A STRANGE DISCOVERY.
BELDEN RICKARD understood business customs much better than the
simple-hearted trapper, though it will be admitted that the latter
managed his part with cleverness. He had expected to agree upon a
ransom of five thousand dollars at the least, and it has been shown
that Herbert Watrous was willing, under stress, to advance double that
sum for the release of his friend; but the amount was fixed at one
thousand, which is far below the usual rates.
Rickard understood what Eph meant when he spoke of the trouble about
arranging for the payment of a greater amount. Young Watrous had a
credit to the extent named with Banker Lord of San Antonio, and to
secure more he would have to consult with his parents in New York.
This meant delay, which he was anxious above everything to avoid,
since it involved personal danger to him. As it was, he dreaded
presenting himself to so well-known a resident as the banker, but was
thinking of turning over the draft to some trustworthy friend when Eph,
recalling what Herbert had told him to say, added that the young man
would give him a letter to Mr. Lord that would prevent the very trouble
he feared.
This closed negotiations. Rickard accepted the terms and did a neat
piece of diplomacy by saying:
“No matter how this is fixed I’ve got to trust you folks, so I will do
it clear through; I’ll send the boy back with you, and you can tell
your friends to arrange it with the banker so that I’ll get the money
whenever I call or send someone, and no questions will be asked.”
“I’ll guarantee that that’ll be done,” was the emphatic pledge of the
trapper, who not only meant every word, but knew there would be no
withdrawal or deception on the part of his friends.
“But,” added Rickard, who, strangely enough, had overlooked one
momentous fact, “what about the Apaches? Old Kimmaho and his gang are
out there, and there’s no saying when they’ll go.”
This was the most serious phase of the business. Old Eph had been
speculating over it from the moment he left his companions on the
elevation.
Now that the terms were agreed upon with the captors of Nick Ribsam,
and they were ready to turn him over to his friends, how was he to be
escorted back to them?
“Didn’t you have trouble in getting here?” asked the criminal of the
trapper.
“I had a little brush, and dropped one of the varmints.”
“That, then, was your pistol that I heard?”
“I shouldn’t wonder, bein’ as I fired off a pistol while tryin’ to make
a call on you.”
“If you had such trouble in slipping by the Apaches, you are sure to
have a good deal more when the boy is with you. You know old Kimmaho,
Eph?”
“I rather think so; he’s as bad as Geronimo.”
“Then when he has learned of what took place, he and his warriors will
be more watchful than before.”
“Thar can be no doubt of that,” replied the trapper, with an impressive
nod of his head; “I wouldn’t be afeard to try it alone if thar war
twice as many, but I won’t be able to manage it with the younker.”
“What shall be done?”
“You may shoot me if I know; I’ve been figgerin’ over the bus’ness for
the last hour and can’t make nothin’ of it.”
But Rickard had a proposition to make. It was a singular one, but he
was in earnest and would have kept his part as faithfully as he knew
the other parties would keep their pledge.
“You can get back to Strubell and Lattin if you try it alone; do that,
and then all of you come in here with me. I will be on the lookout so
that you can dash right through the door as soon as you reach it.”
The curious feature about this proposition is that while it was
the most feasible that could be thought of, it displayed a certain
chivalry on the part of the horse thieves, which would have struck
anyone as inconsistent with the character of the one making it.
“It’s the idea,” said old Eph, after thinking it over for a few
seconds; “now, if you’ll fetch the younker so that I can have a few
words with him, I’ll be ready to start back; I’d like to be able to
tell his friends that I seen him again and spoke to him.”
“Of course,” said Rickard, turning to Slidham and saying something in
so low a tone that the sharp-eared trapper could not catch the words.
The fellow, who had simply held his peace, smoked and listened, nodded
his head, rose, and passed through the open door into the courtyard.
Eph heard his footsteps on the adobe pavement, which had been trod and
seasoned during the past century into a hardness like that of the walls
themselves.
When the sounds died out the trapper threw a ponderous leg over the
other, puffed at his pipe, and, looking across in the face of one of
the most famous horse thieves in Western Texas, asked in his off-hand
fashion:
“How’s business, Bell?”
“Mighty bad,” was the reply, accompanied by a shake of the head.
“How’s that?”
“There are too many at it, and the officers are after us too sharp. You
remember Zip Cooley?”
“I’ve knowed Zip for twenty years, but have lost track of him for the
past two or three seasons. How is he?”
“He’s at rest at last,” replied Rickard, with another sigh. “The
vigilantes down in Nacogdoches country got the drop on him—used him
mighty mean—made him dance on nothing, with his chin among the limbs
of a tree. Poor Zip was one of the best men I ever had, but he’s
crossed the big divide.”
“That was bad for Zip,” said Eph grimly, “but I don’t reckon the folks
down in Nacogdoches will rear a monument reachin’ to the clouds to keep
his mem’ry green.”
“Then,” added Rickard, “Waxhurst and Doffgo wanted to branch out, so
they crossed over into Arkansas, made a good haul, and started through
the Indian Nation.”
“How did they make out?”
“Well, they ‘branched out’ the same as poor Zip; you see, our gang has
been cut down pretty low, and when the rangers gather one in, there
isn’t enough at hand to rally, shoot the officers, and rescue him.”
“What a blamed pity,” growled the trapper, leisurely puffing his pipe,
“that thar warn’t enough of you just to clean things out atween El Paso
and Santone.”
“No; I wouldn’t want it as good as that; but we ought to have enough
to make it interesting, and give a fellow a chance to make an honest
living. I had a pretty close call myself a couple of months ago.”
“How was that?”
“It was over in the Panhandle; Slidham and me were alone, and they run
us hot, but we tumbled the leader out of his saddle, hit the man next
to him, and before they could get things in shape, slipped off in the
moonlight.”
“Isn’t Slidham a long time bringin’ that younker?” asked Eph, looking
impatiently at the door.
“Yes—ah, here he is!”
The man appeared at that moment, his face showing that he was agitated
over something. He gave Rickard an anxious look, and, without speaking,
nodded his head in a way which signified something important.
“Eph, you’ll excuse me for a few minutes,” said the leader, hastily
rising to his feet and moving to the door; “I won’t keep you waiting
long.”
The couple passed out together and the trapper found himself for the
first time entirely alone. He cared nothing for that, however, but
continued slowly puffing his pipe, and wondering what the action of the
others could mean.
Several times he heard them moving about the court, and when he was on
the point of going to them, with a demand for an explanation, Rickard
returned, hastily stepped within the apartment, and without sitting
down looked earnestly at his visitor.
“Eph,” said he, “don’t you believe I’m playing square with you?”
“What put that ar silly question in your head? Of course I do.”
“We agreed on the terms, didn’t we?”
“That’s just what we done.”
“Well, the deal is off.”
“What do you mean by such stuff?” demanded the trapper, unable to
repress his astonishment. “Aint you satisfied with the tarms?”
“Of course, but I can’t carry out my part; I can’t deliver the goods.”
“WHAT!”
“Nick Ribsam isn’t in the building; he has escaped!”