"And I'm here," John Ringo added in the same even voice. "She writes
me regularly. Thinks I'm doing fine!"
He did not bring up the subject again; it was as if he had opened a
curtain a little way and let it fall at once; but the deputy, who
came from good people himself, had been able to see much during that
brief glimpse into the outlaw's hidden life. And having seen those
tangled threads he was able to understand certain matters all the
better when the end came.
Now while Deputy Sheriff Breckenbridge and John Ringo were riding
toward Tombstone things were brewing in that wild young mining camp.
The law-and-order party was preparing to make a clean-up of the
desperadoes.
And when the pair arrived the news went forth; the hour was late, but
late hours meant little in those days of all-night gambling; a number
of the leaders gathered in Bob Hatch's saloon and discussed the
situation. It looked promising, for Ringo was the brains of the bad
men; with him in custody it should be easy to lay hands on Curly Bill,
who was at the time over in the lawless town of Charleston on the San
Pedro. They made their plans toward that end; and, just to make doubly
sure, they arranged with the district attorney to see that Ringo
should be kept in jail for at least twenty-four hours.
That was the situation when the pair arrived from no-man's-land; there
was no chance of getting bail at this time of night. The outlaw slept
behind the bars; and when the morning came he sent for the lawyer who
was always retained by the stock-rustlers, a criminal attorney by the
name of Goodrich.
Goodrich brought news that the law-and-order party were preparing an
expedition to Charleston to round up Curly Bill. Knowing the habits of
his burly aide, John Ringo was reasonably sure that the crusaders
would find the latter the worse for whisky and bring him back a
captive. His natural itching to depart from custody was aggravated by
the feeling that his presence in the cow-town by the San Pedro was
badly needed. He urged Goodrich to hurry to the bank and get the
bail-money.
The conference took place in Johnny Behan's office, and after the
lawyer's departure on this errand the outlaw remained there pacing the
floor. Half an hour passed; a man had brought Ringo's pony from the
O.K. corral and left it at the hitching-rack before the court-house.
Everything was in readiness--except the cash. Finally Goodrich
returned.
"All right," he told the sheriff, who was seated at his desk. "I've
got the bail here, Johnny. Everything's arranged."
And Johnny Behan, who was, if the truth be owned, a very easy-going
peace officer indeed, bade his prisoner depart. He did not know--and
Goodrich did not know--that on this occasion the bailing out of John
Ringo was going to be something more than a mere formality.
So it came about that a number of people met with surprises this same
morning. Included in these were a delegation from the law-and-order
party who rode over to Charleston to gather in Curly Bill but got no
further than the approach to the bridge which spanned the San Pedro
River. A solitary figure at the other end of the structure made them
draw rein. John Ringo's voice reached them from across the stream.
"Come on," he called. "I'm waiting for you."
Something had gone wrong, and when something goes wrong the wise
general does well to investigate before continuing his advance. The
posse deliberated briefly; and then turned back for Tombstone. But
their astonishment at finding the leader of the desperadoes at large
was as nothing compared to Johnny Behan's bewilderment when he met the
district judge in the court-house corridor some time near noon.
"I'll be ready to take up the matter of that man Ringo's bail in a few
minutes," Judge Stilwell said pleasantly.