Ty Jones had been as wise as a fox when he located his ranch house. It
sat on high ground, while back of it rose a cliff; so ’at the only way
you could get to it without ropes from the back, was through the
little ravine. The cliffs circled around to the crick on both sides,
and the crick was so full o’ rocks that the’ was only two places a
hoss could cross. He had strung barb wire through the cottonwoods in a
regular tangle along the crick, and the only places he had to watch in
case of an attack, were the ravine and these two fords. He could see
for miles in all directions by goin’ to the head o’ the ravine; and
you could hardly pick out a purtier place for a last-stand ’n the one
he had selected.
The new cabin for the woman was right in front o’ the mouth o’ the
ravine, the old cabin a hundred yards or so farther on, the cook-house
and the Chink’s quarters to the north o’ this, the mess-hall for the
men to the east of this, the barn, wagon-sheds, workshop, and so on,
some distance to the south, and the bunk-shack a little to the north
of the stables. He had several corrals back o’ the barn and a pasture
of about thirty acres shut in by a wire fence.
After I had cooled off a little, I saw that the Friar was right. The
thing we couldn’t tell was, just how much they had forced Promotheus
to confess. If they had simply got Ty jealous that he was tryin’ to
get the woman away, we might make it all the worse by chargin’ down on
’em; while on the other hand he might have told where we were, and Ty
might take it into his head to try to get us all. This last would have
been the finest thing ’at could happen to us; but the’ was no way to
tell; so after eatin’ supper, we went down to the edge o’ the cliff to
see what we could see.
We were most of us surprised to see how far the cabin stood from the
cliff. In lookin’ down from our look-out, we had failed to take the
slope into account so it had looked as though we had been able to see
the woman the minute she had come out o’ the mouth of the ravine,
while the fact was the cabin stood several hundred feet from the
mouth. If it hadn’t been for the confounded dogs, we could have gone
down and found out what we wanted to know. We made some remarks about
those dogs which would have seared their hair off if they’d ’a’ been a
little closer.
The light was kept in the mess-hall long after time to finish eatin’;
and we guessed they were tryin’ Promotheus, right while we were
lookin’ on from above. All of a sudden, Olaf struck his palm with his
fist, and exclaimed: “What a fool I have been! Those dogs remembered
Promotheus, and he never patted ’em. I have patted ’em and spoke
soothin’ words to ’em, and they would know me. I shall go down and
listen.”
Now this was a noble thought and we hadn’t a word to say again’ it; so
Olaf went back to camp, shed his boots and put on moccasins. Slim was
a good shot with a rifle, so he staid with Horace, who had an elephant
gun and a yearnin’ to use it, up on the cliff above the mouth o’ the
ravine. They had seven rifles of one kind and another, and they
thought they could make a disturbance if Olaf started anything. The
rest of us went down the ravine to the last curve. We tried to get the
Friar to stay behind; but his blood was up, and he wouldn’t heed us.
We had it made up to rope and tie him hand and foot, when we were
finally ready to wind things up with Ty Jones.
Olaf left us with his big, hard face set into rigid lines. He had a
long score to settle with Ty Jones, and he had made a funny gruntin’
hum in his throat every few steps as we had walked down the ravine. We
waited what seemed weeks; but the’ was no uproar, and finally, he came
out o’ the gloom, and spoke to us in a whisper. We went back with him
to the top o’ the path before he told us what he had heard.
He said they were tryin’ to make Promotheus confess who was back of
him; but that Promotheus had steadily refused. He said ’at Ty had told
him over and over that if he would tell him where he could lay hands
on either the Friar or Dinky Bradford, he would give him a month to
get out o’ the country himself; but Promotheus had stood firm, and
they had shut him up in the workshop again, tellin’ him he would get
nothin’ but water until he did confess.
This made us some easier in our minds. Promotheus had acted so worn
out and done up since his return, that he had fooled Ty; and Ty looked
upon him as a broke-down man, and nothin’ but a tool in the hands of
some stronger men. Olaf said ’at Ty acted as though he thought the
Friar had sent in a report to the government, and had got Bradford to
come out here the time that Promotheus had disappeared; and in some
way they had got word o’ Horace comin’ through Bosco this last time.
Dixon had told about seein’ us at Skelty’s, and a strange feller told
about bein’ shot at, the night Olaf’s cabin had been fired. They
bunched all this together, and decided ’at the best thing to do was to
trade Promotheus for Horace or the Friar, if it could be done. I had a
chuckle all to myself, when I pictured Horace as he had been when I
took him in hand, and now with the reputation he hadn’t quite earned,
bein’ a worry to the Ty Jones outfit.
“I allus said they were cowards,” sez Horace, as soon as Olaf had
finished his tale. “A man’s got an imagination, and as soon as he
starts to live like a wolf, this imagination fills the world with
watchdogs. Ty Jones never has fought in the open, and we’ll have no
trouble with him as soon as we once get him on the run.”
“Ty Jones has no fear,” sez Olaf. “I know; I have seen with my own
eyes. He is too clever to be trapped; but he has no fear.”
“Well, wait and see,” sez Horace.
Me and Tank kept watch on the cliff until mornin’ and then as nothin’
had happened, we went up to camp, and Slim and Dutch took watch at our
regular look-out. As we sat down to breakfast, we noticed ’at the
Friar was gone. Several spoke of him havin’ been restless the night
before and not turnin’ in when the rest did. The Friar allus was
unregular in his habits, especially at night; so we didn’t pay much
heed to him when he wrote by the fire, or went off by himself in the
quiet starlight, to sing some o’ the pressure off his heart; but at
such a time as this, we anticipated him to be as circumspect as
possible.
We started to hunt him up, but it didn’t take long. Horace found a
note pinned to the Friar’s tarp, and the note told us that he had
thought it all over careful durin’ the night, and had decided that his
duty compelled him to go down and offer himself in exchange for
Promotheus. He said that when things came to such a tangle that no
human ingenuity could unmix ’em, it was time to put trust in a higher
power; that it was for him that Promotheus had risked his life, and
that he felt he must take his place, as Ty had promised to let
Promotheus go if he would betray him. He said that he could not see
any way to help the woman, and that if he lost his life, for us not to
think of revenge, as it would all turn out for the best in some
mysterious way. The Friar had gone through a lot durin’ the last few
years, and it had finally undermined his patience. I knew just how he
felt: he wanted something to happen which would end his suspense, and
he didn’t care much what it was.
As soon as Horace had finished readin’; we all sat around in complete
silence, gawkin’ at each other. “Things has finally come to a head,”
sez Spider Kelley, solemnly.
“There now, that’s the Christian religion!” exclaimed Horace. “The
Christian religion is founded on self-sacrifice and martyrdom, and all
those who get it bad enough spend the bulk o’ their time on the
lookout to be martyrs and sacrifice theirselves for something—and
they don’t care much what for. Look at the crusades—the flower o’
Europe was lured into the desert and dumped there like worn-out junk,
even children were offered up in this sacrifice. Nothing but
sentimentality, rank sentimentality. Now, when the ancient Greeks—”
“The thing for us, is to decide on what we’re to do next, not what the
ancient Greeks did a few thousand years before we were born,” sez I.
“There is no use hidin’ any longer. The strongest card we have up our
sleeve is the fake reputation of Dinky Bradford, and what we must do
is to make up the best plan to play it.”
“Why do you say fake reputation?” demanded Horace.
“Well, you’re not a government agent, are ya?” I asked.
“No,” sez he; “but at the same time—”
“I didn’t say ’at you was a fake, Horace,” sez I in a soothin’ voice.
“I merely intimated that the things Ty Jones most fears about you are
the things which were not so.”
“I see what you mean,” sez Horace, “and it’s all right. What’s your
plan?”
“Well, as soon as we are sure ’at the Friar has reached Ty’s,” sez I,
“we’ll send Ty word to deliver him back at once, and to appoint a
meetin’ place to explain things to us. Not make any threats nor bluffs
nor nothin’. Just a plain, simple statement of what we want done, and
sign your name to it.”
“I think it would be better to tell him we had his place surrounded,”
said Horace.
“Nope,” said I, “your old theory is best: let their imaginations
supply the details. If we put the government into their minds too
strong, they’re likely to find some way to deliver Promotheus over to
the law. I have a sort of impediment that The was a little rough with
an officer or two, after he deserted, and Ty knows all about him.”
“How the deuce will we get word to Ty?” sez Horace. “As fast as we’d
send messengers, Ty would shut ’em up.”
“One thing is certain, at least,” sez I. “Ty won’t string ’em up as
long as he knows he’s bein’ watched. And another thing is, that all of
Ty’s men are wanted for one thing or another, and the longer we keep
’em in suspense, the sooner they’ll weaken. We ought to send word to
the Simpson boys. They are at least two to one again’ us as we stand
now.”
Just at this junction, Slim arrived with the news that the Friar was
ridin’ up to the ford. I was purty sure ’at he wouldn’t go down by the
ravine. The Friar might lack judgment in certain matters; but you
could count on him lookin’ out for his friends, every time.
We hustled down to the look-out, and saw the Friar ride out into the
open, and hail the house. In a minute the’ was a crowd about him and
they pulled him from his hoss and dragged him toward the mess-hall,
actin’ mighty jubilant. The dogs raised a consid’able fuss; but they
didn’t let any of ’em get to the Friar this time. I don’t know whether
they were tryin’ to save the Friar or the dogs.
They took the Friar into the mess-hall, and kept him there a good long
time; but I felt sure he wouldn’t tell more ’n he wanted to. Then they
brought him out and shut him up in the workshop with Promotheus.
“You don’t see ’em turnin’ Promotheus loose, do ya?” sez ol’ Tank.
“Ty Jones would cheat himself playin’ solitaire,” sez Spider Kelley.
“He didn’t agree to turn Promotheus loose if the Friar surrendered,”
sez Olaf. “He only said he would if Promotheus enticed the Friar into
a trap.”
Ty Jones certainly did have what ya call personal magnetism. His men
stuck up for him, even when they was willin’ to help snuff him out.
We sent Oscar over to get the Simpson boys; and then we made our
plans. The’ was no way to get to our camp from above, and we could
easy guard the two trails ’at led up from below. Nothin’ would have
suited us better ’n to have Ty decide to come and get us; so we told
Oscar to make all the fuss he wanted when he came back.
Nothin’ happened down at the ranch that day. The woman drifted about,
the same as usual, not seemin’ to observe ’at the’ was anything
different from ordinary, and the punchers all stayed in sight. A few
of ’em rode up to high spots across the crick and took gappin’s, and a
couple of ’em came up the ravine and examined the ground on top; but
they didn’t seem to find anything to interest ’em.
That night Horace wrote an order on Ty Jones to release the Friar—we
had decided not to mention Promotheus—and Olaf started down with the
message. We posted ourselves the same as we had done before; and after
about an hour, Olaf returned.
He said he had examined the workshop, which was of logs, the same as
the rest o’ the buildin’s, and had heard the Friar and Promotheus
talkin’; but hadn’t ventured to say anything for fear they were
watched. He said ’at the Friar was holdin’ out on the value o’
fastin’; while Promotheus was speakin’ in defence of ham an’ eggs.
Then he said he had crept up to the front door of the old cabin, and
had fastened up the order with a dagger.
Olaf looked to me as though he had been enjoyin’ himself a little more
’n his tale gave reason for; so I pressed him, and finally he admitted
that there had been a man on watch at the mouth o’ the ravine. He said
he had wriggled through it on his belly, thinkin’ it too good a place
to be overlooked since the Friar had put ’em on their guard; and after
lyin’ still a moment, he had heard the man move. He said he had snaked
up to him, and had got him by the throat. He said he thought it was
Dixon because the’ was so much throat to get hold of. Dixon had been
perfectly resigned to havin’ Olaf lynched that time and Olaf’s memory
was not o’ the leaky kind.
“What became of him, Olaf?” I asked.
“Oh, he fought some,” said Olaf.
“Did he get away?” I asked.
“Un, yes—yes he got away,” sez Olaf.
“Where did he go to?” sez I.
“I think he went down—way down,” sez Olaf.
“Down where?” sez I. “Why don’t you tell us what happened to him?”
Olaf looked down at his right hand. It didn’t resemble a hand much;
but it would ’a’ been a handy tool to use in maulin’ wedges into a
log. “Why,” sez he, “he wriggled about, and started to squeak; and
when I squeezed in on his neck to shut off the squeak, why his neck
broke. It was too thin to be stout.”
I held out my hand. “Olaf,” I sez, “I want to shake the hand that
shook his neck.”
“Yes,” sez Tank, “and by dad, so do I!” Tank’s leg was still tender.