The Hold-up
Riding hard into Florence from Sweetwater Ranch Bud Lane hunted up Buck
McKee at his favorite gambling-joint, and, in a white heat of
indignation informed him in detail of everything that had passed
between Payson and himself. At once McKee inferred that the writer of
the letter was none other than Dick Lane. Realizing that Payson was
already informed of his villainy, and that in a very short time Dick
Lane himself would make his appearance on the Sweetwater, the
half-breed concluded to make a bold move while he yet retained the
confidence of Bud.
"Bud," he said, "I know the man who is sendin' the money to Payson.
It's Dick, your brother."
"But," stammered Bud, his brain whirling, "if that's so, you lied about
the Apaches killing him you--why you--must have been the renegade, the
devil who tortured prospectors."
"Why, Bud, Dick never wrote all that dime-novel nonsense about the man
who stood by him to--well, not the very last, for Dick has managed
somehow to pull through--probably he was saved by the Rurales that were
chasin' the band that rounded us up. No, it's Payson, Jack Payson,
that made up that pack of lies, just to keep you away from me, the man
that was last with Dick and so may get on to Jack's game and block it."
"Game! what game?" asked Bud, bewildered.
"Why, you told me it yourself--to marry Dick's girl, and live on Dick's
hard-earned money."
"But Dick borrowed the three thousand of Jack," objected Bud.
"Well, the dollars he borrowed have all gone, ain't they? And the
money he's sendin' back Dick dug out of the ground by hard work, didn't
he? Leastways, Payson hadn't ort 'o use the money to rope in Dick's
girl. It ort 'o be kep' from him, anyhow, till Dick comes on the
ground his own self. That 'u'd hold up the weddin', all right, if I
know Josephine. It 'u'd be easy to steer her into refusin' to let Echo
go into a mortgiged home."
Simple-minded Bud readily accepted the wily half-breed's explanations
and surmises, and fell into the trap he was preparing. This was to
hold up the express-agent and rob him of the money Payson was
expecting, on securing which it was McKee's intention to flee the
country before Dick Lane returned to denounce him. To ascertain just
when the money came into the agent's hands, and to act as a cover in
the robbery itself, an accomplice was needed. For this purpose no man
in all the Sweetwater region was better adapted than Bud Lane. Frank
and friendly with every one, he would be trusted by the most suspicious
and cautious official in Pinal County. The fact that he had chosen
Buck McKee as an associate had already gone far to rehabilitate this
former "bad man" in the good graces of the community. Under cover of
this friendship, McKee hoped to escape suspicion of any part in the
homicide he contemplated. For it was murder, foul, unprovoked murder
that was in the black soul of the half-breed. He intended to
incriminate Bud so deeply as to put it beyond all thought that he would
confess.
Young Lane, passionately loyal to his brother, was ready for anything
that would delay Payson's marriage to Echo Allen. Together with the
wild joy that sprang up in his heart at the thought that his brother
was alive, was entwined a violent hatred against his former employer.
In the fierce turbulence within his soul, generated by the meeting of
these great emotions, he was impelled to enter upon a mad debauch, in
which McKee abetted and joined him. Filling up on bad whisky, they
rode through the streets of Florence, yelling and shooting their "guns"
like crazy men. It was while they were engaged in this spectacular
exhibition of horsemanship, gun-play, and vocalization that Bud's
sweetheart rode into town to execute some commissions in preparation
for Echo Allen's wedding. Already "blue" over the thought that her own
wedding was far in the dim future, poor Polly was cast into the depths
of despair and disgust by the drunken riot in which her prospective
husband was indulging with her particular aversion, the cruel,
calf-torturing half-breed, McKee. Thoroughly mortified, she slipped
out of town by a side street, and moodily rode back to Allen Hacienda,
meeting on the way, as we have seen, Jack Payson.
After the debauch was over, and the merry, mad devil of nervous
excitement was succeeded by the brooding demon of nervous depression,
McKee broached to Bud the idea of robbing the express-agent of the
money coming to Payson. This fell in readily with the young man's
revengeful mood. He unreservedly placed himself under the half-breed's
orders.
In accordance with these, Bud hung about the road-station a great deal,
cultivating the friends of Terrill, the agent. 'Ole Man' Terrill, as
he was called, although he was a vigorous specimen of manhood on the
under side of sixty, was ticket and freight agent, express-messenger,
and telegraph-operator, in fact, the entire Bureau of Transportation
and communication at Florence station. Bud frankly told him he was out
of a job, and had, indeed, decided in view of his coming marriage, to
give up horse-wrangling for some vocation of a more elevating
character. So Terrill let him help about the station, chiefly in the
clerical work. While so engaged, Bud learned that a package valued at
three thousand dollars was expected upon a certain train. Although no
consignee was mentioned, the fact that the amount tallied exactly with
the sum Payson was expecting caused him to conclude it was Dick's
repayment of his loan. Accordingly he informed McKee that the time
they were awaiting had arrived.
Florence had grown up as a settlement about a spring of water some time
before the advent of the railroad. Builders of the line got into
trouble with the inhabitants, and in revenge located the station half a
mile away from the spring, thinking new settlers would come to them.
In this they were disappointed.
The point was an isolated one, and the station a deserted spot between
trains.
Eastward and westward the single track of railroad drifted to
shimmering points on the horizon. To the south dreary wastes of sand,
glistening white under the burnished sun and crowned with clumps of
grayish green sage-brush, stretched to an encircling rim of hills.
Cacti and yucca palms broke the monotony of the roll of the plains to
the uplands.
Sahuaroes towered over the low station, which was built in the style of
the old Spanish missions. Its red roof flared above the purple shadows
cast by its walls. In the fathomless blue above a buzzard sailed
majestically down an air current, and hovered motionless over the
lonely outpost of civilization.
Within the station a telegraph-sounder chattered and chirruped. 'Ole
Man' Terrill was at the instrument. His duties were over for the
forenoon, the east-bound express, which, with the west-bound, composed
the only trains that traversed that section of the road each day,
having arrived and departed a half-hour before, and he had cut in on
the line to regale himself with the news of the world. But there was a
dearth of thrilling events, such as his rude soul delighted in. The
Apache uprising, that was feared, had not taken place. Colonel Hardie,
of Fort Grant, had the situation well in hand. The Nihilists were
giving their latest czar a breathing-spell. No new prize-fighter had
arisen to wrest the championship of the world from John Sullivan, who
had put all his old rivals 'to sleep.' 'Ole Man' Terrill proceeded to
follow their example. He had been up late the night before at a poker
game. His head fell forward with a jerk. Aroused by the shock, he
glanced drowsily about him. Heat-waves danced before the open window.
Deep silence hung over his little world. Again his eyelids closed; his
head dropped, and slowly he slipped into sleep.
Tragedy was approaching him now, but not along the wire. Down an
arroyo, or "draw" (the dry bed of a watercourse), that wound in a
detour around the town of Florence, and debauched into the open plain
near the station, crept two men in single file, each leading a horse.
They were Buck McKee and Bud Lane, who had ridden north from the town
that morning with the declared purpose of going to Buck's old ranch,
the Lazy K. They had circled about the town, timing their arrival at
the station a little after the departure of the train which was
expected to bring Dick Lane's money.
McKee emerged first from the mouth of the draw. He wore a coarse
flannel shirt, loosened at the throat. About his neck was a
handkerchief. His riding-overalls were tucked into high boots with
Spanish heels and long spurs. A Mexican hat with a bead band topped a
head covered with coarse black hair, which he inherited from his
Cherokee mother.
Save for the vulture floating high in air not a living thing was in
sight. With the caution of a coyote, McKee crept to the station door
and peered blinkingly through the open door into the room. The change
from the dazzling light without to the shaded interior blinded him for
a moment. He heard the heavy breathing of the sleeper before he saw
him.
Returning to the mouth of the arroyo, McKee motioned to his companion
to bring out the horses. When this was done, the two men cinched the
saddles and made every preparation for sudden flight. Lane and the
horses remained outside the station behind a freight-car on a siding,
while McKee stole softly through the open door to 'Ole Man' Terrill's
side.
Now, the agent used as a safe-deposit vault his inside waistcoat
pocket, the lock upon which was a huge safety-pin. For further defense
he carried a revolver loosely hung at his hip, and easily reached. His
quickness on the draw in the hour of need, and his accuracy of aim made
him a formidable antagonist.
Some men are born into the world to become its watch-dogs; others to
become its wolves. The presence of a human wolf is, as it were,
scented by the human watch-dog, even when the dog is asleep. McKee was
known instinctively as a man-wolf to the born guardians of society;
Slim Hoover, himself a high type of the man-mastiff, used to say of the
half-breed: "I can smell that b'ar-grease he slicks his hair with
agin' the wind. He may be out o' sight an' out of mind, when somethin'
tells me 'McKee's around'; then I smell b'ar-grease, and the next
thing, Bucky shows up, with his ingrasheatin' grin. It's alluz 'grease
before meet, as the Sky Pilot would say."
'Ole Man' Terrill was of the watch-dog breed. Whether warned by the
instinct of his kind or wakened by the scent of McKee's bear-grease, he
suddenly opened his eyes. Like all men accustomed to emergencies, he
was instantly in full possession of his wits, yet he pretended to be
slightly confused in order to get a grasp upon the situation before
greeting his visitor.
"Howdy, Buck," he said, adjusting his revolver as he swung half-round
in his chair, that he might reach his weapon more readily in an
emergency. "Bustin' or busted?"
"Well, I'm about even with the game," replied McKee, pulling from his
pocket a bag of tobacco and papers, and deftly rolling a butterfly
cigarette. "Goin' to shake it before I lose my pile. It's me for the
Lazy K. Dropped in to say good-by."
Terrill, who had recently had an expensive seance with McKee at poker,
remonstrated:
"Yuh ought 'o give me another chanct at yuh, Buck. Yo're goin' away
with too much of my money."
"Well, 'Ole Man,' I'm likely to rob yuh of a lot more ef you ain't
keerful," answered McKee.
"Yuh can't jet yeta while," said Terrill. "Dead broke."
"Aw, come off! everybody knows ye're a walkin' bank. Bet yuh got three
thousan' in that inside pocket o' your'n this minute."
Terrill started at McKee's naming the exact amount he was carrying. He
forgot his customary caution in his surprise. "Well, you did just hit
it, shore enough. I believe ye're half-gipsy instid o' half-Injun.
Jus' like yer knowin' I stood pat on four uv a kind when you had aces
full, and throwin' down yer cyards 'fore I c'u'd git even with yuh.
How do yuh do it, Buck?"
McKee gave a smile of cunning, inscrutable superiority. "Oh, it's jes'
a power I has. 'Keen sabby,' as the Greasers say--I'm keen on the
know-how. Why, I kin tell yuh more about the money. It's fer Jack
Payson--"
"Now, there's whur ye're way off as a cleervoyant, Buck," said Terrill
triumphantly. "Yuh guessed oncet too often, as yer old pard on the
Lazy K said to the druggist. 'Peruna?' ast the druggist. 'Yep,' said
yer pard. 'Beginnin' mild on a new jag?' ast the druggist a second
time. 'Hell, no!' said yer pard they calls Peruna now from the
in-sih-dent, 'ending up strong on an old one.' Nope, the three
thousan' is county money, consigned to Sheriff Hoover. Jack Payson has
jes' lef' with a package from K. C., but it wasn't money. It was a
purty, gilt chair--a weddin'-present fer the gal he's go'n' to marry."
At that moment the sounder of the telegraph began clicking the call of
the station. Terrill whirled about in his swivel-chair and faced the
table.
McKee stood close behind him. His lips twitched nervously. His eyes
narrowed as he watched every movement of the agent's big shoulders as
he operated the key. At the same time the half-breed drew his revolver
and covered the back of Terrill's head.
The agent completed his message and turned to continue his interrupted
conversation. He found himself gazing into the muzzle of a .44, big,
it seemed, as a thirteen-inch gun. "Why--what?" he stammered.
"I'm actin' jes' now as Slim's deppity," said McKee. "Unbutton an'
han' that money over."
Once having his victim in his power, all the innate cruelty of the
Indian blood of his maternal ancestors flashed to the surface. Terrill
was at his mercy. For one desperate moment he would play with him;
even torture him as his forefathers had once made miserable the last
moments of a captive. He knew that unless he silenced Terrill his life
must pay the forfeit. Death was the penalty of detection. The arm of
the express company was long. Ultimate capture was certain. Pursued
out of Arizona by the sheriff, he would be trailed through every camp
and town in the far West.
With an oath, Terrill tried to rise and face his antagonist, reaching
for his revolver as he did so. The butt of his weapon had caught in
the arm of the chair hampering his movements.
McKee threw him roughly back into the chair.
"Throw up your han's," he cried. "Don't try that."
Up went Terrill's hands high over his head. He faced the open window.
Not a sign of help was in sight.
Quickly the agent turned over in his mind various schemes to foil
McKee, who now stood behind him with the muzzle of his revolver
pressing into the middle of his back. Each was rejected before
half-conceived.
McKee laughed sneeringly, saying: "You oughtn't to be so keerless to
show where you cache your roll. Worse than a senorita with a stocking.
She never keeps a whole pair when Manuel is playing faro."
Terrill made no reply. His hope of escape was slowly fading.
McKee had reached his left hand over his prisoner's shoulder to disarm
Terrill, who moved slightly away from him, drawing in his feet as he
did so.
One chance had come to him. He knew that, if he failed, death was
certain, yet he determined to take the risk in order to retrieve the
slip he had made in admitting that he had money in his possession to a
gambling crony; and so to keep clean his record for trustiness, of
which he was so proud. This last desperate resource was an old
wrestler's trick; one with which he had conquered others in the rough
games of the corral.
Again Terrill moved to the right and farther under McKee, who had to
extend his arm and body far beyond an upright position. Holding his
revolver against Terrill handicapped the half-breed in his movements.
With a quick turn, Terrill grasped McKee's left arm, jerking it down
sharply on his shoulder. With his right hand he grasped the back of
his antagonist's neck, pulling his head downward and inward. Using his
shoulder for a fulcrum, with a mighty heave of his legs and back he
sought to toss McKee over his head.
So surprised for an instant was the cowboy by suddenness of the attack
that he made no effort escape the clutches of the desperate
express-agent.
His feet had left the floor, and he was swinging in the air before his
finger pressed the trigger.
There was a muffled report.
The two men fell in a heap on the floor, McKee on top. Dazed and
shaken, McKee scrambled to his feet. The air was pungent with odor of
powder smoke. Terrill rolled over on his side, trembled convulsively,
and died. He had paid the penalty for a moment's indiscretion with his
life.
McKee quickly unfastened the pin and seized the roll of bills. Skimming
through the package, he smiled with satisfaction to see that the most
of it was in small bills, and none of them stained.
Carefully avoiding the fast-forming pool of blood which was oozing from
the hole in the dead man's head, he hurried to the door.
A glance showed him the coast was clear. Running across the tracks, he
joined Lane, who was waiting for him behind the freight-car with
impatience. In silence they mounted their horses. For a short
distance McKee led the way upon the railroad-track, in order to leave
no hoof-prints, and then struck across the desert toward the hills in
the south.
"Why did you shoot?" gasped Lane.
"He drew on me," snarled McKee. "It wasn't Dick's money, but you'll
get half. Shut up."
The burning sun rose higher and higher. The buzzard dropped lower in
the sky. The silence of death brooded over the railroad-station.