During the week following Ed Hazelton’s departure for Chicago Hollis did not see much of Nellie. In the few days preceding his departure she had not allowed her brother to see how his refusal to allow her to accompany him had hurt her, but once he had boarded the east-bound express at Dry Bottom, she had yielded to the emotions that she had so far succeeded in concealing. Hollis had ridden in to town with them, and not until Nellie and he had seen Ed and Weary safely on the train–indeed, not until the train was well under way and the two figures on the back platform could no longer be discerned–did Nellie break down. Then Hollis turned to her with a smile to see the sudden tears well up into her eyes. He had not attempted to console her, feeling the awkwardness of the situation.
He was much relieved when she refused his offer to make the return trip with her, for he was certain that a few hours alone in which tomeditate over her loss would enable her to regain her composure. But before leaving her he secured her promise not to stop at the cabin, but to go on to the Circle Bar. On her arrival at the ranch she was to tell Norton to send one of the men to the cabin after the few personal effects that she had decided to transfer. But once out of Hollis’s sight Nellie forgot her promise through fear over the safety of her things. She took the Coyote trail, riding slowly through the clear sunshine of the morning.
After taking leave of Nellie Hollis rode slowly down the street to theKickeroffice. He looked in through the window and seeing that Potter had not yet arrived, continued down to the court house. He talked for a few minutes with Judge Graney. Nothing new had developed. Ben Allen had gone to visit several small ranchers the day before and had not returned.
Hollis returned to theKickeroffice. At noon Potter had arrived, bearing the news that he had seen Nellie Hazelton on the Coyote trail, within a few miles of the Circle Bar. She had stopped at her cabin and there were several bundles strapped to the cantle of her saddle.
That night Hollis did not see her at all. He did not inquire for her, but surmised that she was in her room. The next morning soon afterhe had awakened and while he still debated the question of arising, he heard her singing in the kitchen. He smiled, thinking how quickly she had adapted herself to her new surroundings.
At breakfast he looked closely at her several times, searching for evidence of her grief of yesterday. There was none. Therefore he was not surprised when, after breakfast, she told him that she intended riding with him as far as the cabin for the purpose of bringing the remainder of her effects. He gravely reminded her that she had broken her promise of yesterday, and that as a punishment he contemplated refusing her request. But when, an hour later, he urged his pony down the river trail she was riding beside him.
But she did not ride again that week. She did not tell Hollis the reason; that returning that evening she had reached the Razor-Back and was riding along its crest when she happened to glance across the Rabbit-Ear toward the Circle Cross. On the opposite side of the river she had seen two men, sitting quietly in their saddles, watching her. They were Dunlavey and Yuma. She did not know what their presence there meant, but the sight was disquieting and she feared to return to the cabin for the few things that were still here.
But as the days went her fears were dispersed. Time and the lure of her old home had revived her courage, and on a day about a week following her previous trip, she herself saddled and bridled her pony and set out over the Coyote trail toward her cabin.
She had not told Hollis of her intention to ride there, fearing that the knowledge of what she had seen on the day of the other ride would be revealed in her eyes. It was a good hour after noon when she stole out of the house to her pony, mounted, and rode away toward the river.
For many days she had been wondering at Dunlavey’s continued inaction. He had been known as an energetic enemy, and though at their last meeting in Dry Bottom he had threatened her and her brother, he had so far made no hostile move. Uusually he would go a considerable distance out of his way to speak to her. Perhaps, she thought, at their last meeting she had shown him that he was wasting his time. Yet she could not forget that day when she had seen Yuma and Dunlavey on the Circle Cross side of the Rabbit-Ear. The sight somehow had been significant and forbidding.
But when she reached her cabin she had forgotten Dunlavey and Yuma; her thoughts dwelt upon more pleasant people. Had shedone right in allowing Hollis to see that she was interested in him? Would he think less of her for revealing this interest? She could not answer these questions, but she could answer another–one that brought the blushes to her cheeks. Why had Hollis shown an interest in her? She had known this answer for a long time–when she had read Ace’s poem to him while sitting on the porch beside him, to be perfectly accurate. She had pretended then to take offense when he had assured her that Ace had succeeded in getting much truth into his lines, especially into the first couplet, which ran:
“Woman–she don’t need no tutor,Be she school ma’am or biscuit shooter.”
“Woman–she don’t need no tutor,Be she school ma’am or biscuit shooter.”
The language had not been graceful, nor the diction, yet she knew that Ace had struck the mark fairly, for woman indeed needed no tutor to teach her to understand man–woman had always understood him.
She dismounted from her pony at the edge of the porch, hitching the animal to one of the slender porch columns. Then she went into the house to gather up the few things that still remained there.
But for a long time after entering the cabinshe sat on a chair in the kitchen, sobbing softly, for now that Ed had gone she felt the desolation of the country more than ever. Presently she rose and with a start looked out of the door. The dusk had fallen; darkness was stealing into the valley around the cabin!
Flitting here and there, she hurriedly began packing things which she took from shelves and racks. It was an engrossing task and she was much interested in it, so much so that she did not hear a slight sound at the door that led out to the front porch. But when she saw a shadow darken the doorway of the room in which she was working she stood suddenly erect and with rapidly beating heart stole softly forward and peered around the door-jamb. Of course it could be no one but Hollis. He had taken the Coyote trail to-night. He would be surprised to see her.
But it was she who was surprised. Yuma stood near the table in the center of the kitchen, looking straight at her, his insolent, evil face drawn into a foreboding smile.
After the first gasp of horror and surprise a righteous anger stiffened her.
“What are you doing here?” she demanded.
Yuma’s evil smile grew. She had seen him often, usually at a distance, for she had abhorredhim, with his olive skin, his thin, cruel lips and small glittering eyes. He had always seemed like an animal to her, though she could not have told why. She thought it must be something in his attitude, in the stoop which was almost a crouch, in the stealthy, cat-like manner in which he walked. She had spoken to Ed about him more than once, conveying to him her abhorrence of the man, and he had told her that he felt the same about him. She shuddered now, thinking of what her brother had told her of the man’s cruelty. Dunlavey had often boasted that Yuma was the most venomous and bloodthirsty of his crew of cut-throats.
“What are you doing here?” she repeated, her anger growing.
Yuma laughed softly. “I saw you ridin’ the Razor Back the other day,” he said, showing his teeth as the words came–even, smooth, burdened with a subtle mockery. “I saw you again thees afternoon–but you not see me like the other day–I watch you thees long.” He held up three fingers to denote that he had watched her three hours. She shuddered, suddenly realizing the significance of his attitude that day she had seen him from the Razor Back.
“Ed gone,” he continued, watching her narrowly; “nobody here; I come. I likeyou–much.” He grinned, his eyes brightening. “I reckon you know–you girl that understan’?”
She drew a slow deep breath. Curiously enough, next to the horror and doubt that she felt over Yuma’s presence at the cabin was a wonder for the idioms of cowboy speech that were interjected with his own. He had caught them from association, she supposed. She made a pretense of boldness, though she felt more like screaming.
“Leave this cabin!” she commanded sharply.
Yuma did not change his position. “Leave heem?” he laughed. “I theenk not. Dunlavey says me come here–make um love me–same as tenderfoot noospaper man!” He laughed again, exultantly. “Dunlavey say you spark tenderfoot–you spark me!”
She trembled, realizing that a crisis was at hand and that she must meet it boldly. She thought of the ivory-handled weapon in the holster at her hip and involuntarily her right hand dropped to its butt. She had learned to shoot, but she had never yet shot at a man and she drew her hand away from the butt of the weapon with a shudder. Yuma had been watching her closely, his evil little eyes glittering, and when he saw her hand drop away he laughed derisively.
“You no shoot heem!” he said. “You ’fraid.Dunlavey say he reckon you no shoot–say you make love to um right away!”
He smiled significantly and took a step toward her. She made an involuntary step backward and her right hand again sought the butt of the revolver, the left closing on the edge of the door that opened into her room. Terror had given her courage and as Yuma continued to advance with a soft, cautious, cat-like sliding movement, she drew the revolver and presented it, though her hand wavered a little.
“If you take another step toward me, Yuma, I will kill you!” she declared.
She saw his little eyes glitter with decision, saw him measure the distance between them, saw him crouch for a spring.
She fired, aiming at the lower edge of the scarf that sagged at his throat. The smoke from the pistol blinded her; she heard his laugh, heard the rush of his feet as he hurled himself forward. Terror stricken over her failure to hit him, she dropped the pistol and whirled, grasping the edge of the door and slamming it shut in his face. She felt his weight against it, but he had been taken by surprise by the movement; there was the strength of desperation in her body and she held the door closed against him while she shoved the fastenings into place.
Then, suddenly overcome, she leaned weakly against the jamb, her heart thumping hard, her nerves tingling.
For a long time she did not move, and there came no sound from the other side of the door to tell her of Yuma’s movements. There was a wild hope in her heart that he had gone, but presently, becoming a little calmer, she pressed her ear against the door. There was no doubt of Yuma’s presence; she could hear him stepping softly about the room. Had there been a window in the room in which she had imprisoned herself she might have escaped, but unfortunately there was not.
She fell to thinking of the revolver she had dropped when Yuma had sprung upon her. It must have dropped very close to the door. Had Yuma picked it up? There was a chance that he had not. If the weapon were still there and she could open the door and secure it and close the door again, she would be in a position to defend herself. She could not defend herself without it. If Yuma should burst the door open she would be at his mercy. She must get the revolver.
Convinced of this she stood for some little time at the door, her ear pressed against it, listening for any sound that might tell her of the whereaboutsof Yuma in the cabin. She heard nothing. Perhaps he had gone? But she listened a while longer, determined to be certain before loosening the fastenings of the door. Silence–a premonitory silence–filled the room beyond the door. She could hear nothing except her own rapid breathing. Presently she heard a horse whinny. Was Yuma at the horses? It seemed incredible that any man should visit the cabin purposely to attack her. Perhaps Yuma had only intended to frighten her; he had said that Dunlavey had told him to follow her, but she believed that Dunlavey, in spite of his reputation for lawlessness and trickery, was not so unmanly as to incite the half-breed to attack her. He may have told him to steal the horses–she could believe that of him!
But for a long time, in spite of the quieting influence of these thoughts, she kept her ear pressed against the door. Then, moved by a sudden impulse–an accession of courage inspired by the continued silence–she cautiously loosened the fastenings and swung the door slowly open.
Her revolver lay close and with a swift movement she reached for it. As her fingers grasped its butt she heard a slight sound and Yuma was upon her from behind, pinning her arms to hersides. She felt his breath on her neck, heard his laugh, exultant and derisive, mocking her. His right hand, gripping hers tightly, was slipping slowly down toward the hand that held the revolver. She struggled desperately, squirming and twisting in his grasp, silently matching her strength against his. Finding this hopeless and feeling his hand gradually slipping toward the revolver, she suddenly raised her hand toward her face, bringing Yuma’s hand, still on her arm, with it. Then she dropped her head to his arm near the wrist, and sank her teeth savagely into the flesh.
Yuma howled in anguish, loosening his hold momentarily. In an instant she had wrenched herself free and had bounded to the center of the room, placing the kitchen table between herself and her assailant.
But he was after her with a bound, his little eyes gleaming with a venomous expression, his face contorted with passion. She raised the revolver and fired. For a breathless instant she thought that she had hit him, for he sank almost to the floor. But she saw that it was only a trick for he was up again on the instant, a mocking smile on his face and closer than ever. She fired again, and when she saw him sink to the floor she pulled the trigger a second time. He had beenvery close to the table when she fired the last time and before she could press the trigger again he had lurched forward under it, raising it on his shoulders and sending it crashing down behind him as he confronted her, his evil face close to hers, his hands again gripping her arms.
She fought him silently, and together they reeled around the cabin. She bit him again, and then in an outburst of savage fury he brutally twisted the arm in which she still held the revolver, sending the weapon crashing to the floor. While twisting her arm he had been compelled to loosen his grasp of the other slightly, and she again wrenched herself free and darted toward the door leading to the porch. But he bounded forward, intercepting her, and with a last, despairing effort she raised both hands to his face and clawed furiously at his eyes.
She heard a savage curse from him, saw the lust of murder in his little, glittering eyes, felt his sinewy fingers at her throat. Then objects within the cabin swam in a dizzy, blurring circle before her. She heard a crash–seeming to come from a great distance; heard Yuma curse again. And then, borne resistlessly forward by the weight of his body, she tumbled to the floor in an inert heap.
Shortly after noon on the same day Hollis, finding work irksome, closed his desk with a bang, told Potter that he was going home, mounted his pony, and loped the animal out the Dry Bottom trail. He remembered hearing Norton tell one of the men that morning that he suspected that several of Ed Hazelton’s cattle were still in the vicinity of the basin near the Hazelton cabin, and he determined to ride around that way and try to turn them back toward the Circle Bar. It would be recreation for him after a hot morning in the office.
He also remembered another thing that had occurred that morning at the ranch house. Mrs. Norton had assured him–with a sly, eloquent glance at him–that he might do worse than to make arrangements to keep Nellie Hazelton at the Circle Bar indefinitely. At the risk of being considered obtuse Hollis had ignored the hint, broad though it had been. But Mrs. Norton’swords had shown him that Nellie stood high in her estimation and he felt a queer, unaccountable elation.
After striking the Dry Bottom trail he took a circuitous route and some time later came out upon a high ridge overlooking a basin. There were some cattle down there and he made a mental note of the locality so that he would be able to tell Norton where to have the men look for the cattle. Then he rode along the ridge until he could no longer see the basin. He spent most of the afternoon exploring the surrounding country, and then when the dusk began to fall he retraced his steps to the ridge upon which he had ridden earlier in the afternoon. Something familiar in the shape of the hills near him struck him and he halted his pony and smiled. These were the hills that he had seen many times from the Hazelton porch. He faced around, certain that if the hills could be seen from the porch he would be able to discern the porch from some point on the ridge, for he was satisfied that he must be nearly in line with it. He rode back and forth a few moments, and then, coming out on a bald spot on the ridge, he saw the cabin.
It was about a mile away, snuggled comfortably down in a little basin, with some trees andshrubbery flanking it on both sides. He smiled as he looked at it, and then suddenly his face clouded, for he saw two ponies hitched to the porch. His forehead wrinkled perplexedly over this. He was certain that Nellie rode the same animal each time, because she would not trust any of the others that were now with the remuda. One of the horses belonged to her of course, for he could see the gay ribbon with which she was accustomed to decorate her animal’s bridle. But to whom did the other horse belong? He gazed steadily toward the cabin, searching for signs of life on the porch. But though he could see clearly–even into the shadows from a rambling rose bush that clung to the eaves of the roof–no human figure appeared on the porch.
Certainly Nellie must have a visitor. But who? He was not aware that the Hazeltons had made friends with anyone in the neighborhood besides himself and the Nortons. He smiled. Probably some cowboy from the Circle Bar had been in the vicinity looking for Hazelton’s cattle, had met Nellie, and had stopped at the cabin. He remembered to have heard Norton say that he was sending a man in that direction some time that day.
That must be the explanation. But while he sat, debating the propriety of riding down to thecabin to satisfy his curiosity, the sound of a pistol shot floated to his ears on the slight breeze that was blowing toward him.
He sat erect, his face paling. Then he smiled again. He had been in the West long enough to become acquainted with the cowboy nature and he surmised that Nellie’s visitor was very likely exhibiting his skill with the revolver. But he turned his pony and urged it down the sloping side of the ridge, riding slowly in the direction of the cabin.
After striking the bottom of the slope he rode cut upon a broad level that stretched away for half a mile. He made better time here and had almost covered half the width of the plain when two more reports reached his ears. He was close enough now to hear them distinctly and it seemed to him that they sounded muffled. He halted the pony and sat stiffly in the saddle, his gaze on the cabin. Then he saw a thin stream of blue-white smoke issue from the doorway and curl lazily upward.
A grave doubt assailed him. No cowboy would be likely to exhibit his skill with a weapon in the cabin! Nellie’s visitor must be an unwelcome one!
The pony felt the sudden spurs and raced like a whirlwind over the remaining stretch of plain.Hollis had become suddenly imbued with a suspicion that brought an ashen pallor to his face and an awful rage into his heart. He slid his pony down one side of a steep arroyo, sent it scrambling up the other side, jumped it over some rocks that littered the rise, spurred savagely through a little basin, and reaching the edge of the porch, dismounted and bounded to the door.
He saw two figures–Nellie Hazelton and a man. He saw the man’s fingers gripping the girl’s throat and the lust of murder surged over and blinded him. In the dusk that had fallen he could only dimly see the man’s head and he swung his right fist at it, putting every ounce of his strength into the blow. He felt the fist strike, realized that it had glanced, and tried to recover for a second blow.
But the terrific swing had carried him off his balance. He whirled clear around, slipped, and came down to the floor flat on his face. He was up in an instant, however, his brain afire with rage, his muscles tingling with eagerness. He did not think of the gun at his hip, for the lust of murder was in his soul and he wanted only to hit the man–to seize him and tear him apart–to crush and smash the vile hands that he had seen at the girl’s throat.
Five feet from him, facing him, on his hands and knees and scrambling to rise, was the man. He recognized Yuma, and even as he bounded forward the latter gained his feet and tugged at his gun-holster. The weapon had not yet cleared the holster when Hollis was upon him. He struck again with his right fist and missed, crashing against Yuma in his eagerness and carrying him down to the floor with a force that shook the cabin. As they fell Hollis felt a sharp, agonizing pain in his left wrist, from which the splints had been only recently removed, and the hand hung limp at his side, entirely useless.
For an instant after the fall Yuma lay still, breathing heavily. Then he made a sudden movement with his right arm and Hollis caught a glint of metal. He threw himself at the arm, catching it with his right hand just above the wrist and jamming it tight to the floor. Yuma tried to squirm free, failed, and with a curse drove his left fist into the side of Hollis’s face. Again he tried to squirm free and during the struggle that followed the hand holding the pistol was raised from the floor. Hollis saw it and wrenched desperately at the arm, twisting it and dragging it furiously downward to the floor. Yuma shrieked with rage and pain as the force ofthe impact cracked his knuckles and sent the weapon clattering ten feet away.
For an instant both men lay silent, panting from their exertions. Then Yuma succeeded in getting one leg over Hollis’s body and one arm around his neck. With a quick motion–successful because of Hollis’s injured wrist–he turned the latter over on his back. His eyes alight with an exultant, malevolent fire, he gripped Hollis’s throat with one hand and drove at his face with the other. A quick movement of the head served to defeat Yuma’s aim and his fist thumped heavily against the floor, bringing a grimace of pain to his face. Disregarding his injured wrist, Hollis wrenched savagely and succeeded in rolling free of Yuma and reaching his feet. He had moved quickly, but the lithe, cat-like half-breed was before him, bounding toward the pistol on the floor. He was bending over it, his fingers gripping its butt, when Hollis, throwing himself forward bodily, crashed into him and hurled him heavily to the floor.
This time Yuma lay face downward, his arms outstretched, and Hollis lay sprawled out on top of him. But Yuma had succeeded in holding to the pistol; it was grasped in his outstretched right hand, just out of Hollis’s reach.
For an instant again both men lay silent,breathing rapidly. Then, yielding to the rage that still possessed him, Hollis bounded to his feet, striking Yuma a crashing blow in the face as he did so. While Yuma reeled he brought his booted foot down on the hand holding the pistol, grinding it under his heel.
Yuma screamed with pain and rage and got to his feet, holding his injured hand with the other. The pistol lay on the floor where Yuma had dropped it when Hollis’s boot had come in contact with his hand. For an instant Yuma stood gripping his hand, his face hideous with passion. Then with a snarl of rage and hate he drew a knife from the folds of his shirt and sprang toward Hollis.
Hollis tensed himself for the clash, rapidly measuring the distance, and when Yuma came close enough caught him squarely on the side of the jaw with a vicious right swing. But in some manner when Hollis stepped aside to avoid Yuma’s knife, his feet had become entangled with the legs of the table that Yuma had previously overturned. As he struck he slipped, the blow at Yuma’s jaw not having the force he intended it to have. He caught himself, slipped again and went down, turning completely over the table top and falling face downward to the floor. He saw Yuma throw himself forwardand he tried to wriggle out of danger, but he failed. He felt the half-breed’s weight on his body, saw the knife flash in the dull light. He tried to roll over and grasp the knife in its descent, but could not, his left arm, now useless, being pinned to the floor by Yuma’s knee.
A revolver roared spitefully–once–twice. Yuma’s knife hissed past Hollis’s ear and struck the floor, its point sunk deep, its handle swaying idly back and forth. Yuma himself–inert, limp, rolled from Hollis’s back and lay flat on his own, his eyes wide open and staring, two huge bullet holes in his forehead. And in the open doorway of the cabin stood Ten Spot.
For an instant Hollis could not realize his escape. He looked at Yuma and then again at Ten Spot. Slowly and painfully he got to his feet, looking around at the wreck of the room. Staggering a little, he walked to where Ten Spot stood, gripping the latter’s hand silently, at a loss for words with which to thank him.
But apparently Ten Spot did not notice the omission, for he grinned broadly.
“I reckon there’s folks which would call that a right clever bit of shootin’,” he said, “seem’ a? there wasn’t time to pull off no fancy stuff!”
The crash of Ten Spot’s pistols aroused Nellie Hazelton, and she sat up and stared stupidly about–at Hollis, who was just rising from the floor; at Ten Spot, who still stood in the doorway; and then at Yuma’s body, stretched out on the floor beside the overturned table. She shuddered and covered her face with her hands. The next instant Hollis was bending over her, helping her to her feet, leading her to the door and assuring her in a low, earnest voice that everything was all right, and that Yuma would never trouble her again, and that he wanted her to get on her pony and go to the Circle Bar. She allowed herself to be led out on the porch, but once there she looked at him with renewed spirit.
“It was you who came first,” she said; “I didn’t see you, but I heard Yuma curse, felt something strike him, and then–I must have fainted. You see, I felt it must be you–I had been expecting you.”
As she spoke she seized his hands and pressed them tightly, her eyes eloquent with thankfulness. “Oh, I am so glad!” she whispered. Then she saw Ten Spot standing in the doorway and she ran over and seized his hands also, shaking them hysterically. And Ten Spot stood, red of face, grinning bashfully at her–like a big, awkward, embarrassed schoolboy.
“That’s the first time I’ve ever been thanked for shootin’ anybody!” he confided to Hollis, later. “An’ it cert’nly did feel some strange!”
In spite of Hollis’s remonstrances the girl insisted on returning to the interior of the cabin, to “bundle up her things.” Feeling the futility of further objection, Hollis finally allowed her to enter. But while she was busy in one of the rooms he and Ten Spot carried Yuma’s body outside, around to the rear of the cabin.
Then, when the girl had finally secured her “things” and they had been securely tied to her pony, and she had started down the trail toward the Circle Bar ranch, Hollis and Ten Spot returned to the rear of the cabin, took up Yuma’s body, carried it to a secluded spot at some little distance from the cabin and there buried it deep and quickly.
“I want to thank you again,” said Hollis as he and Ten Spot stood on the porch when Holliswas ready to depart; “it was a great stroke of luck that brought you here just when you were needed.”
Ten Spot grinned. “I don’t think it was just luck that brought me,” he said; “though mebbe it was luck that took me into the Fashion this morning. Whatever it was, I was in there, an’ I heard Dunlavey an’ Yuma cookin’ this here deal. I wasn’t feelin’ entirely ongrateful for the way you’d treated me after you’d got my gun that day in theKickeroffice an’ I wasn’t intendin’ to let happen what Dunlavey wanted to happen. So I got out of the Fashion as soon as I could an’ trailed Yuma. I’ve been after him all day, but somehow or other I lost him an’ didn’t find out where he’d gone till a little while ago–when I heard a gun go off. Then I hit the breeze here–after Yuma. That’s all. That’s how I come to get here so lucky.” He stuck out a hand to Hollis. “Well, so-long,” he said; “I’m hittin’ the breeze out of the country.” He stepped forward to his pony, but hesitated when he heard Hollis speak.
“Then you’re not going back to the Circle Cross–to work for Dunlavey?” questioned the latter.
“Well, no,” grinned Ten Spot. “You see, it might not be so pleasant now as it’s been. Ireckon when Dunlavey hears this he won’t be exactly tickled.”
Hollis contemplated him gravely. “So you’re going to leave the country?” he said slowly, his eyes twinkling. “I take it you are not afraid—”
“Don’t!” said Ten Spot coldly and sharply. Then he grinned with feline cordiality. “I reckon I ain’t scared of anyone,” he said, “but I ain’t likin’ to go back to the Circle Cross after puttin’ Yuma out of business. I’ve done some mean things in my time, but I ain’t dealin’ double with no man, an’ I couldn’t go back to the Circle Cross an’ work for Dunlavey when I ain’t sympathizin’ with him none.”
“I’m shy of good cowhands,” offered Hollis quietly. “If forty a month would be—”
Ten Spot’s right hand was suddenly gripping Hollis’s. “You’ve hired a man, boss!” he said, his eyes alight with pleasure. “Ever since you clawed me that day in theKickeroffice I’ve had a hankerin’ to work for you. I was wonder in’ if you’d ast me. There ain’t no damn—”
“Then it’s a bargain,” laughed Hollis, interrupting. “You can start right now.” He pointed to the ridge upon which he had been riding when he heard the shot that had brought him to the cabin. “Some of Ed Hazelton’s cattleare in the basin on the other side of that ridge,” he said. “You go over there and keep an eye on them until I can get a chance to send some one here to help you drive them back up the river toward the Circle Bar.” As he came to the edge of the porch to mount his pony his gaze fell on Yuma’s horse, still hitched to one of the columns. “What are we going to do with Yuma’s horse?” he questioned.
Ten Spot grinned. He walked over to the pony, unhitched it, and with a vicious slap on the flank sent it loping down the trail toward the river.
“That’ll be my message to Dunlavey that Yuma ain’t here any more,” he said grimly.
Hollis mounted and rode a short distance, but halted and turned in the saddle when he heard Ten Spot call to him.
“Boss,” he said with a grin, “I ain’t exactly blind, an’ mebbe you’ve got your eyes with you, too. But I saw that there Hazelton girl lookin’ at you sorta—”
He saw a smile on Hollis’s face, but the rest of his speech was drowned in a clatter of hoofs as the “boss’s” pony tore down the Coyote trail. Then Ten Spot smiled, mounted his pony, and rode away toward the ridge.
Of course Yuma had been amply punished for his part in the attack on Nellie Hazelton, but there still remained Dunlavey–who had instigated it. Hollis was aware of the uselessness of bringing a charge against Dunlavey–he had not forgotten his experience with Bill Watkins when he had attempted to have Greasy brought to justice. He believed that he would not have brought such a charge had there been any probability of the sheriff taking action. He felt that in inciting Yuma to attack Nellie, Dunlavey had also contemplated a blow at him. The man’s devilish ingenuity appalled him, but it also aroused a fierce anger in his heart that, in the absence of a powerful will, would have moved him to immediate vengeance.
But he contemplated no immediate action. Besides the attack on Nellie Hazelton there was another score to settle with Dunlavey, and when the time came for a final accounting he told himself that he would settle both. He knew therewould come such a time. From the beginning he had felt that he and the Circle Cross manager were marked by fate for a clash. He was eager for it, but content to wait until the appointed time. And he knew that the time was not far distant.
Therefore he remained silent regarding the incident, and except to Norton and his wife, Nellie Hazelton, Ten Spot, and himself, the disappearance of Yuma remained a mystery.
Dunlavey, perhaps, might have had his suspicions, but if so he communicated them to no one, and so as the days passed the mystery ceased to be discussed and Yuma was forgotten.
Hollis received a letter from Weary, dated “Chicago,” announcing the safe arrival of himself and Ed Hazelton. “Town” suited him to a “T,” he wrote. But Doctor Hammond would not operate at once–he wanted time to study the symptoms of Ed’s malady. That was all. Hollis turned this letter over to Nellie, with another from Ed, addressed to her–whose contents remained a mystery to him.
Ben Allen had returned from his visit to the small ranchers in the vicinity, had confided to Hollis that he had “mixed a little politics with business,” and then, after receiving a telegram from the Secretary of the Interior, had takenhimself off to Santa Fe to confer with the governor.
After several days he returned. He entered theKickeroffice to greet Hollis, his face wreathed in smiles.
“You’ve got ’em all stirred up, my boy!” he declared, placing his hand on Hollis’s shoulder with a resounding “smack”; “they’re goin’ to enforce the little law we’ve got and they’ve passed some new ones. Here’s a few! First and foremost, cattle stealing is to be considered felony! Penalty, from one to twenty years! Next–free water! Being as the rivers in this Territory ain’t never been sold with what land the government sharks has disposed of, any cattleman’s got the right to water wherever he wants to. The governor told me that if it’s necessary he’ll send Uncle Sam’s blue coats anywhere in the Territory to enforce that! Third: after a man’s registered his brand he can’t change it unless he applies to the district judge. Them that ain’t registered their brand ain’t entitled to no protection. I reckon there’s trouble ahead for any man which monkeys with another man’s brand!
“Say!” Allen eyed Hollis whimsically; “that new governor’s all het up over you! Had a copy of theKickerin front of him on his deskwhen he was talkin’ to me. Says you’re a scrapper from the word go, an’ that he’d back you up long as there was a blue coat anywhere in the Territory!”
Allen’s speech was ungrammatical, but its message was one of good cheer and Hollis’s eyes brightened. The Law was coming at last! He could not help but wonder what Dunlavey’s feelings would be when he heard of it. For himself, he felt as any man must feel who, laboring at a seemingly impossible task, endless and thankless, sees in the distance the possible, the end, and the plaudits of his friends.
Yes, he could see the end, but the end was not yet. He looked gravely at Allen.
“Did you happen to hear when these laws become effective?” he inquired.
“On the first day of October!” returned Allen, triumphantly.
Hollis smiled. “And election day is the third of November,” he said. “That gives Dunlavey, Watkins and Company a month’s grace–in case you are elected sheriff.”
Allen grinned. “They can’t do a heap in a month,” he said.
“No,” returned Hollis, “but in most elections that have come under my observation, I have noticed that the winning candidate does not assumeoffice for a considerable time after the election. What is the custom out here?”
Allen grinned grimly. “Usually it’s two weeks,” he said, “but if I’m elected it will be the next day–if I have to go down to the sheriff’s office and drag Bill Watkins out by the hair!”
“That belligerent spirit does you credit,” dryly observed Hollis. “It will afford me great pleasure to participate in the festivities. But there is another matter to be thought of–which we seem to have overlooked. Usually before an election there is a primary, or a convention, is there not?”
“There is,” grinned Allen. “It’s to-night, and I’m ready for it!” His grin expanded to a wide, whimsical smile. “I told you that I’d been mixing a little politics with business,” he said. “Well, I’ve done so.” He got up and approached the front window of the office, sweeping a hand toward the street. “If you’ll just get up and look out here,” he said, “you’ll see that I ain’t lying. There’s some good in being an ex-office-holder–you get experience enough to tell you how to run a campaign.” He bowed to Hollis. “Now, if you’ll look close at that gang which is mixing palaver in front of the Silver Dollar you’ll mebbe notice that Lemuel Train is in it, an’ Truxton, of the Diamond Dot,Holcomb, of the Star, Yeager, of the Three Diamond, Clark, of the Circle Y, Henningson, of the Three Bar, Toban, of the T Down, an’ some more which has come in for the racket tonight. Countin’ ’em all–the punchers which have come in with the fellows I have named–there’ll be about seventy-five.
“An’, say!” he added, suddenly confronting Hollis and grasping him by the shoulder and shaking him playfully and admiringly, “there wouldn’t a durn one of them have come over here on my account. They up an’ told me so when I asked them. Said they’d nothin’ ag’in me, but they wasn’t considerin’ votin’ at all. But since Hollis wanted me–well, they’d come over just to show you that they appreciated what you’d done for them!”
Hollis smiled. He did not tell Allen that since the appearance of theKickercontaining the announcement that he was to be its candidate he had written every small rancher in the vicinity, requesting as a personal favor that they appear in Dry Bottom on the day of the primary; that these letters had been delivered by Ace, and that when the poet returned he had presented Hollis with a list containing the name of every rancher who had promised to come, and that several days before Hollis had known approximatelyhow many votes Allen would receive at the primary. He did not intend that Allen should know this–or that he had been going quietly from one Dry Bottom merchant to another, appealing to them for their support. And the earnestness with which many of them had promised had convinced him that the primary was to be the beginning of the end for Bill Watkins and Dunlavey.
When he had first come to Dry Bottom it had been universally conceded by the town’s citizens that his differences with Dunlavey and the Cattlemen’s Association were purely personal, and there had been a disposition on the part of the citizens to let them fight it out between themselves. But of late there had come a change in that sentiment. The change had been gradual, beginning with the day when he had told the author of the notice that had appeared on the door of theKickeroffice not to hold the express on his account. But the change had come and it was evident that it was to be permanent. It had only been necessary to arouse the government to the situation in order to secure intervention. He had hoped to secure this intervention without being forced to a hostile clash with the opposition, but his first meeting with Dunlavey had spoiled that. Subsequent events had widened the breach.
He was satisfied. Let Bill Watkins be defeated for sheriff and Dunlavey was beaten. But there was much to be done before that desirable end could be achieved.
Following the custom the primary was to be held in the sheriff’s office. Watkins had issued a proclamation some weeks before; it had appeared on the door of the sheriff’s office–a written notice, tacked to the door–but it had been removed the same day. Obviously, it was the sheriff’s intention to conduct the primary as quietly as possible, hoping no doubt to disarm whatever opposition might develop. But Hollis had been apprised of the appearance of the proclamation and had quietly proceeded to plant the seed of opposition to Watkins in the minds of his friends.
He had been warned by Judge Graney that Watkins would try to “pack” the sheriff’s office with his friends on the night of the primary. This had been the usual method employed by Dunlavey when opposition to Watkins developed. Drunken, dissolute, dangerous men were usually on hand to overawe the opposition; the Judge told of instances in which gunplay had developed. But Hollis had determined that Watkins must be beaten.
Allen did not stay long in theKickeroffice. Nor, for that matter, did Hollis. Once, duringthe morning, he went down to the court house to talk with Judge Graney. Then he returned to theKickeroffice and worked until noon.
During the morning there had been a surprising influx of visitors. Bronzed punchers on dusty, drooping ponies rode down the town’s one street, dropped from their saddles, and sought the saloons. Groups of them swarmed the streets and the stores. As Hollis walked down to his office after leaving the court house, he was kept busy nodding to friends–many of whom had become such during the later days of the drought. Merchants grinned at him from their doorways; Dunlavey’s friends sneered as he passed or sent ribald jokes after him.
At noon he went to the Alhambra for lunch. Almost the first person he saw there was Dunlavey. The latter grinned at him mockingly.
“Friends of yours in town to-day,” he said with a sneer. “Well, you’ll need them!”
His voice had been loud enough for all in the restaurant to hear. Hollis did not answer, though he appreciated the significance of Dunlavey’s words; they told him that the Circle Cross manager was aware of the contemplated contest and was ready for it.
During the afternoon Dry Bottom presented a decidedly different appearance from the daywhen Hollis had first viewed it. Animation had succeeded desolation. Perhaps a hundred cowponies were hitched to the rails that paralleled the fronts of the saloons, the stores, and many of the private dwellings. It was apparent that many of the visitors had made the trip to town for the double purpose of voting and securing supplies, for mixed with the ponies were numerous wagons of various varieties, their owners loading them with boxes and crates. Men swarmed the sidewalks; the saloons buzzed.
Toward dusk the volume of noise in the saloons drowned all sound outside. Having made their purchases the ranchers who had driven in for supplies and had loaded their wagons preparatory to departure found time to join their friends and acquaintances over a convivial glass. By the time the kerosene lamps were lighted in the saloons revelry reigned. From one saloon issued the shrieking, discordant notes of a violin, accompanied by the scuffling of feet; from another came laughter and the clinking of glasses; from still another came harsh oaths and obscene shouts. In the latter place rose the laughter of women.
Seated at his desk near the front window of theKickeroffice Hollis gravely watched the scene–listened to the sounds. In another chairsat Potter. There was no light in the office; neither man had thought of a light. As the revelry in the saloons increased the printer glanced furtively at his chief.
“There’ll be hell to-night!” he said.
“I expect there will be trouble,” agreed Hollis.
Potter shifted uneasily in his chair, eyeing his employer with a worried expression. He was silent for a moment. Then he cleared his throat nervously.
“Do you intend to go there–to the sheriff’s office–to-night?” he questioned.
Hollis looked quickly at him. “Of course!” he said with emphasis. “Why?” he interrogated.
“Nothing,” returned Potter; “only—” he hesitated and then blurted out: “I wouldn’t go if I were you. They’ve been saying that if you do there’ll be trouble. You know what that means.”
“Who has been saying that?” inquired Hollis.
“I heard it at noon–in the Silver Dollar. Some of Dunlavey’s men sat near me and I heard them saying that Watkins was to win if they had to put two or three of his chief opponents out of business.”
“I have been expecting that,” returned Hollis.He said nothing more and Potter, having done his duty, felt that he had no business to interfere further.
Shortly after dark there was a clatter of hoofs outside theKickeroffice and four men dismounted from their ponies and strode to the office door. They were Norton, Ace, Lanky, and Bud. Evidently Hollis had been awaiting their coming, for he met them at the door, greeting them with the words: “We’ll be going at once; it’s about time.”
Followed by Potter the five strode rapidly down the street. When they arrived at the sheriff’s office there were a number of men congregated about the door. Inside a kerosene lamp flickered on a table that sat in the center of the room. Another lamp stood on Watkins’s desk, and beside the desk sat Watkins himself.
Conversation died away as Hollis and his men approached the door and stood in the stream of light from the interior. A man stepped out of the shadow of the building and approached Hollis, drawing him and Norton aside. It was Allen. The latter had lost some of the sprightliness that had marked his manner during his conversation with Hollis in theKickeroffice that morning–he was again the cool, deliberate, steady-eyed man he had been that day in JudgeGraney’s office when Hollis had met him the first time.
“I’ve been waitin’ for you,” he said; “we’re goin’ to have a scrumptuous time. Dunlavey’s planning to pack her.” He swept a hand toward the interior of the office. “But each candidate is to be allowed two witnesses. I’ve selected you two. Dunlavey and Greasy are doing the honors for Watkins. We might just as well go inside; we can’t do anything out here. There won’t be anything done by any of this gang until Dunlavey says the word.”
He turned and stepped into the sheriff’s office, Hollis and Norton following.
Watkins looked up and surveyed them with a bland smile as they entered and dropped quietly into the several chairs that had been provided.
“I reckon she’s goin’ to be some hot tonight?” significantly remarked Watkins, addressing himself to Allen.
“Maybe,” grinned Allen.
“We’re goin’ to take a hand in handlin’ the Law,” significantly remarked Norton.
Watkins’s face reddened. He stared offensively at Hollis.
“I reckon you’re a witness, too,” he said, sneering. “Well,” he went on as Hollis gravely nodded, “the law says that a witness to the countmust be a resident of the county. An’ I reckon you ain’t. You ain’t been—”
“He stays,” interrupted Allen, shortly. “That’s settled.”
Watkins’s face bloated with a sudden anger, but he wheeled without replying and gave his attention to some papers lying on the desk in front of him.
For a long time the four sat in silence. Outside arose voices of men–growing in volume. There was a jam around the door; looking out Hollis could see the bronzed, grim faces of the punchers as they crowded close, moved by a spirit of curiosity. Hollis could hear exclamations of impatience, though the majority of the men outside stood in silence, waiting.
Plainly, nothing was to be done until the arrival of Dunlavey. And presently he came.
He had not been drinking; he was undeniably sober and self-possessed. As he entered the door of the office there was a sudden surge on the part of the crowd–several of the men tried to force their way in behind Dunlavey. But he halted on the threshold, scowling back at them and uttering the one word: “Wait!” The crowd fell back at the command and watched.
Dunlavey stepped across the room, standing beside Watkins, his rapid glance noting the presenceof the three members of the opposition. He ignored Hollis and Norton, speaking to Allen.
“So you’re sure enough going to run?” he said.
“Sure,” returned Allen. He rose slowly, stepped deliberately across the room, closed the door, and stood with his back to it.
“We’re all here now,” he said quietly, “and I want to talk a little. There ain’t no one going to hear what I’ve got to say but them I’m going to say it to. I reckon that goes?” He turned to Dunlavey.
Dunlavey had shown some evidence of surprise over Allen’s action in closing the door, but this immediately gave way to a sneer of mockery. “I reckon you’ve forgot Greasy,” he said.
“Why, I sure have!” returned Allen evenly. He opened the door a trifle and called: “Greasy!”
Evidently Greasy had been waiting at the door, for he immediately came in, slouching across the floor and standing beside Watkins and Dunlavey. Allen closed the door and adjusted the fastenings carefully. Then he turned again to Dunlavey.
“Now we’ll proceed to do the talking,” he said. He walked over to the chair that he hadpreviously vacated, dropping carelessly into it and leaning comfortably back. His movements had been those of a man unquestionably sure of peace. The expression of his eyes, the tones of his voice, his deliberation hinted at a desire for a peaceful compromise.
But once seated in his chair a startling change came over him. There was a rapid movement at his sides, a mere flash of light, and two heavy six-shooters appeared suddenly in his hands and lay there, unaimed, but forbiddingly ready. He sat erect, his eyes chilled and glittering, alert, filled with menace.
“Now,” he said sharply, “the first man who peeps above a whisper gets his so plenty that he won’t care a damn who’s nominated for sheriff!” He spoke to Norton and Hollis without turning his head. “You two get whatever guns them gentlemen happen to have on them, standing to one side so’s I can see to perforate anyone who ain’t agreeable to handing them over.”
Norton rose and approached Dunlavey, while Hollis stepped forward to the sheriff and secured the weapon that reposed in a holster at his right hip. He did likewise with Greasy. While Norton was relieving Dunlavey of his weapon the sheriff opened his lips to speak, his gaze fixed doubtfully on one of Allen’s sixes.
“The law—” he began. But Allen interrupted with a grin.
“Sure,” he said, “the law didn’t figure on this. But I reckon you heard Big Bill say once that the law could be handled. I’m handling it now. But I reckon that lets you out–you ain’t in on this and the mourners’ll be after you to-morrow if you open your trap again!”
The sheriff swelled with rage, but he closed his lips tightly. When Hollis and Norton had completed their search for weapons and had laid the result of their search on the table near Allen they sought their chairs.
Dunlavey had said nothing. He stood beside Watkins’s desk, still self-possessed, the mocking smile still on his face, though into his eyes had come a doubting, worried expression. Plainly he had not anticipated such drastic action from Allen.
The latter laughed grimly, quietly. “Sort of unexpected, wasn’t it, Bill?” he said, addressing Dunlavey. “It ain’t just the sort of politics that you’ve been used to. But I’m kind of used to it myself. Had to pull the same game off over in Colfax County when I was runnin’ for sheriff the first time. It worked, too, because the folks that was mixed up in it knowed I wasn’t ringing in any bluff.” He looked at Dunlaveywith a level, steady gaze, his eyes gleaming coldly. “If you think I’m bluffing now, chirp for some one of your pluguglies to bust into this game. I’d sort of like to let off my campaign guns into your dirty gizzard!”
Hollis had been watching Dunlavey closely. There was no fear in the man’s eyes; even the doubt and worry that had been there had disappeared and his expression was now mildly ironical, contrasting oddly with the demeanor of Watkins–who was plainly frightened–and that of Greasy–who smirked and showed his teeth like some beast at bay and in fear of death. It was evident that Dunlavey possessed the spirit of the fighter, that indomitable courage which enables a man to face any situation and still retain his presence of mind, which permits him to face death unafraid and unyielding. In spite of the enmity that had existed between them from the beginning, Hollis had always respected Dunlavey for these very qualities, and within the last few minutes that respect had grown.
Dunlavey’s eyes gleamed as he looked at Allen. “I don’t think you would try to work any bluff on me, Allen,” he said quietly. “You’ve took me by surprise, that’s a fact. But let’s get down to business. What’s your game?”
“I reckon that’s a sensible way to look at it,”returned Allen evenly. “That’s the way I expected you’d look at it when you begun to realize that I was holding some pretty good cards. There ain’t nothing personal in this; I’m out for a square deal and I’m going to get it. I want you to understand that I’m running this game to-night and I’m running it square. If I get enough votes I’m going to be the next sheriff. If I don’t get enough votes Bill Watkins’ll be it. But the votes are going to be real votes. I ain’t figuring on letting your gang pack in here and keep my friends from voting.
“I’m going to put your hat on this table. Then Norton will open the door and let one man come in. That man will vote–for whoever he pleases. Then Mr. Hollis will let him out the back door and Norton will let another man in the front. There won’t be any row. I’m telling you that you and Bill Watkins and Greasy are going to set here and watch the voting. I’m going to stand behind you with one of my guns tucked under your fifth rib. If you, or Watkins, or Greasy let out a yawp that can be construed as a signal for anyone to bust into the game, or if there’s anything started by your friends which ain’t your doing, I’m going to pump six chunks of lead into you so fast that they’ll be playing tag with one another goingthrough. I reckon you get me. That ends the palaver.”
He arose, snatched Dunlavey’s hat from his head, placed it on the table, and walked behind Dunlavey, standing against the wall.
“Open the door!” he directed, looking at Norton.
Norton opened the door a trifle and called “One man at a time!” There were some hoarse shouts from without–presumably from Dunlavey’s friends; a chorus of derisive laughter from Allen’s. Then the first man entered.
It was Ace. The poet stood for an instant, blinking at the light, then he grinned as his gaze rested on the occupants of the room. He was directed how to cast his ballot. He took the piece of paper that was given him by Norton, scrawled “Allen” across it with a pencil that Norton had previously placed on the table, and dropped the paper into Dunlavey’s hat. Hollis opened the rear door for him, but he halted on the threshold, looking back into the room with a broad grin.
“Gawd A’mighty!” he said in an awed tone; “there must have been a wad of money blowed in in this here town to-day! Drunks! Man alivethere ain’t nothin’ but drunks; the town’s reelin’ with ’em! They’re layin’ in the street; there’s a dozen in the Silver Dollar an’ that many more in the Fashion–an’ Gawd knows how many more in the other saloons. Their heads is under the tables; they’re hangin’ on the walls an’ clawin’ around in spittoons–gle-or-i-ously, be-ut-i-fully paralyzed!”
He was suddenly outside, pushed through the door by Hollis, and the door closed after him. Hollis glanced furtively at Dunlavey to see that gentleman scowl. He thought he saw a questioning glint in Allen’s eyes as the latter looked suddenly at him, but he merely smiled and gave his attention to the next man, who was now entering.
The latter proved to be Lemuel Train. He did his voting quietly and grimly. But as he went out through the door that Hollis opened for him he growled: “Lordy, what a drunken bunch!” He looked at Hollis. “One of your men, too,” he said, grinning slightly. “I thought you taught them better!”
Hollis frowned. He knew that Allen would need all his friends; none of them could be spared in this crisis. He smiled incredulously. It had been only a short time before that his men had accompanied him to the door of the sheriff’soffice. At that time they were perfectly sober. It would have been impossible for any of them–
“An’ Ten Spot’s a hummer when he gits started,” Train was saying. “I’ve seen him before when he cut loose an’ he sure is a holy terror!”
Then with a word of parting Train was gone, saying that he had done all the “damage” he could and that he purposed “hitting” the trail back to his ranch.
He had certainly done some damage to Hollis. The latter’s mind now rioted with all sorts of conjecture and he mechanically did his work of letting man after man out through the rear door, scarcely seeing them.
He was aware of an odd expression that had come into Dunlavey’s eyes at the mention of Ten Spot. Had Dunlavey succeeded in bribing Ten Spot to desert him? He had left Ten Spot at the Circle Bar, not inviting him to Dry Bottom because he felt that the latter would rather not come since he had deserted Dunlavey. And Ten Spot had come to town anyway. What did it mean? Did it mean that Ten Spot had come to assist Dunlavey in nominating Watkins and defeating his new employer?
He frowned again, and for the next few minutes gravely studied Dunlavey’s face. He wassure that the latter’s manner had changed. The mocking smile which had been on his face since his arrival at the sheriff’s office had been superseded by a huge grin–plainly of anticipation. Ten Spot–dangerous, reckless, drunk, at the head of a number of dissolute men, had it in his power to make things decidedly interesting should he advance on the sheriff’s office with the intention of assisting Dunlavey.
Several times since hiring Ten Spot Hollis had doubted him. The suspicion had assailed him that perhaps the appearance of Ten Spot at the Hazelton cabin so opportunely had been a part of a plot by Dunlavey to place a spy in his employ. They might have purposely sacrificed Yuma.
During the next quarter of an hour he gave more attention to Dunlavey than to the steady stream of men that passed through the room, though he recognized a goodly number as friends he had made during the latter days of the drought.
Allen’s spirits had risen during the last quarter of an hour. His maneuver had dissipated Dunlavey’s strength and it was plain to be seen that a majority of the votes cast were for him. If nothing unusual or unexpected happened within the next hour, or until nine o’clock, the hournamed in Watkins’s proclamation for the closing of the polls, he was assured of victory.
Thoughts of the same character were passing through Hollis’s mind. There was silence in the office. A man was voting at the table–writing his favorite’s name on a piece of paper. Hollis consulted his watch. It lacked over an hour of the time for closing. The man at the table finished writing and tossed the paper into the hat. Hollis opened the rear door to allow him to go out. While the door remained open a sound floated in, which they all heard–an ear-splitting screech, followed instantly by a chorus of yells, a pistol report, more yells, and then a number of reports.
Norton did not open the door. He exchanged glances with Hollis and Allen. Dunlavey grinned widely.
“Something’s coming,” remarked Allen grimly.
Dunlavey’s grin grew derisive. “It would sure be too bad if my friends should bust up this peace meeting,” he sneered.
“There won’t be nothin’ spoiled,” grimly assured Allen. But he drew his other six-shooter.
The sounds outside grew in volume as they swept toward the sheriff’s office. They broke presently at the door and an ominous silence succeeded.Then a voice reached the interior–harsh authoritative–Ten Spot’s voice.
“Open up, you damned shorthorns!” it said.
Norton looked at Allen. The latter’s face was pale. “They come in,” he directed, “like the others–one at a time.”
Norton carefully withdrew the bar with which the door was fastened, swinging it open slightly. As he did so there was a sudden rush of bodies; Norton tried to jam the door shut, failed, and was flung back several steps by the surging, yelling crowd that piled tumultuously into the room.
There were perhaps twenty of them and as they surged into the room, shouting and cursing and laughing Hollis recognized among them many men that he had come to know by sight. They were of the reckless, lawless element upon which Dunlavey had relied for his support–men of Ten Spot’s character. They had been drinking, but in spite of their laughter and loud talking it was plain to be seen that they had determined not to be balked in the purpose which had brought them into the office.
There was now no need to guard the door; the damage had been wrought, and Norton backed away, leaving the door ajar, pale, grim eyed, alert, ready to take an active part in the trouble which he felt certain was sure to develop. Somethingin the faces of the men who had come in with Ten Spot proclaimed trouble.
Allen had not moved. He still stood behind Dunlavey, but his weapons no longer menaced the Circle Cross manager; their muzzles, level and forbidding, were covering the other men.
Standing quietly beside the rear door, his face pale, his eyes bright, his lips in straight lines, Hollis watched closely as the visitors, having gained entrance, gathered together in the center of the room. They were not awed by Allen’s weapons; they grinned hugely at him. One man, a young man of about Hollis’s age, bronzed, lean, reckless of eye, and unmistakably under the influence of liquor, lunged forward to Allen and stood within arm’s length of him, grinning at him.
“Two guns!” he said with a laugh. “Why, I reckon you’d make a hell of a sheriff!”
A chorus of laughter greeted the young cowboy’s words. Dunlavey grinned widely. “You boys are just in time,” he said.
There was another roar of laughter. Many of the men seemed only now to have become aware of Dunlavey’s presence and they surged forward around him, disregarding Allen’s guns. The latter seemed to realize that the situation had passed beyond his control, for catching Hollis’seye he smiled grimly and sheathed his weapons, seeking Hollis’s side.
“It’s no use,” he said shortly to Hollis as he came near; “they’ll run things to suit themselves now. I wasn’t expectin’ Ten Spot to butt into the game.”
“I reckon they’ve got us.” Norton had also sought Hollis’s side and the three stood near the rear door, watching the crowd around Dunlavey. Hollis tried to catch Ten Spot’s gaze but failed–the latter seemed studiously to avoid him.
A wave of dull anger surged through Hollis’s veins. Until now the contest had been conducted fairly; they had given Dunlavey and Watkins an honest election, even though they had found it necessary to eliminate them as active participants. From now on he was assured the contest would be a joke–though a grim one. He had depended upon Allen’s success–it meant much to him. The thought of failure just when victory was within his grasp aroused him and in spite of Norton’s low word of caution he stepped forward and stood beside the table on which reposed the hat into which the ballots had been placed by the men who had previously voted. He intended to take personal charge of the hat, determined upon securing a fair deal in spite of the great odds.
As he stepped forward he saw Greasy grin maliciously and try to snatch a gun from the holster of a cowboy who stood near him. This attempt was frustrated by the puncher, who suddenly dropped his hand to his holster, where it closed upon Greasy’s. The puncher snarled, muttered profanely, and struck furiously at Greasy, knocking him down in a corner.
Other men moved. There were curses; the flashing of metal as guns came out. Hollis felt rather than saw Norton and Allen advance toward the table and stand beside him. A grim smile wreathed his face over the knowledge that in the crowd there were at least two men upon whom he might depend to the end–whatever the end might be.
He heard Dunlavey snarl an oath, saw his big form loom out of the crowd, saw one of his gigantic hands reach for the hat on the table.
“I reckon I’ll take charge of this now!” he sneered, his brutal face close to Hollis’s.
Hollis would have struck the face that was so close to his, but at the instant he saw Dunlavey’s hand reach out for the hat he saw another hand dart out from the other side of the table, seize the hat, and draw it out of Dunlavey’s reach.
“I don’t reckon that you’ll take charge of her!” said a voice.
Hollis turned quickly. Over the table leaned Ten Spot, the captured hat in his hand, a big forty-five in the other, a cold, evil glitter in his eyes as he looked up at Dunlavey.