It was fairly late in the afternoon when Slim and Bill found the spot
where old Rory McPherson had been shot. The sheriff and posse had been
there judging from the horse-tracks in the dusty road. Both men were
almost exhausted from holding the dogs in their arms.
They dismounted and let the dogs sniff at Della’s old apron. Quickly
they circled, nosing in the dust, while both men held a leash tightly.
After a moment they worked off the side of the road, whining softly.
“The trail was just about ten feet long,” said Slim sadly, as the dogs
converged and began circling again.
“She got off her horse, walked this far and got on again,” declared
Bill. “But it looks like she went east. My ---- that’s an awful country
to hunt anybody in.”
“But she can’t ride a horse very far into the Wild Horses,” observed
Slim hopefully. “She’ll either walk or be carried by somethin’ besides
a horse. What’ll we do, Bill?”
“Pack these ---- dogs as far as we can ride and then let ’em hunt for
tracks. It’s goin’ to be dark before we can get very far and it looks
like a storm.”
Thunder-heads were piling up back of the Wild Horses, but were yet too
far away for the two cowpunchers to estimate the path of the storm. They
picked up their dogs and rode straight toward the mountains.
“I’ve been up in them mountains in a storm,” said Bill, as he squinted
narrowly at the clouds. “There’s a lot of mineral in them cliffs--iron,
I reckon--and the way that old lightnin’ can splatter around up there is
a caution to cats.”
“You’ve been up there?” queried Slim wonderingly.
Bill Smith bit his lip and shifted the weight of his dog. He had
forgotten that Bill Smith was a stranger to that country. He glanced
at Slim who was looking straight at him.
“On the other side of the range, Slim,” he said. “They’re the same on
both sides.”
“Oh, yeah!”
Slim nodded, but Bill knew that the explanation had not been
satisfactory. Several times during that ride toward the mountains,
Bill noticed that Slim looked curiously at him.
It was almost dark when they reached the foot of the cliffs, where the
mass of slide-rock precluded any further riding on horseback. They
dismounted and tied the horses in a jack-pine thicket where they would
be protected from rain and wind.
“It’s a ---- of a hopeless proposition,” observed Bill sadly. “All we
can do is to skirt the slides and hope to ---- that these million-dollar
hounds will pick up a scent. If it rains hard they won’t be no good to
us, ’cause rain will wash out the scent.”
“Miles and miles of it, too,” said Slim hopelessly. “Mebbe we better
give it up as a bad job, Bill.”
Bill squinted at the sky which was already overcast. A rumble of thunder
came to their ears, but from a great distance. Bill turned and held out
his hand to Slim as he said:
“Give me your dog, Slim. You stay here with the horses and wait for me
to come back.”
“You aim to go it alone, Bill?” asked Slim.
“Sure.”
“Uh-huh.” Slim scratched the back of his head and spat reflectively.
“You know this girl, Bill?”
“I’ve seen her. Why do yuh ask that, Slim?”
“Well,” Slim shuffled his feet and cleared his throat. “You ain’t stuck
on her, are yuh, Bill?”
“Mebbe,” Bill smiled softly.
“Me, too,” nodded Slim. “I’ve knowed her a long time, Bill. I reckon
I’ve--but yuh see, she’s still stuck on Tex Rowland. We ain’t got a
ghost of a chance--we ain’t. Yo’re a good lookin’ sort of a jigger,
Bill; but that won’t help yuh none.”
Bill laughed softly and slapped Slim on the back.
“We won’t cut in on Tex Rowland, will we?” queried Slim. “I want her and
you want her, but we’ll give Tex a square deal, won’t we, Bill?”
Bill Smith’s eyes softened as he looked into Slim’s honest face. Slim
had confessed his love for Della Marsh, but was willing to stand aside
for a man he believed to be hiding away from the law; a man he had
helped send to prison.
“I just told yuh that so yuh’d know how I stood, Bill,” said Slim
slowly.
“All right, pardner,” agreed Bill. “You’re a square-shooter and I’m with
yuh. Now, let’s go and find her.”
They gave the hounds another scent of the calico apron before they
started off across the slide-rock, traveling north. It was hard going.
The light grew more dim each minute and the high walls of the cliffs
were like inky towers, reaching into the sky.
The wind whipped into a gale, but as yet there was no rain. It screamed
around the cliffs, and the night blotted out the landscape until neither
of them was able to see the dogs which clambered over the rocks a few
feet ahead of them, still pulling hard on their leash.
High-heeled boots are hardly the proper foot-gear for rocky traveling,
even in daylight, and both men were almost exhausted after a mile of
slipping and sliding. The storm was nearer now, but the lightning glare
was broken by the high cliffs which threw them in the dense shadow.
Then Slim bumped into Bill and grasped him by the arm. They halted
together, shielding their faces from the drift of rain which had just
blown in. Another glare of lightning lighted up the world beyond them;
a glare that held long enough for Bill to see why Slim had stopped
him.
Just beyond them, and not over a hundred yards away, was a man on a
pinto horse riding parallel with them. They could see him humped in
his saddle, forcing the horse against the storm.
The flash faded, leaving them staring into inky blackness. For several
moments they stood still, waiting for the next flash which showed the
rider still going ahead. The thunder roared like the discharge of a
mighty cannon and the rocks jarred heavily.
The two cowpunchers started on; but now they swung to the left and got
out of the slide-rock where the traveling was better, but where the
force of the storm almost blew them off their feet.
It was impossible to converse except by shouting into each other’s ears.
The lightning did not show them the rider now, but they knew he must be
still ahead of them; so they put down their heads and staggered on. It
was raining harder now and they were getting drenched.
Through a jack-pine thicket they forced their way, skirting the
slide-rock, stumbling over rocks, tearing their clothes on the branches
of down-timber. Suddenly another flash of lightning sent its blinding
glare down across the slopes, and both men stopped short. Just a few
feet away stood the pinto, its rump turned toward the wind and rain,
its head hanging down.
There was no sign of the rider. Bill and Slim moved close together,
edging their way over to the pinto, which stood stock-still and let
them make an examination.
“Tied to a snag!” Bill yelled his information into Slim’s ear. “Swing to
the right! He must ’a’ gone toward the cliffs.”
They left the pinto and headed back into the land of slide-rock. The
lightning gave them intermittent illumination, but between flashes the
world was a vast, inky void. The rocks sloped upward, slippery with
rain; but the two men and the dogs managed to make a certain progress,
however painful.
They halted against the side of the protecting cliffs out of the force
of the wind and tried to take stock of their surroundings. They were
able to carry on a conversation here. The cliffs still jarred from the
thunder, but the storm was working its way down the slopes into
Antelope.
“Who in ---- was on that pinto?” queried Slim.
“I dunno,” said Bill pantingly, “but I’ll bet he ain’t up here for
his health. The question is: Where did he go? It’s a cinch he didn’t
go down-hill. Let’s pesticate along here, Slim.”
“All right. I’ll betcha these here dogs won’t be worth no thousand
dollars when we get through with ’em. I’ve stepped on mine seven times.”
“They’re sure as ---- a patient animal,” laughed Bill. “If I ever want
a dog that don’t care what happens to ’em, I’ll get me a bloodhound.
C’m’on.”
Slowly they worked their way along the side of the cliff. It was
difficult traveling, because they could not tell when a mis-step might
drop them off into a fissure or on to a lower level. At times they were
against the wall of rock, and at another they were forced to move away
to circle an obstruction.
They had traveled possibly fifty yards and were working their way around
a shelf of rock, when Slim’s voice arose in anger:
“C’m’on, you danged flop-eared mongrel! Where do yuh think yo’re goin’,
anyway?”
“What’s the matter with him?” yelled Bill, who was slightly in the lead.
“Anchored, b’gosh! Whoa, you darned fool!”
The dog was pulling back on the leash and Slim almost fell down in
turning around on a slippery rock. Bill came back and they went up to
the dog. The other hound whined and managed to tangle the leash around
Bill’s legs in its eagerness to get in on the situation.
“My dog’s hit a trail!” exclaimed Slim. “C’m’on, Bill!”
Bill untangled the leash and the hound immediately shot in past Slim.
“I wish t’ gosh I could see somethin’,” complained Slim. “I can feel
this darned dog, but I can’t see him. I tell yuh he’s got a trail.”
“Mine’s got the fever, too!” exclaimed Bill. “Go to it, pup!”
Slowly they worked their way into what seemed to be a narrow passageway
into the cliffs. At times they could feel the right-hand walls and again
they would collide with those on the left side.
The dogs swung to the right for a distance and then to the left. The
thunder had almost died away in the distance now and there was little
sound, except the gurgle of running water off the rocks and the scrape
of their boots, as they wended their way into a place where neither of
them had ever been.
“It’s gettin’ wider out here,” said Slim, as they halted for a few
moments. “I can feel it, Bill. That must ’a’ been a narrow gorge through
there, don’tcha think?”
“Sure felt like it. Is your dog doin’ any pullin’ now?”
“Not so much. He sure was smellin’ somethin’ though. This must ’a’ been
where the pinto rider came through. I’ll be danged if I like this idea
of runnin’ blind in this place. Yuh never can tell what you’ll fall
into. Didja ever see such a storm in your life? Honest to gosh, I got
scared of that lightnin’.”
It was dark and dismal in there now, and a cold wind began to blow
through their wet clothes. Both of the hounds were casting about, trying
to locate a trail which had probably been washed out in the downpour of
rain.
“We hit that trail where it was protected from the rain,” said Bill
thoughtfully. “Now we’ve got to go by guess and by gosh.”
“Looks like it,” agreed Slim wearily, sloshing in his wet boots. “I
don’t mind goin’, if I’ve got somewhere to go.”
* * * * *
They were staring into the black world ahead of them when suddenly there
appeared a tiny light. It was impossible for them to tell what it was or
how far it was away.
“Now that beats ----!” muttered Slim. “Looks like a light in a house;
but there ain’t----!”
“It went out for a moment,” interrupted Bill. “There, it’s on again.
It’s a light in a house, Slim; and somebody walked between the light
and us.”
“But what house?” complained Slim. “There ain’t no house up here.”
“There she goes!” grunted Bill.
“By gosh, it is a house!” exploded Slim. “They done pulled down the
curtain.”
“It’s a house all right,” muttered Bill. “I think they put out the
light instead of pullin’ down a curtain. Let’s see if we can find a
place to hang up for the night. I’ve got a idea that said house
wouldn’t be a-tall friendly to us, Slim. It’s in a place where
honest men wouldn’t pick for a home; and the best thing we can do is
to wait until mornin’ before doin’ a lot of investigatin’. I reckon
it’s better to be safe than sorry.”
“You sure handled my idea to a gnat’s whisker,” agreed Slim. “But I
dunno where we’ll find a bood-wah in these rocks. My gosh, this country
sure has been laundered to the queen’s taste.”
They moved slowly on, feeling their way along, but working their way to
the right of where they had seen the lighted window. Suddenly Slim gave
a grunt of satisfaction.
“Found a place,” he said. “Bumped my head on it, too. Feels kinda dry.”
A closer investigation disclosed the fact that Slim had found a spot
where an overhanging cliff had protected a few square feet of ground
in an angle of the rocks. It was not an ideal place to spend the
night, but it was dry and offered refuge from the wind, which blew
cold from the tops of the Wild Horse range.
The hounds curled up in the corner, while the two cowpunchers sat close
together, denying themselves a cigaret, and waited for morning. They
were tired, wet and hungry, but neither complained.
“We’ll prob’ly warm up in the mornin’,” said Bill meaningly, as they
humped dismally against the rock.
“Not me,” replied Slim. “I may get excited as ----, but I’ll never get
warm ag’in. This is what you’d call a damp-cold. I’m sure goin’ to kick
---- out of these million-dollar dogs if they just led us in here to get
out of the wet.”
It was a long night. The wind grew colder and an occasional flurry of
rain whipped into their shelter. Neither of them were able to sleep
more than a few minutes at a time. A wild-cat almost ran into them,
squalling with anger and alarm as it sprang away from the sudden scent
of human beings and dogs. Down the wind came the wailing of a coyote
pack, baffled in their nightly hunt by the extreme darkness.
Daylight came slowly and the morning mists of the cañon lifted like
steam from a giant boiler. They tied the dogs to a fallen tree and
began working their way up the cañon. The mist was so heavy that they
were unable to see any distance, but it was much easier traveling than
it had been in the dark.
Through rifts in the mist they could see the cliffs ahead of them.
There was much down-timber, laurel and jack-pines, which impeded
their progress. Then, through a pocket in the mist, Bill Smith caught
a glimpse of the cabin.
It was situated in an angle of the cliffs across the cañon from them,
about fifty feet higher than they were standing. It was only a glimpse,
but it gave him the exact location and a fair idea of how to reach
there.
“We’ll have to hurry,” he told Slim. “This fog won’t last much longer
and there’s nothin’ but rocks for cover between here and there.”
“Got to get within six-gun range, that’s a cinch,” panted Slim. “You
lead the way, Willyum.”
Across the slippery rocks they made their way, working to the right of
the cabin with the intention of approaching it from the rear. They
reached the cliffs and began working around to the left. The mists
from the lower cañon were rising up past them now and they were unable
to see anything.
Suddenly Bill stopped. Just in front of him was the corner of the
cabin; so close, in fact, that he had almost bumped his head on one
of the projecting logs. Slim moved in beside him and they silently
studied their next move.
“We’ll try the rear,” whispered Bill softly. “Go easy and keep your gun
handy.”
Slowly they worked their way between the cliff and the cabin, which were
so close together that there was barely room for a person to walk. There
they found a door, located just beyond the center of the cabin, which
seemed to be about thirty feet in length.
For several moments they listened closely at the door, but there was no
sound from within. Bill pushed softly against the door and it creaked
open.
From within came the odors of cooked food and the smell of wood-smoke,
but no one challenged their right to open the door. Cautiously they
peered inside.
It was a two-room cabin, rudely furnished. They stepped softly inside,
their guns handy. Across the room was a double-decked bunk, built into
the corner of the wall. There was a crudely built table and a low stool.
The flooring of the cabin was of packed earth--uneven and unclean.
The opening between the two rooms was a sawed-out space, about five
feet by three feet, without either door or curtain. In the other
room they found another double-decked bunk, a fireplace, table and
two rough benches. The dirt roof of the cabin was not water-proof,
judging from the little pools of water in the low places of the dirt
floor.
A once-gaudy blanket hung over the edge of the upper bunk, and a
tumbled mass of old blankets in the lower bunk attested to the fact
that some one had spent the night there. The room was warm, although
the fire had been put out. Evidently some one had thrown a bucketful
of water into the fireplace.
There was a front door, roughly made of hand-hewn timber, and beside it
was a small window aperture, _sans_ window, but with a hinged board which
would lift to show a view of the cañon. There were several apertures
between the logs left, no doubt, for loop-holes.
Bill peered out through one of these apertures, jerked back and whirled
on Slim who was reaching for that door.
“Two men comin’!” he exclaimed in a whisper. “C’m’on!”
They darted into the other room and stopped near the door.
“How close are they?” whispered Slim.
“Right up to us,” whispered Bill softly. “Let’s take a chance.”
He stepped across the room, climbed to the upper bunk, while Slim
followed him. The bunk was fairly high and by crowding against the
wall they would be partly hid from any one below.
They had barely stretched out when they heard the front door open. There
was no sound for several moments; then they heard a soft footstep. Some
one had come to the opening between the two rooms. Then big Jim Mott’s
voice said--
“Nobody around here, but they’ve been here a short time ago.”
“---- place I ever tried to get to,” complained McHague’s voice wearily.
“I hope to ---- I never have to crawl over them wet rocks again. I don’t
see how you ever found it, Jim.”
“Knowing where it was helped me,” laughed Big Jim.
“Well, it’s sure ---- well hid,” declared
McHague. “Don’t anybody know where it is?”
“Nobody but Pablo and his gang. I’ve been here twice. Pablo built it a
year or so ago.”
“Regular rustler’s roost, eh?” grunted McHague.
“Yes. Pablo wanted a place to hole-up in. He’s afraid of the law.” Big
Jim laughed.
“Well, what did you expect to find here--the girl?” asked McHague.
“Perhaps.”
He turned back toward the door and they splashed through the puddles on
the floor.
Slim and Bill raised up slightly and looked at each other. Slim’s lips
framed an “Oh!”, but there was no sound. McHague and Big Jim were
talking softly to each other. The back door creaked very slightly and
Bill lifted his head, peering with one eye.
The door had swung partly open, disclosing Pablo, a rifle gripped in
both hands. Softly he slipped through the doorway with the rifle at
his shoulder. He passed out of Bill’s vision, and a moment later his
voice hissed softly--
“Not move--please!”
For several moments there was no sound. Then:
“Drop guns on floor,” ordered Pablo.
The front door creaked and Big Jim’s voice rasped angrily:
“The whole works, eh? Pokey Speed and Mike John.”
“---- right!” grunted Mike John’s voice.
An interval of silence, except for shuffling feet, before Pablo spoke
again--
“You got all gun, Mike?”
“---- right.”
“Set down,” ordered Pablo.
“What’s all this about?” queried McHague, a note of fear in his voice.
“I thought you owned this bunch of breeds, Jim.”
“No more,” said Pablo quickly, and his statement was echoed by Mike
John’s--
“---- right!”
“Well, what are you going to do?” demanded Big Jim.
“You in hurry?” asked Pokey Speed in an amused voice.
“Nobody see you come,” stated Pablo. “Nobody know how to find this
place. Why you come, Big Jim?”
“You know ---- well why I came,” retorted Big Jim.
Pablo laughed.
“I know why. Mike John see you pass ranch last night. He come and tell
me.”
Slim and Bill exchanged glances of understanding. It was Mike John on
the pinto in the lightning glare. He had come to tell Pablo that Big
Jim was coming.
“He must ’a’ had a swell time,” grunted McHague dismally. “I never seen
a storm like that before in my life. By ----, it just blew us off the
mountain.”
“Nobody find this place,” said Pablo.
“Don’t fool yourself,” said Big Jim quickly.
“You tell?”
There was menace in Pablo’s voice.
“He lie,” declared Mike John. “He try scare you, Pablo.”
“Oh, ----!” snorted McHague. “What’s it all about, anyway?”
“I know you,” said Pablo. “You boss of prison, eh? Big Jim say you take
me to prison. He say I get to ---- out of here, or I go to prison.”
“That’s right,” agreed McHague.
“---- wrong!” snorted Mike John.
“You’ll go to prison, if I ever tell on you, Pablo,” declared Big Jim
warningly. Pablo laughed.
“You not tell, Big Jim.”
“---- right!” added Mike John. “You no talk now.”
“Hey! What the ----’s all this about?” McHague’s voice was filled with
apprehension.
“Set down!” snapped Pablo, “I’m boss now.”
“Well, I never done nothin’ to you.”
“You never have chance.”
The three half-breeds laughed. Slim and Bill were sitting up in the
bunk now, looking at each other wonderingly. They were hearing things
that made them wonder.
“Where is that girl?” demanded Big Jim.
“You think I’m fool?” queried Pablo. “I work for you long time, Big
Jim. I’m ’fraid of you. You tell me you send me to prison. Pablo scare
at prison.”
“You bet I’ll send you to prison. You try to double-cross me and you’ll
sure go up for life. You got off pretty easy when they sent Old Hump
Sherrill to prison, Pablo. You know ---- well it was your work--not Hump
Sherrill’s.”
Pablo did not reply. Bill Smith shut his jaw tightly and the ball of his
thumb caressed the hammer of his big six-gun. Now he knew that poor Old
Hump had been framed into prison.
“And it’s a wonder they didn’t get you instead of Tex Rowland,”
continued Big Jim. “Tex scared you away before you could brand that
RMP mare, and it just happened that Crane and Slim found him inside
the corral.”
“I steal horse for you,” said Pablo accusingly. “You give me nothin’.
You say all the time you send me to prison if I no do this.”
Slim swore softly and nodded at Bill Smith.
“I no go to prison,” said Pablo. “I fool you.”
“Well, what are you going to do?” demanded Big Jim.
“I know you come here,” exclaimed Pablo. “You know this place.”
Big Jim swore heartily and Pablo grunted for him to sit still.
“I steal girl,” confessed Pablo. “She your girl, Big Jim. You call me
Injun snake and say you have me hung; so I get even with you now. You
know I steal girl; so you come here. I know you come here.”
“---- smart!” grunted Mike John in appreciation.
“This is a ---- of a mix-up,” declared McHague. “I dunno why yuh dragged
me into it, Jim. I’ve done your dirty work, too.”
“Shut up!” snapped Big Jim. “You’re still alive.”
And then to Pablo:
“How much you want, Pablo? How much money?”
“No money.”
“No money, eh? Then what do you want?”
“You wait see.”
“---- right.” Mike John laughed loudly.
“You shot old Rory McPherson,” accused Big Jim.
“You tell me sometime I shoot him,” retorted Pablo. “I no shoot him for
you; I shoot him to steal girl. Him old man--die pretty soon, anyway.”
“That’s kinda cold-blooded,” observed McHague.
“You shut up,” ordered Pablo. “You go to ---- pretty soon.”
“Say, you ain’t sore at me,” wailed McHague. “I never done nothin’ to
you, Pablo.”
“You bring hounds to hunt men.”
“But I wasn’t huntin’ you, Pablo. You’re Big Jim’s friend.”
“That ---- lie!” exclaimed Mike John.
“This is all foolishness,” declared Big Jim. “Pablo, you turn that girl
over to us and get out of the country. If you stay here, they’ll hang
you in spite of anything I can do. Don’t yuh know what it means to steal
a girl?”
“Girl all right,” stated Pablo. “I no want girl. I steal her to make you
come. She no get hurt.”
“But what do you want of me?” demanded Big Jim hotly.
Pablo laughed.
“You not smart man; you ---- fool. Bimeby the wolf find this cabin.
Door open, nobody live here. You no send Pablo to prison, Big Jim.
Pablo treat wolf. How you like that?”
Big Jim laughed, but there was no mirth. He was afraid, and the
half-breeds knew it.
“You couldn’t kill me,” said Big Jim, trying to be boastful. “You’re
afraid, Pablo. They’d get you pretty quick. Those hounds would trail
you into ----, you dirty half-breed.”
“Mebbe I no kill you.”
Pablo’s voice did not show indecision. He spoke gutturally, and a moment
later Slim and Bill ducked down as Mike John glided past their bunk and
went out the rear door.
“Listen to me, Pablo,” Big Jim was talking again. “You let up on all
this foolishness and save your own hide. Turn the girl over to us and
we’ll swear to let you have a chance to get out of the country safe.
If you stay here they’ll skin you alive.”
“Mebbe. I take chance. You lie plenty to me, Big Jim. Pablo no go to
prison.”
“But what about me?” queried McHague. “I ain’t got nothin’ to do with
this. I don’t even belong in this country. You ain’t got nothin’ against
me, Pablo.”
“You have bad luck,” replied Pablo. “You know too much--see too much.”
“----, I won’t never say a word,” promised McHague, pleadingly. “I want
to get out of here.”
“Where you want go, eh?”
“Back where I came from, by ----!”
“Where your dogs?”
“Stolen. Slim Whelan and Bill Smith stole ’em. They wanted to keep me
from trailin’ Tex Rowland.”
Pablo laughed throatily.
“Steal your dogs, eh? Bill Smith. By ----, that good! Ho, ho, ho, ho!”
* * * * *
A moment later the rear door creaked open and Bill Smith almost spoke
aloud with surprise. Alice Spotted Horse came in, with Della Marsh close
behind her. Behind them came Mike John, closing the door.
Della Marsh was not bound in any way, but she looked weary and
bedraggled. She was clad in her riding clothes, which had been torn in
spots and covered with dirt. Her hair fell in a tumbled mass about her
shoulders.
They passed into the next room. For a moment there was silence and then
Big Jim’s voice saying:
“Well, we found you, Della; but it didn’t do us much good. We are
prisoners, too.”
Bill Smith grinned when Della ignored Big Jim’s statement.
“What’s the idea of the Injun woman?” asked Big Jim.
“She Alice Spotted Horse,” said Pablo.
“Yes, I know who she is,” said Big Jim. “She works for Crane.”
“She not work for Crane now. She was goin’ marry Tucson Charley. Charley
dead now.”
“You ---- right!” grunted Mike John. “Tucson Charley dead as ----.”
“I understand all that,” Big Jim growled with impatience.
“You know what kill Tucson Charley?”
“Horse killed him,” growled Big Jim.
“----d lie!” Mike John fairly barked his denial.
“He got drunk and the horse kicked him to death,” declared Big Jim.
“Everybody knows that, Pablo.”
“Nobody knows--nobody sees. I _sabe_ what kill Charley.”
“All right.” Big Jim growled angrily. “I don’t see what that has to do
with us.”
Bill and Slim were on their knees, trying to poke a hole in the chinking
of the partition so they might see what was going on in the other room;
but without any success. Pablo was talking now and the two cowpunchers
on the upper bunk leaned out across the footboard, and listened closely.
“Tucson Charley have letter from Tex Rowland. He give letter to this
girl. She send letter back to Tex Rowland. Somebody kill Tucson Charley.
Somebody write that note, Big Jim.”
“Tex Rowland wrote it, didn’t he?”
There was a note of alarm in Big Jim’s voice now.
“Tex Rowland not write it,” declared Pablo. “You want Tex Rowland in
prison. You ---- glad he go prison. You want girl; you want hurt old
man in Rainbow Valley. You no want Tex get loose. You write letter,
by ----! You kill Tucson Charley, Big Jim!”
“That’s a lie!” Big Jim yelped his denial. “Why, you dirty half-breed,
you lie! Tex Rowland wrote that note. The sheriff has the note now.
He--he----”
“Who stole note from Tucson Charley?” demanded Pablo. “Sheriff not steal
it. You stole it. Tex Rowland never wrote note.”
“How in ---- do you know that?” asked Big Jim hoarsely.
“Tex Rowland not have to write note. Tex Rowland not have to write note
to girl when he can see girl.”
“What do you mean?”
Pablo laughed hoarsely, triumphantly.
“Pablo know. Injun see things, Big Jim. Man have ’nother face, but
same body. Injun sees man’s hands, man’s legs. Pablo know Tex Rowland.
First time no _sabe_. See man roll cigaret, see man smoke. See man get
on horse. Man ride same with one face same as ’nother. Injun see much;
white man ---- fool.”
“What do you mean, Pablo?” Della Marsh spoke for the first time since
she had entered the room.
Pablo laughed softly.
“You know Bill Smith? Mebbe horse kick him, I dunno. Got new face--same
body, same hands. Bill Smith same as Tex Rowland. By ----, I laugh all
time. Tex Rowland come back to find out.”
“Bill Smith?” Big Jim almost screamed. “You lie! Why, they don’t----”
“Pancho knew him!” cried Della. “That big dog knew him. Where is he,
Pablo?”
“And Big Jim killed Tucson Charley,” said Pablo slowly. “I let Alice
Spotted Horse know. She come here to pay Big Jim for kill Tucson
Charley. She know how. Mike John, you get rope.”
The shock of exposure had over-balanced Bill Smith and Slim Whelan. They
had leaned far out, so as not to miss a single word of Pablo’s expose,
and the rickety bunk swayed away from the wall.
And before they could throw themselves back, the whole thing ripped away
from the wall, swayed outward and came down with a splintering crash on
the dirt floor.
Both men were thrown almost across the room, rolling into the wall
and clawing wildly for their balance. The crash of the fall had come
as a complete surprise to those in the next room; but Big Jim saw in
a flash that this was his supreme chance.
Swiftly he dived across the space between himself and Pablo, knocking
the breed aside and securing a rifle. He slithered sidewise against the
wall, but fell on his knees, striving to swing the gun into position.
But as quick as a cat Pablo flashed through the partition doorway,
drawing his gun and knocking Della flat on the floor as he went past
her. Pokey Speed threw himself into a crouching position against the
wall, his six-shooter spouting lead at the two figures in the other
room; while Mike John dropped behind the stunned McHague and tugged
at the six-shooter, which had caught in the waist-band of his
overalls.
Bullets from Pokey Speed’s gun thudded into the logs over Bill Smith’s
head as fast as Pokey could pull the trigger. Pablo had flung himself
against the wall, out of line with Pokey Speed’s bullets, and now he
swayed back and shot twice at Big Jim in the other room, before the gun
went spinning out of his hand when Bill Smith’s first bullet crashed
into his elbow.
It was all happening in split seconds. Pablo staggered sidewise and went
down against the wall, helpless and harmless. Both Slim and Bill were
shooting at Pokey Speed, and he pitched forward on his face. The room
was hazy with smoke now. Another gun was still working. Bill rushed to
the doorway just as Big Jim’s rifle shot shook the room. Mike John had
got to his feet, his back against the wall, his face twisted with pain.
Then his head dropped forward and he crumpled.
The smoke blew into Bill Smith’s face as he ducked low and darted into
the room. McHague was sprawled face down in the middle of the floor
and the door was wide open. Alice Spotted Horse had not moved from her
position during the shooting and Della was still sprawled on the floor
where Pablo’s shove had landed her.
Bill Smith ran to the door and looked out. There was no sign of Big
Jim. He whirled and ran back, meeting Slim in the doorway. The lanky
cowboy had been shot through the arm, and his ankle was sprained from
his fall; but he had shifted his gun to his left hand and was looking
for more trouble.
“Big Jim got away!” panted Bill.
“Out there!” Pablo raised himself up and pointed toward the rear door.
“He go up cliff! Hurry up--fast!”
Bill ran out the rear door, looking wildly around. Just to the left was
a rocky crevice, which broke in angles up the side of the sheer cliffs.
About sixty feet up this crevice was Big Bill, while below him swayed a
crude rope ladder. It was Pablo’s getaway to the top of the cliffs.
Big Bill still clung to his rifle. He was having difficulty with the
tangled ropes. Bill steadied himself against the back of the cabin and
lifted his gun.
“Stop!” he yelled hoarsely. “Don’t move, Big Jim!”
The big man twisted around and looked at the man below him. Big Jim
had been shot, but there was still fight left in him. He swung his
back against the side of the cliff and fired the rifle in one hand;
but the bullet merely screamed off the rocks twenty feet away from
his target.
Bill Smith lifted his gun slowly as Big Jim worked frantically to lever
another cartridge into the chamber of his rifle. But before Bill could
pull the trigger of his six-shooter his ears were almost deafened by the
crash of a shot, fired just past his head. He whirled quickly. In the
doorway beside him stood Alice Spotted Horse, a smoking rifle in her
hands, looking up at Big Jim, who slowly let go with his hands and fell
out his entire length and crashed against the cliff, hanging by one foot
which had become entangled in the ropes.
Bill Smith shut his eyes for a moment, and to his ears came Alice
Spotted Horse’s soft exclamation--
“I be ----!”
There were other voices now. Some one was shouting his name. A big, blue
dog came rushing through the doorway and almost knocked him down. It was
Pancho, his big jaws slavering as he fairly moaned with excitement.
A moment later Biddy Toole and Dick Clarey almost fell out through the
doorway and behind them came Lohman, the sheriff.
“My ----, what a clean-up!” exclaimed Lohman. “There’s Big Jim! Holy
smoke, tell us about it, Smith.”
“Bill Smith, ----!” Thus Slim painfully, but with a grin on his lips.
“Pablo knew him. That’s old Tex, I tell yuh! Where he got his face--I
dunno; but it’s old Tex.”
The others stared at him, as at a ghost; their faces showing their
unbelief.
“Yeah, I’m Tex Rowland,” said Bill Smith. “I got in a wreck and the
doctors made me a new face.”
Della Marsh came out to him, wonderingly, half-afraid. He held out his
hand to her, a smile on his face.
“Pancho knew you,” she said slowly. “You can’t fool a dog.”
“Nor a half-breed,” added Slim painfully.
“But what is it all about?” demanded Lohman. “What was all this killing
about, Tex?”
Tex turned and walked into the cabin, followed by the questioning three.
He looked over the victims. Pokey Speed was dead--riddled with bullets.
Mike John’s soul had fled to the happy hunting grounds of his ancestors;
but Pablo was able to sit up and scowl defiance at every one.
As they looked at him, McHague rolled over and tried to get up. Biddy
Toole helped him to a sitting position against the wall, where he sat
limply and goggled at every one.
“Somebody must ’a’ belted him over the head with a gun,” said Biddy.
“He’s sure got a lumpy-lookin’ cranium.”
“Mike John hit um,” offered Alice Spotted Horse.
McHague spat painfully and looked around. It took him some time to
remember what had happened. Then:
“My ----, that was awful,” he said wearily. “Where’s Big Jim?”
“Big Jim is dead,” said some one.
“Did Pablo kill him?”
“The Injun woman killed him,” said Tex.
“I suppose it’s just as well,” said McHague painfully, as he squinted up
at Lohman. “You’re the sheriff?”
“How did you fellers find the way in here?” queried Tex.
“We’ve got Mose Dickey tied up down the hill,” grinned Lohman. “We
hunted with the big dog from the RMP and accidentally ran into Mose.
He was on his way here, and between what he’d tell us, and what the
dog knew about tracks, we got into this hole in the world in time to
hear the battle start.”
“Rory told us that Pablo and Pokey shot him and took Della,” said Dick
Clarey. “So that’s how we happened to trail Mose. My ----, I can’t
hardly believe that you’re Tex.”
“Old Pancho found them bloodhounds,” grinned Biddy. “There ain’t no
bloodhounds now. Must be a grudge between Pancho’s breed and them
sad-faced animals.”
“Well, who do I arrest, Tex?” queried Lohman foolishly. “I’m still
thinkin’ in circles.”
As swiftly as possible, Tex sketched out what had happened, while
McHague nodded dismally.
“That’s all true, I reckon,” he agreed. “Big Jim got the job for me at
the penitentiary, and he made me hold up Tex’s mail. He said there was
a movement on foot to get Tex pardoned, and he wanted me to fix it so
that Tex would never come out. And like a ---- fool, I tried it. Old
Hump Sherrill ruined the game.”
“I knew that Big Jim was a crook; but I didn’t know he was as bad as
this. When I had that trouble with Tex the other day, I had a feelin’
that he--well, I didn’t think he was Tex; but I felt that somethin’
was wrong.”
“I know him,” grinned Pablo. “I’m Injun.”