“Mebbe.”
Bert Hart rode in past the corrals and galloped up to the porch, where
he swung down.
“I saw Barr Severn a while ago, Marshall. He just came in from Tarp
City. There was a shootin’ scrape on the street. That feller Peace
Parker is back from the pen. He plugged Evers, the cowboy who works
for Crane.
“They tells me that Parker tried to grab Jess, and him and Danert had
a ---- of a time. Jess got away on her horse and Parker took out after
her on Danert’s horse. The sheriff tried to stop him; but he got plumb
away. Barr didn’t see it himself, but he says everybody got excited,
except the sheriff, who got a bronc and follered ’em. Danert said they
hit toward Fossilshell. Barr says that Danert got ---- licked out of
him.”
“Where’s Barr?” snapped Marshall.
“Gone home to get his punchers. Said he’d be here in a few minutes. He
got into town about a half-hour after it happened, and came straight
here.”
“Yuh says that Peace Parker tried to grab Jess?” asked Farley.
“That’s what Barr said. I dunno what it means, Farley. Some of the boys
have headed down the Fossilshell country. I reckon everybody got excited
and didn’t know just what did happen. They said that Parker wrasseled
Danert all over the street and then slammed him into a building. He sure
is a proper heller, I reckon.”
“Saddle up!” snapped Marshall.
Farley, Hart and Horne raced for the stable. Hart yelled over his
shoulder to Marshall--
“I’ll saddle yore bronc for yuh.”
Four other riders, including Barr Severn, of the Three Dot, galloped
into the Cross L and swung in beside the stable. Marshall came running
from the house, buckling on his belt as he ran, and stopped beside
Severn, a rangy, solemn-faced cow-man, with a stringy black mustache.
“Got any idea a-tall, Barr?” asked Marshall eagerly.
“Nothin’ ’cept what I told Hart. I grabbed what info’mation I could and
came on in as fas’ as possible.”
“All set!” yelled Farley.
The four men swung into their saddles, settled themselves for a long
ride, and a few moments later eight silent riders faded out up the
yellow ribbon of road, which led to Poncho Pass--eight men whose
fingers itched for the feel of a trigger in defense of their women.
* * * * *
It seemed to Peace that he had been asleep only for a moment. He had
felt the numbing crash of the running horse striking him, and it seemed
as if he were slightly stunned. He could hear voices, but caution told
him to keep his eyes closed. He barely moved his fingers and could feel
the nap of a blanket.
He lay perfectly still, trying to understand what was being said. At
first it was a meaningless jumble of words, but as his brain cleared
he heard an earnest conversation, seemingly between three men.
“--pretty hard shock,” said a voice, which Peace decided belonged to a
doctor. “No bones broken. I do not understand where he received all
those bruises, though. Impossible to have received them by merely being
knocked down by a horse. Must have the constitution of a mule.”
Peace realized that he was in a house, but had no idea of whose house,
nor where. He must have been unconscious for some time.
“He likely fought with the sheriff,” Peace recognized Danert’s purring
voice. “We were unable to find the sheriff’s gun anywhere. This man
threw his gun----”
“Threw kinda straight, too,” grunted a voice. “Few inches lower and yore
beauty would ’a’ fled forever, Clell.”
Peace opened his eyes a fraction of an inch, giving him a blurred image
of Clell Danert, with his head bandaged.
“Doc, do yuh reckon he’s got his spine hurt?” asked the third party.
“Takes him a long time to wake up, don’t yuh think?”
“Hm-m-m--possibly. It is hard to determine right now. How did you happen
to bring him here?”
“Peculiar situation,” purred Danert. “The sheriff is dead and the deputy
is gone away. No keys for the jail. We thought he was dead; but wanted
to be sure. We’ll have to hold him.”
“Certainly, it will require an investigation.” This from the doctor.
“He killed the sheriff, that’s a cinch,” declared Danert. “He shot
Evers and stole my horse. The sheriff must have caught him on Poncho
Pass. This man’s gun had been fired twice and the sheriff was hit
twice. My horse is at the bottom of the cañon, dead.”
“Sheriff Langley was well liked,” observed the doctor.
“That’s the worst of it,” said Danert. “I’m strong for a square deal,
doc; and I know what Tarp City will do to this man when they find out
what he done.”
“Might save the county the expense of a trial,” growled the third man.
“This feller’s got a ---- bad rep, and the sooner he decorates a tree
the better. Shall we keep him here?”
“Perhaps it would be better to say nothing until he is safe in jail,”
suggested the doctor. “He is physically unable to do anything. I do not
like to see a man executed without a fair trial, and this man is in no
condition to give a coherent defense of his own acts.”
Peace grinned to himself and wondered if he really was in as bad shape
as they thought. He could see that Danert was framing everything against
him. The sheriff, not knowing the real cause of the trouble, had
followed him to Poncho Pass, where he had been killed. Many witnesses
would testify that the sheriff had followed Peace Parker.
“You stay here,” Danert ordered the third man as he and the doctor went
out of the room.
Peace could hear the guard rolling a cigaret. As he scratched a match
Peace peered through almost closed lids and saw that the guard was Gus
Sinks. He was tilted back against the wall in a chair, with a Winchester
across his lap. Clell Danert stepped softly into the room, came close to
Sinks and whispered.
“Gus, we can’t let this man go to jail. I’m going to town and let ’em in
on it. I think they’ll act fast; but if they don’t----”
“Whatcha want me to do, Clell?”
“I dunno--” admitted Danert, and after a long pause--“Make it look
right, whatever you do, Gus.”
“If he tries to make a break--” said Sinks.
“You _sabe_ things,” agreed Danert and slipped softly out of the room.
Peace shut his eyes and tried to think out a plan. He had no way of
knowing just how badly he was injured. Danert would incite Tarp City
to lynch him, and Sinks was ready to kill him if he made a move. They
did not want him alive. They could not afford to let him tell what he
knew.
The doctor came back into the room with a lamp, which he placed on a
table near the bed. He felt of Peace’s pulse.
“Reckon he’ll pull through?” asked Sinks.
“I can not say; but I have hopes,” smiled the doctor and left the room.
“---- you and yore hopes!” growled Sinks.
Peace realized that it was growing late and that no time must be
lost if he blocked the sheep game. But what could he do? He could
see Sinks watching him, with the Winchester pointing toward the bed.
Peace studied Sinks, who was puffing slowly on his cigaret, a scowl
on his homely face. Sinks had been cut across the face at one time,
and the scar showed yellowish-white against his brown skin.
Peace did not dare to test his muscles for fear of what Sinks might do.
As far as Peace was concerned, he might be paralyzed. He seemed to have
no sense of pain. Finally he saw a way out--a desperate way. Without
moving a muscle he began moving his lips, muttering to himself. Over and
over he repeated aloud--
“Danert--double-crossin’--own--men.”
Sinks listened indifferently at first, but after Peace had repeated it
several times he tilted forward in his chair and watched him closely.
“Danert--double--crossin’--own--men,” droned Peace.
Sinks got up from his chair and backed to the door, keeping an eye on
the bed. He glanced quickly into the hall and came slowly back to his
former position.
“Danert--crooked--” muttered Peace. “Crooked.”
“Yo’re crazy,” muttered Sinks. “Whatcha talkin’ about?”
Peace kept muttering broken sentences, a jumble of “Danert
double-crossin’--own--men--all--for--himself----”
Sinks glanced back at the door and came to the bed, where he put his
hand on Peace’s shoulder and shook him.
“Whatcha talkin’ about? Who is Danert double-crossin’?”
Peace began murmuring a jumble of stuff, barely whispering. Sinks
leaned closer to hear it. He wanted to know all about Danert, and Peace
Parker’s mumblings might be true.
“---- yuh, why can’t yuh talk sense?” he growled, leaning closer and
glancing back toward the door.
As he turned back a brawny hand shot from under the blanket and closed
around his throat, while another arm hooked around his waist, jerking
him off his feet.
Peace lunged forward from the bed, every muscle on his body protesting
against the strain, and crumpled Sinks under him to the floor. The
attack had been so sudden, so unlooked-for that Sinks was half-throttled
before he could attempt a defense.
He managed to jerk his head sidewise, and half-tear away; but his body
was in a human vise, which crushed out his breath and seemed to drive
the life from his muscles. He tried desperately to cry for help, but
his voice was gone and he crashed to the floor, striking the back of
his head.
Peace staggered to his feet and looked down at Sinks. His body seemed
racked and torn and the blood pounded in his temples like trip-hammers.
He managed to remove Sinks’ belt and gun, which he buckled around his
own waist, and picked up the Winchester.
He heard the doctor come into the house and go into another room,
shutting the door behind him. Peace staggered to the door, where he
leaned against the wall, trying to overcome his dizziness. Behind him
came a sobbing curse, and he whirled to meet Sinks, who had recovered
sufficiently to put up a fight.
He rushed at Peace, apparently unconscious of the fact that Peace had
both of his guns. He crashed into Peace, striking and grasping, mouthing
curses which were mere whispers. Peace shook him off and drove in a
crashing uppercut to Sinks’ chin as he rushed again, and Sinks collapsed
like a wet rag, sprawling on his face almost under the bed.
Peace glanced at him, turned and went into a short hall. Behind him he
could hear the doctor in another room, hammering on wood and whistling
unmusically. Peace grinned. The doctor had been too much engrossed in
his own noises to hear the fight.
He opened the door and stepped outside. He was just at the outskirts
of Tarp City, at what was evidently the doctor’s home. At the gate he
could see the outlines of a horse and buggy and further up the fence
was a saddled horse. A big moon was coming up over the Sunset range
behind Gunsight peak, which masked a triangle portion at the bottom;
making it look like a huge yellow pie, with one piece removed.
Peace untied the horse and swung into the saddle.
He shut his lips against the pain of wrenched muscles and bruised flesh,
and rode toward the lights of the town, with the Winchester in the crook
of his arm. He rode slowly down the middle of the street. On either side
of him shone the yellow lights from the windows. Men were moving in
small groups, and there did not seem to be the usual hilarity connected
with Tarp City’s night life.
Peace knew what it meant. Sheriff Langley had been well liked, and Tarp
City was preparing to avenge his death. They were going to lynch some
one, and he was the marked victim.
Peace knew that Tarp City was like gunpowder; knew that Danert’s tale
would cause them to explode with indignation over the killing of their
sheriff; but still he rode down the main street.
A number of men were standing in front of a saloon, and as Peace rode
closer he could hear Danert’s voice. He drew up on his reins. Should
he kill Danert? Would Danert be any good to him dead?
Danert was telling those men of the killing of the sheriff; branding
Peace with the mark of a murderer. Peace looked up and down the lighted
street--lighted from the yellow glow of oil lamps. Some men crossed the
street near him, talking excitedly. One of them carried a coil of new
rope. Peace smiled grimly.
Suddenly there came the rattle of wheels, the pounding of a horse’s
hoofs, and into the street came a horse and buggy, coming furiously and
dangerously. The driver was standing up in the buggy as it flashed into
view, and he swung it between Peace and the saloon. The horse fell at
the edge of the sidewalk and one of the front wheels smashed to kindling
against a post.
For a few moments there was a surge of men, as they got the horse to its
feet and off the sidewalk. Peace moved in close enough to know that the
driver of the rig was Gus Sinks, and that he was reporting the escape of
Peace Parker. Men poured out of the saloon and joined the group.
Peace turned his horse and moved slowly away. He did not feel alarmed,
because no one would ever expect him to come to town following his
escape. He swung into a short side street and stopped. He felt sure
that Danert knew where Jess Marshall was held; but there would be no
chance for him to force a talk with Danert. There was just one chance
left.
He spurred his horse and rode swiftly toward the loading corrals, where
he knew the bands of sheep were being held. There was just a chance that
he would find some one there--some one who would talk.
Peace knew that he would have to work fast to do any searching for
Jess Marshall and to keep out of the hands of the mob. He wondered if
Marshall had been doing any searching for Jess. He knew that the sheep
would not be moved tonight, because the owners would never chance a
move of that kind, while things were upset. Chinook Valley would be on
the search for Jess, and men would be riding the pass.
Peace could hear the uneasy bleating of sheep, as before him loomed the
shadowy outlines of the corrals--huge enclosures, with narrow chutes
which led to loading platforms the height of a stock-car door. The tall
timbers of the chutes cast long shadows across his path, as he rode
through and scattered the bedded bands of sheep.
Beyond the corrals were a huddle of tent-houses, the home of the
sheepherders. In one of them glowed the light of a lamp, and Peace rode
slowly to this one, gun in hand. He dismounted in the shadow of the
corral, and was walking almost to the doorway of the lighted tent, when
a man rode in from a different direction. He dismounted and peered into
the lighted tent. Peace accidentally trod on a brittle stick, which
snapped sharply. The man turned his head and called--
“Pete!”
It was Jefferson Crane. Peace walked toward him, saying nothing.
“Whatcha doin’ out there?” demanded Crane, as Peace came closer to him.
“Sinks fell down on the job, ---- him! There’s ---- to pay and no----”
“Uh-huh,” grunted Peace, stepping in close and shoving the muzzle of his
rifle into Crane’s ribs.
“There’s ---- to pay and no pitch hot, Crane.”
Crane said nothing. Peace backed him into the tent-house, with Crane
cringing away from the gun, hands held even with his shoulders.
“You?” he breathed sharply. “You?”
“Me,” admitted Peace coldly. “I let yuh go once, Crane. Let yuh go
’cause yuh begged like a yaller pup; but beggin’ ain’t savin’ yore
soul tonight.”
“Why--I ain’t done nothin’ to you,” faltered Crane. “Why kill me,
Parker?”
Crane’s face was green with fright and his lifted hands opened and shut
spasmodically.
“Arguments are all closed,” said Peace slowly. “Sinks sure fell down
on the job, Crane; but yore hired coyotes have lied to honest folks
and they’re all yellin’ for blood--my blood. Mebbe they get me and
mebbe they don’t.
“If they do--you’ve gone to ---- ahead of me; and if they don’t--” Peace
shook his head--“the mem’ries of your demise won’t haunt me, Crane.”
Crane licked his lips and glanced around. He tried to swallow, but his
throat refused to function. Then:
“Parker, for ----’s sake, you--you--I’ll help you get away. They’ll
hang yuh sure. They’re after you now. Honest, I know a place where
they’ll never find yuh. I’ll take yuh to it and I’ll give yuh money
and I’ll----”
Peace shook his head.
“No! I want to ask you one question before I kill yuh, and I’m askin’
yuh to answer with the truth. Did you misbrand them cows--the job I
served five years for doin’?”
Crane clenched his teeth to keep them from chattering and nodded.
“Talk!” snapped Peace.
“Yes,” whispered Crane. “I done that job, Parker. I wanted to marry Jess
Marshall, and I had to get you out of the way.”
“And now Danert is goin’ to marry her, eh?”
“He thinks he is,” Crane’s face distorted wolfishly. “I’ll kill him
first. Lemme go long enough to kill him, Parker.”
“You were goin’ to sheep out Chinook Valley?”
“By ----, they kicked me out of there!” Crane shook like a man with the
palsy. “I’m goin’ to git even!”
Peace studied Crane for a full minute, and Crane squirmed under the
scrutiny and the menace of the cocked Winchester.
“Got a pencil and a piece of paper?” asked Peace.
Crane’s hand went cautiously to his vest pocket and took out the stub
of a pencil. In one corner of the tent was a large packing case,
upside down, and on the top of it were a number of old newspapers and
some blank wrapping paper.
Peace motioned Crane over to this box and shoved a piece of the wrapping
paper over to him with the muzzle of his gun.
“Write out what yuh know about misbrandin’ them cows,” ordered Peace.
“Where do I git off?” Crane whined the question.
“Write fast!” snapped Peace. “Then sign it.”
“Do I git off?”
Peace squinted at Crane. “Get off? Crane, yo’re a dirty, lousy,
pariah-dog; but I’ll give you a shootin’ chance--after I’ve got that
confession.”
Crane licked his lips and began writing. He wanted to stall for time.
Perez should be around there close. Crane was afraid to have even a
shooting chance with Peace. If he could stall long enough, help would
come. He wrote slowly. The lamp was nearly dry. Peace turned it higher
and it smoked a spiral of acrid smoke which eddied in the draft from
the doorway. Crane affixed his signature and shoved the paper across
to Peace. It read:
I branded them cows in Chinook Valley five years ago and
Peace Parker got sent to the pen for it. He was not to
blaim and I say so here.
(Signed) Jefferson Crane.
Crane watched Peace read it, and wondered how quickly he could draw the
gun from the shoulder-holster under his vest. He was afraid even to move
a hand toward it for fear Peace might take it from him.
“That’s let you off,” said Crane as Peace finished.
“Yeah?” Peace shoved the paper back to Crane. “You ain’t hardly started
writin’ yet, Crane. Now make out a bill of sale for every sheep yuh own.
Make it out to me and mark it paid in full.”
Crane nearly made a foolish motion toward his shoulder, but checked it
in time.
“To you?” he shrilled. “Why?”
Peace slid his thumb off the cocked hammer of the rifle, and his voice
was cold as ice.
“Yore lies made me work for five years, Crane. It was ---- hard work,
too. You made a convict out of me, and the least yuh can do is to pay me
for my hard work. Write fast, ’cause this gun is easy on the trigger.”
Crane’s thin face was white with anger, but he laughed harshly:
“I’ll do it, Parker; but ---- little good will they be to you. You can
kill me if yuh want to, but yuh won’t live ’till mornin’. Tarp City’s
got a rope, and they’re trailin’ yuh, Parker. You better be on the
run.”
“Go ahead and write,” said Peace coldly. “I’ll take a chance on my own
hide.”
Crane wrote the bill of sale and signed it. Peace glanced at it and put
it in his pocket, with the rifle still covering Crane’s chest.
“Anythin’ else yuh want?” asked Crane hoarsely.
“Uh-huh,” nodded Peace. “The most important of all.”
Crane squinted at him wonderingly and for a minute they looked at each
other. Crane licked his lips and tried to edge one hand toward his
concealed gun.
“Well, what in ---- do yuh want?” Crane fairly squealed.
“Where is Jess Marshall?”
Crane jerked back at the question. “Jess Marshall?”
“Where is she, Crane? Talk fast.”
Peace depressed the muzzle of his rifle to cover Crane’s stomach.
“Start talkin’.”
“I dunno,” croaked Crane, “I dunno.”
“When did yuh see Perez last?”
“Three or four hours ago.”
“You knew that Sinks failed to hold me,” said Peace softly. “You lie
when you say you don’t know that your men kidnaped Jess Marshall.
I’m----”
Came a rustle at the door and Peace whirled and saw Perez half inside
the doorway. As Perez saw him his hand flashed for his gun. Peace fired
from the hip, almost across the smoking lamp, and the concussion blew
out the light.
Perez’s gun sent a stab of orange flame into the tent-top, which showed
that he was falling as he fired. Crane’s pistol flashed almost in
Peace’s face and the bullet burned across the top of his ear, while the
powder burned into his chin and cheek.
Peace ducked and flung the rifle in Crane’s direction and heard the cry
of pain as it struck. Peace could hear some one moving inside the tent,
but could not exactly locate the sound.
He dropped behind the big packing case, and seemed to locate the sound
just behind him. He slipped his fingers under the edge of the case and
upset it in the direction of the sound. He heard Crane swear as the
box rolled into him, and then he seemed to feel the shaking of the
tent as Crane crawled underneath one of the walls instead of going out
the door.
Peace started forward on his hands and knees and his hands came in
contact with a body. He slowly drew his hands back, muscles tensed
for battle, but his fingers came in contact with a dishevelled mass
of hair, which never grew on a man.
Swiftly he explored the body and found it trussed with ropes. His
fingers found the face, half masked with a cloth gag. It was Jess
Marshall, gagged and bound and she had been hidden away under the big
packing case, the last place any one would expect to find her.
Peace picked her up in his arms and staggered out of the tent, stepping
over the body of Perez. As he came out into the moonlight a pistol
flashed beside one of the tents, and a bullet buzzed past his head; but
Peace staggered straight on with his burden.
The pistol flashed again from the shadow of the tent as he reached
his horse, and Peace heard the thud of a bullet striking his saddle.
He eased his burden to the ground and sent shot after shot at the
dark spot.
Then he dropped to the ground, loaded his gun, untied the ropes and
removed the gag.
“---- buzzards!” he grunted softly. “Doin’ this to a girl!”