We made certain we had found it all--the first bag of small nuggets of
which I told you, the bag of turquoises, two more bags of larger
nuggets, and three separate rolls of dollar and five-dollar bills. The
bills amounted to a hundred and fifty dollars--a mere drop in the
bucket, as Apache said. It was the two bags of larger nuggets and the
bag of turquoises that were the real "trove," but Apache Kid would not
hazard a guess of their value. All that he would say then, as he
weighed them in his palm, was: "You are safe, Francis--you need no more
run with the pack." I did not at the moment understand his use of the
word "pack," but his next words explained it.
"The only way," said he slowly, rolling a cigarette with the last thin
dust of tobacco that remained in his pouch, so that he had to shake it
over his hand carefully, "the only way that I can see to prevent that
world-weariness coming over you is for you to acquire a sufficiency to
live upon, a sufficiency that shall make it unnecessary for you to
accept the laws of the pack and rend and tear and practise cunning. I
think, considering such a temperament as yours, I should call off with
our old bargain and strike a new one with you--half shares."
I heaved a deep sigh. I saw myself returning home--and that right
speedily--I saw already the blue sea break in white foam on the ultimate
rocks of Ireland, the landing at Liverpool, the train journey north, the
clean streets of my own town through which I hastened--home.
"Ah, these castles," said Apache Kid, after a pause which I suppose was
very brief, for such thoughts move quickly in the mind. "They can all
be built now."
Then he leant forward; and he was truly serious as he looked on me.
"But one thing you will do in return," he said, and it was as the sign
of an agony that I saw on his face. "You will do that little bit of
business for me that I asked you once before?"
He paused, hearkening; and I too was on the alert. The squelching of a
horse's hoofs was audible without.
"Our pack-pony," said I; "it has come down for shelter, I expect."
He rose and walked to the door.
"Chuck that stuff under your bed!" said he, suddenly.
I made haste, with agitated hands, to carry out the order, and as I bent
to my task I heard a voice that seemed familiar say:
"Apache Kid, I arrest you in the name of----"
The remainder I lost, for Apache Kid's cheery voice broke in:
"Well, well, Sheriff--this is an unexpected pleasure! Come in, sir;
come in; though I fear we can offer but slender----"
"All right," I heard the sheriff say. "Glad to see you take it so
well." And with a heavy tramp entered the sheriff of Baker City, booted
and spurred and the rain running in a cascade from his hat, the brim of
which was turned down all around.
"Donoghue," he said, "Larry Donoghue, I arrest you in-- Say! Where's
Donoghue, and what are you doin' here, you, sir?"
This latter was of course to me.
"Donoghue you can never get now," said Apache Kid. "He will be saved
the trouble of putting up a defence. But won't you bring in your men?"
"Is that your hoss along there on the hill under that big tree?" said
the sheriff.
"That," said Apache Kid, "was Canlan's horse, I believe."
The sheriff hummed to himself.
"So," he said quietly, "just so. There ain't any chance o' Canlan
dropping in here, is there?"
"None whatever," said Apache Kid, calmly.
"So," said the sheriff. "Well, I guess them pinto broncs of ours can do
very well under that tree. That bronc of Canlan's seemed some lonesome.
Seemed kind o' chirped up to see others o' his species. They 'll do
very well there till we get dried a bit."
He looked again at me and shook his head mournfully.
"You look kind of sick," he said, "but it's all right. Don't worry. You
'll only be in as a witness."
"Witness for what?" I asked.
"Murder of Mr. Pinkerton, proprietor of the Half-Way House to Camp
Kettle."
Apache interrupted:
"Do you happen to have such a thing as quinine about you, Sheriff?"
"Sure," said the sheriff: "always carry it in the hills."
"Give my friend a capsule," he said, "and defer all this talk."
"Murder of Mr. Pinkerton!" I cried; but just then the sheriff stooped
and lifted a slip of paper from the floor.
"Literature!" he said. "Keepsake _pome_ or what?"
Then I noticed his firm, kindly eyebrows lift. He turned to Apache Kid.
"This," he said, "seems to have fallen out your press-cuttin' book. I
see in a paper the other day where they supply press-cuttin's to piano
wallopers and barn-stormers and what not. You should try one o' them.
I disremember the fee; but it was n't nothing very deadly."
Then I knew what the cutting was that had come into his possession. It
was the cutting Larry Donoghue had shown me in his childish, ignorant
pride, the account of the "hold-up" by "the two-some gang." I must have
thrust it absently into my pocket, hardly knowing what I was doing, when
Canlan's shot interrupted the unusual conversation of that terrible
camp.
The sheriff hummed over it.
"Kind o' lurid, this," he said; and at that comment Apache Kid's face
became radiant in a flash.
"Sir," he said, "I am charmed to know you. You are a man of taste. I
always object to the way these things are recounted."
The sheriff rolled his bright eye on Apache, misunderstanding his
pleasure which, though it sounded something exaggerated, was assuredly
genuine enough.
"I guess the way it's told don't alter the fact that in the main it's
true. It would mean a term of years, you know."
For the first time in my knowledge of him Apache Kid's face showed that
he had been hit. He gave a frown, and said:
"Yes, that's the ugly side of it; that's the reality. It must be an
adventurous sort of life, the life portrayed in that cutting. I fancy
that it is the adventuring, and not the money-getting, that lures anyone
into it, and a man who loves adventure would naturally resent a prison
cell."
The sheriff, with lowered head and blank eyes, gazed from under his
brows on Apache Kid.
"I guess it's sheer laziness, sir," said he, "and the man who likes that
ways of living, and follows it up, is liable to stretch hemp!"
"That would be better, I should fancy, than the prison cell," said
Apache Kid. "The fellows told about there would prefer that, I should
think."
The sheriff made no answer, but turned to the door and bade his men
unharness the pintos and come in.
"You there, Slim," said he to one of the two; "you take possession o'
them firearms laying there. But you can let the gentlemen have their
belts."
Apache Kid was already kindling the fire. The rain had taken off a
little, and before sunset there was light, a watery light on the wet
wilderness. So the hatch was flung off and supper was cooked for all.
The sheriff and these two men of his--one an Indian tracker, the other
("Slim") a long-nosed fellow with steely glints in his eyes and jaws
working on a quid of tobacco when they were not chewing the
flapjack--made themselves at home at once. And it astounded me, after
the first few words were over, to find how the talk arose on all manner
of subjects,--horses, brands, trails, the relative uses and value of
rifles, bears and their moody, uncertain habits, wildcats and their
ways. Even the Paris Exposition, somehow or other, was mentioned, I
remember, and the long-nosed, sheriff's man looked at Apache Kid.
"I think I seen you there," said he.
"Likely enough," said Apache Kid, unconcernedly.
"What was you _blowing in_ that trip?" asked the long-nosed fellow, with
what to me seemed distinctly admiration in his manner.
Apache looked from him to the sheriff. They seemed all to understand
one another very well, and a cynical and half-kindly smile went round.
The Indian, too, I noticed,--though he very probably had only a hazy
idea of the talk,--looked long and frequently at Apache Kid, with
something of the gaze that a very intelligent dog bestows on a venerated
master, his intuition serving him where his knowledge of English and of
white men's affairs were lacking.
They talked, also, about the ore that had gathered us all together
there, and Apache Kid showed the sheriff a sample of it, and listened to
his opinion, which ratified his own.
On the sheriff handing back the sample to Apache Kid the latter held it
out to the assistant with the bow and inclination that you see in
drawing-rooms at home when a photograph or some curio is being examined.
There was a quiet courtesy among these men that reminded me of what
Apache Kid had said regarding Carlyle's remark on the manners of the
backwoods. And it was very droll to note it: Apache in his shirt and
belt, and the long-nose--I never heard him called but by his sobriquet
of "Slim"--opposite him, cross-legged, with his hat on the back of his
head and his chin in the palm of his hand, the elbow in his lap, at the
side of which stuck out the butt of his Colt, the holster-flap hanging
open.
"I know nothing about mineral," said Slim, in his drawl. "I 'm from the
plains."
Apache Kid handed the ore over to the Indian, who took it dumbly, and
turned it over, but with heedless eyes; and he presently laid it down
beside him, and then sat quiet again, looking on and listening. Never a
word he said except when, each time he finished a cigarette and threw
the end into the fire, the sheriff with a glance would throw him his
pouch and cigarette papers. The dusky fingers would roll the cigarette,
the thin lips would gingerly wet it, and then the pouch was handed back
with the papers sticking in it, the sheriff holding out a hand, without
looking, to receive it And on each of these occasions--about a dozen in
the course of an hour--the Indian opened his lips and grunted, "Thank."
Then the conversation dwindled, and the sheriff voiced a desire "to see
down that there hole myself."
The Indian had risen and gone out a little before this, and just as the
sheriff rose he appeared at the door again, and looking in he remarked:
"Bad night come along down," and he pointed to the sky.
"Oh!" said the sheriff, "bad night?"
"Es, a bad mountain dis," said the Indian. "No good come here."
"You would n't come here yourself, eh?" said the sheriff, smiling, but
you could see he was not the man to ignore any word he heard. He was
wont to listen to everything and weigh all that he heard in his mind,
and take what he thought fit from what he heard, like one winnowing a
harvest.
"No, no!" said the Indian, emphatically. "I think--a no good stop over
here. Only a darn fool white man. White man no care. A heap a bad
mountain," he ended solemnly.
"Devils?" inquired the sheriff. "Bad spirits, may be?" and he looked as
serious as though he believed in all manner of evil spirits himself.
The Indian seemed almost bashful now.
"O! I dono devil," he said, and then after thinking he decided to
acknowledge his belief. "Ees," he said, and he looked more shy than
ever, "maybe bad spirit you laugh. Bad mountain, all same, devil o' no
devil."
"And what's like wrong with the mountain?"
"He go away some day."
"Mud-slide, eh?" asked Apache Kid.
The Indian nodded,
"O! Heap big mud-slide," he said. "You come a look."
We all trooped on his heels, and then he led us to the gable of the
shanty and pointed up to the summit.
"Good preserve us," said Slim.
"Alle same crack," said the Indian. "Too much dry. Gumbo[#] all right;
vely bad for stick when rain come; he hold together in dry; keep wet
long time--all same chewing gum," he added with brilliancy.
[#] A sticky soil common in these parts.
"But this ain't like chewin' gum, heh?" said the sheriff, following the
drift of the Indian's pidgin English.
"Nosiree," said the Indian, "no hold together, come away plop, thick."
"It's a durned fine picture he's drawin'," said Slim. "I can kind o'
see it, though. 'Plop,' he says. I can kind o' hear that plop."
Along the hill above us, sure enough, we could see a long gash running a
great part of the hill near the summit, in the black frontage of it.
"Well," said the sheriff, "I should n't like to be under a mud-slide.
But you 'd think that them two ribs here would hold the face o' this
hill together, would n't you?"
He looked up at the sky; sunset seemed a thought quicker than usual, and
there were great, heavy clouds crawling up again, as last night, from
behind the mountains.
Apache Kid had said not a word so far, but now he spoke.
"I 've seen a few mud-slides in my time, Sheriff," he said: "but this
one would be a colossal affair. Might I ask you a question before I
offer advice?"
"Sure," said the sheriff, wonderingly.
"Is it only the charge of murdering Mr. Pinkerton that you want me for,
or would you try to make a further name for your smartness by using that
clew you got about the two-some gang--not to put too fine a point upon
it?"
You would have thought the sheriff had a real liking for Apache Kid the
way he looked at him then.
He took the cutting from his sleeve, and tore it up and trampled it into
the wet earth.
"I guess the hangin' will do you, without anything else," said he; from
which, of course, one could not exactly gauge his inmost thoughts. But
sheriffs study that art. They learn to be ever genial, without ever
permitting the familiarity that breeds contempt--genial and stern.
"In that case," said Apache Kid, "I would suggest leaving this cabin
right away. I want to clear myself of that charge; and if that crack
widened during the night, I might never be able to do that."
*CHAPTER XXII*
_*The Mud-Slide*_
From our scrutiny of the mountain above us the sheriff turned aside.
"If we have to leave here, I reckon I just have a look at that hole o'
theirs and see what like it is to my mind," said he, "with all due
respect to your judgment, sir," (this to Apache Kid) "and out of a kind
o' curiosity."
He bade the Indian go with him to tend the windlass and Apache Kid and I
returned to the cabin, Slim following ostentatiously at our heels, and
remaining at the door watching the sheriff.
I plucked my friend by the sleeve. This was the first opportunity we
had had for private speech since the sheriff's arrival.
"Apache," I said, "what is the meaning of this arrest? Is it the
half-breed that came with Mr. Pinkerton who has garbled the tale of his
death for some reason?"
He shook his head.
"No," said he, "not the half-breed. I 'll wager it is some of Farrell's
gang that are at the bottom of it."
"But they," I began, "they were all----" and I stopped on the word.
"Wiped out?" he said. "True; but you forget Pete, the timid villain."
"But he," I said, "he was away long before that affair of poor Mr.
Pinkerton."
"Yes, but doubtless the Indian made up on him, and whether they talked
or not Pete could draw his conclusions. And a man like Pete, one of
your coyote order of bad men, would just sit down and plot and plan----"
"But even then," I said, "they can't prove a thing that never occurred;
they can't prove that you did what you never did."
He looked at me with lenient, sidewise eyes, not turning his head, and
then pursed his lips and gazed before him again at the door, where
Slim's long back loomed against the storm-darkened sky.
"All this," said he, "is guesswork, of course; for the sheriff is
reticent and so am I. But as for _proving_, I dare say Pete could get a
crony or two together to swear they saw me. O! But let this drop," he
broke out. "If there's anything that makes me sick now, it's building
up fabrications. Let us look on the bright side. Gather together your
belongings and thank Providence for sending us the convoy of the sheriff
to see us safely back to civilisation with our loot."
"You 're a brave man," I said. But he did not seem to hear.
"What vexes me," said he, "is to think that Miss Pinkerton may have
heard this yarn and placed credence in it."
The entrance of the sheriff, with a serious face, put an end to the
conversation then.
"Well," said Apache Kid, "what do you think?"
"I think this is a derned peculiar mountain," said the sheriff, "and I
reckon you boys had better pack your truck. That hole 's full."
"Water?" said Apache Kid.
"No," said the sheriff: "full of mountain. You can see the upward side
of it jest sliding down bodily in the hole, props and all. They must
ha' had some difeeculty in it, the way they had it wedged. You
noticed?"
"Yes."
"Well, it's just closed up now, plumb. Went together with a suck, like
this yere," and he imitated it with his mouth. "Reckon we better get
ready to pull out, if needs be. What in thunder----" he broke off.
Apache Kid, Slim, and the sheriff looked at each other. You should have
heard the sound. It was like the sound of one tearing through a web of
cloth--a giant tearing a giants web and it of silk.
"The horses!" the sheriff cried; but the Indian had already gone. "How
about yours, young feller?"
I made for the door to follow the Indian and catch the horses, out onto
the hillside--and saw only half the valley. The other half was hid
behind the wall of rain that bore down on us.
The Indian was ahead of me, scudding along to where the lone pine stood;
but the terrified horses saw us coming and ran to meet us, quivering and
sweating.
Then the rain smote us and knocked the breath clean out of me. I had
heard of such onslaughts but had hardly credited those who told of them.
I might have asked pardon then for my unbelief. I was sent flying on
the hillside and was like a cloth drawn through water before I could get
to my feet again. The Indian was scarcely visible, nor his three horses.
I saw him prone one moment, and again I saw him trying to hold them
together as he--how shall I describe it?--_lay_ aslant upon the gale. I
succeeded in quieting my beast, and then turned and signed to him that I
would lead one of his beasts also, for when I opened my mouth to speak,
he being windward of me, the gust of the gale blew clean into my lungs
so that I had to whirl about and with lowered head gasp out the breath
and steady myself. But he signed to me to go, and nodded his head in
reassurance; though what he cried to me went past my ear in an
incomprehensible yell.
Thus, staggering and swaying, we won back to the rib beside the cabin,
but this we could scarcely mount. So the Indian, coming level with me,
stretched his hand and signed that he would hold my pack-horse with his
own. I saw the sheriff battling with the gale and the dim forms of
Apache Kid and Slim a little ahead of him, Slim and Apache Kid weighted
greatly down. How we ever succeeded in getting the saddles on the
horses seemed a mystery. But the beasts themselves were in a state of
collapse with terror. I dare say they would have stampeded had there
been any place to stampede to; but there was no place. For a good five
minutes you might have thought we were hauling on saddles and drawing up
straps and cinches on the bed of a lake that had a terrible undercurrent
in it. Then the first onslaught passed and we saw the hill clear for a
moment, but still lashed with hail, so that our hands were stiff and
numb. The sheriff and Apache Kid were floundering back to the cabin,
and it was then that the catastrophe that the Indian had feared took
place. Mercifully, it was not so sudden as an avalanche of snow; for,
at the united yell of the three of us who cowered there with the beasts,
the sheriff and Apache Kid looked up at the toppling mountain. Aye,
toppling is the word for it. The lower rim of the chasm I told you of
was falling over and spreading down the surface of the hill. It was a
slow enough progress to begin with, and the two men seemed to waver and
consider the possibility of again reaching the cabin. Then they saw
what we beheld also--the whole face of the mountain below the chasm
sagged forward. It looked as though there was a steadfast rib along the
top; but barely had they gained the rocky part where we stood, than that
apparent backbone collapsed upon the lower part, and, I suppose with the
shock of the impact on the rest, completed the mischief. The sound of
it was scarce louder than the hiss of the rain, a multitude of soft
bubblings and squelchings. But if there was with this fall no sound as
when a rock falls, it was none the less awful to behold.
We saw the mountain slide bodily forward, and the one thought must have
flashed into all our minds at once, "If this rock on which we stand is
not a rib of the hill, but is simply imbedded in that mud mountain, we
are lost."
That of course could scarcely be, but nevertheless we all turned and
fled along the ridge, horses and men, and, as we looked over our
shoulders, there was the farther spur of rock, which had attracted the
three prospectors, slipping forward and down, whelmed in the slide. The
rest was too sudden to describe rightly. A great crashing of trees and
a rumbling, now of rocks, came up from the lower valley, and the
mountain absolutely subsided in the centre and went slithering down. We
posted along the face of the hill here to the south, I think each of us
expecting any moment to feel the ground fail under him. But at last we
gained the hard, rocky summit of a ridge that ran edgewise into that
black mountain. There we paused and looked back.
There was now a dip in the ridge, where before had been an eminence; and
farther along, where a new precipice had been made by this fall, we saw
(where the rain drove) huge pieces of earth loosen and fall, one after
the other, upon the blackness below. But these droppings were just as
the last shots after a battle, and might keep on a long while, sometimes
greater, sometimes less, but never anything to compare with the first
fall.
But we could not remain there. A fresh bending over of the tree-tops,
like fishing-rods when the trout runs, a fresh flurry of wind, and a
sudden assault of hail sent us from that storm-fronting height to seek
shelter below.
One would have thought that there could be no dry inch of ground in all
the world; the hills were spouting foaming torrents, and in our flight,
as we passed the place up which Canlan and I had come, I saw the
watercourse no longer dry, but a turbulent rush of waters.
It was farther along the hill, so anxious were we to pass beyond the
possibility of any further crumbling, that we made a descent. Our faces
were bruised with the hail and we were stiff with cold, when at last we
came to what you might call an islet in the storm.
The hill itself, quite apart from its watercourses, was all a-trickle
and a-whisper with water, but here was a little rise where the water
went draining around on either side, and in the centre of the rise a
monster fir-tree, the lowest branches about a dozen feet from the ground
which all around the tree was dust-dry, so thick were the branches
overhead.
Under this natural roof we sheltered; here we built our fire, dried
ourselves, and cooked and ate the meal of which we stood so greatly in
need; and after that we sat and hearkened, with a subdued gladness and a
kind of peaceful excitement in our breasts, to the voices of the
storm--the trailing of the rain, the cry of the wind, and the falling of
trees.
So we spent the night, only an occasional raindrop hissing in our little
fire or blistering in the dust. But by morning the itching of the ants
had us all early awake. It was in a pause in the breakfast preparations
that Slim remarked:
"Well, I guess anybody that wants that there ore now will find it in
bits strewed about the valley. It won't need no crushing before it gets
smelted."
"Yes," said the sheriff, "there's abundance o' 'floats' lying in among
that mud, but, now that I think on it, that was the tail end they were
on, them three fellers. In the course o' time yonder chunk was broken
off and sagged away into yonder wedge-like place of mud. I bet you the
lead is right in this hill to back of us. Suppose you was prospectin'
along through the woods up there now and found any of them floats, why,
you 'd go up to look for the lead right there. It would n't astonish me
one little bit to find that with the mud sliding away there it would
jest be a case o' tunnelling straight in."
Apache Kid became so interested in this suggestion that he wanted to go
back there and then to see what the storm and the mud-slide had laid
bare, but the sheriff broke in on him:
"Sorry, sir; I understand your curiosity, and I 'm right curious myself;
but I 'm sheriff first, and interested in mineral after:" and then the
hard, callous side of the man peeped through, and yet with that
whimsical look on his chubby face: "But after I 've seen you safely
kickin' I don't know but what I might come along and have a study of the
lay of the land now."
"Well," said Apache Kid, lightly, "to a man in your position it would
n't matter so much, though the assay was nothing very great."
"No, sir; that's so," said the sheriff. "So you see that it's advisable
for a man to get a position in life. Sheriff Carson of Baker City has
expressed in glowin' terms his faith in the near future of the valley,"
he said, like a man reading.
Apache Kid laughed.
"I suppose Sheriff Carson's expression of faith would soon enough get up
a syndicate to work it!"
"I would n't just say no," said the sheriff.
There was more of such banter passed, and suggestions as to where the
city--Carson City--would be built; but when Apache Kid suggested the
stagecoach route the sheriff scoffed.
"Stage-route nothing!" he said. "Railroad you mean, spur-line clear to
Carson City."
"The country is sure opening up and developing to lick creation," said
Slim; but at that the sheriff frowned. He might banter with his
prisoner, but not with his subordinate.
So we saddled up again, the sheriff looking with interest on the heavy
gunny-bags that we stowed carefully away again among the blankets on our
pack-horse, but making no comment on them. He must have known pretty
well what they contained.
Apache Kid's eyes and his met, and something of the look I have already
told you of, that came at times, grew on Apache Kid's face, and a sort
of reply to it woke in the sheriff's. But, as I say, no word passed on
the matter then. Apache Kid had taken care to bring our treasures from
the cabin before thinking of aught else.
That return journey with the sheriff, which had been so suddenly proved
impossible, was to bring our firearms which the sheriff had appropriated
on his arrival and made Slim set in a corner. The sheriff himself was
not in a very happy mood, quite snappy because of that foiled attempt.
He had thrown off his cartridge-belt in the cabin, and in the flurry at
the end had only been able to secure his rifle in addition to his
blankets. How many charges were in its magazine I did not know. He had
worn his cartridge-belt apart from the belt to which his revolver hung,
and in the latter were no cartridge-holders.
Part of the sheriff's "shortness" when speaking to Slim was due to the
fact, I think, that Slim, intent upon getting out the provisions, had
come away without a thought for any arms at all. But the Indian had
made up for Slim, for he had not unbuckled his arsenal, and in addition
to his revolver had, on either side of his tanned and fringed coat,
cartridge pockets with four shells on either side. The loss of our
weapons (Apache's and mine) mattered little.
But this is all by the way, and was not so carefully considered at the
time as these remarks would lead you to think. I mention it here at all
simply because of what happened later. We were not seers or prophets to
be able at the time to know all that this shortage of ammunition was to
mean.
Enough of that matter, then, and as for the journey through the
wilderness, which was by Canlan's route now, at an acute angle from our
former route, I need not tire you with a description. It was just the
old story of plod, plod, plod over again; of trees and open glades and
silence, and at nightfall the forest voices that you know of already.
After three days of this plodding we sighted a soaring blue mountain
ridge with snow in its high corries and this as I guessed was Baker
Ridge; but it took us a good day's journey to come to its base, even
though the valley between was but scantily wooded. It was on the
afternoon of the fourth day that we came to the eastern shoulder of
Baker Ridge and lost sight for a space of the valley behind ere we
sighted the one ahead, travelling as on a roof of the world where were
only scattered blackberry bushes and rocks strewn like tombstones or
tipped on end like Druidical stones.
Then the falling sides of the southern steep came to view, bobbing up
before us, and on the first plateau of the descent the sheriff had some
private talk with Slim who presently, with a final nod to a final word
of instruction, set off with a sweep of his pony's tail and loped away
out of sight, going down sheer against the sky over the plateau's verge.
When we, following more slowly, arrived at that point he was nowhere
visible, having evidently pushed on speedily. Nor at the third level
did we have any sight of him, though now we caught a glimpse of the
first sign of civilisation--a feather of steam puffing up away to left
among the scrubby trees, indicating the Bonanza mine; and a little
beyond it another plume of steam from the McNair mine. A little below
us there was a running stream and this being a sheltered fold of the
hill, I suppose, defended from the east and north, there grew
honeysuckle there and the scent of it came to us most refreshingly.
There we sat down, apparently, from the sheriff's manner, to await some
turn of events.
*CHAPTER XXIII*
_*The Sheriff Changes His Opinion*_
It was a good two hours after the departure of Slim.
We sat in silence (while the ponies browsed the tufts of grass) watching
the clouds of mosquitos hanging in their phalanxes along the trickle of
the stream and the bright, gauzy, blue wings of two mosquito-hawks
flashing through their midst.
"By the way," said Apache Kid, "do you know if Miss Pinkerton herself
has heard of this accusation against me?"
"By now, she is liable to have heard some rumour of it, I reckon," said
the sheriff; "but as to whether she heard the news or not at the time of
my starting out after you, I dunno."
The implication was amusing.
"Ah, yes, of course," said Apache Kid. "You act so promptly, always,
Sheriff."
The Indian, who was sitting a little above us, spoke: "Tree men," he
said, "an' tree men and one man come along up-hill beside the
honeysuckle."
"That's seven," said Apache Kid.
"Seven?" said the Sheriff, sharply, rising to his feet; "and no waggon?"
"No."
"I reckon this is a deppitation," said the sheriff, as he glared
down-hill.
"I don't like deputations of seven," said Apache Kid, looking down to
the honeysuckle. "We were visited by one deputation of seven on this
trip already; eh, Francis?"
"Ho?" said the sheriff. "You did n't tell me;" but he was not looking
at Apache. He was gazing across the rolling land towards those who were
coming in our direction, now quite plain to see--seven mounted men,
armed, and suspicion-rousing.
"Pity about them guns and shells being lost," said the sheriff, and then
he sung out:
"Halt right there and talk. What you want?"
One man moved his horse a step or two ahead of the others, who had
reined in.
"We want that man you have there," said he.
"Halt right there," said the sheriff again; and then he remarked to
Apache:
"Reckon you 'd rather travel down to Baker City with a reputable sheriff
and have an orderly trial before hangin' instead o' hangin' up
here-aways without no trial."
"I 'd rather go down----"
"Halt right there!" roared the sheriff.
"--and prove myself innocent of the charge," Apache ended.
"Well, then," said the sheriff, "I reckon here's where we become allies
and you gets on the side o' law and order for once. Take that," and he
clapped the butt of his Colt into Apache Kid's hand. "Draw close, boys,
till I palaver" and he rose from his rock seat, with his Winchester
lying on his arm.
"Well, gentlemen," he said. "I reckon you's all aware that you are
buttin' up ag'in law and order," he began.
"Law is gettin' kind of tender-hearted," replied one of the newcomers.
"We want to see justice done."
"I don't seem to know your face," said the sheriff.
"Oh! We 're mostly from outside your jurisdiction," was the reply. "We
jest came along up from the Half-Way House to see that justice is done
in this yere matter."
"I don't know 'em," said the sheriff to Apache Kid.
"That's not their fault," said Apache Kid. "I know two of them by
head-mark. A fat lot they care for seeing justice done. It's revenge
they want on the loss of Farrell."
"What about Farrell?" said the sheriff. "You did n't tell me."
"He was one of the seven I mentioned," said Apache Kid. "But where,
might I ask, Sheriff, do you intend to make your fire zone?" And he
nodded his head toward the seven who were walking their horses a trifle
nearer yet.
"Yes," said the sheriff, "they do creep up some. Dern, if we could only
pow-wow with 'em till Slim gets back with the posse and the waggon."
This was the first hint of what business Slim had been despatched upon,
but that is by the way. The sheriff apparently was not to be permitted
a "pow-wow" to kill the time.
"See here," cried the spokesman of the party, "jest you throw up your
hands, the lot of you or----"
"Or what?" said the sheriff.
"Or we come and take him."
"Now, gentlemen," said the sheriff, "I 'm a patient man. If it was n't
for the responsible position I holds, I would n't argue one little bit
with you, but you know I 'm elected kind o' more to save life than to
destroy it."
Apache hummed in the air.
"That's just their objection," said he, softly.
"Pshaw!" said the sheriff. "That was a right poor cyard I played; but
it's tabled now and can't be lifted. Get back there! By Jimminy! if
you press any closer, we fire on you."
There was a quick word among the seven men and then they swooped on us.
I tell you it was a sudden business that. Down went the sheriff on his
knee. And next moment the now familiar smell of powder was in my
nostrils. Two of the seven fell and their charge broke and they swept
round us to left and right.
"Anybody hit here?" said the sheriff. "Nobody! Guess they don't want to
hit you, Apache Kid."
"I 'm getting used to that treatment," said Apache Kid. "It 's not the
first time I 've pressed a trigger on seven men who wanted my
life--rather than my death," he ended grimly.
"You got to tell me about that, later," said the sheriff. "I gets
interested in this seven business more and more every time you refers to
it."
"I hope to have the opportunity, at least," said Apache, grimly, "to
satisfy your curiosity."
"Look up! Here they come again," the sheriff interjected.
There was another crackle to and fro, a quick pattering of hoofs and
flying of tails. One bullet zipped on a granite block in front of me
and spattered the splinters in my face. The five wheeled and gathered;
one of the fallen men crawled away and lay down in the shadow of a rock
to look on at the fight, with a sick face.
"They do look like as they were gatherin' again systematic. Pity about
that there mud-slide comin' so sudden," remarked the sheriff again, as
though talking to himself more than to us; and then again he cried:
"Lookup!"
Down came the five then, bent in their saddles, their right hands in
air, apparently determined to make a supreme effort. They were going to
try the effect of a dash past, with dropping shots as they came. But at
a word from one they wheeled, rode back a distance, and then, spinning
round, rode back as you have seen fellows preparing for a running start
in a race, wheeled, and then came down in a scatter of dust, and a cry
of "Yah! Yah!" to their horses.
Next moment they were past--four of them.
"If them four fellows come again," said the Indian, "my name Dennis."