now they
had circled the town and entered it from the north.
Toothpick went to the jail, where he held a long, whispered conference
with the sheriff. Powers' expression changed from surprise to delight
as he listened. Allen went to Maria's cantina. He staggered as he
arrived, but he had money to pay for a bottle, so Maria allowed him to
remain. He chose a table close to the rear door; here he drank the
first bottle and called for another. He was halfway through this when
Dutchy and another man entered. They argued drunkenly for a time, and
ended in a fist fight.
A table and a chair crashed over. Maria screamed. She left her bar to
stop the fight and assailed the two men with furious words. They
mumbled and staggered out. When she returned to the bar she looked
about for Allen; he had vanished. Puzzled, she stared about for a
moment, then shrugged her shoulders with indifferent indolence.
Allen had slipped, under cover of the fight, out of the back door. He
found, as he expected, another door beyond, that led from the storeroom
into a path. This, in turn, led to an alley, which cut the block in two
and was lined by shacks, little better than hovels. Directly opposite
from the intersection of the path and the alley lay a corral.
"That's where Mr. Anderson got straw on his feet. He comes by that
narrow alley so he won't have to go by them greaser shacks, 'cause, if
he did, they might talk. Let's see what he comes for." Allen chuckled
to himself.
He removed his blue glasses, took a Colt from his shoulder holster, and
tucked it inside his belt. Then he flitted across the alley and ducked
under the corral bars, silent as a ghost. He crossed the corral to a
wall on the farther side. Music within told him that this was the rear
of the Red Queen Saloon. There was no door here, so he slipped over to
the barn and examined that. He passed the double doors that led to the
stable. Beyond these he found a small door which was locked. He
recrossed the corral, slipped under the bars, and tiptoed down the
alley toward Depot Street. In one or two of the shacks there were
lights, and once he passed two slovenly Mexicans seated in a doorway.
They called to him, but he hurried by.
Back on Main Street he fell into his rôle once more, staggering and
singing softly to himself. He peered through the doors of the Red
Queen, not daring to enter, because of the danger of being thrown out.
Yet if he found Anderson, he had a plan that he thought would reinstate
him in the Red Queen. He waited until several men clattered in to the
bar and slipped in after them. He ducked through into the dancing hall,
unseen by the bartenders. By good luck he found Anderson watching a
poker game. He plucked his sleeve.
Anderson scowled at him.
"Say, mister," he whined, "don't let that sheriff jug me. They tell me
you're a good guy that don't kick a guy just 'cause he's down on his
luck."
Several other men who heard the hobo's appeal looked curiously at the
tattered figure and laughed.
"You just stick in here, an' Powers dasen't come in after yuh," one of
them said.
"But them gents out front will give me the bum's rush," the hobo
complained.
Anderson grinned good-naturedly. "I've been down on my luck myself. Tom
Powers can't touch you, if you have a job."
The hobo drew back suspiciously.
"I ain't very strong, mister."
Again the others laughed, and the political boss smiled.
"I wasn't thinking of anything that would hurt your health," he said.
"How about doing odd jobs about the Red Queen?"
Anderson went over to the Toad and talked to him for a moment. The Toad
grinned and assented. Allen had known there was no love lost between
Anderson and Tom Powers, but, even so, things had worked out better
than he had hoped. Now he was hired as handy man about the Red Queen.
He took up his new duties on the spot. And between errands he kept his
ears open.
"Ace is sure shootin' 'em high to-night. I bet he's lost over a
thousand," he heard a man say.
"It must come easy to him, because he lost more than that last night,"
another laughed.
Allen wandered over to the poker table. Ace Cutts' face was sullen. Ace
was a poor gambler, for he became angry and forced his luck. He bluffed
wildly and tried to outdraw the other players. Allen watched his chips
melt away until the last one was gone. Ace leaped to his feet and went
over to Bill Anderson.
"I'm busted, Bill; let me have five hundred," he demanded.
Anderson's face grew flinty, his eyes hard.
"And you'll pay me back out of the sixty a month the judge gives you,"
he said with a harsh laugh.
Ace Cutts' dark face flushed; his eyes grew stormy. He leaned forward
as if to whisper something, but Anderson turned away. Ace glared at
him, then jammed on his hat and went out to the bar.
"Where the hell does he get his money?" some one asked Anderson.
The political boss shrugged.
"Maybe he signs the judge's name to papers," he suggested.
The other nodded. But Allen was not satisfied with this explanation,
for he knew that Anderson knew the judge was broke. A little later he
walked out of the Red Queen and headed toward the Ransoms' house. As he
passed it he whistled softly, then stopped in the shade of some bushes
a little farther on. There he was joined by Dutchy.
"That was sure a realistic scrap yuh pulled in Maria's," Allen said by
way of greeting.
"Yuh got what yuh was after?" Dutchy asked.
Allen nodded. They whispered together for a few minutes, until
Toothpick rode up and dismounted. Without a word he handed his bridle
to Allen, who mounted and trotted down the street.
"Damn the little cuss! Why doesn't he tell a fellow what he's doin'?"
Toothpick said irritably.
"So yuh can tell the folks in the Red Queen about it?" Dutchy was
scornful. "I'm bettin' he'll find a way through them lava fields."
The following morning, when court opened, the room was again packed.
The judge took his seat, and the first witness took the stand. The
prosecuting attorney, visibly upset, began the questioning. It was
apparent at once that the attorney had been "fixed"; he might as well
have been the defending lawyer, for he asked only questions that were
favorable to the prisoner. The witness looked disappointed when he was
excused. He had had something to tell and had not the chance to do it.
He had been asked many questions, but none of importance.
Another witness took the stand, and the district attorney followed the
same tactics. The judge saw Williams frown. The local attorney was
making the thing too obvious. The jury glanced at one another and
whispered among themselves. But this witness was a pugnacious Irishman,
and when he was excused he refused to leave the chair.
"Ain't yuh goin' to ask me if Oi seen Pete Cable down that dude?" he
roared.
The district attorney paled. He glanced appealingly toward Williams.
Before he could determine on a line of action, the foreman of the jury
decided to question the witness himself.
"Did yuh see the prisoner down that dude?" he asked.
"Shure Oi did. The dude was skeered stiff whin Pete yanked out his gun.
Pete said deliberate: 'Oi'll learn yuh to call me a card cheat.' Thin
he plunked the dude twice in the stomach."
Williams shouted: "I object!"
The spectators began to move restlessly and mutter in low tones. The
judge hammered on his desk. When silence was restored, he overruled
Williams' objection.
The district attorney met the belligerent eye of the foreman; he sensed
the angry restlessness of the spectators. He was between the devil and
the deep sea. A coward at heart, he yielded to the present menace. He
had started this trial crooked, but he would have to finish it
straight. Instantly he did a right-about face and changed his tactics.
He called witness after witness, and his questions were now keenly
edged.
When the prosecution rested, not a man in the room would have taken the
short end of a thousand to one that Pete Cable would not hang. The
straight stories of those witnesses seemed already to have placed the
rope around his bull-like neck. Confidence had left even the prisoner;
pasty yellow mantled his usually red face.
Williams did what he could; he called witnesses who flatly contradicted
the first evidence, but under cross-examination they floundered and
contradicted themselves. By five o'clock the rival attorneys asked time
to prepare their summing up, and court adjourned.
That night the district attorney made a wise decision; he slept in the
jail. And two deputies reënforced the judge's usual escort of Dutchy
and Silent.
Late that night Allen attacked the mysterious little door in the barn
with a large variety of keys. It gave at last, and he slipped inside. A
ladder led to a hayloft, and he went up. He had no light and fumbled
for many minutes before he found another door in the farther end of the
loft. More key manipulation and it, too, yielded. Cautiously he crept
along the short hall beyond and listened at the door at the end.
"I've done all I will to save that fool," an unfamiliar voice rasped.
"He's your brother." Allen knew that heavy guttural. It belonged to
Francisco Garcia, the Toad.
"You and he are alike. You lose your temper and kill," the other man
replied.
Allen searched his memory. Where had he heard that voice? At the risk
of missing something he hurried to the door at the other end and
listened. If any one came in through the barn he would be caught like a
rat in a trap. Five seconds later he was back again, straining his ears.
"We'll talk about that when he comes," the unknown man said. "We have
got to start a clean-up pronto. It's our only chance. We got to get
these gents out of the way." He read a list of names, which Allen
carefully noted. When the man had finished, he added: "Jim Allen's in
town!"
"The Wolf!" A chair crashed as the Toad leaped up.
"Skinny saw him and those grays of his over near the lava fields," the
other added. "Skinny's downstairs waiting."
"_Dios!_ The man who killed our father!" the heavy voice of the Toad
cried.
"There's two people in town who may know where he holes out--Toothpick
and that girl Snippets."
"Then we have to----"
Like a flash Allen slipped back along the hall. Already his exit was
barred! A blurred figure stood at the top of the ladder. He waited,
knowing that whoever it was had seen him in the shadows. The figure
vanished behind a post.
"Francisco!" the man called. "There's some one out here."
The inner door to the room was flung open, and Allen heard a voice bawl
for Baldy and the Yuma Kid. Noiselessly Allen circled the post which
hid the man. He was within five feet of the square hole which led to
the floor below when he heard steps pounding upstairs as the two
killers answered the call of their boss. He picked up a board and
hurled it across to the opposite wall; he knew that the man behind the
post would look instinctively in that direction. He leaped for the
trapdoor. He plunged through before the man had time to turn and fire.
Allen landed on his feet, agile as a cat. The outer door was blocked
now by another man. A Colt roared, and the door was empty. Allen
slipped through the corral bars.
He ran down the alley and five minutes later entered the Red Queen. He
was once more the hobo as he slouched into a chair where he could watch
the door that led into the Toad's private quarters. He considered his
discoveries. He had learned that there was another brother mixed up in
this affair. He would see to it that Toothpick was sent out of danger
and that Snippets was guarded. He had a suspicion as to who this other
brother was, but no proof. As a matter of fact, he had no proof of
anything. He would have to get that, and there was very little time to
be lost.
Fifteen minutes later the Toad, followed by his killers, entered. Allen
waited for some time and then decided that the unknown man had left the
barn by the back way. Shuffling, with his hands thrust deep in his
pockets, he went to the bar. Here he had a couple of drinks, which, as
usual, went, not down his throat, but into the cuspidor.
He staggered out to the sidewalk and commenced to sing. As he neared
the jail Tom Powers came out and seized him by the arm.
"I told yuh I'd run yuh in if I caught yuh again," he cried, and, to
the amusement of several spectators, he dragged the cursing little hobo
to the jail door. When this was closed behind them the sheriff released
Allen's arm and led the unresisting tramp into his own private office.
"I'm glad to meet yuh, Mr. Allen," the sheriff said as he studied the
tattered figure opposite him.
Allen grinned.
"We sure worked that pretty. Yuh got to keep me in jail a couple of
days. I found the way through them lava fields, and I want to see where
it goes to, so I'm lightin' out for there to-night, and I don't reckon
I'll be back until after to-morrow."
"And the people over in the Red Queen will think yuh're in jail," the
sheriff chuckled. "A good alibi."
"I suppose yuh want to learn what I found out. Maybe yuh recollect a
hombre what used to hang out along the Texas border about seven years
ago what called himself '_le Diable à Cheval_?'"
"Yuh betcha--and he was some devil, too," the sheriff said.
"He used to steal girls over the border and hold 'em fer ransom," Allen
went on. "I followed the gent--the Devil on Horseback--for near a
month, then I ketched him and downed him."
The sheriff stared.
"He had four sons by four wives, and all four sons is right here in
town. One of 'em ain't far from us here."
"You mean Pete Cable?" the sheriff demanded.
"Sure. That's why the other three are raising such hell to keep Pete
from stretching hemp. I betcha yuh could guess another if yuh thinks
hard enough."
Without a moment's hesitation the sheriff answered. "The Toad! An' I'd
say I knew the third if he weren't white."
"Didn't I tell yuh they had different mothers?" Allen grinned.
"Then Anderson did fix those bandages!" the sheriff cried with an oath.
"Who's the fourth?" he asked.
"I ain't got no idea--don't even know what he looks like. But I did
hear once that a gent in Texas who was called 'Cupid Dart' was a son of
the Devil."
"The two-gun sheriff and bad man?"
"The same."
Briefly Allen told the sheriff about the death list he had heard the
unknown man read out in the secret room.
"Two nights from now yuh have Tim Lynch, the Hogg brothers, Doc
Robinson an' yourself meet me at the judge's, an' I'll have somethin'
to tell yuh," he promised. "An' yuh can warn them gents that the bunch
they calls the Lava Gang is goin' to down 'em, 'cause if they can get
the judge's crowd out of the way, they can run things as they choose.
With Anderson controllin' the white vote, and the Toad the greaser
vote, they'd sure break this country wide open and plenty. Yuh and yuhr
friends be careful."
The sheriff shook his head. As yet they had no proof against their
enemies. Yet there was something in the matter-of-fact way Allen spoke
that made him hope their difficulties would be over soon.
"Yuh got a back door here?" Allen asked.
The sheriff led him to the small door that opened into a vacant lot
behind the jail.
"Yuh tell Dutchy not to let Snippets out of his sight," Allen gave his
final warning. He vanished into the night.
Scarcely had the door closed on him when some one pounded on the front
door. The sheriff opened it to an excited news bearer.
"Some one knifed Doc Robinson," gasped the man.
The sheriff called two of his deputies and ran to the doctor's house.
The doctor had been knifed in bed. No one had seen the murderer come or
go.
With a sick feeling, the sheriff remembered Allen's story of the fatal
list. He left the deputies in charge and went to warn the others of
that death list. Each took it seriously and quietly, with the exception
of Jim Hogg, who sputtered and insisted he had a right to know who was
going to attack him and why.
"I don't know who, but the why of it is because yuh're an honest man,"
Tom Powers told him.
The sheriff found Dutchy in his usual place before the judge's house.
When the sheriff gave him Allen's message his only reply was a grunt of
reassurance.
CHAPTER V
THE WOLF SHOWS HIMSELF
On the following day, about eleven o'clock, a great shout went up from
the crowd before the courthouse. The jury had brought in a verdict of
first-degree murder against Pete Cable.
On Thursday night, after dinner, Tim Lynch, the Hogg brothers, and the
sheriff met in the judge's house. They had been there but a short time
when Ace Cutts, followed by Anderson, strolled into the room. The
sheriff frowned when he saw them, but he realized that it would be
better to keep them here now than to allow them to go away. They must
suspect something about the gathering.
"Dad told me that little fake, Jim Allen, was coming here to-night, so
I thought I'd drop in and look him over," Ace said sneeringly.
Sam Hogg bounced to his feet. "You promised to tell no one!"
"Ace is really my son, and it just slipped out," the judge apologized.
He looked sternly at Ace. "You kept your word?"
"Sure thing. Bill, here, never heard a word about the Wolf until we
came in here," Ace replied.
"That's true, gentlemen," Anderson corroborated him.
The sheriff doubted both of them. He considered swiftly. He could not
reach Allen now and warn him not to come. Dutchy had gone downtown. If
he himself left to find Allen he might miss him. Better to remain here
and help the Wolf when he came.
Bill Anderson regarded the waiting circle sardonically. "I've always
been curious to see Jim-twin Allen," he said. "You'll forgive me if I
mention that an alliance between a judge, a sheriff, and an outlaw has
its humorous side."
"You're quite right," said the judge thoughtfully. "But if he can help
us we are justified in allying ourselves with him."
"If he was the devil and could lead us into the lava fields I'd follow,
hanging onto his tail," said the sheriff.
"If what I hears is true, that he can follow trail like an Apache or a
bloodhound, I'm bettin' he can lead us through them lava fields," Sam
Hogg cried warmly.
"You fellows are wastin' your time," Ace Cutts put in. "He ain't got
nerve enough to come here."
"Yuh mean he ain't big enough fool to come into a town filled with
gents what is longin' to plug him," Jim Hogg corrected.
"Call it that if yuh like."
"I am afraid I agree with Ace; whether it is fear or caution which
keeps him away, he won't come to-night," the judge said heavily.
"He will come, because he said he would," affirmed a girl's voice.
Snippets had entered the room in time to hear the last remarks.
Anderson laughed tolerantly. "That sounds like a schoolgirl's
admiration for Robin Hood."
"Robin Hood--huh! Allen's rep is made by fools, girls, and old men,"
Ace snapped. "I'm tellin' yuh he ain't no good and he won't come. And
we're wasting our time not havin' a rider beatin' it to Texas to get
Cupid Dart, the gent I was tellin' you of."
His words held a word of hate. The other men looked at him curiously.
Jim Hogg scratched his head. The judge looked questioningly at the
others.
"I think Ace is right," Bill Anderson said judiciously. "We have all
heard of Cupid Dart. Why not send for him? Even if Allen does come, it
is a question if we can trust him."
"Trust him? Of course you can't trust him! He's a bushwhackin' killer,
who kills men by shootin' them in the back. I know men who have seen
him do it." Ace's face was pale with rage.
"Why do you hate him?" the girl asked quietly.
"Because you are a sorta cousin of mine, and I hate to think of you
having truck with a man like him," Ace replied bitterly.
"I have no truck with him; I have never heard one word from him since
the day he rode away after saving my father. He told me then that
friendship between a girl like myself and a man like him was
impossible."
The girl's face was flushed. In spite of herself her voice trembled.
But her eyes were steady as she looked into Ace's angry brown ones.
"Darn it, the girl's in love with the little runt," Sam Hogg whispered
to his brother. He went over and placed an arm about the girl's
shoulder.
"Ace, yuh got Allen wrong," he said defensively. "When I was in the
Rangers and he hung out in Texas, I chased him plenty. And he had the
rep then, among bad hombres, of bein' square. An' I don't believe he
killed any gent what didn't need killin' bad."
"Only men who fear him hate him," the girl said softly.
Ace Cutts took a step toward her, but Anderson grasped his arm.
"You fool!" he exclaimed in a whisper.
His back was toward the others. His lips formed a sentence that could
be read only by Ace. The young man nodded sullenly and made an effort
to recover his composure.
"When he comes," Snippets said anxiously to Tom Powers, "remember you
promised there will be no shooting."
"Are you scared I'll drop your hero?" Ace jeeringly asked.
"There's going to be no gun play," Tom Powers cut in sharply.
"Make him give you his word," she insisted.
The worry in her voice was apparent to all. Ace was triumphant.
"I promise you I won't----" he began.
Sam Hogg read the reason correctly for the girl's anxiety and he
interrupted sharply.
"Yuh idiot! She ain't scared for the Wolf. But she's worried that
yuh'll make a fool play so's the Wolf will have to drop yuh before the
judge."
Ace Cutts jeered and slapped his holstered gun. The little cattleman
looked meaningly toward Tom Powers, who nodded, crossed to Ace Cutts,
and slipped the gun from its holster. Snippets smiled gratefully at the
grizzled ex-Ranger. Ace Cutts lapsed into sulky silence.
Then a noise at the rear of the room made them turn. The door that led
to the kitchen swung open. Just outside the doorway stood a shadowy
figure. It moved forward into the lamplight.
"You bum, what you doing here?" Jim Hogg rasped.
The newcomer was the hobo they knew as Jim Anson.
"Howdy, gents," he said. "Yuh sent for me?"
He removed the blue glasses and tilted back his battered hat. As he
advanced farther into the room they saw the two big Colts strapped at
his thighs. His loose mouth split in a broad grin, and his big, uneven
teeth flashed white.
The clock on the wall ticked loudly in the silence. The assembled men
stared wonderingly at the undersized boy. It was Snippets who broke the
silence.
"Uncle, this is Jim-twin Allen."
The judge coughed and said foolishly: "I thought you were Jim Anson."
Jim Allen grinned again. That contagious grin made the two Hogg
brothers chuckle aloud, and even the judge and the sheriff smiled in
return.
"No, I ain't Jim Anson. I knows there was gents in this town longin'
for my scalp, so I sorta disguises myself. And as there was gents
sneakin' around in the bushes out there, I had to pretend to still be
Jim Anson. I reckon some one of yuh gents talked, 'cause the Toad's got
all of his killers out there waitin' for me. I told the Yuma Kid I had
a message for the judge, so he let me pass," Allen explained.
The men were amazed. It seemed unbelievable. Jim Anson, the cowardly,
whining little bum! Jim-twin Allen! Their glances traveled from his
shapeless moccasins to his boyish, freckled face. But from his strange,
animallike eyes, there could be no doubt he was the man for whom they
were waiting. They also understood how he had come by the name of the
Wolf.
Ace Cutts' face was ghastly white. With an effort he switched his eyes
from Allen to Bill Anderson. The latter was licking his dry lips and
staring at the famous outlaw, hypnotized. The realization that Jim
Anson was Jim Allen had stunned the politician. Desperately he tried to
figure what this would mean. At all costs Allen must not leave that
room. He shot a glance to Ace Cutts. The latter began to slide
unobtrusively toward the front door.
"I'm right glad to meet yuh, Jim Allen," Sam Hogg cried heartily.
His brother, Jim, chuckled. "An' you tole me yuh chased this feller
ragged when yuh was in the Texas Rangers."
"I sure did," the cattleman said ruefully. "I bet the Rangers winded a
hundred horses chasin' yuh when yuh was hangin' around lower Texas. An'
we never got close enough to throw lead at yuh. Yuh still got them
grays yuh had then?"
Allen's face clouded as he glanced quickly at Snippets.
"I got one of 'em--but Queen is dead. I got her son, though."
The ex-Ranger had heard that story. Snippets had told him how Allen had
ridden his favorite horse to death in order to save her father. He
understood what a sacrifice that had been--for to men who ride the long
trail, horses become more than horses. They are friends, companions,
and the only living things to be trusted. Sam Hogg cleared his throat.
"Heard about that," he murmured. "It was sure a fittin' end for a grand
ol' hoss. When my time comes I hopes I go out like that. I hears the
whole town turned out unanimous and planted Queen in style."
"Yeah," Allen murmured dully. The others watched the little rancher and
the even smaller outlaw in wonder. Bill Anderson glanced at Ace Cutts,
who was close to the door now. Then his eyes once more sought Allen,
and he sneered. A man who could sentimentalize over the death of a
horse could hardly be as redoubtable an antagonist as rumor painted him.
Allen stepped away from the girl, who had laid her hand on his arm. He
looked at Anderson and grinned once more.
"Let's get down to business," Tom Powers spoke.
"Sure, we're wasting time," Anderson snapped. "Allen, we think, because
you are an outlaw, you may know the whereabouts of the Lava Gang. If
you will lead us to them we will pay you well."
There was something intolerably offensive in the way Bill Anderson
spoke. Jim Hogg opened his lips to protest--but the expression on
Allen's face did not change. There was nothing there to indicate he had
noticed the veiled insult in Anderson's words; if anything, his grin
grew broader.
"Yuh mean, I, bein' on the dodge, maybe knows some of the Lava Gang and
will give up my friends if yuh pays me enough?" he asked gently.
"No, we don't mean that," the judge cried.
"Not at all," Tim Lynch added.
Allen ignored the judge, glanced meaningly at Tom Powers, then faced
Bill Anderson, who was lounging against the fireplace. This maneuver
placed Ace Cutts behind the little outlaw. Anderson had expected Allen
to grow angry, to bluster, and this calmness disconcerted him. However,
he had gained his objective, which was to concentrate Allen's attention
on himself; and Allen's back was now toward the door.
"We are not asking you to betray your friends, but if you will lead us
to them, we will pay you well." The explanation was even more offensive
than the original statement.
"Yuh aimin' to get me mad?" Allen asked. He grinned at Bill Anderson
and shook his head.
"Mister, I never get mad, 'cause things might happen if I did, and me
not notice 'em. I let yuh talk 'cause I wasn't sure--now I'm certain."
Only one of the bystanders, Powers, understood the significance of
Allen's words. The others glanced curiously from Allen to Anderson. The
politician's face flushed, and he shot a quick glance at Ace Cutts, who
had reached the door, then he glanced over his shoulder into the mirror
behind him. At once he understood that Allen had been watching Ace
Cutts reflected there, and was fully aware of the foreman's attempt to
gain the outside, where he could give the alarm to the Yuma Kid and the
others waiting there.
"Yuh gents gave me yuhr promise no one was to leave the room while I
was here," Allen reminded.
"We sure did," Jim Hogg cried.
"Get away from that door, Ace," Tim Lynch snapped.
"Ace, don't leave this room," the judge commanded.
Ace Cutts had his hand on the doorknob. Now he paused.
"If he turns that knob I'll drop him," Allen said.
All expression had left the little gunman's voice. It was flat,
toneless. But its very flatness made Ace hesitate. He glanced at
Anderson, who nodded to him to go. Then realization came to him that
Allen had been watching him in the mirror and that Anderson knew it.
Even if he failed to get clear of the door before Allen fired, Anderson
would have gained his objective, for a shot in that room would bring
the Toad's killers on the run. Anderson was deliberately trying to
sacrifice Ace. He dropped the doorknob as if it had suddenly grown
red-hot, threw himself into a chair, and stared fixedly at his neat
boots.
"I am given to understand that you know the members of the Lava Gang,"
the judge said.
"Yeah, I knows them," Allen replied softly.
"You can trust every one here. Will you give me their names?"
"I came here to tell yuh, but I've changed my mind."
"But why?" the judge insisted.
"Judge, if yuh'll have the sheriff leave town after dinner to-morrow
night and ride straight toward Jaw Tooth Mountain, I'll pick yuh up and
show yuh where yuhr cattle is," Allen said.
Argument was vain. Allen refused to mention even one member of the Lava
Gang.
Slowly the little outlaw backed toward the door by which he had entered.
"Good night, gents," he called. Then his eyes caught and held those of
Snippets for a moment. "So long, kid," he said softly. The door was
empty and he was gone.
Allen had said that his enemies had learned he was to come there that
night and were waiting for him outside. For a long moment those in the
room waited, waited for the shot that would announce he had been
discovered. Bill Anderson was the first to move. He picked up his hat
and walked toward the front door, but Tom Powers reached it ahead of
him. The sheriff shook his head.
"We promised before he came, that no one was to leave until he had been
gone for ten minutes," the sheriff explained.
For the fraction of a second Anderson held his ground before the
sheriff. The impulse came to him to shout, then discretion gained the
upper hand; he shrugged and returned to his place by the fireplace.
"He's certainly a careful little cuss and doesn't trust people," he
said with a laugh.
"Maybe if yuhr carcass was worth ten thousand you wouldn't neither,"
Sam Hogg snorted.
Slowly the minutes ticked away. When the time was up Anderson was the
first to leave. The moment the door had closed behind him, Tom Powers
seized Sam Hogg by the shoulder and whispered:
"Follow him and see where he goes."
To Sam Hogg it seemed impossible that the good-natured, affable
politician could be mixed up with the Lava Gang, but his training in
the Rangers had taught him that all things were possible, so he nodded
and slipped out after Anderson.
CHAPTER VI
THE LAVA GANG IN ACTION
Anderson went to Maria's _cantina_, gave some directions to Mac
Kennedy, and seated himself at a table with a Mexican girl. He had
noted Sam Hogg's rather unskillful trailing. A few minutes later he saw
Hogg peer in for an instant.
As soon as the cattleman's head disappeared, Anderson went out the rear
door. He, who always claimed he went unarmed, now slipped his hand
beneath his armpit and withdrew a short-barreled Colt. He tiptoed
warily along the alley to the corral behind the Red Queen. At the small
door in the barn he stood listening for a moment before he unlocked it
and entered. He climbed to the loft and unlocked the second door which
led to the short passage. With this door locked behind him he lost his
air of caution. The third door--that same door behind which Allen had
listened--opened into a room comfortably furnished with table, chairs,
and a bed. Anderson lit a lamp and pressed a button near its other door.
Down in the Red Queen a big game progressed at the faro table.
Francisco Garcia sat in his usual place on the platform. The Yuma Kid
lounged near him, and Baldy sprawled on the platform at his feet.
Garcia leaned forward, his protruding eyes fixed on the dealer's hands.
A mining man had just placed a large bet, and the dealer was about to
flip the cards. Behind them a buzzer sounded. The Toad frowned
impatiently and shrugged his massive shoulders. The dealer turned the
cards and the mining man won.
Again the buzzer sounded imperiously. The mining man doubled his bet,
and the dealer glanced over his shoulder for mute instructions. The
Toad shook his head. He never allowed a dealer to turn a crooked card
unless he was present, and now he had to obey the summons of that
buzzer.
He heaved himself to his feet and waddled toward the rear door.
Grunting at each step, he climbed the stairs and made his way to the
secret room in the barn.
"You took your time," Anderson said coldly in Spanish.
"Big game," the Toad replied. "What was your hurry?"
"A big game! Let me tell you, brother mine, that big game may be your
last," Anderson snapped.
Brothers! One was heavy-set, with the swarthy features of a Mexican;
the other was blond, well formed, with the features of a Nordic. Yet
they were brothers.
"I saw the Wolf to-night," Anderson said slowly.
"You killed him?" the big man asked eagerly.
Anderson shook his head.
The Toad's swarthy face flushed, his eyes bulged more prominently than
ever, and his features contorted with furious rage.
"You saw the Wolf--the man who killed our father--and he _lives_?"
Anderson's soft brown eyes became coldly contemptuous. Here lay the
reason for Anderson's dominance over his brother. He never lost his
temper and he possessed a cold, calculating ruthlessness. He never made
a move unless he had thought out the consequences in advance. The Toad
was given to quick rages in which he acted without thought.
"Stop glaring at me! You are like Pete! If he had not lost his temper
we would not be in this mess now. He had to go savage and kill a man
instead of waiting and having him killed outside."
With an effort the Toad recovered his composure and dropped into a
chair.
"Let me tell you, brother mine, you also have seen the Wolf many
times," Anderson said.
The Toad shook his heavy head and growled a denial.
"Jim Anson is the Wolf!"
Francisco Garcia stared in unbelief. The color drained from his face.
"_Dios!_" he muttered. "Then it was he who was in the barn that night?"
Anderson nodded and related the events of that evening.
"He knows or suspects a lot, but he has no proof, or the sheriff would
have acted. We have got to get Allen and get him quick," Anderson added.
"How?"
"That girl--Snippets McPherson, the judge's niece. She's in love with
him, and he with her. She knows where he has been holing out for the
last few days. Get her and make her tell. If she won't we'll get him
when he trails her. That will be the Yuma Kid's job," Anderson said
rapidly.
The Toad closed his eyes, and thought for a moment. "We'll do it
to-night," he said.
He leaned forward and lowered his voice as he explained his plan. When
the Toad had finished, Anderson nodded.
"That should work. Have the Yuma Kid and Baldy cover them. And you had
better start having the others cleaned up. Sam Hogg and the judge must
be 'accidents.' The others, any way you can get them. Good night, my
brother, I am off."
Anderson slipped out the rear door and left the Toad brooding. Ten
minutes later he arose and pressed the buzzer.
* * * * *
Sam Hogg had been reporting the result of his trailing. The sheriff
stared through the window at the bright lights of the Red Queen Saloon.
Suddenly he fell flat on the floor as a windowpane splintered and a
bullet thudded into the inner wall. He leaped to his feet and yanked
the shade down.
"That was a fool thing to do, and he warned me to watch out," the
sheriff said ruefully as he eyed the bullet hole in the wall.
"Ain't no good chasin' that fellow; he's a mile away by this time," Sam
Hogg advised. "Who tole yuh to watch out?"
"Jim Allen."
"When did yuh see him?" the cattleman asked in surprise. "Yuh seen him
afore or since to-night?"
"Both," the sheriff replied shortly. He seemed to be pondering
something, then he threw himself in a chair opposite the ex-Ranger.
"Seein' you're on the list marked for slaughter, I figure you got a
right to know," he began. "Right after this Jim Anson turned up I
knowed he was Jim-twin Allen. Toothpick comes here the first night and
tells me about it. Allen tells me to trust no one but Dutchy and
Snippets. He says Toothpick is all right but talks too much. He left
here now just a minute before you got here. He tells me he don't know
where they got the judge's cows and not to bother to meet him
to-morrow. He sends Toothpick ridin' off somewhere, then he goes out
hisself, and he don't tell me one dang thing he's doin'," the sheriff
cried in disgust.
"Does he know who the Lava Gang is?" Sam Hogg asked eagerly.
"Yeah, but he only tol' me a couple. The Toad and his killers, the Yuma
Kid, and Baldy Flynn; then there's that greaser Pedro, who bought Pete
Cable's _cantina_."
"The Toad! Let's go get him!" The little cattleman yanked out his Colt
and whirled the cylinder. His eyes were snapping with excitement.
The sheriff shook his head. "We got to wait until we line up the
rest--we got to catch the big boss."
"Well, I don't like this slaughter list," Sam Hogg complained.
"I guess the Toad's behind it. Me and you is on it, the judge, Dutchy,
Toothpick, your brother, an' Tim Lynch. Doc Robinson was, and they got
him. The Lava Gang figures if they downs us they can elect a new
sheriff and judge and run things to suit themselves. Allen went to the
judge's to-night deliberate, to sorta let them know he was onto them.
He figures they'll get nervous and give themselves away. I got to raise
about twenty men right quick and keep 'em handy," the sheriff concluded.
"Leave that to me. I got about thirty of the best boys along the border
out at the Frying Pan what's just spoiling for a fight," Sam Hogg said
with enthusiasm.
"They'll do fine," the sheriff agreed.
The ex-Ranger thought for a moment. "The Wolf goes to the judge's
deliberate! Then he figures some one what was there to-night is playing
with the Lava Gang?"
"Yeah," the sheriff muttered miserably.
"Yuh mean Ace Cutts!"
The sheriff nodded.
"Why, the judge brought him up, the dirty coyote!" The cattleman was
bristling with anger. "An' he tips off the Toad to have Allen killed."
"He's a bad one," Tom Powers said heavily.
"I'm goin' to hunt up 'Big Dick,' my foreman, and have him tip off the
boys to stay sober," the ranchman cried, starting for the door.
The sheriff stopped him. "You better go out the back way."
At this reminder that he was on the "slaughter list," Sam Hogg smiled
grimly.
The sheriff let him out on a vacant lot behind the courthouse, and a
few minutes later he was on brightly lighted Main Street. He knew that
no attempt against his life would be made in public, for the man who
brought him down would have every puncher on the Frying Pan to deal
with later. Still, he was in danger, and a very real danger, for a
warning from Jim-twin Allen was something no man could disregard.
"Bein' him," Sam Hogg mused, "he wouldn't think a gent was in danger
until he had both feet in a grave."
The Lone Star Saloon stood at the corner, and he paused in the shadow
of its walls and glanced up and down Main Street. Tim Lynch, the owner
of the Lone Star, was one of the men on the Toad's list, and Sam Hogg
decided to drop a warning to him to be on the lookout. As he stepped up
on the board sidewalk he saw the Yuma Kid and Baldy saunter out of the
Red Queen.
"I ain't hankerin' to meet them jaspers," he grunted and hastily slid
through the doors of the saloon. He waited a moment and peered out. The
two killers were standing on the corner opposite the judge's house.
They made no effort to conceal their presence. Obviously they were
waiting for something.
As he watched he saw two figures, followed by a third, come out of the
judge's gate and head toward the outskirts of the town.
"Darn it, why do they let Snippets go roamin' with that Kennedy dude
fer? Reckon they is all right, 'cause Dutchy is followin' 'em. Huh! For
a minute I thinks them killers was waitin' for the gal," he grumbled.
The Lone Star was empty, and Tim Lynch, acting as bartender, watched
Sam Hogg peer through the door for a time, then rounded the bar and
suddenly clapped his hand on his shoulder.
"You playin' detective?" he asked, grinning. "Who you watchin'?"
"Them two jaspers standin' on the corner," Sam replied.
"They're plumb dangerous. It ain't safe to even watch them two killers.
Come have a drink."
Sam Hogg tossed down a drink, then leaning forward, whispered: "Tim, I
can't tell yuh how I know, but yuh been talkin' loud agin' a certain
gent, and he's out for your blood."
Tim grinned and, reaching beneath the bar, brought up a sawed-off
shotgun.
"Reckon I know who you mean, and the Toad don't work in the open, but
this scatters some, an' I'm keepin' it darned close to me."
Before either could say more the screen doors swung open and two men
entered. Both were strangers. One was drunk and the other was
attempting to pacify him.
"If I lets yuh have one more drink, will yuh promise to go to bed?" the
sober one demanded.
"Positively," the other replied.
From somewhere outside there came a shot, followed by a shrill scream,
then another shot. Sam Hogg ran to the door. As he emerged on the
street it struck him as queer that the strangers' curiosity was not
strong enough to make them follow him.
Several men were running and pointing up Main Street beyond the judge's
house. The ex-Ranger saw the Yuma Kid and Baldy a block away. The
running men also noticed the two killers and instantly dropped to a
walk. It wasn't safe to approach them at a run. The men halted for a
moment, then edged across the road to circle them.
"That's what they was waitin' for, tryin' to delay pursuit!" Sam Hogg
growled.
Rage overcame him and he yanked out his gun, leaped off the board walk
and charged down the road. For a moment he thought Baldy was going to
intercept him, but the Yuma Kid spat out a sentence in Spanish and
Baldy stepped aside.
As Sam Hogg ran, followed by several other men, he heard the pounding
of hoofs slowly receding on the plain. They found Dutchy on the
outskirts of town, lying face downward in the dust of the trail.
A brief examination by the light of a match convinced Sam Hogg that the
grizzled puncher was dead. He had been shot through the head from
behind. Even as death was upon him he had drawn one gun and fired. The
little cattleman cursed with sorrow and rage.
A little later one of the crowd discovered the prone figure of Kennedy,
the dude, at the side of the trail. Examination disclosed he had been
stunned by the butt of a gun. He groaned and opened his eyes.
Sam Hogg seized him.
"Where's the gal? Who downed Dutchy? What happened? Come alive and
spill it."
At each question the ex-Ranger shook the half-conscious man. Finally a
lanky cow-puncher interfered.
"Hell, Sam, if yuh knock the breath out of the darned dude, how can he
talk?"
At last Mac Kennedy told his story. He had called on Snippets and
suggested they take a walk. He had done that many times before. Dutchy
accompanied them. Just as they reached the fork in the trail he had
heard a shot, and swung about in time to see Dutchy fall. Then
something hit him on the head, and that was all he knew. He had seen
none of the men who had attacked them. Sam Hogg was convinced that
Kennedy was not trying to conceal anything, not even his own cowardice.
Sheriff Tom Powers arrived on the scene; without delay he formed a
posse and started in pursuit. The crowd drifted back to town. Here they
found more excitement. Tim Lynch had been knifed and killed by an
unknown man. His body was discovered behind the bar of the Lone Star by
one of the first excited men to return from the crossroads.
Sam Hogg walked slowly to his brother's store. The two talked in
whispers for a time, then Sam called in a passing cowboy and sent him
across the street to the Red Queen to fetch Big Dick, his foreman.
A few minutes later, Big Dick was dusting it straight for the Frying
Pan Ranch. He was to bring back Sam Hogg's best fighters.
CHAPTER VII
THE SENTENCE
A little after dawn the following morning, eighteen heavily armed
riders from the Frying Pan Ranch clattered into town. They dismounted
before the Hogg Hardware Store, and Sam Hogg, followed by Tad Hicks,
Windy Sam, and Kansas Jones, stepped from the store and greeted them.
The ex-Ranger's eyes lit with enthusiasm as he looked them over. Clean
limbed, hardy, eager faced, reckless eyed, each one of them was willing
to fight at the drop of a hat. He snapped out his orders; half of them
were to be on duty at all times at the store; those not on duty were
free to do as they pleased--with one exception--the Red Queen Saloon
was barred to all.
Tom Powers and his posse returned to town with long faces and jaded
horses. The sheriff dismounted before the hardware store. He shook his
head at a question from Sam Hogg.
"The trail was plain until we struck Snake Canyon, halfway between the
lava fields and the Frying Pan, but we lost it there. Cattle had been
driven across the trail, and we couldn't find nothin'."
He threw himself into a chair and rolled a cigarette while Sam Hogg
told him of the murder of Tim Lynch, and why he had sent for his
riders. Suddenly the sheriff looked up and asked hopefully:
"You seen Allen?"
Sam Hogg shook his head.
The sheriff got up wearily. He left the store and headed for the jail.
He attempted to snatch a few minutes' sleep before time to conduct Pete
Cable to the court to be sentenced, but sleep refused to come.
Where was Allen? Had he proof about the men he accused? Could he get
it? The Lava Gang had struck twice. Who would be the third victim? The
sheriff cursed when he thought of Snippets McPherson in the power of
such men as the sons of _le Diable à Cheval_. He felt helpless. He
suddenly realized how much he had come to depend on the outlaw, Jim
Allen.
At eleven o'clock he led the prisoner, Pete Cable, into the crowded
courtroom. A hush settled on the spectators as they entered. All eyes
were fixed on the prisoner. His assurance had left him completely. He
seemed crushed by fear.
The formalities were gone through.
"And there hanged by the neck until dead."
The judge pronounced the fatal sentence. For a moment there was silence
as people craned their necks to see the condemned man. The judge walked
slowly from the court, the sheriff half carried, half led, Pete Cable
back to his cell.
The people filed from the courtroom. As far as they were concerned the
affair was over.
Waiting is the most trying ordeal for the active man, and as the day
passed and night came, and still nothing happened, the Frying Pan
riders became restless.
The men within the store were fully as impatient as those without.
Toothpick paced the floor; every few minutes he would stop and listen,
then recommence his pacing. On his return, when he had been told of
Dutchy and Snippets, the men had barely been able to keep him from
immediate violence.
Jim Hogg was fuming for action. The sheriff stared at the ceiling. Tad
Hicks and Windy sat on the floor close to the stove and grumbled their
impatience.
"Hey, Sam," Windy pleaded, "tell a gent why for yuh're delayin' the
battle?"
"An' who the devil are we goin' to fight?" Tad Hicks added.
Sam Hogg threw up his hands and shook his head. What were they waiting
for? Allen? He might be dead.
Time passed, and all but Toothpick were dozing. He continued his
endless pacing. Suddenly he stopped and listened for a moment, then
sprang to the back door and threw it open. Sam Hogg and the sheriff
jerked to sudden life and crowded after him. Some one was coming.
"It's him," Toothpick said exultantly.
They heard a faint whistle. With hands on guns they stepped outside. A
black blotch materialized from the darkness and Jim-twin Allen hailed
them.
"That yuh, Toothpick? Who's with yuh?"
"Tom Powers and Sam Hogg?"
The black blotch crept nearer.
"Where can I stable these old bags of bones?"
"Is them yuhr grays?" Sam Hogg asked.
"Yeah," Allen replied.
"Yuh go on in and get warm. Til rub 'em down, feed 'em, and fix 'em
pretty," Sam Hogg said eagerly.
For a fraction of a second Allen hesitated, then he spoke to the grays.
"Thanks," he said as he passed Sam Hogg.
Unceremoniously Allen sauntered into the store, sank into a chair near
the fire, and called a greeting to Jim Hogg. The sheriff looked at
Toothpick, and the latter shook his head; both hesitated to tell him
the bad news. They served him a thick sandwich, which he munched in
silence, then drank two cups of black coffee.
"Well?" he asked when he had finished.
Toothpick, Jim Hogg, and the sheriff stirred uneasily. Sam Hogg
returned to the room just as the sheriff began to tell his story.
Sam Hogg stared at the little outlaw as he listened. This was not the
boy he had seen the night before in the judge's house. The freckled
face was the same, but it was older. Allen was no longer a laughing
youth, but a man whom all respected and, deep down in their hearts,
feared. Allen's expression never changed at the faltering accounts of
the death of Dutchy and the kidnaping of Snippets. The ex-Ranger got
the idea Allen had heard the story before and for some reason was
concealing the fact.
Tad Hicks opened his sleepy eyes and stared at the little man by the
stove. He took one look, rubbed his eyes, and looked again. He nudged
Windy, and the plump puncher ceased his snores and sat up.
When the sheriff had finished, Toothpick stepped forward with clenched
hands.
"Jim, Dutchy was my friend, and I want yuh to promise----" he began.
Allen interrupted.
"I get yuh, but it can't be did. Dutchy was downed by a couple of
skunks what was called 'Left Steve' and Bill Ranee----"
Sam Hogg now interrupted in his turn.
"Did yuh say _was_ called?" he asked.
"Yeah," Allen said indifferently. "Tom, I hears yuh fellows talkin'
last night where yuh lost the trail. I hears that Dutchy was downed,
but don't hear nothin' about Snippets being run off. So I takes after
the killers an' downs 'em."
They glanced from the little outlaw in the chair to one another, then
back again. Windy Sam dug Tad Hicks in the ribs.
"Yuh know him?" he whispered.
"The Wolf," Tad replied.
"I knows that, but take a look at them pants," Windy muttered.
"The hobo! He talks of downin' gents like yuh does prairie hens, an' we
come near beatin' hell out of him," Tad Hicks exclaimed in an
awe-struck whisper.
"But the girl! Snippets! What are you going to do about her?" Jim Hogg
demanded impatiently.
"I thinks I knows where she is," Allen replied wearily.
"Let's get goin' then!" The choleric little storekeeper seized his hat.
"It can't be did. They got her over in the lava fields. I got to trail
'em. I found where they went in and I've got to pick the rest out,"
Allen said flatly.
"We got twenty men out there and a hundred more scattered about. We'll
comb them hills and find her," Jim Hogg insisted.
Allen shook his head.
Sam Hogg and the sheriff looked at each other. They knew Allen was
lying. For if there had been a single chance of Snippets being taken
over the border he would be wasting no time in words. They could not
fathom why he was lying.
"Looka here, there ain't no use being stubborn," Jim Hogg growled at
Allen. "We _got_ to do something."
"Go ahead," Allen replied. He looked at Sam Hogg and added: "I'm goin'
now. Where's them hosses of mine?"
"Don't yuh go 'way, sheriff," Jim Hogg cried as his brother and Allen
started toward the rear door. "I'm goin' to see the judge and make him
order yuh to hunt for that gal."
As the furious storekeeper stormed out of the room Allen winked at Sam
Hogg and the sheriff.
Outside, while he was saddling his horses, he explained. "The Toad's
got the Yuma Kid and Baldy and them two brothers watchin' the girl.
What happens if we go chargin' in there? Do yuh think them four will
give her up? And if we kill 'em they'll sure enough take her with them."
"What yuh goin' to do?" the sheriff asked.
"I'm hopin' Jim, your brother'll do it for me. The Toad plumb hates me,
an' if he could down me he'd be willin' to cut and run for Mexico
after. When he hears I'm goin' to try and pick out the trail through
the lava fields I sorta figure he'll tell his killers to hike it over
there and get me; then I'll get the girl."
"And yuh lied deliberate to fool Jim?" Sam Hogg asked.
"Jim is right convincin' when he's got his mad up, an' I don't think
he's a good liar. I figure there'll be some one who will be plumb
anxious to pass the news on to the Toad." Then Allen talked rapidly for
a few minutes and the others listened in silence.
After Allen had vanished into the night the sheriff said admiringly:
"Gosh, ain't he a hellion?"
Sam Hogg nodded and hurried through the store. Outside he found Tad
Hicks. He ordered him to follow and hurried down the dark, deserted
street. He explained a little to Tad, and the two crouched down in some
bushes opposite the judge's and settled themselves to watch.
Jim Hogg was still spluttering with wrath when he burst into the
judge's house. Although the hour was late he found the judge's family
still up. Ace Cutts and Kennedy were with them.
"We got news of Snippets!" roared the storekeeper. "An' I want yuh to
order Tom Powers to gather every blessed man in town and search them
lava hills, 'cause that's where they got her."
"What do you mean? How do you know? Is she hurt?" The judge fired rapid
questions.
"Jim Allen tole me. He says they got her over there and that he knows
part of the trail and is goin' to pick out the rest to-morrow, but by
that time the gal will be over the border," Jim attempted to explain.
"Wait a minute, Mr. Hogg," Kennedy spoke quietly. "Let's get this
straight. You say that Allen insists that Snippets is being held
captive in the lava beds? And he's going by himself to trail her?"
"That's exactly what I said. The dam little runt----"
"It's sense to me," Ace Cutts interrupted. "Three men in those lava
beds can hold off a hundred. Allen has a better chance by himself," he
insisted.
The judge, Mrs. Ransom, and even Mary joined in the discussion as to
the best way to rescue Snippets.
"I think Allen is right," Kennedy said. "But then I'm an Eastern dude
and don't know anything about it. Good night, folks. I'm riding out to
my ranch to-night, so I won't see you to-morrow."
"I'm going with yuh," Ace Cutts stated.
The two went out and hurried toward the Red Queen.
Sam Hogg arose from his hiding place and growled: "The dirty skunk!"
"Who? Him or tother?" Tad asked.
Ten minutes later Kennedy and Ace Cutts rode down the street. The
moment they had passed the judge's house they put their horses into a
wild, scrambling run.
Sam Hogg smiled grimly, then, drawing his gun from his holster, he
fired three times in the air.
CHAPTER VIII
KIDNAPED
The attack had come so suddenly that Snippets McPherson hardly realized
what was happening before she was roughly seized and hoisted to a horse
in front of a masked man. She had uttered only one shrill scream, for
common sense told her it was better to obey her captor than to risk his
carrying out his threat of choking her. She realized that the single
shot--the one which hit Dutchy--would raise the alarm.
So she remained passive. The thing that worried her more than her own
situation was Dutchy's fate. She was sure he had been badly hurt, for
she knew the old gunman would never cease firing as long as he had
strength to pull a trigger.
She marked the course they were traveling. It was almost due east. They
followed the trail to the Frying Pan and Bar X for about five miles,
then left it to take a course south. They twisted in and out of the
brush, slid down banks and scrambled up sheer slides.
Snippets estimated that they were about ten miles from town when she
was transferred to a waiting buckboard. As she was driven away in this,
she heard the mooing of cattle and the shouts of men, and she knew that
the cattle were being driven across their trail to hide it. There were
two men in the buckboard with her. She sat on the driver's seat with
one, while another knelt in the rear. Suddenly the man behind her
dropped a sack over her head which blinded her completely. Even
breathing was difficult.
A half hour later she was lifted from the buckboard and carried into a
house. The sack was removed and she found herself in a perfectly bare
room. One of the men carried a flickering lantern; by its light she
sized up her two captors. She had never seen either of them before. One
was tall and thin, with a drooping mustache, and the other was a short,
powerfully built Mexican.
"Yuh stay quiet and yuh won't get hurted," the one with the mustache
said.
"If yuh don't, I'll----" the Mexican began.
She could not resist saying: "You know who will come after me, don't
you? The Wolf!"
It amused her and gave her courage to see how they jumped. The Mexican
snarled as, followed by the other, he left the room.
They took the lamp and left her in total darkness. She satisfied
herself that the blinds on the windows were securely fastened, then
tried to figure out where she was. She puzzled on this until her head
nodded and she fell asleep.
She was awakened by the opening of the door. Sun streamed through the
cracks in the blinds. A man entered. He was of medium height; his hat
was pulled down over his eyes and a handkerchief covered his face.
"I'm not going to beat about the bush. You know where the Wolf holes
out and you might as well tell me now as later," the man said.
There was something about the voice that was vaguely familiar, but the
handkerchief muffled the tones so that she could not place it.
"I don't know where he is," she faltered.
"Spill it," repeated the man roughly. "I'm not going to stand here all
day. I'm asking you where the Wolf holes out. You have only a little
time. If yuh don't tell I'll turn you over to the Mexican out there.
I'm comin' back."
He went out and locked the door after him. Snippets tried to pull
herself together. Again and again she told herself that Allen would
come, yet in spite of herself the fear grew. She ran to the blinds and
beat against them with her hands; then she paced the room like a
trapped animal. At last, worn out, she dropped on the floor.
In the late afternoon she heard voices outside. She flashed to the
window and listened. There was one voice she knew--a high, cackling
voice. That was Baldy. No doubt the Yuma Kid was with him. She heard
harsh Mexican voices and caught scraps of conversation. The Toad had
sent his killers here to wait for Allen. They knew he would trail her.
Now she dropped on her knees and prayed that he would stay away.
Time passed and she crouched against the wall and listened--fearful for
the shot which would tell her that Allen had come on his last mission.
Daylight faded, and night came.
It must have been past midnight when the door opened with a jerk and
the same man who had faced her that morning stood before her.
"You going to tell?" he snarled.
She faced him with the courage of despair.
"How can I tell when I don't know where he is?"
He laughed harshly, leaped forward, caught one wrist in an iron grip,
and twisted her arm cruelly.
"Spill it or I'll twist your arm off," he rasped.
She gritted her teeth and tried to suppress a scream. From outside came
the noise of a horse at a hard gallop. The thought flashed into her
mind that Jim Allen had arrived. The man threw her aside and ran from
the room. She heard excited voices, the confusion of men running about.
A few minutes later there came the sound of horses ridden rapidly away.
The sounds ceased. She stole to the door, which the man had forgotten
to lock, opened it, and glanced out. Her two captors were out there.
Maybe they would go to bed soon. She must wait; she closed the door and
sat on the floor near it, so she could hear them.
Hours later she sat up with a start and realized she had been asleep.
The light of another gray dawn was seeping into the room. Again she
opened the door. The men were still there. Their backs were toward her.
She decided to chance it, to try to slip by them and out of the
building. She must get away before the other man returned.
She moved softly, slowly. She was halfway there, when a board creaked,
and the men turned. She leaped forward, but before she could reach the
outer door the Mexican had her by the hair. She screamed and kicked at
him.
"Yuh leetle fury," he growled. "I theenk I'll tame yuh."
He buried both hands in her hair and shook her, yanked her about. He
shifted his hands to her throat. Tighter and tighter he gripped.
Suddenly a terrific uproar rocked the room. The man released her, and
she fell back against the wall. The air was filled with smoke. Slowly
it cleared, and she saw Jim-twin Allen standing close to the door she
had tried to reach. There was a smoking gun in his hand. Against the
farther wall stood the tall man with the long mustache, his hands
upraised, On the floor at her feet sprawled the Mexican, flat on his
face, his arms and legs twisted grotesquely.
Snippets crossed to Allen. "I knew you would come," she said simply.
He smiled at her. "Get back in there," he snapped to the tall man who
had been her captor. The man quailed in fright and backed, hands still
raised, into the room where Snippets had been a prisoner.
"Come on, kid," said Allen. "We got to get out of here."
The two grays were waiting close to the house. A rifle hung on Honey
Boy's saddle.
"Do yuh think Princess will know yuh?" Allen asked.
Snippets placed her fingers to her lips and whistled. Princess cocked
her ears, then, followed by her mate, dashed toward the girl. Snippets,
undismayed by the snapping teeth, rubbed the mare's soft muzzle.
"Hop on her, kid, 'cause those gents will be tearin' mad," he urged.
After they were mounted, Snippets glanced about in bewildered
recognition of the landscape. "Why, this is the Bar X--uncle's ranch!"
she gasped. "What does it mean?"
Allen hesitated. "Reckon you'll learn some time, so I might as well
tell yuh, kid, that Ace Cutts is a bad actor."
She thought of her uncle, of his fondness for the boy, and grew silent.
Side by side they rode toward town in the bright morning sunlight.
* * * * *
Five riders approached out of a draw to the north of the lava fields.
They were heading fast for the Bar X Ranch. Anderson, their leader,
jerked his horse to a sudden, sliding stop. He pointed to the two
figures on a smooth meadow a mile before them.
"Who the hell is that clown there?" he cried.
Quick suspicion fired the Yuma Kid. "Two grays!" he rasped.
Baldy's thin lips drew back in a toothless snarl. "The Wolf!"
"He tricked us!" As Anderson made the admission, his face grew rigid,
and the veins on the back of his neck expanded.
The other two riders were Mexicans, José and Pedro Gonzalez, two of the
Toad's men. Both were killers. They were used on raids where it was bad
policy to leave any survivors.
"_Madre de Dios!_" José swore. "He has the girl!"
"We hang if----" his brother began.
"We don't stop him," Anderson snapped. He gave his orders rapidly. The
Mexicans swung their horses to cut in behind Allen, while Anderson,
Baldy, and the Yuma Kid turned to their right to head him off. Anderson
shouted with exultation when he saw Ace Cutts and several riders top
the rise on the farther side of the valley. They had Allen in a trap.
Bill Anderson and the other two were within a half mile of Allen before
he saw them. At a glance he understood that they would head him off. He
grinned confidently at Snippets.
"Kid, we're in a jam. Don't try tuh guide Princess, she savvies how tuh
follow," he called cheerfully.
Allen swung Honey Boy straight up the northern rise toward several
mushroomlike buttes. Princess followed some fifteen yards in the rear.
He was within a few hundred yards of the crest when Ace Cutts and his
men topped the rise. Ace shouted, and three of his men threw themselves
off their horses and began to fire, while he and two other men
continued to race along the crest.
Allen whirled his horse and sent it in a scrambling run along the
treacherous slope. Without a touch of the reins from Snippets, Princess
turned and followed. The range was long for accurate shooting, but some
of the shots fired by the dismounted men sang uncomfortably close to
Allen's ears.
"Ain't it funny how folks always shoot over, when shootin' down a
slope?" he called over his shoulder to Snippets, who waved her hand in
return. Strangely, she felt excitement, but no fear.
Anderson was directly below them and riding hard. Baldy and the Yuma
Kid had stuck to the smooth floor of the meadow and were a good hundred
yards ahead of him. The men on the crest were also traveling faster,
and they were soon ahead of him. A minute later Ace Cutts and his men
headed down the slope, while the Yuma Kid and Baldy swung their horses
up it. They gave an exultant whoop when they saw they had Allen
surrounded.
Allen gave them an answering yell, swung Honey Boy on "a ten-cent
piece," and headed down the slope straight for Anderson. Anderson
yanked on his horse's bit and brought him to a standstill, then
snatched out his rifle. The horse reared. Allen was within three
hundred yards and coming fast. To make sure of his shot Anderson slid
off his pony. The moment his feet touched the ground, Allen checked
Honey Boy's wild progress down the slope and swung him parallel with it
again.
Anderson threw himself on his now frightened horse and looked up. He
swore bitterly; for, the moment he was in the saddle, Allen had again
switched his direction and was once more headed straight for him.
The Yuma Kid and Baldy had joined Ace Cutts and his men, but all were
some fifty yards higher up the slope and four hundred yards in advance
of Allen.
Anderson struggled to master his plunging horse. Allen dropped his
reins over the pommel and seized his Winchester. His horse covered the
distance between the two in great scrambling leaps. Allen fired as
rapidly as he could pump his lever.
"Damn him, he's outguessed me," Anderson growled.
It was impossible for him to fire from his frightened horse, so he
swung his foot over its rump to dismount again. The horse plunged,
reared high on its hind legs and fell with a crash. Anderson, in
attempting to leap clear of the falling animal, dropped his rifle. A
slug whipped his hat from his head, and he dived for cover behind his
dead horse.
Allen again swung Honey Boy, this time away from the Yuma Kid, and tore
down the slope at a slant. He passed Anderson, out of pistol range,
flew down to the meadow and raced straight for the willows that
bordered Stone Creek.
He gave a shrill whistle. Princess lengthened her stride and drew
abreast of Honey Boy.
"Oh, Jim!" Snippets called enthusiastically. "What a wonderful horse! I
closed my eyes on that slope. I thought she would surely stumble and
fall."
Allen laughed aloud, as he shoved new cartridges in his rifle.
"She's part cat. Keep goin'--'cause those gents is comin' fast."
The two Mexican gunmen, who had gone to intercept Allen, if he tried to
backtrack, were whipping and spurring to head him off from the creek.
Up on the slope Anderson was cursing. One of Ace Cutts' men gave him a
horse. He glanced down across the meadow, in time to see Allen and
Snippets vanish among the willows.
"Them hosses of hisn is wonders," cried the Yuma Kid.
"Them greasers is plumb foolish to follow him in there," Baldy cackled.
The two Mexicans headed straight for the willows. They were within
fifty yards of where Allen had vanished, when two muffled reports came
to the watchers' ears, and two fleecy puffs of smoke appeared above the
thicket. The leading Mexican fell from his pony, limp as a sack of
flour; the other wheeled his horse and headed back. But he had not gone
twenty yards before he started to sway and, a moment later, he crashed
to the ground.
"Tole yuh they was fools," Baldy stated without emotion.
Anderson cursed again. With the others at his heels, he crossed the
meadow and plunged among the willows some four hundred yards upstream
from the spot where Allen had entered. They splashed across the shallow
stream and emerged from the undergrowth on the farther side. From there
they could see Allen and Snippets fully half a mile ahead. Anderson
realized that pursuit was almost useless, but it would be disastrous
for them if Allen reached town; so they spurred their horses and
started after the distant grays.
Two miles farther on a group of twenty riders appeared from a hollow
and galloped forward to intercept them. With muttered curses, Anderson
and his killers checked their horses, swung about and raced for the
lava fields.
Jim Hogg's continued raving had at last borne fruit. That morning Tom
Powers had been forced to form a posse to hunt for Snippets.
Now Allen and Snippets spurred onward to join their friends, while
their baffled enemies beat a hasty retreat. Hogg, Powers and the others
bombarded them with eager questions, but Allen slurred lightly over his
rescue of the girl. Already his mind was busy with the important task
still before him--to clean up the Lava Gang.
CHAPTER IX
THE MINE FORTRESS
Judge Ransom watched with heavy heart, as Sam Hogg, at the head of the
Frying Pan riders, and Tom Powers, with a hastily formed posse, rode
away. He held no hope for their success. He felt that Snippets was
lost. And he blamed himself. Though he believed he was ruined,
financially and politically now, his thoughts were only for the girl.
He condemned himself for not having taken better care of his sister's
child.
He paced the porch back and forth hour after hour. Better that ten
thousand murderers escape the rope than that Snippets be harmed.
Perhaps it was not yet too late. He might bargain Pete Cable's life for
Snippets' safety. Obviously her kidnaping had been an effort to force
him into doing that. He would treat with the enemy, bear the white flag
of surrender at last, for the girl's sake.
It was now close to lunch time; he might find Anderson at the Red
Queen. Though that was the hangout of his enemies, the judge did not
hesitate. He walked quickly down Main Street.
The loungers gaped with astonishment when the judge turned resolutely
into the big saloon. He asked a question of the bartender and was told
that Francisco Garcia might know when Anderson would return. The Toad
was eating at a small table in the gambling room.
Head held high, the judge marched forward.
"I am told that you might tell me when Mr. Anderson will return," the
judge said.
The Toad's protruding eyes fixed on the judge with a fishlike stare.
Here was the man whom the Toad considered the cause of all his
troubles. The big hand on the table closed convulsively. Slowly the
Toad controlled his passion.
"What do you want him for?" he asked heavily.
The judge hesitated. "That must remain between him and me. But I must
see him--at once."
"So?" the swarthy Mexican rumbled. "Is it something to do with Pete
Cable?"
The judge nodded.
"Then I will take you to him--I think I know where he is, and I think I
know where your niece is."
"You do? Thank Heaven for that," the judge cried fervently.
"You would exchange Pete Cable for your niece?"
"Yes! Yes!"
"Then we must go quickly and stop them before they take her across the
border." The Toad looked crafty.
The judge shuddered. He knew the man before him was not to be trusted,
but he must take the chance.
Ten minutes later, the two were bowling along in a buckboard, headed
for the lava fields.
* * * * *
Tom Powers and his posse had followed Anderson, Ace Cutts and the
others to the border of the lava fields, where Allen insisted they stop.
"Yuh got to walk yuhr hosses, an' besides, two men could pick yuh-all
off like chickens," he explained.
A rider was sent to gather in Sam Hogg and his men; then Allen led the
others in the direction of Kennedy's ranch.
"Why for yuh goin' there?" Tom Powers asked.
"To catch a gent called Cupid Dart." Allen grinned at the sheriff's
astonishment.
"Yuh mean that Texas gunman?" Toothpick queried.
"Yea. The gent yuh saw learnin' Spanish," said Allen with a laugh.
"Not that dude, Mac Kennedy?" Toothpick was incredulous, and the others
added their grunts of astonishment.
"That same. He ain't a dude. Not any," Allen told them.
They surrounded the ranch. Sam Hogg and his men joined them. Slowly
they closed in upon the silent building as dusk was obscuring the land.
But no firing greeted them. The building was empty; that wary bird,
Cupid Dart, alias Mac Kennedy, had flown to safer parts.
"Musta made his get-away to the gang's stronghold," Allen commented.
He led the others up a narrow trail into the lava fields. Here, in a
cuplike depression, they found the judge's cows, as well as several
hundred other stolen animals. All had been rebranded and were being
held there until the new brands healed. Of the men guarding the cattle
all had escaped. The place was totally deserted, and they prepared to
make camp for the night.
It was then that Allen discovered Snippets was still with them; he
thought she had gone on into town long before. He stared at her,
open-mouthed.
"What yuh doin' here?" he asked.
"No one told me to go anywhere else." Snippets smiled demurely and
mischievously.
"Yuh wanted to be along in the ruckus, kid?" Allen accused. "Yuh
should've gone home an' told folks you wus all right."
Snippets hung her head meekly. She knew that he knew why she had
lingered. She had wanted to remain by his side as long as possible.
A shelter of blankets was rigged for her; they could not send her home
now before morning.
After the others were asleep, Allen slipped out alone and followed the
outlaws' trail for several miles. It climbed rapidly to the remains of
an old mine shaft. Suddenly there loomed before him a low, one-story
adobe house. He realized that he was looking at the real stronghold of
the outlaws.
"Huh, they could stand off an army in that place," he told himself
after he had scouted about it. Quietly he returned and rejoined the
campers.
With day they considered the possibility of an attack. Tom Powers, Sam
Hogg, and Jim Allen looked over the situation carefully through strong
glasses. All three decided that it would not only be costly in lives,
but completely hopeless. The place had been built to serve as a
fortress against the Apache, in the days when the mine had been worked.
Over the crest of the hill there were several roofless buildings and a
huge weather-stained derrick that had been used to hoist ore from the
mine.
"Hello! There's a gent with a white flag," Tom Powers said, pointing.
The heavy metal-studded door of the adobe house had been opened a
crack, and a man stood waving a white shirt. Sam Hogg arose from the
concealment of the bushes behind which he had been crouching and waved
his hat. The door opened wider, and Mac Kennedy, still holding the
shirt, stepped out into the sunlight. He advanced twenty yards and
beckoned the ex-Ranger forward.
"Makin' believe he was a dude!" Tom Powers growled.
"Like I did pretendin' to be a hobo," Allen replied with a grin.
"Sam, don't go to meet him. Make him come to you. I've heard stories
about Cupid Dart--he's treacherous as a snake," the sheriff advised.
"Don't worry none, Mr. Hogg. If he bats an eye, I'll drop him," Allen
said confidently.
Sam Hogg advanced to meet Cupid Dart, and they talked for several
minutes. When Sam returned to Powers and Allen, after the outlaw
reentered the fortress, his face was white and drawn.
"There's hell to pay!" he exclaimed. "They has the judge in there with
'em. And unless we gives up Pete Cable, they promises to hang him high
and proper."
"But we can't do that, 'cause Pete Cable is now in the State Prison,
an' they wouldn't give him to us, unless the judge signed an order,"
Tom Powers sputtered.
"And the judge won't sign nothin'," Allen said.
"Yea. That damn fake dude tells me, the judge refuses flat. They want
us to sorta persuade him," Sam Hogg added.
"I figures yuh might as well try and persuade a mountain." Allen shook
his head. "Does he savvy we got Snippets?"
"Yep. He heard 'em talkin' and knows we got her, otherwise they might
have him sign the paper by using her," Sam Hogg said.
"Damn 'em! If they touches the judge, we'll stick here until we starves
'em out," Powers declared wrathfully.
"Not any. Yuh savvy we are in Mexico? He tells me the soldiers is
comin' along, 'cause they sent for 'em. To-morrow they'll dust in here
and chase us away," Sam Hogg explained.
The sheriff and the cattleman entered into a heated discussion of
various plans to rescue the judge. Their men would follow them if they
attacked, but the attack would be foredoomed to defeat. Allen, his face
thoughtful, slipped away. At last the two brought their discussion to a
close, for they realized they were wasting words.
There was nothing to do except wait until the Mexican soldiers arrived,
then scurry back across the border.
CHAPTER X
A ROMAN BATTERING-RAM
It was noon. A molten sun looked down from a copper sky. The rocks
reflected the terrific glare. What little shade there was brought no
ease from the furnacelike heat. As one man expressed it: "You roast in
the sun and stew in the shade." The water was gone, and there would be
no more until evening; the men's suffering from thirst was intense. All
thought themselves beaten.
"Reckon the judge is due to get his neck stretched," Toothpick Jarrick
confided dolorously to Silent Moore.
The two were sprawled behind a boulder in the thin shade cast by a
cactus. The taciturn deputy thrust out his jaw and growled:
"We sticks just the same."
Sam Hogg wormed his way between the blistering rocks and joined them.
He nudged Toothpick and pointed up toward the valley wall behind them.
"What's the Wolf doin' up there? He's been lookin' through those
glasses of his for an hour and shiftin' his position constant. Yuh
reckon he's figurin' up somethin'?" the cattleman asked eagerly.
Allen was lying flat on a high shelf of rock. They watched him for a
time. Now he vanished. A little later they saw him again, fifty yards
farther along the shelf. From the shelter of some brush he focused his
glasses on the long adobe building. Toothpick was puzzled as to what
Allen was studying. He decided that it must be the lone window that
broke the surface of the western wall in the outlaws' fortress. The
window was little more than a porthole, about three feet by two.
Toothpick knew that a real purpose lay behind all of Allen's actions;
that many of his surprising victories were the result of carefully
thought-out plans. But what did the little outlaw hope to gain by
studying that window? Allen closed his glasses and looked down at the
three watching him. He waved his hand and wiggled out of sight.
"What's he aimin' to do?" Sam Hogg addressed Toothpick.
The lanky cow-puncher considered a moment and shook his head.
"I dunno. But the little hellion has sure got somethin' in his head,"
he said thoughtfully.
"If he's aimin' to go through that window, the gents in there will
shoot him in two," the cattleman protested.
"Sure would," Silent agreed.
"I don't know what he's aimin' to do, but I'm sayin' positive, whatever
it is, I'm backin' his play," Toothpick stated emphatically.
"Hey, Toothpick, come over here," Allen called from his hidden perch.
Toothpick, followed by Sam Hogg, wiggled toward the depression from
which he knew the voice came. A rifle cracked from within the adobe
building, and Toothpick's hat flew from his head. He flattened out and
wiggled the faster. A few seconds later he slid down the side of the
small basin to Allen. He was closely followed by Sam Hogg, who had
retrieved the hat. Toothpick looked at it ruefully for a moment and
poked his finger through the hole in the crown.
"Huh! That gent sure parted my hair."
"Jim, yuh figured out a way we can get at them hombres?" Sam Hogg
demanded.
"I ain't sure she works," Allen replied. "Yuh gather Tom Powers and
yuhr brother over the hill by that ore wagon--if she works, I'll come
and tell yuh about it."
The cattleman told himself that Allen deliberately tried to be
mysterious. However, he went to collect his brother and Tom Powers.
Allen and Toothpick sought out Tad Hicks. The three passed along a deep
gully to a ledge some ten feet high. Here Allen explained to them the
first part of his plan and the part they were to play in it. A half
hour later, when they approached the ore wagon, all three were grinning
like schoolboys.
"Yuh two is sure baseball players--yuh tossed me at that mark and hit
it every time," Allen said to them.
Tad Hicks halted to explain to his bosom friends, Windy Sam and Kansas.
"The Wolf is goin' to have us toss him through that window, an' he
makes us practice tossin' him at a rock an' keeps us doin' it, until we
hit it three time runnin' with his head."
Sheriff Tom Powers, the Hogg brothers, and several men of the posse
listened in silence until Allen had finished telling his plan. For a
moment its sheer audacity held them silent, then they shook their
heads. The thing was impossible. Sam Hogg glanced wonderingly at
Allen's freckled, youthful face. He could discern nothing but the
spirit of youthful adventure there, like that of a schoolboy planning
to rob an orchard. He sighed and again shook his head. Courage such as
Allen's was too precious to be wasted. There wasn't a chance in a
thousand of success.
"Yuh can't do it," the sheriff objected.
"Hell, there's thirteen men in there," the little cattleman added.
"A darned unlucky number for them," remarked Allen.
"And five of the best gun fighters on the border," Toothpick pointed
out.
"I ain't aimin' to wipe out all them gents. I'm aimin' to sorta keep
'em busy, while you bust the door down," Allen explained.
"You're loco! Bust that door down? It would take an hour to do it," Jim
Hogg protested.
"Yuh ever see a Roman batterin'-ram?" Allen asked.
"Roman batterin'-ram?" the sheriff queried in return.
"He's funnin' us," the storekeeper insisted.
But one glance at the little outlaw's face convinced him Allen was
serious.
"Waggle yuhr ears, gents, and I'll learn yuh what erudition, as
Toothpick calls it, does for an hombre." Allen grinned at the tall
cow-puncher, then told them of his scheme to break in the door.
"She sure works!" Sam Hogg cried, a few minutes later. He gave a whoop
and sent his Stetson sailing into the air. Then all at once he grew
silent and stared at Allen. A sinister thought had come to him.
"I figure we'll get in, but they'll shoot yuh to bits," he said.
"Not any. I'm so darn small I ain't easy to hit, an' I'll keep moving
constantly," Allen said cheerfully.
He stepped up to the ore wagon, which was just over the crest of the
hill, and out of sight of those in the fortress.
"Yuh take the box off, take that boom off the derrick by the mouth of
the mine and rig her up, and yuh'll have a Roman batterin'-ram that'll
bust that there door to splinters," he said.
Sam Hogg dashed off to bring in some of his men. Tom Powers went to the
roofless tool house to see what he could find. He returned a little
later with a couple of rusty picks, a battered saw, and an ax that had
seen better days.
When the Frying Pan punchers arrived, they fell to work with a will.
The box on the freight wagon was dumped off, and on the frame they
lashed two cross bars. They had no nails, but plenty of rope which
served the same purpose. After much cursing, sweating, and heaving, the
arm of the derrick was pushed in between the crossbars. It then hung in
such a way that it would swing back and forth. It was a little wabbly
when finished, but, after an examination, both Tom Powers and Sam Hogg
admitted it would serve its purpose.
It was close to five o'clock before the battering-ram was finished. The
men scattered to seek rest in the shade. The deputation which had been
sent for water and provisions arrived. Fires were built, and
preparations made for the evening meal. The cow-punchers cast curious
glances at Allen, as he sat and talked to Sam Hogg, Toothpick, and
Snippets. They shook their heads, wonderingly.
"He ain't got no chance of comin' out of that place, unless he's
carried, yet look at him over there. The others who ain't riskin'
nothin' a-tall is plumb gloomy and gravelike, while he is happy as a
kid," pronounced one admirer.
The sun hung low over the western hills; then went down with a rush,
and its farewell painted the sky in a thousand brilliant colors. Dusk
softened the flaming canvas to soft pastels, and then darkness fell
over them swiftly, like a velvet, all-concealing mantle.
The men talked in hushed whispers, cleaned and oiled their guns and
paced up and down nervously.
It had been decided to make the attack at midnight; the men were
impatient. Hogg and Toothpick wandered away, and Snippets and Allen
were left alone before the fire. They chattered and laughed. He told
her of that valley of his in the Painted Desert where he had other and
younger gray horses.
"I got two colts up there--twins. Yuh never see their like. They ain't
nothin' but legs and nerve. Do yuh know what they do--them little
jaspers? Walk right into my house an' help theirselves. I can't cook me
a dinner, they don't eat it up. Huh, if I didn't chase 'em out, they'd
get in bed with me."
He went on, painting that valley of his as a veritable paradise.
Snippets laughed. "Jim, I never know when you stop tellin' the truth
and start lying."
Toothpick, Sam Hogg, and Tom Powers watched the two by the fire.
"Look at that runt," Sam Hogg said. "Laughin' his head off, an' in an
hour he's goin' to pull a stunt that he ain't got a Chinaman's chance
in."
"He's sure got nerve," Tom Powers agreed.
"He's darned sure to cash in, an' he's laughin'." Sam Hogg shook his
head.
"That's why he's laughin'," Toothpick said heavily.
"Yuh mean----"
"I know the little cuss. He tole me once, if yuh sit in a game and is
dealt two-spots, yuh can't quit until the Lord cashes yuh in."
"I dunno," Tom Powers said thoughtfully. "If I'd been on the dodge for
ten years, maybe I'd feel the same."
"And the gal?" Sam Hogg asked.
"She knows," Toothpick said. "She knows everything. She's plumb bright.
That day he gets throwed off the train she knows him pronto, and he has
me fooled complete."
"She's in love with him an'----" Tom Powers left his sentence
unfinished.
"Knows he's goin' to cash pronto an' keeps laughin'," Sam Hogg finished
for him.
"She's got nerve, even if she is only a gal," Toothpick stated.
"It's a shame. Ain't there a chance of gettin' the little cuss a
pardon?" Tom Powers asked.
"Not any, an' that's positive. The United States wants him, an' every
State west of Mississippi has a price on him," Toothpick replied.
"I'm tellin' yuh he'll get a pardon in Texas if he comes out of this,"
Sam Hogg cried.
"Yea, _if_----" Tom Powers said softly.
The two they watched continued their laughter.
"Tell me where this valley of yours is," Snippets pleaded.
"Yuh start from Wilton in Arizona. Yuh follow the sun until yuh come to
the Three Widows. They is Black Buttes what looks sorrowful. The trail
goes up Paintbox Canyon. An' when yuh can't go no farther, yuh start
climbing to the moon, and pretty soon yuh see it. It ain't very big,
but there's surprising trees an' grass an' plumb gorgeous flowers, an'
there's a house an' hosses--regular man-eaters. An' there's a gal
cooking pies fer 'em an'----Shucks!" Allen interrupted his dreaming.
"They's everything yuh want, when yuh get to the moon."
He leaped to his feet and looked down at her. Suddenly she seemed to
have grown very small and childish. Her dark eyes glistened with unshed
tears.
"Shucks, kid. I was usin' plumb-loose language," he said, with an
effort at lightness. He turned abruptly and walked to the men beside
the other fire. Snippets watched him; his shoulders sagged, as if they
were drawn down by the weight of the two big guns he wore. But a few
minutes later he was laughing again and making the others laugh with
him.
The men examined their weapons and gathered about the battering-ram. It
was pushed to the top of the crest. There, only a slight shove would be
needed to send it rolling toward the fortress. Ropes were attached to
the front axle, and mounted men held their ends.
"Yuh stays put, until I lights the match. Then yuh comes a-hoppin'
straight for the light. An' Toothpick an' Tad tosses Allen in through
the window," Sam Hogg explained.
The ex-Ranger had insisted that it was his right to give the signal. He
was to creep down to the fortress, and his lighted match would mark the
position of the door as well as give a signal.
He removed his boots and crept through the darkness toward the black
blotch which was the fortress.
Allen, followed by Toothpick and Tad Hicks, walked past the fire beside
which Snippets was sitting. The little outlaw did not speak to her, but
as the firelight caught his eyes, she saw they glinted with yellow, and
she knew the boy who had talked to her a short time before was gone. He
had given way to the Wolf.
"Yuh remember, if yuh gents don't toss me straight, the judge will sure
enough stretch rope," Allen warned.
Tad and Toothpick nodded. They knew that, not only would the judge be
lost, but that, if Allen failed to clear the window at the first
attempt, the gunmen within would make a sieve of him before he could
struggle clear.
CHAPTER XI
THE ATTACK
The interior of the fortress was lighted by three big ceiling lamps.
The portholes by the door were shielded from the light by screens. Four
men, each with two rifles, stood guard there. That door was the only
entrance to the fortress. It was formidable in its metal-studded oak.
The Lava Gang were convinced that, before the attackers could batter it
down, they could annihilate them by pouring a stream of lead through
the portholes. They were supremely confident in their impregnable
position.
Three men sat at a table and faced Judge Ransom. The Yuma Kid, Baldy,
and several other men lounged against a near-by wall. One of these wore
his hat pulled down over his eyes and a handkerchief over his face. He
kept to the shadows and did not speak. The judge wondered why he wanted
to conceal his identity.
The man in the center of the trio at the table laughed heavily, but
there was no mirth in his laughter; it sounded more like the snarl of
an animal than anything human.
"Judge, maybe I better explain, so you'll understand just how serious
we are. Did you ever hear of Jean Napoleon? He was a direct descendant
of the great Napoleon. He called himself _le Diable à Cheval_."
The judge had heard of him, and heard of his terrible cruelty. He
nodded.
"Then let me start with myself. You have known me as Francisco Garcia.
My real name is Francisco Napoleon. He was my father. The gentleman
here on my right, you have known as Bill Anderson, is my brother,
Richard Napoleon. On my left you have Mac Kennedy, otherwise Cupid
Dart; he also is my brother--Thomas Napoleon. We have a fourth brother;
can you guess who he is?" the big, toadlike man asked.
Puzzled, wondering, the judge shook his head.
"You sentenced him to be hung--Pete Cable." The Toad's face was mottled
with fury; his large, protruding eyes were bloodshot. The judge
recoiled from the hate he saw there.
"You understand now we are serious. We will go to any length to save
our brother and to avenge him," the Toad growled.
Bewildered by these revelations, the judge remained silent for a
moment, but when he spoke his voice was steady.
"I have nothing more to say. Pete Cable was a murderer, tried and
convicted as such. To save my own life, I will certainly not turn him
loose," he said quietly.
"Judge, be sensible. We will surely hang you, if you refuse, and there
are some things worse than death. Things that make a man want to die,
make him beg for death," Bill Anderson said calmly.
The judge shuddered. Anderson's very calmness was far more terrifying
than the Toad's animallike rage. He knew these men were not bluffing,
and he had no hope that his friends outside would be able to save him.
Yet never for a moment did he consider weakening. He would not turn a
beast like Pete Cable loose on the world, in order to save his own
life. He summoned his courage to face the ordeal and remained silent.
The three at the table waited, while the judge could hear his own heart
pound. At last the Toad beckoned to two men leaning against the wall.
"Sam, suppose you show the judge what the Apaches do to prisoners.
Don't hurt his right hand; he'll need that to sign a release. Start
easy, but show what you can do," the Toad said.
One of the men, with a pockmarked face, started around the table toward
the judge. In spite of himself the judge shivered, then he clenched his
hands and waited for what was to come.
"_Dios!_" one of the guards at the door cried.
Every one swung about to face the door.
Outside there came a chorus of shrill cries, the thumping of horses'
hoofs, and the rumbling of a loaded wagon running wild downhill. For a
fraction of a second the men at the table were still; they started to
rise, then----
Straight through the window there shot a figure. At first it looked to
the judge like some huge cat, for its eyes were flaming pools of fire.
For an instant it seemed to remain suspended in the air. As it started
to fall toward the floor, jagged streams of fire leaped from two big
Colts. One of the guards at the door cried out and toppled from his
platform.
The hurtling figure struck the floor, somersaulted, and, with its guns
spitting fire, bounced to its feet. The Yuma Kid's guns came into play
first, then Baldy's and Cupid Dart's. The room was filled with a
continuous bellow of hellish noise, clouds of acrid smoke, and streams
of fire. Then, above the boom of guns, came a grinding smash,
overwhelming all the other noises by its volume.
Every man in the room now had his gun out, firing at that bounding
figure. Allen was in lightning action; he leaped by one man, spun
about, and used him for a shield. His guns empty, he snatched out
another pair from his holsters. The Yuma Kid fired at him. Flame from
the gun burned his cheek, but the shot missed. As he ducked by the Kid,
Allen fired in turn. The gunman stood for a moment with a startled look
on his face, took two or three tottering steps, and fell straight
forward on his face.
_Smash! Smash!_
The heavy battering ram beat at the door. The thick oak splintered,
hung by one hinge.
The room was full of smoke cut by lightning, and through it the judge
saw Allen leaping, ducking, and dodging. He was slower now; but always
red flame poured in continuous streams from his two guns.
Cupid Dart was down, sprawled across the table. The Toad, one hand
clutching his chest, was trying to bring his wavering gun on Allen.
Another crash, the door came down. Led by Sam Hogg, men poured into the
room. A few more shots, and it was over.
The judge had not moved from his position before the table. Scarcely a
minute had passed since Allen came flying through the window. Yet death
had struck on all hands.
"Yuh all right, judge?" Sam Hogg bawled hoarsely.
The judge was speechless. Tom Powers ran through the swirling smoke and
threw his arm around Ransom's shoulders. Slowly the dense, blue-white
fog melted away and revealed the wreckage.
The Yuma Kid lay dead, almost at the judge's feet. Cupid Dart was
sprawled on the table, and even as the judge watched, his body fell in
a heap to the floor. Baldy was dead against the wall. Three others lay
sprawled on the floor. The Toad was dying, breathing curses through the
bloody froth on his lips. The rest of the outlaws were prisoners, their
faces full of terror and their hands upraised.
The judge saw Jim-twin Allen leaning weakly against the farther wall.
Each hand still held a Colt; smoke gently curled from the barrels. Tom
Powers sprang toward Allen, but before he reached him Snippets dodged
through the door and was by his side.
"Jim!"
"I done it!" he said, grinning at her.
One side of his face was burned black; a little trickle of blood ran
from the corner of his mouth to stain his chin. He stood on one leg;
the other hung limp and twisted.
"Ace Cutts--cover him--so the judge--won't--know," he whispered.
His guns slipped from his hands and fell to the floor. He smiled at
Snippets.
Tom Powers caught him as he swayed forward. Sam Hogg pushed the sheriff
away, almost fiercely.
"Let me tend to him!" he cried.
After an examination he arose to his feet, and there were tears in his
eyes.
"He was hit six times--once through the chest, twice in the leg--and
got a rib smashed. The others don't count. But the little runt is going
to live!"
Two riders were sent to town for a doctor. With the first streak of
dawn Allen was carried in a litter across the border, where, five hours
later, the doctor confirmed Sam Hogg's opinion. Allen had a chance.
Later that day, when the Mexican soldiers arrived, they found six men
dangling from beams in the adobe house, and seven others laid in a row
and covered with blankets. Anderson had been one of the unlucky ones to
die at the end of a rope.
Tom Powers started a collection to pay a famous bonesetter to come from
San Francisco and set Allen's leg, but Sam Hogg insisted on bearing the
expense himself.
"The little cuss aggravates yuh, 'cause he won't tell what he's doin',
but I'm tellin' yuh he's a seven-eyed wonder for guts, so I'm payin' to
have his leg fixed," he explained.
Anderson's power being broken, the judge's dreams appeared destined to
come true.
* * * * *
One night, six weeks after the battle, when the nurse entered Allen's
room, she found him gone.
He and his grays had started on their return trip home--home to that
valley of his in the Painted Desert.
CHAPTER XII
THE WAMPUS ON STILTS
As in so many other mining towns, killers and robbers walked the
streets of Goldville, and the authorities tacitly agreed to forget
their pasts unless they committed some fresh crime within the town. So
wanted men, with huge rewards offered for them by other States, drank,
ate, and slept and had no other worry than to keep a wary eye out for
an enemy.
Real law would come later, and the enforcement of it, but now, while
many of the decent citizens of the town disliked and feared the roughs
who hung out in the Ace High Saloon, few had the nerve to interfere, if
the rowdies attempted to ride a stranger.
"Gents, I'm tellin' yuh it's the only lollygaholopus that ain't in
captivity," a big, florid-faced man said with mock gravity as he
pointed to one of the passengers who had arrived on the stage. There
had been five in all--three hard-rock miners, "Pop" Howes, a
leathery-faced old prospector, and the man who was the object of the
rough's joke.
He was a small, undersized man of about twenty-eight. His hat, with its
extra high crown, was the finest grade of Stetson; his boots,
custom-made patent leather, had abnormally high heels; his shirt was of
silk and knotted with a loose black tie, and his suit was black, and
silk-faced lapels adorned his long-tailed frock coat. If he heard the
rough's pleasantry he made no move to resent it. He pulled at his heavy
black beard and gazed indifferently about the town.
"Anderson, yuh is plumb mixed in your animology. That ain't no
lollygaholopus; it's a wampus on stilts!" a tall, gawky, hook-nosed man
cried.
The bums roared at this allusion to the little man's high heels. Even
the other spectators who disliked Anderson and his cronies smiled, but
still the little man in the frock coat paid no attention to the remarks.
A small, undersized young fellow, dressed in ragged, faded jeans, who
was standing on the outer fringe of the watchers, stared at the little
man as if he were a ghost. Then suddenly the youth's freckled face
split in a wide, loose-mouthed grin.
"Gosh, it's him!" he cried excitedly.
Pop Howes, the old prospector who had arrived on the stage, raised
himself on tiptoe and peered over the heads of the crowd.
"Who's 'him'?" he asked, then added regretfully: "Darn them big
bullies! Why don't they take a gent their own size?"
"Jack ain't used to being made fun of, so he don't savvy they're
talkin' about him," said the ragged fellow. "But don't yuh worry none.
When he does, he'll swell up and get darned big in them gents' eyes."
"Big" Anderson, the florid-faced bully, took several steps toward the
little man, cocked his head on one side, and carefully surveyed the
stranger from his patent-leather boots to his high-crowned Stetson.
Then Anderson nodded his head decisively.
"Yep, 'Hi,' yuh is plumb correct! It's the most perfect specimen of a
wampus on stilts I ever seen. What do yuh say we capture it an' sell it
to some museum?"
The little man suddenly realized that these remarks were directed
toward himself and, very slowly, he turned and glanced at Big Anderson
and Hi Stevens, the other rough. They met his eyes with broad, taunting
grins.
The little man stood there, quietly watching them for a moment, then
walked briskly across the road toward them. Because of his high heels,
he seemed to strut like a bantam rooster. His eyes were steady and
bored into those of the two crude jesters, who were taken aback at his
sudden advance.
"Was yuh gents talkin' about me?" he asked coldly.
The two recovered from their surprise and grinned mockingly, then
prepared to have further fun with the "wampus."
"We sure was. I was remarkin' yuh is the most perfect specimen of----"
Big Anderson's' grin vanished, and his words came to an abrupt halt,
for the little man's coat opened like two doors on springs, and two big
black guns seemed to leap from his belt into his hands. The bullies'
mouths grew slack, as they stared pop-eyed into the big, round barrels
of those Colts.
"Yuh was sayin'?" the little man inquired.
"Put them guns away or--or----" Hi Stevens attempted to bluster, but he
could not bring himself to finish the sentence. While the stranger was
small, those two guns were big, the hands that held them steady, and
the eyes behind them very hard.
"Yuh was sayin' I was a wampus?"
The voice was gentle, but it sounded to the two bullies like a death
knell. Their courage oozed away visibly, and their hands fell limply
from the butts of their guns. Hi Stevens choked and stammered, then
spoke hesitatingly:
"Naw, I never said that."
"Then it was your friend. Now, mister, yuh'll have to teach him
manners. Yuh'll have to show him it ain't nice to go callin' strangers
names. Just so he won't forget it, yuh pull his ear with one hand an'
slap him good with the other."
The spectators gathered closer; this was good--the bullies being
bullied. The two roughs' friends near the door of the Ace High moved
restlessly, and one or two of them handled their guns; but the boy in
the tattered jeans ran across the road and whispered something to them,
and their desire to interfere seemed to vanish.
Anderson and Stevens stared at the little stranger as if they had
suddenly become half-witted and did not understand his words. He
repeated them again more sharply this time, and when Hi Stevens made no
move to obey, his right-hand gun roared, and the bully, white-faced,
hopped about on one foot and stared at his left boot, the heel of which
had vanished.
"Hey, mister, don't do that," he whined.
"Do what I tole yuh to, or I'll take one of your toes off next," the
little man warned.
Instinctively Hi Stevens knew that the threat was no bluff. Moved by
resentment toward Big Anderson, who had started this ill-fated
horseplay, Stevens suddenly reached over and, before his astonished
friend could recover from his stupor, yanked one of Anderson's ears and
clouted him across the cheek with his other hand.
Big Anderson roared with anger and glared at Stevens; but, while he
rubbed the red mark on his cheek, he made no move that the frock-coated
stranger might have interpreted as hostile.
"Now, mister, it's your turn to teach _him_ not to go callin' names."
Big Anderson stepped toward Stevens with blood in his eyes.
"Mister, yuh stand still an' take it or I'll----"
The stranger had no need to voice his threat, for Hi Stevens stopped in
his tracks and waited. Anderson yanked Stevens' ear, raised a big,
hairy paw, and clouted him on the side of the head with such force that
Stevens reeled backward.
"Now get the hell out of here!" the stranger snapped.
The two bullies, murderous with rage, both at each other and at the
stranger, whirled about and hurried into the Ace High Saloon. The
little man waited until they disappeared. Then he returned his guns to
their holsters, with a movement as swift as that with which he had
drawn them, whirled on his heel, and stalked toward the hotel.
"Baldy" Kane, a slender man of forty whose face and head were as
guiltless of hair as an egg and whose gray eyes and long, sallow face
were entirely devoid of expression, watched the black-coated stranger
enter the hotel, then turned to a friend and asked:
"Who's the little rooster?"
His friend nodded toward the ragged boy, who was now walking down the
dusty street by the side of Pop Howes.
"Jim-twin Allen horned in suddenlike when the boys was thinkin' of
stoppin' the little man, so I figger the little runt with the whiskers
is Jim's brother--'Jack-twin' Allen."
Kane shrugged, turned on his heel, and followed Big Anderson and Hi
Stevens into the Ace High. A miner leaped down and whispered to a
companion.
"If that there rip-snortin' hellion of a Wyoming sheriff is here, hell
is sure goin' to pop, an' Baldy is thinkin' fast an' hard!"
"'Tain't safe to talk!" the other mumbled out of the corner of his
mouth and turned away.
CHAPTER XIII
THE MINERS' MEETING
Pop Howes' mine, the American Beauty, was about a mile from town on the
south side of the mining gulch where the walls became sheer and closed
in. At the foot of the slope he had built a small three-room shack
where he and his wife lived. Back of this were the barns, a donkey
engine, and a narrow building where his Mexican workers formerly ate
and slept. But the bunk house was now deserted, the engine silent. No
work was going on in the shaft.
For thirty years Pop Howes had worked and saved; now he had been robbed
and was broke. He had exhausted his credit at the bank. His eyes were
bitter as they stared at the empty buildings.
The gulch had been formed by a cataclysm that had split a mountain when
the world was young. On the north side of the gulch was the El Dorado
Mine that was making a fortune for its owners. Pop Howes believed that
the El Dorado lode extended through the whole mountain, on the south as
well as the north side of the gulch, and that if he could run his shaft
down another hundred feet, to the same level as the El Dorado shaft,
he, too, would strike a rich, ore-bearing vein.
Jim Allen, who had accompanied Pop from town, glanced with ready
sympathy at the old man's brooding face. "So the bank wouldn't give yuh
a nickel?" he asked.
"Not a nickel, darn 'em! They was only too glad to loan me five
thousand last year, but now they acts as if I was wantin' to steal
money from 'em!" Pop cried wrathfully.
"Maybe they figger if they don't lend yuh no money they'll get the mine
an' a fortune on the mortgage," the ragged one said thoughtfully.
"Of course that's it. That young fellow that they sent here knew his
onions; he spent a week measurin' an' clippin' rock from this side an'
then goin' over yonder an' doin' the same thing," Pop sputtered. "An'
if it hadn't been for them darned quartz thieves what cleaned me out
last week, I'd never have had to ask the bank for no money!"
The two reached the house and entered a long, low room where they found
Mrs. Howes waiting for them. She was a thin, frail woman of fifty. Her
face was lined and her hair snow-white, but her eyes still had the
cheerful courage of the woman who has been taught by life to take the
good with the bad. One look at her husband's face and she knew his trip
to the county seat had been unsuccessful.
Experience had taught her that disappointment is easier to bear on a
full stomach, so she bustled into the kitchen and returned a few
minutes later with a dish of venison stew. She placed this on the table
and added a plate of hot biscuits and a pot of coffee.
When the men returned from washing up she had already piled their
plates high with the steaming stew. Pop Howes slumped into his chair
and gloomily told himself he was to lose the chance of a fortune, after
thirty years' labor, for the lack of only a few dollars.
It was not that he minded so much for himself, but his wife, who had
stood by him through all sorts of hardships, loneliness, and the
bitterest poverty, deserved some reward. Not that she had ever
complained, though he had noticed at times a wistful look in her eyes
and even the traces of tears. He knew that she wanted to visit again
those relatives of hers in the East whom she had not seen since the
days of her marriage. And recently, when they had thought they would
soon strike the lode, soon have money, she had looked forward to it
with a new longing.
Hardly had the two men finished their dinner when a messenger arrived
with the news that a miners' meeting was to be held that evening at the
hotel.
"Bill Tucker sent up north an' asked one of them gun-slingin' sheriffs
to come an' help ketch the quartz thieves," the messenger explained.
"Never knew Bill Tucker had enough sense to do that. Always figgered
him as the dumbest town marshal I ever see," Pop Howes grunted.
He arose, buckled on his gun, took his coat and hat from the peg behind
the door, and filled his pipe. After he had lighted it he turned to the
messenger and asked thoughtfully:
"Who's this gun-slingin' hombre?"
"Jack-twin Allen, the Wyoming sheriff."
Pop Howes glanced at the small figure sitting by the fire, started to
speak, thought better of it, and clumped from the room. The messenger
followed.
The woman glanced curiously at Jim Allen, but her curiosity was tinged
by sympathy and understanding. After a moment she asked falteringly:
"He's your brother?"
"Yeh. Twin brother." The voice was toneless, flat.
"An'--have you spoken to him?" she asked. At the sight of his face she
instantly regretted her words.
"Naw, an' I don't reckon I will. 'Cause, yuh see, Jack's here on
business, an' he can't go cavortin' about with a disreputable gent like
me. Reckon I'll pull out pronto."
Jim Allen was grinning now and he spoke with assumed indifference, but
the woman saw behind the mask.
"Let me tell yuh somethin', ma'am. Jack Allen is the darnedest,
fightingest gent I ever see. Let me tell yuh what he done now."
Enthusiastically Allen poured out praises of his brother's courage, his
skill, and the wonderful things he had accomplished. But the more he
praised his brother, the more the woman understood his grief. Jim-twin
Allen was an outlaw, with a fortune on his head; his brother was an
officer of the law--the gulf between the two was insurmountable.
* * * * *
When Pop Howes arrived at the hotel he found "Hard-rock" Hogan and Bill
Tucker, the town marshal, waiting for him. Tucker was a powerfully
built man with a round, red face, a large mouth, and small gray eyes.
"Howdy, Pop!" he cried jovially. "We sent for Baldy Kane, Steven
Brandon, 'Two-finger' Smith, and some of the other boys. Bill Tucker
sent up North and asked Jack-twin Allen--yuh've heard of him,
yes?--well, Bill asked him to come on down here to help ketch these
here quartz robbers. Well, he's here now, feedin' his face, an' he'll
be in here pronto."
Bill Tucker cultivated a hearty, jovial manner, and, as the different
owners and managers of mines in the gulch arrived, he greeted each one
like a long-lost brother. Steve Brandon, the manager of the El Dorado,
was one of the last to arrive.
He was a short, heavy man with gray hair and a close-cropped mustache.
When he spoke he snapped out his words like pistol shots. Shortly after
Steve Brandon arrived, Baldy Kane slid into the room. He nodded to
those present, and then his face became an expressionless, claylike
mask. He silently drifted into a dark corner.
"I hears tell that this here Jack Allen is faster than his brother
Jim," Bill Tucker boomed.
"Not any," Pop declared shortly but emphatically.
"Wonder if the two speak? It's darn funny--Jack comes here to clean up
this town, an' here is Jim, his brother, the best of all the
jailbirds." The marshal chuckled as if he found the situation amusing.
Hard-rock Hogan was one of the men who had worked in and about mines
since early childhood; he had lived all his life among rough, violent
men, and his experience with human nature was vast. He had discovered
that many men used words to hide their thoughts, while others
cultivated a masklike face after the manner of Baldy Kane. He glanced
curiously at Bill Tucker.
Now he saw only the tragedy that lay beneath the meeting of two
brothers in such circumstances, and he wondered if the town marshal had
been aware the two would meet when he sent his invitation to Jack
Allen. He was curious as to that, but he was more curious as to the
reason behind the invitation; he was reasonably sure Tucker had some
hidden motive. Hogan was still pondering the matter when the door
opened and Jack Allen entered.
The famous Wyoming sheriff and United States marshal was cool and
collected. His eyes swept the room and rested on each man in turn. Most
of the miners met his searching gaze unflinchingly. But there were one
or two men there who hastily looked away, for they had a feeling that
Allen's rather hard brown eyes might read more than they cared to tell.
Bill Tucker stepped forward and introduced Allen to the assembly.
"Howdy, gents!" Jack greeted them.
They murmured a reply, then all grew silent.
"Suppose yuh give me a line on what's been goin' on here," the little
man suggested.
"It's this way," Bill Tucker explained. "The placers has been givin'
out an' there ain't nothin' but quartz mining hereabouts now. About
eight mines are workin' sinkin' shafts. The veins are darned thin but
mighty rich. About four months ago some gang started stealin' quartz,
an' since then every darn mine has been robbed."
"On the quiet or with guns?" Allen interrupted.
"Sometimes one, sometimes the other. The last time this here gang
worked they held up the American Beauty--about a week ago--shot one
guard, locked up the workers, and made off with about four thousand
dollars in quartz," the town marshal explained.
"When did you find out about it?" Jack Allen asked.
Pop Howes cut into the conversation. "I was stayin' in town that night
with my wife an' went out to the mine about daylight. I find a young
Mex kid I left in the house, gunned proper, an' the rest locked up, so
I come into town an' fetched Bill Tucker."
"Yuh track 'em? Where did they go?"
"Yeh, I follered them clear to the head of the canyon an' then come
back. Yuh see, I'm town marshal, an' we got a tough bunch of hombres
hangin' aroun' here, so I got to sorter stick close to town an' not go
trackin' across the mountains." Bill Tucker flushed beneath Allen's
direct appraisal and floundered in his explanation.
"Why for d'yuh let these here tough hombres hang aroun'?" Allen asked
quickly.
"Why for? 'Cause--why, there's a bunch of 'em, an' I sorta figgered to
let the past slide, so long as the boys behaved," Bill Tucker said
uneasily. His eyes refused to meet Jack Allen's direct gaze and glanced
furtively about the room.
"All right. The first thing to do, then, is to make a list of all the
gents what is not workin', an' all them who have a reward on 'em or are
known to be bad ones, an' tell 'em to get out of town," the Wyoming
sheriff said quietly.
"Would yuh put your brother, Jim Allen, on that list?" Steve Brandon
barked.
"Yes!" Jack Allen snapped.
The miners regarded Allen curiously. Instinctively they knew he spoke
the truth and would lock his own brother in jail if called upon to do
so in the line of duty. Here was a man who made a fetish of honesty.
Some of them had heard of him by reputation. Honest, hard, relentless
in his pursuit of outlaws, he was known to be just. He cared nothing
about the rewards for the outlaws he sought; having cleaned up a town
or county, he would silently fade away, none the richer for his work.
After a general discussion, it was agreed that Jack Allen was to be
given a free hand in the gulch. For a long while Bill Tucker insisted
he should have authority within the town limits, but at length he was
forced to give way and to agree to take orders from Allen.
Later, as Hard-rock Hogan and Pop Howes were walking up the starlit
gulch toward their homes, they both chuckled as they recalled Bill
Tucker's expression when Jack Allen questioned him.
"Bill sorta showed up as a windbag, didn't he?" the old prospector
remarked.
"Yeh, Jack Allen is sure enough a little hellion on wheels." Hard-rock
grinned his admiration.
"How come yuh persuaded Bill to write to him?" asked Pop.
"I ain't supposed to say, but it was Steve Brandon who got me to prod
Bill to get Jack Allen," Hard-rock answered, after a moment's
hesitation.
When Pop Howes entered the living room he found Jim-twin Allen waiting
for him. Pop laughed as he related what had happened at the miners'
meeting that night.
"An' yuh say it was Steve Brandon who started gettin' Jack down here?"
Allen asked curiously.
"Yeh. Steve sure has a head on him. Reckon he don't want it known for
fear these here quartz robbers will get after him."
"Listen, Pop. I've been thinkin'. That night they robbed yuh--yuh say
the kid they downed was dressed in his underclothes an' wasn't armed?"
"Yeh."
"Did yuh ever think that maybe some one downed that kid, figgerin' it
was you--an' done it for a purpose?" Allen asked.
Pop Howes frowned and stared thoughtfully into the fire.
"Jim, I reckon you're correct. An' that means that gang is workin' for
some one who knows I'm due to strike it rich an' wants to cash me in so
he can buy my claim off the old woman for almost nothin'!"
"Well, I figgers I'll bunk here, an', if they comes ag'in, I'll give
'em a surprise." Allen grinned cheerfully.
Pop Howes lay awake for a long time that night. He racked his brain
despairingly, trying to think of some way by which he could raise the
money to continue his operations and at the same time pay the bank its
interest on the mortgage. The more he puzzled, the more hopeless it
seemed. He was within a few feet of riches and, for the want of a few
dollars, would be forced to watch some one else profit by his work. He
thought of his wife, sleeping quietly beside him--how patient she had
been, how hard working! Time after time she had been forced to work
like a slave while he was in the mountains prospecting. And now what
good had it done?
Pop turned back to bed. His wife tossed restlessly and moaned in her
sleep.
CHAPTER XIV
JIM-TWIN AND JACK-TWIN
One day, two days passed, and still Jack-twin Allen made no move. He
looked over the jail and had certain repairs made on it. He walked
about the town, and, while he did not stroll down the center of the
street, neither did he sneak about the alleys. He had a certain cold
nerve that was far superior to reckless courage. He was there to catch
and punish the gold robbers, and he had no intention of making a move
until he was thoroughly familiar with his surroundings and the
situation in general. He would stalk into various saloons, look the
people over, and then draw one man aside and question him. His
questions were direct and to the point, and usually the men would
answer them freely, for they felt that what they said would go no
farther. If a man lied, Allen would fix him with those hard,
penetrating eyes of his and bluntly tell the man he lied. Yet,
strangely enough, there were none who made an overt move to resent his
accusations even in that town which was overrun by gunmen.
There were many who wondered why Jack Allen delayed his clean-up. The
miners became impatient, but Jack knew the gang which was stealing the
quartz would be getting nervous, and there is nothing so trying to the
nerves as waiting.
On the third day he borrowed a horse from the livery stable and started
to visit each mine in the neighborhood. Each one told him the same
tale. The mine was robbed, the robbers' trail went up the gulch and was
finally lost in the wooded hills. Always pack horses had been used to
haul the gold away.
The Blue Sky Mine was close to the American Beauty. When Jack Allen
dismounted before the shack used as an office, Baldy Kane, the owner,
stepped through the door and greeted him.
He was like a death's-head, with his expressionless eyes, his hairless
face and head and tightly stretched, sallow skin. When he spoke, his
lips scarcely moved. Jack Allen knew the man had no more fear in him
than a stone. There would be no taking such a man alive.
"Yeh, I've got a hard bunch workin' for me, but I figgered that until
this quartz gang is busted up I might as well have fighters as well as
workers," he said softly in reply to a question from Allen.
The Wyoming sheriff nodded; this sounded like sense to him.
"I hear yuh struck it rich?" he asked, after a pause, in which each man
frankly studied the other.
"One of the old-timers went broke sinkin' my shaft," Baldy explained.
"His vein petered out, an' the fool killed himself. A greaser who
worked for him tipped me off that by putting in a side cut I could
strike a rich vein. I bought the place for taxes an' did what the
greaser tol' me. An' I've struck it rich--plenty rich! I'm sorta hopin'
that what that old fool Pop Howes believes about the El Dorado mother
lode startin' again on this side of the gulch is true, 'cause, if it
does, I've got it an' not him."
"How many men yuh got workin' for yuh?"
"Eight--an' they're all gun slingers."
Jack Allen was silent for a moment. Was this a threat, or a mere
statement of fact? His eyes caught and held Baldy's.
"How did that ol'-timer kill himself?"
"Threw himself down the shaft," said the mine owner quickly.
Allen thought to himself.
"He's sure enough a cool customer, an' he'd do anything--cut a man's
throat without a wink. Mebbe he threw that old-timer down the shaft,
himself. But if the Blue Sky is as rich as he says it is, there ain't
no use tryin' to hitch him up with them quartz robbers. A man worth a
million doesn't go about stealin' thousands."
It was late noon when Jack Allen turned up the path that led to the
American Beauty Mine. Jim Allen, who was sitting on a bench on the
shady side of the house, saw him coming and arose to his feet with the
idea of vanishing, but on second thought he decided to remain and speak
to his brother. Pop Howes was over visiting Hard-rock Hogan, and Mrs.
Howes was asleep upstairs, so there would be no one to report that the
sheriff had talked to the outlaw. But Jim was mistaken in this, for
Mrs. Howes peered through the window and saw the meeting between the
two brothers.
"Hello, Jack," Jim said hesitatingly.
"Hello, yuh darned ol' hoss thief," Jack responded with a grin.
"Yuh ain't changed none sense I see yuh last up in Wyoming."
"You neither--yuh don't look a day over twenty."
There was a heavy silence. Both rolled and lit cigarettes. The woman
watched through the window, and her heart ached at their attempt to
appear casual and indifferent. She knew that here were two men, twin
brothers, who had slept together, fought side by side in a feud that
had rocked the whole West, until at last they were the only ones left.
They had no other kin; all had died in the feud. Yet the two had been
separated by an impassable gulf since that day when Jim Allen had shot
and killed a United States army captain. That the killing had been
deserved and had prevented an Indian uprising made no difference. Jack
was one who believed in the letter of the law.
"Yuh remember when we was kids an' pa used to hide our dinner an' make
us track it or go hungry?" Jim asked.
"Yeh. Yuh was always better'n me. Guess yuh are still," Jack answered
and stared down the gulch. He had less ability to hide his feelings
than his twin; Jim had been forced to wear a mask so long it had become
second nature to him.
Jim Allen's freckled face split in a wide grin.
"Yuh try livin' in the desert where yuh got to track lizards or go
hungry an' yuh'll soon learn trackin'!"
Suddenly the restraint between the two dropped away. They were once
more boys, brothers. Jim pointed at Jack's high heels and then threw
back his head and laughed aloud.
"The only lollygaholopus an' wampus on stilts out of a museum!
Ha-ha-ha!"
"Yuh darn little hoss thief!" Jack retorted. "Yuh still got Honey Boy,
the hoss yuh stole from me? Lissen, you! Yuh want to stop laughin' or
some day the top of your head will fall off."
The two stood there and thoroughly abused each other, mixing their
abuse with fighting words. But in each case the fighting words were
terms of endearment.
But again the twins grew silent. Jack was thinking of the day after
to-morrow when he intended to post his list of undesirables. Jim headed
the list.
"Listen, Jack," the little outlaw said earnestly. "I'm thinkin' that
quartz gang what robbed Pop last week sure dropped that Mex kid,
thinkin' it was Pop. They tried to down him deliberate. I figger some
gent knows Pop is due to strike it rich and figgered on buyin' the
American Beauty cheap from the widow. An' don't forget that gent is
runnin' with the quartz gang!"
He lowered his voice and explained his theory, but after he had
finished, Jack shook his head.
"I don't blame yuh, but your life has made yuh too darn suspicious. Yuh
suspect everybody."
"Mebbe so, but yuh got to set a thief to ketch a thief!" There was a
touch of bitterness in Jim's voice.
It was a long while before he spoke again.
"I'm tellin' yuh, Jack, there is somethin' darned funny about how an'
why them gents sent for yuh. They aim to double cross yuh, or somebody
else, or mebbe both!" Jim warned.
"Why?" Jack smiled unbelievingly.
"Mebbe they got yuh down here to do somethin' they're scared to do,"
Jim suggested.
"What?"
"I dunno, but suppose some gents is plumb scared of their partner.
Suppose this here Baldy Kane was a member of their gang, an' they was
scared of him. He's hell on wheels, that bald-headed ol' jasper. They
would figger out you would learn somethin', then go try for Baldy. He
ain't a gent what would ever give up, so you'd sure cash him, an' he'd
prob'ly cash you. They'd have got rid of him, an' anythin' you'd learnt
wouldn't matter, 'cause you'd be dead!"
Later Jim-twin Allen stood there and watched his brother ride away. And
the woman watching him saw Jim's face grow old, become covered with a
thousand wrinkles. It was lifeless, nearly, dead like the desert that
was his home. The woman turned away, ashamed that she had witnessed the
baring of a man's soul.
Suddenly the outlaw's face grew young again, and he grinned.
"All right, Jack. Whether yuh like it or not, the Wolf is goin' to horn
in on your play an' sorta prove to yuh that yuh don't know nothin'
a-tall!"
CHAPTER XV
THE TRAP
The sun had rushed behind the distant mountains, and the dusk was
gathering in the gulch when Pop Howes rode up to the American Beauty
and dismounted. His face was worried and haggard. He had had a long
talk with his friend, Hard-rock Hogan, but neither of them could think
of any way by which they could raise sufficient money to save the
American Beauty from the clutches of the Black Rock Bank. Another week
and the bank would automatically take possession, unless Pop could
raise the necessary cash to pay the interest and part of the loan.
Jim Allen was waiting for him, and before Pop entered the house, the
little outlaw drew him aside and talked rapidly for several minutes.
"That would be a fool thing to do!" Pop complained. "What you got in
your head now?"
"Yuh do like I say; yuh trot down to the post office an' pretend to get
that letter; then yuh tell two or three people on the quiet what I just
tol' yuh to. Yuh act happy an' glad--make believe you're a little
drunk--an' then tell a coupla more folks. Then yuh come back here, get
your ol' lady, an' sneak over to Hard-rock's place an' lay low. I'll do
the rest, an' don't yuh worry none. I ain't sure she works, but if she
does, mebbe yuh won't lose your mine!" Jim spoke confidently and
grinned one of his broad, likable grins.
Pop grumbled and complained about being left in the dark as to just
what Allen intended to do, but at length he consented to do what Allen
asked. He told his wife that he had to go to town with Jim Allen. And
as Jim saw the look of worry that crossed her face, he realized she
must have known all the while that the Mexican boy had been killed by
mistake for her husband.
"Don't worry none, ma'am. I stick close to him an' he won't get hurt
none!" Allen reassured her.
The woman watched them, as the famous outlaw walked down the path
beside her husband, whose tall, gaunt form made Allen seem smaller than
ever. Behind them trotted Allen's two gray horses. One was saddled and
the other carried a small pack. Mrs. Howes felt no fear now for her
husband; those two low-hung guns that Allen wore brought her a feeling
of confidence that her man would return safely.
Dusk had given way to night by the time the two arrived in Goldville.
The miners were streaming into town, and the saloons were rapidly
filling. Most of the miners were Mexicans, but there were a few husky,
broad-shouldered Americans among them.
Allen left his grays at the hitching rack before the Ace High and
followed Pop Howes through the milling crowd toward the post office.
Pop entered and then reappeared a moment later with a letter in his
hand. Allen watched him as he ripped it open and read it by the light
cast from the office window.
"Huh! It's supposed to be good news, an' Pop acts like it was an
invitation to a funeral," Jim grumbled. "He's sure a bum actor!"
After Pop had consumed a few drinks, an optimistic conviction came to
him that this plan of Allen's, although he did not know just what it
was, would work and the little outlaw would save his mine. So he no
longer _acted_ the part of a man who has just been saved from disaster,
but in reality _felt_ like one.
"Hello, Pop!" Bill Tucker greeted him. "Yuh look like the cat what just
swallered the canary!"
"I sure feel all set up. Have a drink. I'm sorta celebrating."
The two drained their glasses, and Pop ostentatiously drew the letter
from his pocket, glanced at it, and then returned it, with a
self-satisfied smile. The ruse worked perfectly.
"Did yuh get good news in the mail to-night?" the marshal asked.
"You betcha!" Pop hesitated and then added in a whisper: "I ain't
supposed to say nothin'--for some reason the gent wants me to keep it
under my shirt--but he's goin' to buy a quarter interest in the
American Beauty for five thousan' dollars!"
"Who is he? Who's the darn fool?" Bill Tucker's genial manner dropped
from him like a cloak, and he snapped out the question.
"He ain't no darn fool! He's connected with the bank an' knows that the
youngster what examined the American Beauty reported I'm due to hit the
El Dorado lode!" Pop said aggrievedly and convincingly.
"What's this gent's name?" Tucker asked.
"I ain't tellin' that!" Pop shook his head.
"Reckon I better have a look aroun'," the marshal said as he swung
around and headed toward the door. Then, as an afterthought, he called
back over his shoulder: "I'm darn glad yuh got the money."
Pop Howes had another drink, then wandered across the street to the Ace
High. Here he found Hard-rock Hogan and confided his good news to him
in a whisper which was clearly audible to several men standing near. By
the time Pop had had another two drinks and had repeated the story
several more times, always in confidence, he began to believe it
himself and gave it a real ring of truth.
Jim-twin Allen followed him about and watched him. Several times he
chuckled to himself.
"Darn me, if Pop ain't turnin' into a real fancy liar!"
Presently Allen wandered out and started a search of the various
saloons. He found the man he sought playing stud poker in the back room
of the Red Blood Saloon at the far edge of town. Allen whispered to him
and went out again; he walked out of town a short distance, seated
himself on a rock, and started whistling.
"Slivers" Hart, the young card player, waited several minutes and then
cashed in his chips and left the bar. He was very slender and but a few
inches taller than Allen. He had straw-colored hair and laughing,
reckless eyes, but his mouth was hard and bitter.
"Hello, Slivers! I want yuh to do me a favor," Allen greeted him a few
moments later.
"Yuh saved me from wearin' a necktie once, so shoot," the other said
quietly.
"'Tain't much. I want yuh to go to the other end of the town an' sorta
watch an' see if any one leaves in a hurry," directed Allen. "Then, if
some one comes a-runnin' back, an' if he's a plumb important person,
sorta foller him an' see where he goes."
"Is that all?"
"Yep, for now."
Allen suddenly remembered he had not eaten that evening. After Slivers
left him, he went into a Chinese restaurant, hastily devoured a steak,
and then wandered back to the Ace High. He saw Pop sitting with several
friends at a table in the rear. As Jim neared a group of men standing
at the bar they grew silent, and he knew they had been discussing Jack
Allen. He ordered a drink.
"Yuh driftin' to-night? I see yuh got your grays all packed," the
bartender said genially.
"Reckon so. I hears tell that brother of mine is goin' to post his list
to-morrow, so I figgers on gettin' out of town afore he tells me to
get." Allen grinned.
He waited and consumed another drink before going outside. At the
hitching rail he swung onto the back of his saddled horse and waved his
hand toward a group of loafers.
"S'long, fellers! To hell with this town, I say!" he called back with a
laugh.
And, riding slowly, Jim-twin Allen passed down the street and out of
the town. A mile farther on he climbed the banks of the gulch and hid
his grays in a clump of trees. Then he hurried back toward town, his
rifle under one arm. He skirted Goldville and cautiously approached the
trail that led to the American Beauty. Here he found Slivers Hart
waiting for him.
"About an hour ago a feller went by so fast I couldn't tell who it
was," Slivers informed him.
"I'm bettin' my hunch is plumb correct," said Allen, grinning, "an', if
I ain't mistaken, another gent will come a-runnin' pronto."
The two men waited. Minutes passed; several hours elapsed. Drunken
Mexicans singing ribald songs staggered up the trail toward the mines.
At last Allen heard what he was waiting for--the drumming of a
hard-ridden horse's hoofs.
"When he comes, follow him an' see who he talks to, then beat it to the
American Beauty, an' don't let no one see yuh arrivin' there," Allen
warned.
Slivers nodded, and the moment the horseman passed he started in
pursuit. The rider had pulled his mount down to a slow trot, and
Slivers was able to keep him in sight.
A short time later, Jim Allen heard Pop Howes and Hard-rock Hogan
coming from the direction of town. Pop was talking loudly and joyously.
Allen waited until they were a short distance away and then glided like
a shadow up the trail before them. He did not expect there would be any
attempt on Pop's life until later, but he dared not take chances, so he
searched the trail carefully for a possible ambush.
The three arrived at the American Beauty, where Allen told Mrs. Howes
that she and her husband were to spend the night with Hard-rock. Pop
grumbled at not being allowed to stay to see the fun, but Allen
insisted the whole scheme might fall through unless Pop obeyed orders.
So the old couple departed.
It was an hour before Allen was joined by Slivers Hart, whose eyes were
snapping from excitement.
"That gent on the horse was Steve Brandon!" he cried.
"Steve Brandon! Hadn't expected that!" Allen grew thoughtful. "But, of
course, that's it. He would know that the El Dorado vein would be found
again on this side!"
Young Hart related what he had seen. "Steve hits the steps of the Ace
High two at a time. He is in a plumb big hurry. He grabs Bill Tucker,
an' they goes to a corner an' whispers. I slide up, but can't hear
much, only somethin' about 'double-crossin' sneak; he'll go to jail if
he tries it. Things don't pan out to-night. Time to sick Jack Allen
on----' I couldn't ketch the name. Then I hears Bill whisper clear: 'If
things don't pan out to-night, yuh got to write to Ed to put the screws
on Thornton----' Then they sees me an' sorta glares, an' I walks off
innocent-like!" Slivers declared triumphantly.
Allen smiled with satisfaction.
"I figger that part about things pannin' out to-night means gun play,
an' I hereby declare myself in!" Slivers said positively.
"Don't worry none. You're playin' decoy, an' decoys sometimes gets
plugged plenty!" Allen assured him cheerfully.
All was still within the house an hour later. A low-turned lamp burned
in the living room, and a man sat in a chair asleep. Outside, two
shadows glided up the trail and carefully picked their way toward the
house. A foot snapped a twig, and both shadows sank to the ground. A
pause, and they again crept toward the house. They hugged the wall and
slowly turned the corner and approached the lighted sitting-room window.
Behind them came another shadow, a strange thing that looked as if it
were part animal and part man. A hunched beast. Yellow eyes glowed in
the darkness.
The first two shadows peered through the window, and one whispered:
"Yuh knock, an' I'll watch."
While one shadow remained by the window, the other knocked loudly on
the door. The shadow by the window glided forward and joined the one by
the door, while the third shadow moved closely behind them.
"He's comin'," came in a hoarse whisper.
"Who's there?" called a voice from inside the house.
"This is Hard-rock. Open up, Pop," the answer came.
A sound of a door being unbolted, a creak of hinges, and a shadowy
figure appeared in the doorway. Two streams of red fire, the boom of
two shotguns split the night. Then a long streak of jagged red flame
coming from the crouching third shadow. A scream of agony, of surprise,
of terror! A sound of falling bodies, and then silence.
"Come on out, Slivers! I got 'em both," Allen called, as he
straightened up.
Slivers appeared at the doorway and cautiously peered down at the two
sprawled figures.
"Hell! I thought I was goin' to get in on the gun play," he grumbled.
Then he added: "Hey! Them fellas must have used cannon, 'cause they
sure peppered ol' Pop's overcoat an' hat!"
Allen glanced at the straw-stuffed overcoat lying on the floor. It was
riddled by buckshot.
"Pop would sure be in kingdom come if he had been in that coat. Take a
look at them fellers, Slivers," Allen directed.
Slivers stooped and examined the two bodies by the light of a match.
"One of 'em is Ben Jones what works for Steve Brandon, an' tother is
Big Anderson who works for the Blue Sky," Slivers announced
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