Lize laughed. "The sheeps' heads. Oh, don't be scared, no one is hurt
yet!"
The girl flushed with confusion as the men roared over her blunder. "One
of the girls told me Mr. Cavanagh had killed a man," she explained. "Where
is he?"
Lize betrayed annoyance. "They say he's taking supper at Mike Halsey's,
though why he didn't come here I don't see. What's he going to do?" she
asked. "Won't the marshal take the men off his hands?"
"Not without warrant from Higley, and Higley is out of town. Ross'll have
to hold 'em till Higley gets back, or else take 'em over to Chauvenet,"
Lize snorted. "Old Higley! Yes, he's been known to disappear before when
there was some real work to be done."
The girl looked about her with a sharpening realization of the fact that
all these men were squarely opposed to the ranger, and rather glad to know
that his guardianship of the poachers was to be rendered troublesome. She
could hear on all sides bitter curses openly directed against him. How
little of real manliness could be detected in these grinning or malignant
faces! Ill-formed, half-developed, bestial most of them, while others,
though weakly good-humored, were ready to go with whatever current of
strong passion blew upon them. Over against such creatures Ross Cavanagh
stood off in heroic contrast--a man with work to do, and doing it like a
patriot.
She went back to her own task with a vague sense of alarm. "Certainly they
will not dare to interfere with an officer in the discharge of his
duties," she thought. She was eager to see him, and the thought that he
might be obliged to ride away to Chauvenet without a word to her gave her
a deeper feeling of annoyance and unrest. That he was in any real danger
she could not believe.
It was disheartening to Cavanagh to see how some of the most influential
citizens contrived to give encouragement to the riotous element of the
town. A wink, a gesture, a careless word to the proper messenger, conveyed
to the saloon rounders an assurance of sympathy which inflamed their
resentment to the murderous point.
The truth is, this little village, sixty miles from the railway, still
retained in its dives and shanties the lingering miasma of the old-time
free-range barbarism. It trailed a dark history on its legal side as well
as on its openly violent side, for it had been one of the centres of the
Rustler's War, and one of the chief points of attack on the part of the
cattle-barons. It was still a rendezvous for desperate and shameless
characters--a place of derelicts, survivals of the days of deep drinking,
furious riding, and ready gun-play.
True, its famous desperadoes were now either dead or distantly occupied;
but the mantle of violence, the tradition of lawlessness, had fallen to
the seedy old cow-punchers and to the raw and vulgar youths from the
ill-conditioned homes of the middle West. The air of the reckless old-time
range still clung rancidly in the low groggeries, as a deadly gas hangs
about the lower levels of a mine. It was confessedly one of the worst
communities in the State.
"Let's run the sonovagun!" was the suggestion of several of Gregg's
friends.
The fact that the ranger was a commissioned officer of the law, and that
the ram's head had been found on the poacher's pack, made very little
difference to these irresponsible instigators to assault. It was wonderful
how highly that loafing young rascal, Joe Gregg, was prized at the moment.
"It's an outrage that the son of a leading citizen should be held up in
this way by one of the forestry Cossacks," declared one of the merchants.
The discussion which took place over the bars of the town was at the
riot-heat by nine o'clock, and soon after ten a crowd of howling, whooping
bad boys, and disreputable ranch-hands was parading the walks, breathing
out vile threats against the ranger.
Accustomed to men of this type, Cavanagh watched them come and go at
Halsey's bar with calculating eyes. "There will be no trouble for an hour
or two, but meanwhile what is to be done? Higley is not to be found, and
the town marshal is also 'out of town.'" To Halsey he said: "I am acting,
as you know, under both Federal and State authority, and I call upon you
as a law-abiding citizen to aid me in holding these men prisoners. I shall
camp right here till morning, or until the magistrate or the marshal
relieves me of my culprits."
Halsey was himself a sportsman--a genuine lover of hunting and a fairly
consistent upholder of the game laws; but perceiving that the whole town
had apparently lined up in opposition to the ranger, he lost courage. His
consent was half-hearted, and he edged away toward the front window of his
bar-room, nervously seeking to be neutral--"to carry water on both
shoulders," as the phrase goes.
The talk grew less jocular as the drinks took effect, and Neill Ballard,
separating himself from the crowd, came forward, calling loudly: "Come out
o' there, Joe! Youse a hell of a sport! Come out and have a drink!"
His words conveyed less of battle than his tone. He was, in fact, urging a
revolt, and Cavanagh knew it.
Gregg rose as if to comply. The ranger stopped him. "Keep your seat," said
he. And to Ballard he warningly remarked: "And you keep away from my
prisoners."
"Do you own this saloon?" retorted the fellow, truculently. "I reckon
Halsey's customers have some rights. What are you doing here, anyway? This
is no jail."
"Halsey has given me the privilege of holding my prisoners here till the
justice is found. It isn't my fault that the town is without judge or
jail." He was weakened by the knowledge that Halsey had only
half-consented to aid justice; but his pride was roused, and he was
determined upon carrying his arrest to its legitimate end. "I'm going to
see that these men are punished if I have to carry them to Sulphur City,"
he added.
"Smash the lights!" shouted some one at the back.
Here was the first real note of war, and Ross cried out sharply: "If a man
lifts a hand toward the light I'll cut it off!"
There was a stealthy movement in the crowd, and leaping upon the counter a
reckless cub reached for the lamp.
Cavanagh's revolver shattered the globe in the fellow's very palm. "Get
down from there!" he commanded.
The crowd surged back against the front door, several drawn weapons
shining in their hands. Some of the faces were a-grin, others were thrust
forward like the heads of snakes, their eyes glittering with hate.
It is an appalling moment to a man of discernment when he looks into the
faces of his fellows and hears only the laugh of the wolf, the hiss of the
snake, the snarl of the tiger. At the moment Cavanagh despised with a
measureless contempt the entire commonwealth and its long-established
school of violence; but fixing his thought on his far-away chief, he lost
all fear. His voice was perfectly calm as he said: "I am wearing the
uniform of the Federal service, and the man that interferes with me will
feel the vengeance of the Federal arm. You can get me, but I'll get some
of you at the same time, and the department will get the rest."
The mob had not found its leader. It hesitated and blustered but did not
strike, and eventually edged out of the door and disappeared; but the
silence which followed its retreat was more alarming to the ranger than
its presence. Some slyer mischief was in these minds. He feared that they
were about to cut the electric-light wires, and so plunge him into
darkness, and to prepare for that emergency he called upon the bartender
(Halsey having vanished) for a lamp or a lantern.
The fellow sullenly set about this task, and Ross, turning to Gregg, said:
"If you've any influence with this mob, you'd better use it to keep them
out of mischief, for I'm on this job to the bitter end, and somebody's
going to be hurt."
Gregg, who seemed quite detached from the action and rather delighted with
it, replied: "I have no influence. They don't care a hang about me; they
have it in for you, that's all."
Edwards remained silent, with his hat drawn low over his eyes. It was
evident that he was anxious to avoid being seen and quite willing to keep
out of the conflict; but with no handcuffs and the back door of the saloon
unguarded, Ross was aware that his guard must be incessant and alertly
vigilant. "Where are the law-abiding citizens of the town?" he asked of
Sifton, who remained in the saloon.
The dry little whisp of manhood had some spark of life in him, for he
said: "In their beds, the cowardly hounds!"
"They must know that this gang of hobos is threatening me."
"Certainly they do; but they don't intend to endanger their precious
hides. They would be well pleased to have you disabled."
It was incredible! Low as his estimate of the Fork had been, Cavanagh
could not believe that it would sit quietly by and see an officer of the
State defeated in his duty. "Such a thing could not happen under the
English flag," he said, and at the moment his adopted country seemed a
miserable makeshift. Only the thought of Redfield and the chief nerved him
for the long vigil. "The chief will understand if it comes up to him," he
said.
Lize Wetherford came hurrying in, looking as though she had just risen
from her bed. She was clothed in a long red robe, her grizzled hair was
loose, her feet were bare, and she carried a huge old-fashioned revolver
in her hand. Her mouth was stern.
Stopping abruptly as she caught sight of Ross standing in the middle of
the floor unhurt, she exclaimed: "There you are! Are you all right?"
"As a trivet," he replied.