THE HUNCHBACK’S QUICK WIT.
Red Steve had been summoned from his post and into the living room.
He was there to meet Wild Bill when he entered. Lige Benner was also
there, an exultant look on his face which proved he was well pleased
with the treacherous work planned by his brother. Isaacs, of course,
was already on his way back to Hackamore.
“Red Steve,” said Jerry, waving a hand toward Wild Bill, “this is
Gringo Pete Billings, who comes from nowhere on a horse belonging to
one of Buffalo Bill’s pards. By the same token, Steve, Gringo hates
Buffalo Bill, and I think he’s a good enough hater to be a valuable
man for the White Caps.”
Red Steve passed his keen little eyes over Wild Bill, measuring him
with a stare that would have made almost any one else but the Laramie
man uncomfortable and apprehensive.
“How am I sizin’ up, friend?” grinned Wild Bill. “My clothes ain’t
none too good, but they’re the best I got since Cody an’ pards got
through with me, over in Arizony.”
Wild Bill scowled and leaned against the wall.
“Ye don’t look none too promisin’ as a good citizen,” growled Red
Steve, “but what I want fer the White Caps ain’t good citizens, but
fellers that’ll do what I tell ’em. Ye say ye’ve got it in fer this
king o’ scouts?”
“Want me ter sing it?” yelped Wild Bill. “Ain’t I follered Buffler
Bill from Arizony jest ter git even with him? Ain’t I hyer on the
Brazos jest a-campin’ on his trail?”
“What’re ye wantin’ ter do ter that feller as is called the king o’
scouts?”
“The wust I kin.”
“Supposin’ he was staked out on the perary, an’ a thousand head o’
stampedin’ steers run over him?”
Wild Bill’s blood began to boil. For a moment--just a moment--it
seemed as though he would throw off his rôle of avenger for
fictitious wrongs and tell Red Steve, Lige and Jerry just what he
thought of their murderous, cold-blooded schemes. But he got a grip
on himself at the right instant, and went on with the part he was
playing.
“Kin ye do it, Red Steve?” he demanded. “Tork’s cheap, but it takes
somethin’ besides tork ter git Buffler Bill in a fix like that.”
“Nigh ter Crowder’s ole c’ral, clost ter the Brazos, thar’s a
thousand head o’ Circle-B cattle rounded up. The White Caps’ll hev
charge o’ them cattle, an’ the longhorns aire goin’ ter git away.
The stampede’ll head over ther place whar Buffler Bill an’ Dick
Perry aire staked out. Arter it’s over, an’ them stakes aire pulled,
the hull play’ll look like er happenchance. The scout an’ Perry
got in the way o’ ther herd; they was on foot, an’ they couldn’t
save theirselves, not noways.” A savage grin crossed Red Steve’s
villainous face. “What d’ye think, Gringo Pete?” he asked.
“I think ye’re some hard ter beat if ye kin pull off a game like
that. How’re ye figgerin’ ter do it?”
Wild Bill’s “pay streak” was developing undreamed-of possibilities.
Used though he was to the merciless tactics of the frontier, his
blood was running cold at these desperate schemes, so calmly broached.
To Lige Benner and his inner circle of helpers, a man’s good name
or even his life weighed little against an overmastering desire for
vengeance.
“Come with me, Gringo Pete,” said Red Steve. “I’ll take ye down where
ye can tork with the rest o’ the White Caps. The’s six o’ us now, all
told, countin’ you an’ me. This way!”
Steve exchanged a reassuring look with Lige Benner, then led Wild
Bill out of the house and down toward the grove where the Laramie
man’s horse had been taken.
“Jerry, you scheming imp,” cried Lige Benner, whirling on his
brother, “what’s all this you’ve been up to?”
The hunchback was devoid of feeling. His crippled body matched his
crippled nature, making him abnormal, fiendish in his schemes and
fiendish in having them carried out. His murderous disposition had
turned a fresh page--a page which even his brother Lige had never
suspected before.
“I’m planning for you, Lige,” cackled Jerry, “what you’ve never had
the nerve to plan for yourself--much less to attempt to execute.”
“Be hanged to you! You’re going too far with your staking and your
stampeding! Look out, or you’ll bring the whole cattle country down
on me--say nothing of Buffalo Bill’s pards.”
“How’ll they come down on you, Lige?” purred the hunchback. “I’ve
done all this White Cap planning, haven’t I? This is the first you’ve
heard of it, Lige, ain’t it?”
“I’m mixed up in it, just the same, you foxy, cold-blooded whelp.
Tell me what you’ve done.”
“I had Steve organize a gang of White Caps, Lige,” explained Jerry.
“There are six in the gang now, and that’s a-plenty, I reckon. They
wear white caps to disguise themselves. When this trouble happens to
Dunbar, word will be sent to the ranch. Perry will go to Hackamore to
help Dunbar, and Buffalo Bill, of course, will go with him. Both will
be caught by the White Caps and staked out. Then the steers will be
stampeded----”
Lige Benner was walking the floor again. He had not the nerve to let
his brother’s diabolical plot be carried out.
“I’ll not stand for it, Jerry!” he cried. “Working that trick with
Dunbar is clever, and all right; but this other thing I won’t stand
for. It would never succeed.”
Jerry ruffled up his humped back and spit at Lige like an angry cat.
“I’ve started out to do the job, Lige,” he screeched, “and I’ll do
it!”
“You’ll not stake Cody out and run a herd of stampeded steers over
him,” declared Lige Benner, tossing his hands, “and that’s flat. I’ll
get my revenge on Cody some other way.”
Jerry’s anger died down suddenly, but a treacherous sparkle smoldered
in his eyes.
“All right, Lige, all right,” said he. “I’ve got to ride to Hackamore
to carry out my part of the scheme against Dunbar.”
“Your part? What’s your part?”
The jibbering laugh came from the wizened, expressionless face of the
hunchback.
“How are those paste diamonds to be found in Dunbar’s saddlebags,
Lige,” he asked, “if I don’t put ’em there? That’s my work. I didn’t
want to ride into Hackamore with Abraham Isaacs because people might
think of it later, and suspect something. But I can go into town now,
and----”
The words died on the hunchback’s lips. He was looking at the
seemingly blank wall--staring hard.
“What ails you, Jerry?” queried Lige.
Without speaking, Jerry shambled to the wall and swept one clawlike
hand over it; then he looked at the hand and turned on Lige with eyes
that gleamed like coals.
“Look, Lige!” he whispered hoarsely.
He held up his hand. Lige Benner saw that it had been blackened with
something from the wall.
“What is it?” went on Lige curiously.
“Soot! Soot and ashes, Lige. Here’s where Gringo Pete Billings was
leaning while Red Steve was talking to him. Gringo Pete couldn’t have
picked up soot and ashes on his clothes between the Star-A ranch and
here.”
Lige Benner had not the wit necessary to follow these deductions back
to their cause, but he knew that some discovery of importance had
been made by Jerry.
The hunchback whirled around, without waiting for further talk, and
rushed into the rear room. He saw the chair where Wild Bill had been
sitting when summoned into the living room to talk with Red Steve.
The chair also had traces of soot and ashes on its seat and back.
Like a hound on the scent, Jerry glided to the fireplace, staring
into it and upward with sharp, glimmering eyes. The next moment the
hunchback got into the fireplace.
“Go into the next room and talk, Lige,” he called out; “talk out
loud, Lige, just like you were talking with Isaacs.”
Gradually Lige Benner’s mind was leading him to the truth. As
his brother proceeded with his investigations, the trend of the
hunchback’s suspicions was made so manifest that Lige could not
escape understanding them.
In the living room Lige spoke two or three sentences in the easy,
conversational tone used with Isaacs. Jerry rushed in on him
suddenly, his eyes blazing.
“Gringo Pete is a spy!” he snarled, dancing around his brother in
grotesque wrath and excitement; “he’s a spy, I tell you, Lige! He
came here to find out something, and he crawled into the fireplace
and overheard all that passed between us and Isaacs!”
Lige Benner’s wrath was rising in a way that matched Jerry’s.
“What’s Gringo Pete’s object?” he asked, trying to keep his head
clear and get at all the angles of the situation.
“His object, Lige, was to find out what we’re going to do,” declared
Jerry.
“Of course; but why?”
“Why? Oh, use your brains, Lige, if you’ve got any!”
“He hates Buffalo Bill as much as I do. Even if he did find out
anything----”
“Idiot! Don’t be a fool! Lige, can’t you see that Gringo Pete’s yarn
may have been faked up? Why, Lige, that tramp of the plains may have
been sent here by the scout himself--sent here to keep track of what
we’re doing! And look what he’s found out, Lige! He’s learned all
about the game we’re planning to play on Dunbar, and Red Steve’s
giving him the facts about that other scheme the White Caps are
mixed up in! If Gringo Pete gets away from us, we lose out. Can’t you
see that, Lige?”
The wrath and apprehension of the hunchback was something terrible
to witness. He hopped around the room like a huge toad, talking to
himself and throwing his long arms all around him.
Suddenly Lige grabbed his brother and shook him.
“Pass up that foolishness, Jerry!” he ordered. “If Gringo Pete is a
spy, we’ll capture him and keep him right here. The game at Hackamore
will go on. I’m willing to bet against long odds that the game wins
out. Get ready to go to Hackamore. I’ll see that Gringo Pete is taken
care of.”
“Go on, Lige, go on!” breathed the hunchback, waving a skinny hand
toward the door. “Hurry, Lige, hurry--or you’ll be too late.”
Lige Benner ran out of the house and down the slope toward the small
grove at the edge of the river. From the open door the hunchback
watched him.