THE MAN HUNT
“Gee,” Baxter exclaimed when he heard the story. “You certainly are the
lucky one. All that doing in your first week. It’s more excitement than
I have had in the past two years.”
“It has been pretty good fun,” Scott admitted, “but I suppose it will
seem slow now that it is all over.”
“Not if I know Jed and Dawson,” Baxter exclaimed, “Jed is yellow and
will never try a fair fight with you, but if I were you I would get a
suit of mail armor for he is likely to try to shoot you in the back any
time. Isn’t old Dawson a smooth one, though? Here he has been doing that
thing for three or four years and yet no one ever so much as suspected
him of it. He will not say or do a thing until he knows which way this
investigation is going. If he finds you have anything on him that he
cannot get out of, then watch out. I did not know he was crooked but I
know that he will not stop at anything to get what he wants.”
“Sounds as though there might be some interest left in life yet,” Scott
laughed.
“If I were you I would come over to my shack and stay. You can work your
district just as well from there and I can help you. It would not be so
easy for them to pick on the two of us. One man does not stand much show
alone; he has to sleep sometime.”
“And let them think they had run me out,” Scott exclaimed. “Nothing
doing. I’m not afraid of them.”
“There are times when a man has a right to be afraid,” Baxter urged, “it
isn’t cowardice, it’s only decent caution and common sense.”
He was so earnest about it and so different from his usual daredevil
self that Scott seriously considered his proposition. “Well, I can’t run
away now without any pretext, but if they make it too hot for me I’ll
consider it. If I have to run anywhere it will be to you.”
“Good, I don’t want to seem to croak but I expect to see you before
long. Don’t put off the running too long.”
“By the way,” Scott called just as he was starting back for the chute to
see if the sheep were coming back all right to their allotted ranges,
“have you had lunch? I forgot mine in the excitement and it is almost
three o’clock.”
“Forgot mine, too. Might as well eat together here before you go.”
They brought their lunches from their saddle bags and continued the
investigation discussion. Probably most of the people within fifty miles
would be talking about it in the morning. They had scarcely swallowed
the last sandwich when Scott noticed a distinct column of smoke rising
over the ridge to the north.
“Hello,” he exclaimed, “is that another of Jed’s signal fires?”
Baxter took a long look at it. “No, that’s no brush pile. There is no
wind and yet the smoke seems to be pretty widely scattered. That’s the
trouble with this country; four days of sunshine and then fire will run
in the needles. That cannot be far from the lookout station, but I
suppose we better go up and have a look.”
They mounted and rode up the slope together. As they approached the
ridge it seemed very apparent that it was not a brush pile burning. The
smoke was rising from a considerable area. From the ridge they could see
it plainly. It was a ground fire on the lower slope just below the
lookout station.
“Quickest way will be to ride to the lookout station and get a couple of
shovels from the cache.”
So they galloped up to the station and raided the tool cache. There was
no one there. They grabbed the shovels and ran down the slope. The first
person they saw was the lookout’s wife, dressed in overalls and swinging
a shovel like a ditch digger.
“Where is Benny?” Baxter called to her.
“He’s working on the other end of it,” she replied without turning from
her work.
“Then I’m going over there,” said Baxter with decision. “He’s sent me
out on many a dirty fire and I want the satisfaction of seeing him work
on one himself. Don’t know as I’ll even help him unless it’s pretty
bad.”
Only the needles on the surface were dry and a shovel full of the moist
earth put out the fire wherever it reached it. Scott fell to work a
little bit ahead of the woman and they progressed rapidly. It was only a
few minutes till they met the lookout and Baxter and the fire was out.
“How did it start, Benny?” Baxter asked. “Throw a cigarette out the
tower window?”
“Looks like it,” Benny admitted. “No, some sheep herder did it. I
happened to pick him up with the glasses away down by the cliffs, and I
caught sight of him from time to time as he came up the valley, but I
could not recognize him. Just about the time he reached the pass up
there I found the smoke. Since then I have been too busy to think about
him.”
“He probably dropped a match,” Scott suggested.
“It was a match all right, but I’ll bet he did not drop it,” Baxter
commented. “Let’s go see what we can find.”
The emergency over, the lookout’s wife had gone quietly back to her home
work. The three men went down into the valley to investigate. They
easily picked up the man’s trail and found where it touched the edge of
the burn. Sure enough, there was plenty of evidence to show that the
match was not dropped carelessly. Pine needles had been carefully raked
together in a long pile which had apparently been lighted in several
places. No efforts had been made to efface the traces of the work.
“Just what I thought,” Baxter exclaimed, straightening up with a frown.
“But why in thunder did he set the thing right under my nose?” asked
Benny in an injured tone.
“Probably like the rest of us,” Baxter laughed, “he wanted to see you
work. No, that was just sheer bravado. That fire was set as a warning to
show us what would happen if we pushed this sheep business and he wanted
to put it where it would surely be seen.”
“By the way,” Benny asked with sudden interest, “how did the recount
come out? I called up Dawson, but he was not home.”
When he had heard the story he shook his head sagely. “If that is the
way it stands I would not be surprised if that was what the fire was
for. And I would not be surprised if there were some more of them in the
next few days.”
With this comforting piece of news Scott started back by the way of the
bench to have a look at the sheep before he went home to supper. He
found them all trailing back to the feeding grounds. The herders were in
a sullen mood. Not that it made much difference to them who owned the
sheep, but they felt the failure of the plan as a personal defeat and
they took it out in hating the man who had frustrated the plan. They
hinted darkly at what would happen to the district and its patrolman.
Their attitude furnished Scott with some food for thought. If these men
who had no financial interests at stake felt as bitter as they did, he
could well imagine the feelings of Dawson, Jed and Dugan. Two of them he
knew to be unscrupulous and Baxter had assured him that Dawson would be
no better. He was beginning to think a little more seriously of Baxter’s
advice. It would be hard for one man to live alone and protect himself
against three others for an indefinite time.
He had ridden so slowly that it was dusk when he turned Jed into the
corral and went to the lonely cabin to prepare his supper. There was no
evidence that any one had been there in his absence, but he felt uneasy.
These men were not like the men he had known. If they would come out in
the open and fight fairly with their fists he would not have thought
twice about it, but the thought of being shot in the back with no chance
at all seemed horrible. It was one thing to rush a man in the face of a
loaded gun in the flush of excitement, and to feel hour after hour that
the same gun may be aimed at you from behind a tree or from out of the
darkness around the cabin. It was the unfairness of it all that
oppressed him; the feeling that it was something over which he had no
control.
Early in the evening the ’phone rang. He had already become so nervous
that he jumped almost out of his skin at the sound. It was the
supervisor.
“I have only a minute, Burton, and must talk fast. You made a beautiful
clean up of that bunch to-day and from a few things I have found out
since, I believe you are right about all the rest of it. Jed is crazy.
He has loaded up on fire water and is telling every one what he is going
to do to you and the whole service. I want you to keep out of his way.
You are probably no match for him with a gun and moreover I do not want
any fights if I can help it.
“I understand that the big reservoir on the upper plateau is about full.
The snows are melting pretty fast now. I want you to start up there
early to-morrow and watch it. When it reaches the twenty foot mark open
the spillway; it will raise Cain if it overflows. Stop and tell Baxter
to look after your district, but do not tell any one else where you are
going. Do you understand?”
“I think so,” Scott answered.
“I’ll send for you when I want you for that investigation. So long. Take
care of yourself.”
Scott had forgotten his fears while the supervisor was talking, but with
the click of the receiver the old loneliness came over him again. So Jed
was on the war path and Ramsey thought there was danger. He recognized
that his assignment to the reservoir was only an excuse to get him out
of the way. He was glad of the excuse himself and wondered whether the
sensible thing would not be to go to Baxter’s for the night.
He had a hard time swallowing the idea of running away, even when he
knew that it was the sensible thing to do. The cabin felt like a trap to
him and he wandered out under the stars. He had a show there, no one
could sneak up on him. He sat down on a log at the edge of the clearing
and listened to the night noises as he had done so many times before. As
the distant sounds floated up to him on the still night air and his
trained ear caught the scurrying of tiny feet in the bushes about him,
his confidence came back to him. He felt safe enough out there. It was
just a matter of woodcraft now, and in that he was not afraid to put
himself against any man. That would be a fair contest.
Far up along the ridge trail to the east a woman was running
desperately. She was keeping to the shadow as much as possible and
looking nervously back over her shoulder. Her breath was coming in gasps
and it seemed as though she must give up, but she staggered on doggedly.
The yapping of the coyotes and the lurking shadows of the forest trail
seemed to have no horrors for her. They were overshadowed by another
horror far more terrible. Her face wore a look of dread, but it was not
the dread of the dangers of the night. She did not give a thought to her
own safety. She was running a race with death and her only thought was
that she might be too late.
She turned down the little trail to the patrolman’s cabin and made one
more desperate effort. Her strength was failing but the sight of the
light in the cabin seemed to buoy her up and lend wings to her feet.
There was yet time. She staggered uncertainly to the open door of the
cabin. There was no one there. The disappointment was too much for her
and she sank to the step with a sob.
To Scott, sitting quietly in the shadow of the forest’s edge, the sight
of this disheveled woman gliding into the flood of light from the cabin
door had appeared like a specter. He hesitated a moment, suspicious of
every one, but at the sound of that heartbroken sob he forgot his own
danger and hastened to her. He raised the limp form gently and
recognized Mrs. Dawson.
She raised her tired eyes dully, but at the sight of Scott she started
up with unexpected strength.
“Oh, Mr. Burton,” she gasped, “you must get away from here at once.
There are some men coming here to kill you to-night and you must get
away before they come.”
“How do you know this?” Scott asked kindly, trying to help the exhausted
woman to a chair in the cabin.
“No, no, not in there,” she exclaimed in terror. “I must not be seen
here. Why do you make me say how I know? It is bad enough to have to
betray my husband without having to talk about it. But you saved Marie
for me and I had to tell you. He will thank me for it some day. Now
please go. They may come any minute.”
“I must see you safely home first,” Scott replied.
“No, no, they would kill us both. There is no danger for me in the woods
alone. Oh, please go quickly and do not make me make this awful trip for
nothing. Please go; you must.” She began to sob again.
“I cannot tell you how much I appreciate this,” Scott said earnestly.
“They will not find me when they come. Good-by.”
He stepped back into the outdoor shadows. “Will you promise me,” the
woman called after him in a broken voice, “not to shoot them when they
come? I know I have no right to ask it, but won’t you promise?”
“I don’t even carry a gun,” Scott assured her.
With a little gasp of thankfulness the woman disappeared into the
shadows of the trail.
Scott retreated to his station on the edge of the forest and listened.
There were a few faint clicks from the rolling pebbles on the trail and
all was still once more. Scott had thought his position was bad enough
but it seemed easy when compared with the dilemma of that poor woman,
who had felt herself forced to betray her husband to keep him from
murder, and to save the man who, she considered, had saved her child. He
little thought when he picked the child up on the trail that day that he
was piling up such a store of gratitude. In fact he had never even
considered that he had really rescued the child; he had simply carried
her home.
He certainly felt grateful to Mrs. Dawson. It was not half as hard to
wait for trouble when he knew definitely that it was coming as it was to
sit around and wonder about it. He could act now. At first he thought
that he would go at once to Baxter’s, but he could not resist the
temptation to stay and try to find out who the men were who were after
him. He went quietly down to the corral, put the saddle and bridle on
Jed, and led him out a quarter of a mile in the direction of Baxter’s
quarters. He left the horse there in a well-marked spot and stole
cautiously back to his station near the cabin.
It was too dark to see his watch, but Scott judged that it must be
pretty close to midnight. Once more he settled down to wait and listen
but he knew what to expect now and was entirely free from the creepy
feeling of uncertainty which had so worked on his nerves earlier in the
night. After about an hour’s vigil he thought he heard a faint sound far
down the trail. He waited patiently but it was not repeated. That,
however, was not significant for they would probably leave their horses
at a safe distance and come the rest of the way more quietly on foot. He
continued to listen intently.
In about half an hour his patience was rewarded. A twig snapped in the
direction of the corral and a dark shadow crawled slowly toward the
cabin. Scott sat as still as the tree against which he leaned. It made
him shudder to think that he might have been in that cabin with that
crawling shadow sneaking up on him. The man moved very cautiously and as
silently as the death that he carried. He avoided the glare of the light
from the doorway and edged around toward the side next to Scott. His
progress was almost imperceptible now but he finally reached the wall.
He listened intently for a moment and then raised himself cautiously to
a level with the window. For one second he stood in the glare of the
lamplight before he realized that there was no one within and then he
ducked quickly below the sill. He was quick to recognize the
disadvantage of being there in the light with a possible enemy in the
dark woods behind him.
Short as the time had been Scott had recognized Dugan and had caught the
gleam of light from something which glittered in his hand. It was hard
to realize that he had slept with that man for three nights in that very
cabin. He did not have long to think about it for Dugan had made certain
there was no one in the shack and was retreating to the very patch of
shade in which Scott was hiding. He used the same stealthy caution with
which he had approached the cabin and seemed to Scott to be gliding
toward him for all the world like a snake. There was the same dull
reflection every time he advanced his right hand that Scott had noticed
in the window. It looked as though they were certain to meet if Dugan
held to his present course. Scott almost stopped breathing and braced
himself for the encounter. If only the man would come within reach.
Scott felt that he could handle Dugan if he could only get hold of him
before there was time to shoot.
Steadily the shadow advanced. Only eight feet separated him from the man
in the forest when he turned slowly toward the cabin once more and
settled down to watch. Scott could not have missed him, as poor a shot
as he was, but even now he was glad that he was not armed. The idea of
shooting a man in the back even when that man was waiting to do the same
thing to him was repulsive to him.
Almost side by side the two men sat and watched in absolute silence.
Scott had been still for an hour before he came without suffering the
slightest inconvenience, now he suffered agonies. He wanted to sneeze.
He itched all over and had an almost uncontrollable desire to scratch.
His legs became cramped and he felt that he would have to move them or
scream. And still Dugan waited patiently, toying silently with his
revolver. Scott saw the ridiculous side of the situation as well as the
danger and grinned as he planned what he would do when the day began to
break.
Dugan seemed to realize that something was wrong. He rose slowly and
walked cautiously back to the window. He was bolder now. His vigil had
convinced him that there was no one around. He made a careful survey of
the inside of the cabin and then walked boldly off in the direction of
the corral.
Scott heaved a great sigh of relief, congratulated himself on his
foresight in getting Jed out of the way and sneaked cautiously out to
join him. Jed heard him coming and nickered loudly. Scott had no doubt
that Dugan heard it, but it was too late now to do him any harm. He
swung onto Jed’s back with a feeling of perfect safety and cantered away
to Baxter’s.
Baxter was standing in the door of his cabin waiting for him. “I heard
your horse a mile away,” he called in cheerful greeting. “Put Jed in the
corral and come tell me the story. I have been lying awake all night
just to hear it.”