MATTERS were fast coming to a head as far as the sheriff and the Cross Bar-8 were concerned. The loss of the five men who had won the friendship of their fellows, the reign of terror caused by the outlaw, the loss of their cook, the devastation and the extra work had only deepened the hatred which the members of the outfit held for The Orphan; and it went farther than The Orphan.
Sneed was not long in learning what took place at the stage and of the driver’s loyalty to the outlaw, because Bill would talk; and the working of his mind was the same as that of his men, for it followed the line of least resistance. Questions of the nature of arraignments, and which were answerable by the outfit in only one way, constantly presented themselves in the minds of the men. They asked themselves why it was that a man of thesheriff’s proven courage, marksmanship and cleverness should fail to get the man who so terrorized the ranch. Why was the sheriff so apparently reluctant to take up the chase in earnest and push it to a finish? Why was he so firm against the assistance of the ranchmen? Why did he keep to his determination to allow no lynch law when the evil was so great and the danger so pressing? And he was prepared to go to great lengths to see that his orders were not disobeyed, as proven by the scene at the corral. Why could he not have overlooked one lynching party when property was being destroyed and lives in danger? And why had the outrages suddenly ceased when Shields took charge of the defense of the ranch?–there had been no molestation, not a shot had been fired, not a cow killed. And how was it that a flower pot, which Shields had admitted as belonging to his wife, had been placed at a point hardly two hundred yards in front of the peace officer as he lay on guard? It was true that it was out of line of him and the lights, but that could be explained by events. From whom did The Orphan learn of the trap set for him, and all of its details, even to the placing of the men, enabling him to avoid the eager deputiesand choose the position occupied by the sheriff when he had so recklessly flaunted his contempt from a pile of sand?
The cowboys were naturally enough warped and prejudiced because of their blind rage and hatred, and the questions which ran so riotously through their minds found their answers waiting for them; in fact, the answers induced the questions, and each recurrence gave them added weight until they ceased to be questions and became, in reality, statements of facts. Bill had talked too much when he had told in careful detail of the attentions shown The Orphan by the sheriff’s sister; and to minds eager for confirmation of their suspicions this was the crowning proof of the double dealing of the sheriff. And to make matters worse, Tex Williard, who was as unscrupulous a man as ever wore the garb of honesty, had tried to force his attentions on Helen when she rode for exercise. His ideas of women had been developed among those who frequented frontier bar-rooms, and he was enraged at his rebuff, which had been sharp and final. She actually preferred a murdering outlaw to a hardworking cowboy! His profane oratory as to the collusion, or at least passive sympathy between thesheriff and the outlaw found eager ears and receptive minds awaiting the torch of initiative, and it was not long before low-voiced consultations began to plan a drastic course of action. Credit must be given to Sneed, because he knew only of the natural discontent and nothing of what was in the wind. Had he known what was brewing he would have stamped it out with no uncertain force, for he was wise enough to realize the folly of increasing the antagonism which already was held by Ford’s Station for his ranch.
At first the conspirators had hopes of undermining Shields among the citizens of the town, not knowing the feeling there as well as their foreman knew it, but they were wise enough to go about it cautiously; and the returns justified their caution, for they found the inhabitants of Ford’s Station unassailably loyal to the peace officer. To accuse him, either directly or by suggestion, of double dealing would be to array the two score inhabitants of the town on his side in hot and belligerent partisanship, and this they wished to avoid by all means, for they had no stomach for such a war as might easily follow. They then hit upon what appeared to them to be an excellent plan, inasmuch as it wasindirect and would give the results desired; and the medium was to be the driver.
The talkative one had shown more than passing friendliness for The Orphan, and they had his boasting words for it and he could not deny it, for Bill was very proud of the part he had played on that memorable day, and he took delight in recounting the conversation he had held with the outfit at the coach–and he had a way of adding to the tartness of his repartee in its repetition. Tex Williard reasoned from experience that it would not appear at all strange and unusual for Bill to be called to account for his friendliness and assistance to the outlaw and for his contemptuous words concerning the cowboys if it was done by some member or members of the ranch as a personal affair and without the appearance of being sanctioned by the foreman. And through the driver he hoped to strike at Shields, for the sheriff would not remain passive in such an event; and once he was drawn into a brawl, hot tempers or accident would be the plea if he should be killed. The apologies and remorse of the sorrowful participants could be profound. And thus was cold-blooded murder planned by the very men who reviled The Orphan because theyclaimed he was a murderer, and who cried aloud for his death on that charge.
Tex was the ringleader and in his own way he was not without cunning, and neither was he lacking in daring. He selected his assistants for the game with cool, calculating judgment. The three he finally decided upon were reckless and not lacking in intelligence and physical courage for such work. After having made his selection he sounded them carefully and finally made his plans known, going into minute rehearsal of every phase and detail of the game with thoughtful care and studied sequence. When he believed them to be well drilled he fixed upon the time and place and caused word to get to Bill that he might expect trouble for his assistance to The Orphan, and for having had a hand in sending the five cowboys to their deaths. The news immediately reached the ears of the sheriff, who determined to see that Bill received no injury at the hands of the Cross Bar-8. He quietly made up his mind to be near the stage route on the days when Bill drove through the defile of the Backbone, and to be within call if he should be needed. If he should think it necessary, he would even go so far as to become a regular passenger in the coach untilthe trouble died down. To the masterly driving and cool-headed courage of Bill no less than to the daring and accuracy of The Orphan was the sheriff indebted for the lives of his sisters; and the protection of Bill clove close to the line of duty, and not one whit less to the line of law and order.
Bill laughed and boasted and made a joke of the thought of any danger from the malcontents of the Cross Bar-8, and flatly refused to allow the sheriff to ride with him. He talked volubly until the agent profanely sent him on his journey, and he tore through the streets of the town in the same old way. He forded the Limping Water in safety and crossed the ten mile stretch of open plain without a sign of trouble. As he left the water of the stream the sheriff started after him from town, intending to be not far behind him when he entered the rough country.
When Bill plunged into the defile through the Backbone he began to grow a little apprehensive, and he intently watched each stretch of the road as each successive turn unfolded it to his sight. His foot was on the brakes and he was braced to stop the rush of his team at the first glimpse of an obstruction, or to tear past the danger if he could.One coyote yell and one snap of the whip would send the team wild, for they remembered well.
All was nice until he neared the place where The Orphan had held him up for a smoke, and it was there the trouble occurred. As he swung around the sharp turn he saw four cowboys bunched squarely in the center of the trail and at such a distance from him that to attempt to dash past them would be to lay himself open to several shots. They had him covered, and as he grasped the situation Tex Williard rode forward and held up his hand.
“Stop!” Tex shouted. “Get down!”
“What in thunder do you want?” Bill asked, setting the brakes and stopping his team, wonder showing on his face.
“Yu!” came the laconic reply. “Get down!”
“What’s eating you?” Bill asked in no uncertain inflection. Had Tex been less imperative and kept the insulting tone out of his words Bill might have had time to become afraid, but the sting made him leap over fear to anger; and genuine anger takes small heed of fear.
Tex motioned to one of his men, who instantly leaped to the ground and ran to the turn, where heknelt behind a rock, his rifle covering the back trail. Then Tex returned to the driver.
“Curiosity is eating me, yu half-breed!” he cried. “Get down! d––n yu,get down!! Don’t wait all day, neither, do yu hear? What th’ h–l do yu think I’m a-talkin’ for!”
“Well, I’ll be blamed!” ejaculated Bill, wrapping the reins about the back of his seat. “Anybody would think you was the boss of the earth to hear you! You ain’t no road agent, you’re only a fool amature with more gall than brains! But I’ll tell you right here and now that if youareplaying road agent, I wouldn’t be in your fool boots for a cool million. And if you are joking you are showing d––d bad taste, and don’t you forget it. You’re holding up a sack of U. S. mail, and if you don’t know what that means––”
“Shut yore face! Yu talk when I ask yu to!” shouted Tex as the driver dropped to the ground. “But since yore so unholy strong on th’ palaver, suppose yu just explains why yu are so all-fired friendly to Th’ Orphant? Suppose yu lisp why yu take such a peculiar interest in his health and happiness. Come now, out with it–this ain’t no Quaker meeting.”
“Warble, birdie, warble!” jeered one of the cowboys. “Sing, yu––––!”
“We’re shore waitin’, darlin’,” jeered another. “Tune up an’ get started, Windy.”
“Well, since you talks like that,” cried Bill, stung to reckless fury at the cutting contempt of the words, “you can go to h–l and find out from your fool friends!” he shouted, beside himself with rage. “Who are you to stick me up and ask questions? It’s none of your infernal business who I like, you hog-nosed tanks! Why didn’t you bring some decent men with you, you flat-faced skunks? Why didn’t you bring Sneed! White men would a told you just what you are if you asked them to help you in your dirty work, wouldn’t they? Even a tin-horn gambler, a crooked cheat, would give me more show for my money than you have, you bowlegged coyotes! Ain’t you man enough to turn the trick alone, Williard? Can’t you play a lone hand in ambush, you bob-tailed flush of a bad man! You’re only a lake-mouthed, red-headed wart of a two-by-four puncher, that’s what––”
Tex had been stunned by surprise at such an outburst from a man whom he had always regarded as woefully lacking in courage. Then his face flamedwith an insane rage at the taunting insults hurled venomously at him and he sprang to action as though he had been struck. It would have been bad enough to hear such words from an equal, but from Bill!
“Yu cur!” he yelled as he leaped forward into the tearing sting of the driver’s whip, which had been hanging from the wrist.
“You’re the fourth dog I cut to-day,” Bill said, jerking it back for another try.
Tex shivered with pain as the lash cut through his ear, as it would have cut through paper, and screamed his words as he avoided the second blow. “I’ll show yu if I am man enough! I’ll kill yu for that, d––n yu!”
As Tex threw his arms wide open to clinch, Bill leaped aside and drove his heavy fist into the cowman’s face as he passed, knocking him sidewise against the wall of the defile; and then struggled like a madman in the toils of two ropes. He was a Berserker now, a maniac without a hope of life, and he screamed with rage as he tore frantically at the rough hair ropes, wishing only to destroy, to kill with his bare hands. The blow had not been well placed, being too high for the vital point, butit had smashed the puncher’s nose flat to his face and one eye was fast losing its resemblance to the other. Tex staggered to his feet and returned to the attack, striking savagely at the face of the bound man. Bill avoided the blow by jerking his head aside and snarled like a beast as he drove the heel of his heavy boot into his enemy’s stomach. Then everything grew black before his eyes and a roaring sound filled his ears. The rope slackened and the men who had thrown him head-first on a rock leaped from their horses and ran to him.
When his senses returned he found himself bound hand and foot and under a spur of rock which projected from the bank of the cut. His face was cut and bruised and his scalp laid open, but through the blood which dripped from his eyebrows he vaguely saw Tex, bent double and rocking back and forth on the ground, intoned moans coming from him with a sound like that made by a rasp on the edge of a box.
As Bill’s brain cleared he became conscious of excruciating pains in his head, as if hammers were crashing against his skull. Glancing upward he saw that a rope ran from his neck to the rock, over it and then to the pommel of a saddle, and his facetwitched as its meaning sifted through his mind. Then he thought of the time The Orphan had held him up in the defile–how unlike these men the outlaw was! If he would only come now–what joy there would be in the flashing of his gun; what ecstasy in the confusion, panic, rout that he would cause. He was dazed and the throbbing, heavy, monotonous pain dulled him still more. He seemed to be apart from his surroundings, to be an onlooker and not an actor in the game. He wondered if that whip was his: yes, it must be . . . certainly it was. He ought to know his own whip . . . of course it was his. He regarded Tex curiously . . . there had been Indians, or was it some other time? What was Tex doing there on the ground? He struggled to think clearly, and then he knew. But the deadening pain was merciful to him, it made him apathetic. Was he going to die? Perhaps, but what of it? He didn’t care, for then that pain wouldn’t beat through him. Tex looked funny. . . . He closed his eyes wearily and seemed to be far away. Hewasfar away, and, oh, so tired!
Tex finally managed to gain his feet and straighten up and revealed his face, bloody andswollen and black from the blow. His words came with a hesitation which suggested pain, and they were mumbled between split and swollen lips.
“Now, d––n yu!” he cried, brokenly, staggering to the helpless man before him. “Now mebby yu’ll talk! Why did yu help Th’ Orphant? If yu lie yu’ll swing!”
Bill swayed and his eyes opened, and after an interval he slowly and wearily made reply, for his senses had returned again.
“He saved my life,” he said, “and I’ll help–anybody for that.”
“Oh, he did, did he?” jeered Tex. “An’ why? That ain’t his way, helpin’ strangers at his own risk. Why?”
“There was women–in the coach.”
“Oh, there was, hey?” ironically remarked Tex. “Mebby he wanted ’em all to himself, eh?”
“He’s a white man, not a cur.”
“He’s a cub of th’ devil, that’s what he is!” Tex cried. “He ain’t no orphant, not by a d––d sight–th’ devil’s his father, an’ all hell is his mother. Now, I want an answer to this one, and I want it quick: no lie goes. Why don’t th’ sheriff get busy an’ camp on his trail? What interest hasth’ sheriff an’ Th’ Orphant in each other? Come on, out with it!”
“I don’t know,” replied Bill, wishing that the sheriff was at hand to make an appropriate answer. “Ask him, why don’t you?” he asked, stretching his neck to ease the hairy, bristling clutch of the lariat.
“Oh, yu don’t, an’ yore still cheeky, eh?” cried the inquisitor. “An’ yu want yore d––d neck stretched, do yu?”
He motioned to the man on the horse at the end of the rope and Bill straightened up and daylight showed under his heels. As he struggled there was an interruption from the man who covered the back trail: “’Nds up!” he cried. “Don’t move!”
Tex signalled for Bill to be let down and ran backward to the opposite side of the defile until he could see around the turn; and he discovered the sheriff, who sat quietly under the gun of the cowboy.
“Stop! Don’t yu even wiggle!” cried the guard. “I’ll blow yore head off at the first move!” he added in warning; and for once in his eventful life Shields knew that he was absolutelyhelpless, for the time, at least. His hands were clasped over his sombrero, for it would be tiresome to hold them out, and he felt that he might have need of fresh, quick muscles before long.
“All right, all right, bub,” he responded in perfect good nature, apparently. “Don’t get nervous and let that gun go off, for it’s shore your turn now,” he added, smiling his war smile. “Any particular thing you want, or are you just practicing a short cut to eternity?”
“I want yu to stay just like yu are!” snapped the man with the drop. “And yu keep yore mouth shut, too!”
“Since it’s your last wish, why, it goes,” replied the sheriff, ignoring the command for silence. “Got any message for your folks? Any keep-sakes you’d like to have sent back East? Give me the address of your folks and I’ll send them your last words, too.”
“That’s enough, Sheriff,” said Tex, moving cautiously forward behind his leveled Colt. “I’ll do all th’ talkin’ that’s necessary; yu just listen for a while.”
“Well, well,” replied the sheriff, grinning and simulating surprise. “If here ain’t Tex Williard,too! What’s your pet psalm, sonny? Good God, what a face!”
“What’s that got to do with this?” asked Tex, intently watching for war.
“Oh, nothing, nothing at all,” replied the sheriff. “But, Lord, that cayuse of yours can shore kick! Was you tickling it? They do go off like that some times. Any of your nose coming out the back of your head yet? But to reply to your touching inquiry, I’ll say that the psalm might work in handy after while, that’s all. If you’ll only tell me, I’ll see that it is sung over your grave. But, honest, how did you get that face?”
“That’ll just about do for yu!” cried the cowboy, angrily. “An’ sit still, yu!” he added.
“Say, bub,” confidentially said Shields, “my stomach itches like blazes. Can’t I scratch it, just once?”
“No! Think I’m a fool!” yelled Tex, his finger tightening on the trigger. “Yu sit still, d––n yu!”
“Well, I only wanted to see just how much of a fool you really are,” grinned the sheriff exasperatingly. “Judging from your present position I must say that I thought you didn’t have any sense at all,but now I reckon you’ve got a few brains after all. But suppose you scratch it for me, hey? Just rub it easy like with your left paw.”
Tex swore luridly, too tense to realize what a fool the sheriff was making of him. He could think of only one thing at a time, and he was thinking very hard about the sheriff’s hands.
“Tut, tut, don’t take it so hard,” jeered the sheriff, smiling pleasantly. “Now that I know that you are some rational, suppose you tell me the joke? What’s the secret? Who skinned his shin? What in thunder is all this artillery saluting me for?”
“Since yu want to know, I’ll tell yu, all right,” replied Tex. “Why are yu an’ Th’ Orphant so d––d thick? Don’t be all day about it?”
“You d––d excuse!” responded the sheriff. “You mere accident! As the poet said, it’s none of your business! Catch that?”
“Yes, I caught it,” retorted Tex. “I reckon we needs a new sheriff, an’ d––d soon, too,” he added venomously.
“Well, people don’t always get what they need,” replied Shields easily. “If they did, you would get yours right now, and good and hard, too,” he explained, making ready to put up thehardest fight of his life. Three men had him covered, and he knew they would all shoot if he made a move, for they had placed themselves in a desperate situation and could not back out now. He knew that never before had he been in so tight a hole, but he trusted to luck and his own quickness to crawl out with a whole skin. If he was killed, he would have company across the Great Divide; of that he was certain.
“I reckon I’ll take yore guns for a while, just to be doin’ somethin’,” Tex said as he advanced a step. “Mebby that itch will go away then.”
“I reckon you’ll be a d––n sight wiser if you don’t force matters, for they are purty well forced now,” Shields replied. “No man gets my guns’ butts first without getting all mussed up inside. You’ll certainly be doing something if you try it.”
“Well, then,” compromised Tex, “answer my question!”
“And no man gets an answer to a question like that in words,” the sheriff continued, as if there had been no interruption. “But I’ll give you and your white-faced bums a chance for your lives–and I don’t wonder The Orphan shot up Jimmy, neither. Put up your wobbling guns and get outof this country as fast as God will let you! If you ever come back I’ll fill you plumb full of lead! It’s your move, Lovely Face, and the quicker you do it the better it’ll be for your health.”
“‘The less you count the longer you’ll live!’ said Shields” (See page 192.)
“‘The less you count the longer you’ll live!’ said Shields” (See page 192.)
“Oh, I don’t know about that,” replied Tex with a leer and swagger. “To a man up a tree it looks like yu are up agin a buzz saw this time.”
“To a man on the ground it looks like your tin buzz saw has hit the hardest knot it ever struck, and you’ll feel the jar purty soon, too,” Shields countered, his hazel eyes beginning to grow red. “You put up that gun and scoot before I blow your d––d head off!”
“I’ll give yu ’til I counts three to answer my question,” Tex said, ignoring the advice. “One!”
“The less you count the longer you’ll live,” said Shields, gripping his horse with his knees in readiness to jump it sideways.
“Two!”
“Afternoon, gents,” said a pleasant voice up above them, and all jumped and looked up. As they did so Shields jerked his guns loose and laughed softly: “That itch has plumb gone away,” he said. “It’s a new deal,” he exulted, his face wreathed in grins.
ON the edge of the bank, thirty feet above them, a man squatted on his heels, his forearms resting easily on his knees. In each hand was a long-barreled Colt, held in a manner oppressively businesslike. One of the guns was leveled at the stomach of the man who guarded Bill, and who still held the rope; the other covered the man who had baited the sheriff. Shields took care of the remaining two. One of the newcomer’s eyes was half closed, squinting to keep out the smoke which curled up from the cigarette which protruded jauntily from a corner of his mouth. If anything was needed to strengthen the air of pertness of the man above it was supplied by his sombrero, which sat rakishly over one ear. A quizzical grin flickered across his face and the cigarette bobbed recklessly when he laughed.
“Was you counting?” he asked of Tex in anxiousinquiry. “And for God’s sake, who stepped on your face?”
Tex made no reply, for his astonishment at the interruption had given way to the iron hand of fear which gripped him almost to suffocation. In the space of one breath he had been hurled from the mastery to defeat; from a good fighting chance, with all the odds on his side, to what he believed to be certain death, for to move was to die. Had it been anyone but The Orphan who had turned the scale he would have hazarded a shot and trusted to luck, for his gun was in his hand; but The Orphan’s gunplay was as swift as light and never missed at that distance, and The Orphan’s reputation was a host in itself. He had threatened the sheriff with death, he had used Bill worse than he would have used a dog, and now his cup of bitterness was full to overflowing. Above him a pair of cruel gray eyes looked over a sight into his very soul and a malevolent grin played about the thin, straight lips of the man who had killed Jimmy, who had led his five friends to an awful death, and who had instilled terror night after night into the hearts of seven good men. His mind leaped back to a day ten years before, and what he saw causedhis face to blanch. Ten years of immunity, but at last he was to pay for his crime. Before him stood the son of the man he had been foremost in hanging, before him stood the man he had cruelly wronged. His nerve left him and he stood a broken, trembling coward, a living lie to the occupation he had made his own, an insult to his dress and his companions. Had he by some miracle been given the drop he could not have pulled the trigger. He now had no hope for mercy where he had denied it. He had played a good hand, but he had made no allowance for the joker, and no blame to him.
No sooner had The Orphan spoken and the sheriff discovered that he had things safely in his hands, than Shields had leaped to the ground and quickly disarmed his opponents, tossing the captured weapons to the top of the bank near the outlaw. Then he folded his arms and waited, laughing silently all the while.
As soon as Shields had disposed of the last gun, The Orphan gave his whole attention to the man who was guarding Bill, and that person changed the course of his hand just in time.
“No, I wouldn’t try to use that gun, neither, ifI was you,” The Orphan said, still smiling. “You can just toss it up on the bank over your head–that’s right. Now drop that rope–I’m surprised that you didn’t do it before. When you get Bill all untangled from those fixings come right around here, where I can see how nice you all look in a bunch. It’ll take you one whole minute to get out of sight around that turn, so I wouldn’t try any running.”
The Orphan was ignorant of the condition of Bill’s face, since he had only seen the driver’s back as he had crawled to the edge of the bank, and now the bend in the opposite wall just hid Bill from his sight. So he gave no great attention to the driver, but turned to the sheriff and laughed.
“I knew that you would pull through, Sheriff,” he said, “but I couldn’t help having a surprise party; I’m a whole lot fond of surprise parties, you know. And it’s shore been a howling success, all right.”
“You have a very pleasant way of making yourself useful,” Shields replied. “From the holes you’ve pulled me out of within the past six weeks you must have a poor impression of me. But seeing that you have reason to laugh at me, I acceptyour apology and bid you welcome. It’s all yours.” Then he glanced quickly up the trail and his face went red with anger. “Hell!” he cried in amazement.
The Orphan looked in the direction indicated and he leaped to his feet in sudden anger at what he saw. A man, followed by a cowboy, staggered and stumbled drunkenly along the trail toward them, his face a mass of cuts and bruises and blood. His hair was matted with blood and dirt, and a red ring showed around his neck. His hands opened and shut convulsively and he made straight as he could for Tex, who shrank back involuntarily.
“My God! It’s Bill!” cried The Orphan, hardly able to believe his eyes.
“You’re the curIwant!” Bill muttered brokenly to Tex, straightening up and becoming rapidly steadier under the stimulus of his rage. “You’re the––Iwant, d––n you!” he repeated as he slowly advanced. “It’s my turn now, you cur! Lynch me, would you? Lynch me, eh? Tried to hit me when I was tied, eh? Sicked your dogs on me, eh? Keep still, d––n you–you can’t get away!” he cried as Tex moved backward.
“Stand to it like a man, or I’ll blow your headoff!” cried The Orphan from his perch. “Go on, Bill!”
“You said you wanted me, didn’t you? Do you still want me?” he asked, not hearing The Orphan’s words. “Are you still curious?” he asked, backing Tex into a corner.
“Hash him up, Bill!” cried the man above, and then, “Hey, wait a minute–I want to see this,” he added as he slid down the bank. “Go ahead with the slaughter–push his head off!”
Bill’s one hundred and eighty pounds of muscle and rage suddenly hurled itself forward behind a huge fist and Tex hit the bank and careened into the dust of the trail, unconscious before he had moved.
“I told you you wasn’t man enough to play a lone hand!” yelled the driver as he leaped after his victim. But he was stopped by the sheriff, who sprang forward and deflected him from his course.
“That’s enough–no killing!” Shields cried, regaining his balance and swiftly interposing himself between the driver and Tex.
Bill didn’t hear him, for he had just caught sight of the man who had told him to warble, and he lost no time in getting to him. A few quick blowsand the enraged driver left his second victim face down in the dirt and passed on to the man who had held the rope.
“Hurrah for Bill!” yelled The Orphan, hopping first on one foot and then on the other in his joy. “Set ’em up in the other alley! I didn’t know you had it in you, Bill! Good boy!” he shouted as Bill clinched with the third cowboy. “Oh, that was a beauty! Right on the nose–oh, what a whopper to get on the jaw! Whoop her up! Fine, fine!” he laughed as Bill dropped his man. “‘And subsequent proceedings interestedhimno more!’ Next!” he cried as Bill wheeled on the last of the group. “Eat him up, Bill!–that’s the way! Just above the belt for his–Good! All down!” he yelled madly as Bill, drawing his arm back from the stomach of the falling puncher, sent a swift uppercut hissing to the jaw. “You lifted him five feet, Bill,” The Orphan exulted as Bill wheeled for more worlds to conquer.
“Where’s the rest of the gang?” savagely yelled the driver, looking twice at The Orphan before he was sure of his identity. “Where’s the rest of ’em?” he shouted again, running around the bend in hot search. “Come out and fight, youcowards!” they heard him cry, and straightway the outlaw and the guardian of the law clung to each other for support as they cried with joy.
As Bill hurried back to the field of carnage one of his victims was mechanically striving to gain his hands and knees, to go down in a quivering heap by a blow from the insane victor. As Bill drew back his foot to finish his work, Shields broke from his companion and leaped forward just in time to hurl Bill back several steps. “D––n you!” he cried, standing over the prostrate figure, “If you hit another man while he’s down I’ll trim you right! Cool down and get some sense before I punch it into you!”
The Orphan, leaning limply against the bank of the defile, was making foolish motions with his hands, which still held the Colts, and was babbling idiotically, tears of laughter streaming down his face and dripping from his chin. His eyes were closed and he was bent over, rocking to and fro against the wall.
“Oh, Lord!” he sobbed senselessly. “Oh, Lord, oh, Lord! Let me die in peace! Take him away, take him away! Let me die in peace!”
“I’m a fine sight to hit Sagetown, ain’t I?”yelled Bill, keeping keen watch on the four prostrate punchers. “They’ll think I was licked! They’ll point to my face and head and swear that some papoose kicked the stuffing outen me! That’s what they’ll do! But I’ll show them, all right! I’ll just take my game with me and prove that I am the best man, that’s what I’ll do! I’ll pile ’em in the coach and lug ’em with me!” grabbing, as he finished, one of the men by the foot and dragging him toward the stage. It took The Orphan and Shields several strenuous minutes to dissuade him from his purpose. Shields placed his fingers on the bones of Bill’s hand in a peculiar grip, and the driver loosened his hold without loss of time.
“You go back to town and get fixed up,” ordered the sheriff. “I’ll take your team out of this and turn them around, and then come back for you. Charley can make the trip if you can’t. I would do it myself, only I’ve got to tell Sneed that he’s shy four more men.”
“I’ll turn ’em around myself–I ain’t hurt,” asserted Bill with decision. “And when I get patched up I’ll make the trip, Pop Westley or no Pop Westley. And I’ll lick the whole blamed town, too, if they get fresh about my face! I’m afighter from Fightersville, I am! I’m a man-eating bad-man, I am! I can lick anything that ever walked on hind legs, I can!” and he glared as if anxious to prove his words.
After the cowboys regained consciousness and got so they could stand, the sheriff lined them up with their backs to the wall and gave them the guns which The Orphan had obtained for him. The outlaw held them covered while the sheriff told them what they were, and he wound up his lecture with instructions and a warning.
“Get out of this country and don’t never come back!” he told them. “I don’t care where you go, so long as you go right now. If you even show your faces in these parts again I’ll shoot first and talk after.”
“Same here!” endorsed The Orphan, frowning down his desire to laugh at the wrecks in front of him.
“I’ll kill you next time!” shouted Bill, prancing uneasily.
“The cayuses are yours,” continued the sheriff. “I’ll settle with Sneed if he has the gall to ask about them. Now git!”
Tex stared first at the sheriff and then at TheOrphan and Bill as if doubting his ears. He was ten years nearer the grave than he had been before The Orphan had interrupted his counting. In less than half an hour he had gone through hell, and now he suddenly burst into tears from the reaction and staggered to his horse, which he finally managed to mount, a nervous wreck. “Oh, God!” he moaned, “Oh, God!”
The others stared at him in amazement until he had turned the bend, and then his companions slowly followed him and were lost to sight.
“D––n near dead from fright!” ejaculated the sheriff. “I never saw anybody go to pieces so bad!”
“He shore lost his nerve all right, all right,” responded The Orphan. Then he turned to where Bill stood looking after them: “Bill, you’re all right–you can fight like h–l!”
Bill slowly turned and grinned through the blood: “Oh, that wasn’t nothing–you should oughter see me when I get real mad!”
·····
Two men rode side by side after a lurching coach on their way toward the Limping Water, both buried in thought at what the driver hadtold them. As they emerged from the defile and left the Backbone behind, the elder looked keenly, almost affectionately, at his companion and placed a kindly hand on the shoulder of the man who had turned the balance, breaking the long silence.
“Son, why don’t you get a job punching cows, or something, and quit your d––d foolishness?” he bluntly asked.
The younger man thought for a space, and a woman’s words directed his reply:
“I’ve thought of that, and I’d like to do it,” he said earnestly. “But, pshaw, who will give me a try in this country?” he asked bitterly. Then he added softly: “And I won’t leave these parts, not now.”
“You won’t have to leave the country,” replied the sheriff. “Why not try Blake, of the Star C?” he asked. “Blake is a shore square man, and he’s a good friend of mine, too.”
“Yes, I reckon he is square,” replied The Orphan. “But he won’t take no stock in me, not a bit.”
“Tell him that you’re a friend of mine, and that I sent you to punch for him, and see,” responded Shields, examining his cinch.
“Do you mean that, Sheriff?” the other cried in surprise.
“Hell, yes!” answered Shields gruffly. “I’ll give you a note to him, and if you watch your business you’ll be his right-hand man in a month. I ain’t making any mistake.”
“By God, I’ll do it!” cried the outlaw. “You’re all right, Sheriff!”
“Well, I don’t know about that,” replied Shields, grinning broadly. “Mebby I just can’t see the use of us shooting each other up, and that is what it will come to if things go on as they are, you know. I’d a blamed sight rather have you behaving yourself with Blake than bothering me with your fool nonsense and raising the devil all the time. Why, it’s got so that every place I go I sort of looks for flower pots!”
The Orphan laughed: “I shore had a fine time that night!”
When half way to the Limping Water the sheriff said good-by to Bill and wheeled, facing in the direction of the Cross Bar-8.
“Orphan, you wait for me at the ford,” he said. “I’m going up to break the news to Sneed, and I’ll get paper and pencil while I’m there, andwrite a note to Blake. I’ll get back as quick as I can–so long.”
“So long, and good luck,” replied The Orphan, heartily shaking hands with his new friend.
Shields loped away and arrived at the ranch as Sneed was carrying water to the cook shack.
“Hullo, Sneed! Playing cook?” he said, pulling in to a stop.
“I’ll playonthe cook if I ever get my hands on him,” replied Sneed, setting the pail down. “Well, what’s new? Seen Tex and the other three? I’ll play onthem, too, when they gets home! Off playing hookey from work when we all of us aches from double shifts–oh, just wait till I sees ’em sneaking in to bed! Just wait!”
“You ought to give ’em all a good thrashing, they need it,” replied the sheriff, and then he asked: “Got any paper, and a pencil?” He wanted his needs supplied before he broke the news, for then he might not get them.
“Shore as you live I have,” answered the foreman, picking up the pail and starting toward the bunk-house. “Come in and wet the dust–it’s hot out here.”
“Let me have the paper first–I want to scrawla note before I forget about it,” the sheriff responded as he seated himself on a bunk and looked critically about him at the bullet-riddled walls and pictures.
Sneed handed him an ink bottle and placed a piece of wrapping paper and a corroded pen on the table.
“That paper ain’t for love letters, the ink is mud, and the pen’s a brush, but I reckon you can make tracks, all right,” the host remarked as he pushed a bench up to the table for his guest. “And if them punchers don’t make tracks for home purty lively, I’ll salt their hides and peg ’em on the wall to cure,” he grumbled, rummaging for a bottle and cup. When he placed the tin cup on the table he grinned foolishly, for it was plugged with a cork. “D––d outlaw!” he grunted.
“There,” remarked the sheriff, fanning the note in the air. “That’s done, if it’ll ever dry.”
“Blow on it,” suggested Sneed, and then smiled.
“Here, wait a minute,” he said, stepping to the door, where he scooped up a handful of sand. “Throw this on it–it can’t get no muddier, anyhow.”
Shields carefully folded the missive and tuckedit in his hip pocket, and then he looked up at the foreman.
“Sneed,” he slowly began, “your punchers ain’t never coming back.”
“What!” yelled the foreman, leaping to his feet, and having visions of his men being cut up by outlaws and Indians.
“Nope,” replied Shields with an air of finality. “Bill Howland gave them the most awful beating up that I ever saw men get, the whole four of them, too! When he got through with them I took a hand and ordered them to get out of the country, and I told them that if they ever came back I’d shoot on sight, and I will.”
Sneed’s rage was pathetic, and was not induced by the beating his men had received, nor by the sheriff’s orders, but because it left him only three men to work a ranch which needed twelve. As he listened to the sheriff’s story he paced back and forth in the small room and swore luridly, kicking at everything in sight, except the sheriff. Then he cooled down, spread his feet far apart and stared at Shields.
“Why didn’t you kill ’em, the d––d fools?” he cried. “That’s what they deserved!” Thenhe paused. “But what am I going to do?” he asked. “Where’ll I get men, and what’ll I do ’til I do get ’em?”
“I’ll send Charley and half a dozen of the boys out from town to stay with you ’til you get some others,” replied the sheriff, walking toward the door. “And you might tell the three that are left that I’ll kill the next man who tries that kind of work in this country. I’m getting good and tired of it. So long.”
Sneed didn’t hear him, but sat with his head in his hands for several minutes after the sheriff had gone, swearing fluently.
“Orphan h–l!” he yelled as he picked up the water pail and stamped to the cook shack.
THE Limping Water, within a mile after it passed Ford’s Station, turned abruptly and flowed almost due west for thirty miles, where it again proceeded southward. At the second bend stood the ranch houses and corrals of the Star C, in a country rich in grass and water. Its cows numbered far into the thousands and its horses were the best for miles around, while the whole ranch had an air of opulence and plenty. Its ranch house was a curiosity, for even now there were lace curtains in some of the windows, badly torn and soiled, but still lace curtains; and on the floors of several rooms were thick carpets, now covered with dust and riding paraphernalia. Oddly shaped and badly scratched chairs were piled high with accumulated trash, and the few gilt-framed paintings which graced the walls were hanging awry and were torn and scratched. At one timean Eastern woman had tried to live there, but that was when the owner of the ranch and his wife had been enthusiasts. New York regained and kept its own, and they now would rather receive quarterly reports by mail than daily reports in person. The foreman and his wolf hounds reigned supreme, not at all bothered by the stiff furniture and lace curtains, because he would rather be comfortable than stylish, and so lived in two rooms which he had fitted up to his ideas. Carpets and two-inch spurs cause profanity and ravelings, and as for pictures, they have a most annoying way of tilting when one hangs a six-shooter on one corner of the frame, and they are so inviting that one is constantly forgetting. So the unstable pictures, the dress-parade chairs, bothersome curtains and clutching carpets were left under the dust.
The Star C, being in a part of the country little traversed and crossed by no trails, was removed from the zone of The Orphan’s activities and had no cause for animosity, save that induced by his reputation. Several of its punchers had seen him, and all were well versed in his exploits, for frequently Ford’s Station shared its hospitality with one or more of them; and in Ford’s Station at thattime The Orphan was the chief topic of conversation and the bone of contention. But the foreman of the Star C would not know him if he should see him, unless by intuition.
Blake was a man much after the pattern of Shields in his ideas, and the two were warm friends and had roughed it together when Ford’s Station had only been an adobe hut. Their affection for each other was of the stern, silent kind, which seldom betrayed itself directly in words, and they could ride together for hours in an understanding silence and never weary of the companionship; and when need was, deeds spoke for them. The Cross Bar-8 would have had more than Ford’s Station to fight if it had declared war on the sheriff, which the Cross Bar-8 knew. The three cleverest manipulators of weapons in that section, in the order of their merit, were The Orphan, Shields and Blake, which also the Cross Bar-8 knew.
The foreman of the Star C rode at a walk toward a distant point of his dominions and cogitated as to whether he could ride over to Ford’s Station that night to see the sheriff. It was a matter of sixty miles for the round trip, but it might have been sixty blocks, so far as the distance troubled him. He had just decided to make the trip and to spend a pleasant hour with his friend, and drink some of the delicious coffee which Mrs. Shields always made for him and eat one of her prize pies, or some of her light ginger bread, when he descried a horseman coming toward him at a lope.