THE OUTLAW PLOT
Slowly, carefully, hardly venturing to breathe, he backed away from the
cabin. He got outside the zone of light and felt for his motorcycle.
With the utmost caution not to touch the horn or siren, he guided it in
a wide semicircle down the slope. One of the horses whinnied as he
passed and an outlaw appeared at the door. After listening for a moment,
while Bert stood like a stone image in his track, the man, evidently
satisfied, turned and went inside.
Then Bert moved on again by inches until he reached the edge of the
woods. From there he knew that the faint click made by the valves in
starting could not possibly be heard from above. He drew a long breath
and for the first time turned his gaze toward the sky. He was rejoiced
to find that the clouds had vanished and that the deep blue was sown
with stars. He needed no compass now. There was the gleaming Polar Star
by which he had often guided his course as unerringly as by the sun. He
paused a moment to get a direction due west. Then he leaped into the
saddle and was off.
Not until he was sure that he was beyond the sight of any possible
watcher from the cabin, did he dismount and light his lamp. Then with
the confidence that came from the light streaming far ahead of him, he
threw in the clutch and let his machine out to the limit.
He had ridden perhaps twenty miles, looking anxiously about for the
lights of a town, when at some distance he saw the flames from a
campfire in the lee of a bluff far away to his right. He could see a
group of men, some moving about, others stretched out near the fire
apparently asleep. Mindful of his previous experience, he put out his
light and glided toward them like a shrouded ghost.
Stopping outside the circle of light, where he could study the scene at
his leisure, he counted a dozen men. They were strapping fellows, rough
in dress and appearance, but with honest, fearless faces. One of them
wore a badge that stamped him as an official of some kind, and he was
evidently in command of the party. Bert hesitated no longer, but,
mounting, rode slowly into the firelight.
There was a gasp of wonder at his appearance, and the men who were still
awake sprang to their feet with their hands on their pistol butts. A
second glance, however, as Bert waved his hand in friendly fashion,
disarmed them and they came hastily forward.
"Well, stranger," said the man with the badge, "you came in on us rather
sudden like and we was plumb surprised for a minute. You seem to be all
right though, and that machine of yours is certainly some beaut. We're
more used to riding four-legged things, though. We don't ask anything
about a man's business out here unless we happen to have some particular
business with him," and he touched his star. "So you can tell us nothing
or as much as you like. As to me I ain't got any secrets as to whom I
am. I'm the sheriff of Wentworth County and this here is my posse."
"Just the man I'd rather see at this minute than any one else in the
world," exclaimed Bert, delightedly. And then, in words that tumbled
over one another in their haste, he told them who he was, how he had
been lost on the prairie and of his adventure near the cabin of "Billy
the Kid."
At the mention of that notorious name the sheriff fairly jumped. "What!"
he shouted. "Billy the Kid and his gang? They're the fellows we're out
for now. Here, boys," he yelled, "get busy. We're on a fresh trail and
we'll bag the hull bunch before daylight."
Instantly the camp was alive with excitement. Horses were untethered and
saddled, and within five minutes the posse was ready to start. Bert had
given hurriedly the details of the plot and the sheriff's campaign was
quickly planned. He knew every foot of the surrounding country and he
headed his troop straight as the crow flies for Dorsey, the little town,
beyond which lay the tank where the Limited would slow down to take
water. His line of march was shorter than that of the outlaws, and
besides, they had not planned to leave the cabin before midnight.
He could count on getting there first and having time to make his
dispositions for the round-up of the gang.
"Well, son," he said, with a warm grip of the hand, when they were ready
to start, "I sure owe you a lot for this tip. This country's going to
sleep a heap sight better when they know these fellows have dangled from
the end of a rope. But how about you, now? I'll send one of my men along
with you to Lonsdale, if you like. That's fifteen mile west of here and
on the line of road you're traveling."
"No, thanks," replied Bert promptly, "I'm going with you, if you'll have
me."
"Going with us," echoed the sheriff in surprise. "Of course, I'm glad to
have you. But that gang is 'bad medicine' and there's goin' to be some
shooting. You ain't got no call to mix in, 'cept of your own free will."
"Sure, I know," said Bert. "I'm going along."
"Son," exclaimed the sheriff, extending his hand, "put her thar. I'm
proud to know you. You're the real stuff, all wool and a yard wide. Come
along."
A word of command and they clattered off, Bert keeping alongside of the
leader. He was thrilling with excitement. The primitive emotions had him
in their grip. A little while before, he had been in the conventional
world of law and order and civilization. Now, he was seeing life "in the
raw." A battle was imminent, and here he was riding to the battlefield
over the prairies at midnight under the silent stars. The blood coursed
violently through his veins and his heart beat high with passion for the
fight. That he himself was running the risk of wounding and death was
only an added stimulus. For the moment he was a "cave man," like his
ancestors in the morning of the world, stealing forth from their lair
for a raid against their enemies. Later on, when cooler, he would
analyze and wonder at these emotions. But now, he yielded to them, and
the time seemed long before the little cavalcade swept through the
sleeping town of Dorsey, and then, at a more slow and careful pace, made
their way to the water tank below the station.
As they came nearer, they dismounted and led their horses to a clump of
trees on the eastern side of the tank and a half a mile away. Two men
were left in charge, with orders to strap the horses' jaws together, so
that they could not neigh and thus betray their masters. It was figured
that the outlaws would approach from the west, and the members of the
posse disposed themselves in a wide semicircle, so that, at a given
signal, they could surround and overpower the robbers. If possible, they
were to capture them alive so that they could answer to justice for
their crimes. But, alive or dead, they were to "get" them. And as Bert
looked on the stern, determined faces of his companions, he had no doubt
of the outcome of the struggle.
After they had taken their places, lying flat on the ground with such
shelter as a bush or cactus plant afforded, there was a considerable
wait that was more trying to the nerves than actual fighting. Bert and
the sheriff were close together, but, except for an occasional whisper,
neither spoke. They were busy with their thoughts and intent on the
approaching fray.
Perhaps an hour had elapsed before they heard the distant tramp of
horses. Soon they could see half a dozen men approaching, their figures
dimly outlined in the starlight. The grip of the watchers tightened on
their pistol butts as they strained their eyes to get a better view of
their quarry.
Then silence fell again. A half hour went by. Suddenly a faint whistle
was heard in the distance, the ground began to tremble and a great
headlight swung into view, far up the track. It was the road's crack
train, the Overland Limited. The moment was at hand.
With a terrific rumbling and clanking and ringing of bells, the
ponderous train slowed down at the tank. The fireman was already on the
tender, ready to slew over the pipe that would bring a cataract of
water down into the reservoir. Just as he reached for it, there was a
fusillade of shots. Two masked men covered the startled engineer and
fireman with their revolvers and ordered them to hold up their hands.
Another hammered at the door of the express car and commanded the
messenger to open, on pain of instant death. Farther down the train
other shots rang out and windows were shattered by bullets to warn
passengers to stay inside.
But just then came a diversion. With a yell and a rush the sheriff and
his men swept down upon the astonished outlaws, firing as they came. The
bandits were caught like rats in a trap. They were the center of a ring
of flame, but they fought back savagely. There were cries and curses, as
men emptied their revolvers and then clinched in deadly struggle. The
bandit leader, leaving the express car, plunged headlong into the fight,
battling like a fiend. When his revolver was empty he flung it into the
sheriff's face and made a break for his horse. But Bert was too quick
for him, and tackled him, just as he had put one foot in the stirrup
and was swinging the other over his mount. With a mighty wrench he
dragged him from the saddle. The "Kid" uttered a fearful oath and
reached for his knife. Bert's hands closed around his throat and they
went to the ground rolling over and over like two panthers.
At gun or knife play the outlaw would have been the victor. But in this
hand-to-hand struggle, Bert was easily his master. His tremendous
strength, reinforced by clean living and athletic training, soon
triumphed over the rum-soaked body of the "Kid." But the latter's
ferocity was appalling, and Bert had to choke him almost into
unconsciousness, before his muscles relaxed and he lay there limp and
gasping.
As Bert rose, breathless but victorious, he saw that the fight was over.
Two of the outlaws were dead and another fatally wounded. The other two
were in the hands of their captors, and the sheriff coming up, snapped
handcuffs on the "Kid" and jerked him to his feet.
Passengers and trainmen came pouring from the cars, and there was a
Babel of excited questionings. The conductor, full of relief and
gratitude at his train's escape from looting, offered to carry the party
to the next town on the line. But the sheriff elected to take his
prisoners across country to the county seat, and after another exchange
of congratulations, the train moved on.
Then the triumphant posse, with one of its members severely, another
slightly wounded, took up their homeward trip. They had made one of the
most important captures in the history of the State, and the next day
the country would be ringing with their praises. They were naturally
jubilant, and the sheriff urged Bert earnestly to come with them as the
real hero of the roundup. But he stoutly refused and the only favor he
would accept was the loan of a guide to take him over to Lonsdale.
"Well," said the sheriff at last reluctantly, "I suppose you know your
own business best, but I shore am sorry to say good-bye. You've made an
awful hit with me, son. That was a lovely scrap you put up with the
'Kid,' and I've never seen a prettier bit of rough housing. I hope you
win your race and I believe you will. Anybody that can put one over on
'Billy the Kid' can pretty near get anything he goes after. If ever
you're looking for work," he joked, "come out to Wentworth County and
I'll make you assistant sheriff. Perhaps, though, you'd better not," and
his eyes twinkled, "cause it wouldn't be long before you'd have my
job."