CHAPTER XIITHE LAW COMES
Douglasstopped, wheeled, stared at the woman. In her face now burned dull anger.
“Ther’ now, ye went an’ done it,” she droned. “Wha’d ye go an’ leave that cup ther’ for? Ye fool!”
“Are you——” He hesitated. “Is that true—what they’re saying?”
“Oh, yas, it’s true ’nough. I’m Lou Brackett,” she admitted sullenly. “An’ jest ’cause I stop to say ‘howdy’ ye go an’ git me into this! I’m in for it now. Cuss the luck!”
“You mean Snake will——”
“Ah, he wunt kill me—I’m too handy. He’ll only haff kill me. But ther’”—a spark of spirit began to gleam under the black brows—“I can git the jump onto him, knowin’ what’s a-comin’. I’ll keep the sadiron by me, an’ when he comes I’ll——”
She paused abruptly, a new and shrewd look flitting over her face. All at once she smiled wide and rolled her eyes at him.
“I know what we can do,” she gurgled. “Don’t ye want a good housekeeper, mister? I hearn ye live all by yerself, an’ that ain’t no way for no man to live. I can cook an’ sew an’ take good care o’ ye, an’—wal, ye got me into this; now ye’d oughter look out for me.”
So taken aback was he that he stood wordless. She moved toward him. He stepped away. A lucky thought came to him.
“I’m living with Dalton’s Death,” he solemnly stated. “You couldn’t live there. The ha’nt walks every night, knocking on the walls and——”
“Don’t say no more!” she quavered. “I was forgittin’. Ye’re crazy, livin’ into that house! I’d ruther stay to Snake’s.”
Inwardly congratulating himself, he sought a line of escape for her—and found it. Up-stream the bank was thickly bushed for some distance, and, though the voices of the children were not far off, they sounded at a respectable distance. He pointed.
“Go up there,” he directed tersely. “Get well away and then hide in the brush. I’ll go talk to the kids—tell them they’re cross-eyed. Oh, and listen—if Snake acts mean ask him what he’s hanging around Nat Oaks’ so much for. If you jump on him quick enough maybe he’ll forget what he hears about this.”
A vindictive glint crept into her eyes.
“So he’s a-pesterin’ ’round ther’, hey? I’ll fix him! I’ll——”
“Get going!”
With that he stepped out and strode up the bank. As he expected, the children were grouped several yards away, eager to spy but afraid to venture too near the lurking “detective.” At sight of him they retreated, ready to flee at the slightest threatening movement. He made none. He had a better plan.
“Well, what are you young folks jabbering about?”he chaffed them. “Can’t a fellow take a smoke under a bridge without your getting all excited about it?”
They dug their toes into the dust, warily watching him. He took a lazy stride, and they gave back instantly—though they did not run. Pausing, he ostentatiously puffed at the pipe still smouldering between his teeth. The ensuing blue haze bore out his claim that he had been smoking.
“What’s this I heard about Snake Sanders?” he pursued. “Snake isn’t there.”
Behind he heard a slight splash. The woman was obeying his command.
“’Tain’t Snake!” yelped the boy who had seen them. “Snake’s woman! Lou Brackett!”
A mocking chorus swelled out, started by those farthest back.
“Under the bridge with Loo-ou! Under the bridge with Loo-ou!”
Another boy, growing bolder, added a further taunt.
“Wait till Snake hears ’bout it! He’ll hop onto ye! Yah!”
“Yah! Under the bridge with Loo-ou!” piped the chorus.
The man’s teeth clenched on the pipe-stem, but he kept smiling.
“Hadn’t you better be sure you’re right before you start tattling tales? What do you think Snake’ll do to you when he finds out you lied to him? And what do you thinkI’lldo?”
The sudden hush and scared glances around showed that the shot struck home. None wanted to incur thewrath of Snake Sanders. But the girl who had spied the hidden pair—a gangling creature with eyes too close together—snapped back at him.
“’Tain’t no lie! We seen ye—me and Billy!”
“Saw me, yes. But there’s no woman under that bridge. Why do you yell out that there is? First thing you know you’ll get yourself into trouble.”
Another hush. The youngsters began scowling at the pair who had screamed the news.
“She is so!” stubbornly disputed the girl. “I seen her!”
“Now be careful! Want to bet on it?” He drew a bright quarter-dollar from a pocket and held it up. “Want to bet five cents against this quarter that a woman’s there? Any woman at all. If you bet and lose, though, I’ll make your teacher get the money from you or give you a good hiding. Want to bet?”
The half-score pairs of eyes fastened wolfishly on the gleaming coin. The boy and the girl wavered and remained silent. There might be some trick, and the thought of a thrashing was unpleasant. As Douglas intended, their failure to accept his dare increased the doubt in the minds of the others.
“You don’t dare to bet,” he laughed sneeringly. “I thought not. Well, now, just to show you you’re cross-eyed and didn’t see any woman at all, I’ll let you look for yourselves. Come on, girls and boys. I won’t touch you.”
Still they hung back. He drifted slowly toward the bridge, giving Lou Brackett every possible second of time while seeming to urge the children on. On thebridge itself he darted a side-glance up-stream. Nobody was in sight.
“Come on!” he snapped. “I can’t stand here all day.”
A bolder spirit among the boys edged forward. In a minute all were coming. Douglas leaned carelessly on the rail and grinned.
“Look under, everybody! I want you all to see that I’m telling it straight. Use your own eyes.”
They tumbled down the bank, spied all around, and came up laughing loudly at the pair of informers.
“She’s gone!” yelled the boy. “She was here but she run somewheres!”
“Where?” instantly countered Douglas. “You’ve all been watching this bridge every minute. How could anybody come out without your seeing him—or her? Now, you two had better go and get some glasses. Then maybe you can tell the difference between a rock under the bridge and a woman. If you really saw a woman, why didn’t you bet a nickel against my quarter? Because you didn’t see any. Isn’t that right, youngsters?”
His confident argument, poor as it was, clinched the matter in the simple minds of those who had not seen the woman there. They jeered at the spies, who were sullenly silent just when they should have fought back.
“All right, go on,” Douglas waved them away. “Only remember, if I hear any more about this I’ll know who told it around, and—you may be sorry.” This time he gave the sulky pair a hard look. “Nowrun along. I want to finish my smoke without being yelled at.”
They went, still poking fun at their discredited companions. For awhile Douglas leaned there, knowing he was watched, and that while he was the focus of attention the woman could move farther away unobserved. Then he knocked out his pipe and sauntered away, directing his steps up the open road toward the schoolhouse.
“H’m! That was a sweet mess, wasn’t it?” he reflected. “Maybe that pair of little scandal-mongers will keep their mouths shut, but I doubt it. However, the rest of them didn’t see her, and she’s out of it with a whole skin—if she has wit enough to get in the first word when Snake shows up. Mister Ha’nt, up to the present you’ve been a pest, but now you’re a friend in need; you got me out of an embarrassing corner quite gracefully. Consider yourself thanked.”
Chuckling, he swung smoothly along between the walls of verdure bordering the road, soon reaching a sharp turn where the road angled off to the westward. There stood the little dun schoolhouse, now temporarily deserted. Along both sides of the steep roadway beyond stood small houses quite close together. At the nearest of these was a workshop, and before it toiled an active little man surrounded by new barrels.
Somewhat surprised by the sight of industry at this lazy noon-hour, Douglas slowed his steps as he approached. The man was obviously a cooper; and around one stand of staves he was deftly looping a withe hoop and locking it tight by notches in the withe.As Douglas halted he rapidly tapped the hoop down into position, gave the barrel a roll, and stopped, foxily watching the stranger.
“Howdy, stranger,” he gurgled, shifting a lumpy quid in one cheek.
“Howdy. You look busy.”
“Allus busy to this time o’ year—folks needs barrels for the apples—keeps me a-hustlin’, yessir. But lawsy, what’s the use o’ livin’ if ye don’t keep a-movin’, says I. Might’s well be a stump or a rock, yessir. Some folks’d ruther set and spit tobacker to a rat-hole, but not me. I’d ruther wear out than rust out—I can lay quiet a long time when I’m dead. Ain’t that so?”
“Right as a trivet,” the blond man heartily approved, noting the keen features and the sandy gray hair. “I’ll bet you’re a Scotch-Irishman. Am I right?”
“Wal! Ye hit ’er right into the eye, stranger—David McCafferty—that’s me. No slow Injun blood or Dutch into me, like some folks round here—I’m awake, I am, yessir! Ye’re Hammerless Hampton, o’ course. Hearn all ’bout ye, oh, yes.”
His shrewd look dwelt a minute on the gun. Then he shot a wary glance around. His next remark came in a hoarse whisper.
“Uncle Eb told me ’bout ye. Fine old feller, Uncle Eb. Been to see him yit?”
“No. Haven’t seen him since the line storm. I’ve been rambling around. Why?”
“Wal, go an’ see him now, if ye ain’t got nothin’else onto yer hands. He’d oughter be to home pretty quick—he went out bee-huntin’ to-day early. Soon’s ye see him tell him Davy says this: there’s two strangers a-snoopin’ round—come in from the Gap this mornin’—I seen ’em slide into the brush down yender by the schoolhouse, an’ they ain’t come back. Jest tell him that. He’ll know what I mean.”
Douglas turned, looked at the road behind, let his eyes rove in the direction the strangers must have taken, and found himself looking at the wall of Dickie Barre—where Steve probably was hiding. He scowled and unconsciously shifted his gun. A subdued chuckle brought his glance back to David, who now was agrin.
“Guess ye think like I do, Hammerless,” he added with a swift wink. “Anyways, if ye see Uncle Eb ’fore I do, tell him. I been hopin’ he might come back along o’ here, but nobody knows where he’ll travel to when he gits a-goin’.”
“Which is his house?”
“’Bout haff a mile ’long—on the left, beyend the second turn—yeller house facin’ Dickabar—the onliest yeller house on theleftside o’ the road. G’by.”
He dived at his work again, with a back jerk of the head to urge his messenger on. Douglas swung away with long strides.
At the other houses along his way faces looked out from windows as he passed and heads jutted from doorways when he had gone by, but he did not see them. His gaze ranged ahead, seeking a yellow house on the left. His thoughts were a complex of puzzlement over McCafferty’s cryptic last utterances and ofworriment for Steve. He did not reflect on the fact that Steve was an escaped convict: he thought of him only as a hunted victim of the machinations of Snake Sanders and as the wild young sweetheart of Marion, and he resented the coming of men who might be human bloodhounds trailing the unlucky youth. And, though he wondered why honest Uncle Eb should need a warning of the presence of those newcomers, he dismissed the enigma with the guess that this was only a part of the “underground telegraph” system of the Traps, whereby its citizens, good or bad, learned news which might or might not concern them vitally.
Though he did not realize it, he was responding to his environment. The mysterious undercurrent of things unseen, half-guessed—of whispers and winks and silences—of secret movements in the jungly brush and the labyrinth of stones—was eddying around his straightforward nature and deflecting him into the channel where, in time, he might become an integral part of the walled-in stream of life revolving about the bowl. Whether he should ride on the surface of that stream, whether he should float below it like a submerged snag, whether he should suddenly drop to the bottom and be forever lost, only time could tell. But the current was working, and he was drifting with it unawares.
Less than a month ago, as Douglas Hampton, newspaperman, he had had a friendly nod and a smile for every blue-coated patrolman he happened to meet. In his own neighborhood he had known personally every “cop,” and some of the plain-clothes “dicks” as well;and many a time in the dead hours of night, when his own work was done and policemen had little to do but patrol vacant beats, he had stood long in some shadowy corner and yarned with a lonesome guardian of the law. “A fine bunch of fellows,” had been his opinion of them then. Yet now, as Hammerless Hampton, his mental reaction to the hint of the arrival of man-trackers was instinctively hostile; hostile, though he himself still was almost universally regarded as a detective. Yes, he was drifting.
But he was not to drift long. The time was close at hand when, in his own mind at least, he must align himself with or against the forces of the law. In fact, every stride he took was narrowing the distance between him and that decision. When he turned into the little dooryard of the only yellow house on the left, he was within ear-shot of the growling voice of the Law. And when he tramped noisily up the steps and looked through the open door at the top he looked squarely into the eyes of the Law itself.
Beyond that door stood three men. One, his hat askew on his silvery hair, was Uncle Eb. The other two, beefy, red-faced, regarding the newcomer with cold eyes, were obviously outsiders. The civilian clothing and blunt-toed shoes, the chilled-steel stare, the untanned hands hovering on a level with the lowest buttons of their vests, the significant bump bulging the coat of the nearer man—over the right rear pocket—all told the same tale to Hampton’s quick survey.
There was no guesswork about it this time. The Law was in the Traps.