"He has his orders, Mr. Sheriff."
"He's taking the wrong road. It is five miles farther that way."
"He is following my orders."
"But I don't see the sense of it."
"You are only a passenger. If you don't care to ride with us you can
walk," replied Curtis, and the sheriff settled back into his seat with a
curse. The second wagon had been left far behind, and would undoubtedly
keep the main road, a mishap Curtis had calculated upon.
An hour or two of extra travel would not matter, especially as the mob
was being left safely on the left.
The warning from Elsie had a singular effect upon the soldier. He grew
almost gay at the thought of her care of him. In some occult way the
little card meant a great deal more than its few words. If they were
delayed at the half-way house they might not reach Pinon in time for the
afternoon train, and so--"I may see her again."
As he neared the boundary of the reservation the sheriff gained in
resolution. Looking backward, he saw his own team following, outlined
like a rock against the sky, just topping a ridge, and reaching over he
laid his hand on the reins and pulled the horses to a stand.
"Right here _I_ take charge!" he growled. "I'm on my own ground. Get out
o' there!" he said to the prisoner, and as he spoke he drew his revolver
and leaped to the ground.
Cut Finger turned towards Curtis, whose face was set and stern. "Sit
still!" he commanded, with a gesture. "Put up your gun!" he said to
Crow, who had drawn his revolver, ready to defend his prisoner.
Winters flew into bluster. "Do you defy my authority now? I'm sheriff of
this county!" he shouted. "Your control ends right here! This is State
territory."
Curtis eyed him calmly. "I started out to give this man safe convoy to
the prison, and I'm going to do it! Not only that--he is a ward of the
government, even when lodged in the county jail, and it is my duty to
see that he has fair trial; then, and not till then, will I abandon him
to the ferocity of your mob. I know your plan, and I have defeated it.
Do you intend to ride with us?"
The sheriff's courage again failed him as he looked up into the direct,
unwavering eagle gaze of the young officer. He began to curse. "We'll
have your hide for this! You've gone too far! You've defied the laws of
the county!"
"Drive on," said Curtis, and Two Horns touched his ponies with the whip.
"Halt, or I fire!" shouted Winters.
"Drive on!" commanded Curtis, and Two Horns laid the whip hard on the
back of his off horse.
Winters fired, but the bullet went wide; he dared not aim to kill. Cut
Finger rose as if to leap from the wagon, but Crow seized him with one
great brown paw and thrust his shining gun against his breast. "Sit
down, brother!" he said, grimly. "We'll care for you."
The prisoner sank back into his seat trembling with excitement, while
the wife began to cry piteously.
Curtis, looking back, saw the sheriff waving his revolver maniacally,
but his curses fainted on the way. A sudden reaction to humor set in,
and the young agent laughed a hearty chuckle which made his faithful
Tetong aids break into sympathetic grins.
Nevertheless, the case was not entirely humorous. In a certain sense he
had cut athwart the law in this last transaction, though in doing so he
had prevented an act of violence which would have still further
embittered the tribe. "I am right," he said, and put away all further
doubt.
The drive now settled into a race for the jail. "The sheriff, after
being picked up by his own party, will undertake to overhaul us,"
reasoned Curtis, but that did not trouble him so much as the thought of
what lay before him.
The road ran along Willow Creek, winding as the stream itself, and
Curtis could not avoid the thought of an ambuscade. On the right were
clumps of tall willows capable of concealing horsemen, while on the left
the hot, treeless banks rose a hundred feet above the wagon, and the
loopings of the track prevented a view of what was coming. If the mob
should get impatient, or if they should suspect his trick, it would be
easy to send a detachment across the hills and intercept him. "Push
hard!" he signed to Two Horns.
The road was smooth and dusty and descended rapidly, so that the horses
had little to do but guide the tongue. As the wagon rocked and reeled
past the ranch houses, the settlers had hardly time to discern what
manner of man was driving, but they were thrown into fierce panic by the
clatter of fleeing horses and the cloud of prophetic dust. The sheriff
was not in sight, and no sound of him could be detected in the whiz of
their own wheels.
At last Two Horns, with his moccasined foot on the brake, broke through
the hills out upon the valley land, with Pinon City in sight. The mob
and the sheriff were alike left behind. Ambush was now impossible.
"Easy now, Two Horns," called Curtis, with a smile and an explanatory
gesture. "We're safe now; the angry white men are behind," and the
reeking, dusty, begrimed horses fell into a walk.
The hour for their arrival in Pinon City was fortunate. The town was
still at supper, and in the dusk Curtis and prisoner escaped notice.
They hurried across the main street and on towards the jail, which stood
on a little knoll just outside the town.
As they drew up before the door a young man came out and stared with
inquiring gaze.