I wasn’t sleepy, and lyin’ stretched out is the worst cure for
sleeplessness ’at ever I tried; so after twistin’ about for a while, I
got up and took a look around. Oscar hadn’t seen a thing, which I took
to be a mighty encouragin’ sign. Mostly, when you set a boy on guard
he rouses ya out to meet the enemy every fifteen minutes, and then
goes to sleep just before the enemy actually does arrive; but Olaf had
trained Oscar to do what he was told, as he was told—when he was
told—and then not to talk about it for a couple o’ years afterward.
Oscar was reliable to a degree; but for conversational purposes, I’d
sooner have been shipwrecked with a brindle bull pup.
I didn’t have any doubts of Olaf; but I dropped in to see what sort of
a view he had, now that it had got dark. The fire was burnin’ high,
and the ravine was as bright as day. Enough o’ the fire would last
until mornin’ to give a good view, so I strolled down around the
bunk-shack and stables. I saw a form movin’ in the shadow o’ the
cottonwoods, and stalked it careful, finally gettin’ close enough to
make out the Friar.
“Can’t ya sleep, Friar?” sez I.
“No, no, I can’t sleep,” sez he with a sigh. “Where do you think she
is, Happy?”
“They probably took her with ’em; and left the Chink to guard her,
back in the hills,” sez I. “No matter what happens, they’re not liable
to harm her.”
“It’s sore hard to be patient,” sez the Friar. “I am honestly opposed
to all violence and bloodshed. I have allus believed that all wars
were useless and unnecessary; but it’s sometimes hard for me to love
my enemies.”
“You’re just worried and can’t see clear,” sez I soothin’ly. “It’s
plain enough if you just think it out—that’s the best part o’
religion. One place it sez: ‘Love your enemies.’ In another it sez:
‘Foller the Lord’s example.’ In still another it sez: ‘Whom he loves,
he chasteneth’—which you said meant to punish. Now then, you have it
all worked out: the proper way to love your enemy is to punish him;
and, accordin’ to this rule, we’re goin’ to love the hide off o’ one
o’ your enemies, if so be we’re able to do it.”
But the Friar never would stand for havin’ his religion doctored to
suit the taste, he had to take it as stiff and raw as alcohol, where
he was concerned, himself; so he turned in and explained things to me
until from my standpoint, misery was the only religious excuse a
feller had for bein’ happy.
By this, it was time to change watches, so the Friar relieved Olaf,
while Horace and his elephant-pest went out on the front porch to
watch the fords, and I turned in. None of us took our boots off that
night; we had a little fire in the big room, and slept on the floor,
holdin’ our belts in our hands. I drowsed off quick enough this time,
knowin’ ’at Tank and Promotheus would be next on watch and certain not
to let anything surprise them.
Sure enough, just about the time we had slept ourselves into complete
forgetfulness, we were all jerked to our feet by the first shot Tank
fired, and this one shot was followed by a bunch of others. The
Cross-branders had crept down the ravine, and a little after three
when the fire had burned low, they had tried to get by unnoticed. Ol’
Tank only had one eye, but it was a workin’ eye, if ever the’ was one,
and he shot two of ’em with one o’ their own rifles, and when they
rushed him in a body, spreadin’ out wide, he retreated to the old
cabin, accordin’ to directions.
The old cabin had loopholes in it, and we had found three fairly good
rifles, but not much ammunition. We didn’t waste any shots while it
was still dark; but they fired at us now and again. They had brought
the five rifles we had left at our camp, and used ’em freely. Slim had
taken the other rifle with him.
All durin’ that day they broke the monotony by takin’ frequent shots
at us; but the logs in the cabin had been matched up for just such a
purpose, and not one of us was even scratched with a splinter. What we
were most afraid of was, ’at they would find some way to set fire to
the cabin, and we counted on that bein’ one o’ the night’s
diversities.
There were three good sized rooms in the old cabin which was only one
story high. One big room occupied the full south half o’ the cabin, a
bedroom was in the northeast corner, and a library in the northwest
corner. Yes, sir, a regular library, and the Friar and Horace both
said it was a choice collection o’ books. Horace showed us one book
which had a photograph of the original Prometheus chained to a rock
with the vultures peckin’ at his liver, and he certainly must have
been some man to stand it. This picture made The’s eyes light up
consid’able.
The’ was also some chromos of naked stone images on the wall, which
the Friar and Horace called mighty fine copies. They were purty well
dumb-founded to find ’at Ty Jones didn’t live as much like a bob-cat
as they’d thought. Under the book shelves was a row o’ locked drawers.
They stuck out farther than the shelves above ’em, and we wanted to
pry ’em open to see what was inside; but the Friar wouldn’t let us.
That was a wearin’ day, and we were all glad when it finally dragged
itself to the lake o’ darkness, and dove in. We had our minds made up
for a busy night, but waitin’ for trouble is more crampin’ to the soul
than bein’ in the midst of it, so we felt cheerfuller as soon as night
actually settled down.
We didn’t dare have a fire in the fireplace, for fear it would show
’em our loopholes, and we didn’t care to advertise these any more ’n
was necessary; but we set a lighted candle far back in the fireplace,
to see to load by. The fireplace was across the southwest corner o’
the big room. There were no loopholes in the library, but we feared
the light might leak through a chink in the window shutter, so we
didn’t have any light there. We kept one man watchin’ through
loopholes in the bedroom, and two watchin’ in the big room, and were
able to cover the whole neighborhood.
The cook-shack was the nearest buildin’, and only the two loopholes in
the north end o’ the bedroom covered that; so we decided to fling the
library window open and fire through that, in case they made a rush
from that direction. We knew they wouldn’t be likely to start anything
until after eleven, as the moon wouldn’t set until then, so we
stretched out on the floor, leavin’ Oscar, Horace, and Spider on
watch.
When a feller has been keepin’ his attention wound up for several
days, his mainspring finally gets strained, and the cogs in his head
get to cuttin’ up regardless. I managed to get a purty fair dab o’
sleep; but it seemed as though I dove straight out o’ wakefulness into
a dream, and it was some the rottenest dream I ever had. I dreamed
that Ty Jones had come and stooped over me and asked me what I thought
o’ the way he had conducted his life. In a dream a feller is apt to do
the foolest things imaginable, so I looked up into Ty’s face and told
him my true opinion. I sez to him: “Ty, if your brains were blastin’
powder, they wouldn’t make enough explosion to raise your hat.”
Ty didn’t take kindly to this opinion; so he jumped into the air and
lightin’ on my face, began to trample it with his heels. The
discomfort of this wakened me; but at first I didn’t know I was awake.
Several men had been actually tramplin’ on me, and the’ was a general
fight takin’ place in that room which was hard to make head or tail
of.
In the flickerin’ candle rays, it was mighty bothersome to tell who
from which; so the’ was no shootin’. Aside from Ty and Pepper Kendal,
we averaged bigger ’n they did, except Horace and Spider. Spider had
length but he ran small in the arms and legs, while Horace was
twenty-two caliber any way you looked at him. They abused Horace some
consid’able, and he got kicked and trampled on purty liberal; but he
was of terrier blood, and the second or third time he got kicked into
a corner, he crawled out on his hands an’ knees, picked out a pair o’
legs which was strange to him, wrapped his arms about ’em, and fetched
their owner to the floor with a thump. I spared enough time to knock
the feller on the head; and then Horace played his trick over again.
Olaf was a mad bull in a mix-up like this—Horace said he had
beershirker blood in him, and this must be good stuff for it made Olaf
grin when Horace accused him of it. O’ course the’ ain’t much head or
tail to such a fight, and in lookin’ back on it, it’s just like
spurtin’ the pages of a picture-book with your thumb and tryin’ to
observe the pictures. I saw the Friar leanin’ again’ the mantel-piece
with a hurt look on his face; and it disgusted me.
In times o’ peace, I respected his prejudice again’ violence; but this
was no time for foolishness, and I recall mutterin’ to myself a wish
that Horace might have the loan of his big body for the next half
hour. I saw Olaf knock down two men with one blow, I saw The save ol’
Tank’s life, just as a half-breed was about to knife him from behind;
but for the most part it was just about as orderly a mess as a
popper-ful o’ corn over a bed o’ coals.
The fight didn’t last more ’n five or ten minutes. They had banked on
surprisin’ us; and when this failed they were ready to back out. I
afterward found out that it was the Friar who had caught sight of ’em
first, he not’ bein’ able to sleep.
Ty and Pepper Kendal were the last to leave the big room; and when
their own men were out of it, they opened fire on us; we fired back,
and when they backed into the library where the rest o’ their gang had
disappeared, we made a rush for ’em. I supposed they had come in
through the library window, and I called for a candle, hopin’ to grab
Ty before he could get out.
Spider Kelley had already picked up the candle, and he had it in the
doorway in a second. The big drawers at the bottom o’ the bookcase
were swung back, showin’ a stairway behind ’em, and Ty Jones stood at
the top with Pepper Kendal just behind him. I dove through the air,
catchin’ Ty’s wrist with my left hand and his throat with my right,
Pepper Kendal bent his gun on me, Olaf grabbed the gun which was fired
just as The grabbed Pepper’s arms. It looked to me as though the
bullet must have gone into Olaf’s head; but just then we tripped,
rolled down the stairs and the imitation drawers swung to behind us.
All holts were broke on the way down, and when I reached the bottom, I
lay as quiet as a frozen moonbeam. I heard steps runnin’ away from me
in the dark, and presently the legs of the man next to me moved, and
he got up. I rose to a crouchin’ position, held my arm above my head,
and whispered, “Who is this?”
For answer, I got a smash on the arm with the butt of a forty-five
which drove it down again’ my head hard enough to bring me to my knees
and wake up my horse-sense. I might ’a’ known they’d have a signal.
I waited with my back again’ the wall until the silence began to soak
into my nerve. One o’ my guns had got lost durin’ the mess upstairs;
but I still had the other, and when I closed my grip around it, it
seemed like I was shakin’ hands with my best friend. As far as I could
discover I hadn’t been shot; but several knife-cuts and bruises began
to hum little tunes which wasn’t in nowise cheerin’. I just simply
don’t like to be kept waitin’ in the dark!
After a bit I reached my hand out cautious, and felt the heel of a
ridin’ boot. I examined as careful as though the feller inside the
boot was a disguised bear-trap; but the’ was no need. His neck was
broke. I felt of his face, and it was soft and smooth. The face of the
young feller with the boy’s eyes, I had seen put to bed drunk that
night at Skelty’s, flashed across me, and I gave a sigh; but I had too
much on my mind to turn soft, so I began to feel around again.
Presently my fingers struck the heel of another boot. I shut down on
my bellows until the breath didn’t get down past the top inch o’ my
neck, and I was as gentle with the heel o’ that boot, as though it was
a bitin’ man’s eyeball; because I sure felt a quiver in it. I slid my
fingers up that boot a quarter inch at a time, and I didn’t use no
more rudeness ’n a mouse would use in tryin’ to sneak a cheese piller
out from under a sleepin’ cat. When my fingers finally struck
corduroy, I purt nigh gave a shout, for this was what Promotheus wore.
It allus embarrasses a man to be felt over in the dark, so I took my
time with The; but after locatin’ both hands and his crooked mouth, I
discovered he’d been knocked out complete. I rubbed his wrists until
he began to moan, and then I pinched his nose until he was able to
notice my name when I whispered. He had bumped his head in fallin’,
and it made him sick to the stomach; so while he was gettin’ tuned up
again, I prospected around.
I crawled up the stairs but couldn’t hear a sound, I scratched with my
fingers, knocked softly, and pushed until my eyes began to hurt; so I
knew ’at the only way out for us was to follow the Cross-branders.
Things had happened so sudden up above that I hadn’t an idy as to how
many were fightin’ us; but I was still purty certain that a fair sized
bunch had run out the tunnel just as I dove into it, and I didn’t
choose to bump into ’em in the dark.
When I came down the stairs, The felt able again; so we started to
prospect. We agreed that strikin’ our teeth together would be our
signal, and then we made our examination. The right side o’ the tunnel
was smooth, the way Nature works, the left side was rough, and
indicated man’s doin’s. Aside from us two, the only other one in the
tunnel was the boy with the broken neck; but the tunnel opened into a
big cave, and we didn’t know what to do about it.
Finally we started around the right hand wall, me crawlin’ first, and
The’s fingers touchin’ my boot at every move. After goin’ some
distance, a great, straggly gray form rose up from the floor o’ the
cave, and gave me a shock which stopped my entire works. I kept my
presence o’ mind all right; but I’d ’a’ been mighty glad to swap it
off for absence of body. This was a most ghastly lookin’ form, and I
nestled up again’ the side o’ the wall, and felt my hand back for The.
He crawled up alongside o’ me, and when he spied it, he gave a start
which made his teeth click. “What’s that?” he whispered.
It’s funny how the mind works. This form didn’t resemble anything
earthly; so I hadn’t really tried to figure on it much; but when The
threw his question at me, I looked at the shape more careful, and grew
ashamed o’ myself. Here was I, a feller who had spent consid’able time
around mines, and yet had got all balled up over seein’ things
underground.
“That’s your old friend, daylight, comin’ down through a hole, The,” I
whispered so prompt that I doubt if he noticed any gap.
He gave a sniff through his nose, and then we crept on to where this
light was comin’ in through the opposite tunnel. It was mighty weak
and sickly lookin’ light, but the outline o’ the tunnel mouth soon got
perfectly plain to us. Every few inches we stopped to listen; but we
got clear to the mouth without hearin’ anything. Then we paused. Just
at that time, I’d have given right smart to have had my eyes fastened
on like those of a lobster I once saw in a window down at Frisco. This
insect had his eyes fixed to the ends o’ fingers which he could
stretch out in any direction.
To be honest, I felt some reluctant to push my face around that
corner; but when I did there wasn’t a thing in sight. The tunnel
stretched ahead of us for what seemed miles, but we couldn’t see the
outer openin’, although the light was strong enough to recognize each
other by. The was a sight, for the bump on his head had leaked
continuous; but it hadn’t disabled him none, so we drew back to
consult a little.
If we had known whether they were ahead or behind us, it would have
been easy to decide; but under the circumstances, we hardly knew what
to do. Bein’ in the dark was one thing; but bein’ out where we could
be seen was still another; so we thought full and deep.
After a few minutes I told The a little story about a feller I helped
to pick up after he had jumped from a thirty-foot ledge onto a pile o’
stone. “Why did you do it?” sez I. He blinked his eyes at me a time ’r
two, hove a long sigh, an’ said: “The’ was a purple dragon in front o’
me, a lot o’ long-legged yaller snakes back o’ me, and the peskiest
pink jack-rabbit you ever saw kept swoopin’ into my face an’ peckin’
at my eyes. If I ever drink another drop, I hope it’ll drown me.”
The considered this story careful, an’ then we crawled out into the
tunnel, rose to our feet, an’ ran along crouchin’. The tunnel ran
upward at a sharp incline, which was why the light came down it so
far. We kept to the right wall, and after goin’ some distance, we came
across a small cave. In this we found another dead Cross-brander; but
we weren’t enough interested in him to risk strikin’ a light; so we
sat down a moment to rest and listen.
Presently we noticed some curious noises, but for some minutes we
couldn’t decide on what they were. Suddenly The grabbed my wrist an’
said: “That’s shootin’; that’s what that is!”
It was as plain as home-cookin’ the minute he pointed it out; so we
rose to our feet and made a rush for the mouth o’ the cave. We came
out about half way up the face o’ the cliff; and for a moment we
paused to admire Ty Jones’s foxiness. This openin’ couldn’t be seen
from below, nor noticed from above, and for the most part the whole
tunnel was natural, only havin’ been hand-widened in three or four
places.
The fightin’ was goin’ on near the face o’ the cliff between us an’
the mouth of the ravine; so we circled around until we caught sight of
’em. The first feller we made out was Mexican Slim; so we knew our
boys hadn’t been ambushed up above, and this raised our spirits like a
balloon. We crept up until we could get good angle-shots, hid
ourselves, gave the old Diamond Dot yell, and began to shoot. Ty’s men
had been losin’ their bullet-appetite for some time, and they took us
to be genuwine reinforcements. They were well planted where they were,
but they started to retreat, and we crowded ’em close.
Then it was that Ty made Olaf’s word good: he exposed himself to
shots, he rallied his men, and that wolf-grin never left his face; but
still the tide had changed, and he had to go back with the rest. The
woman, with her hands tied behind her, was in charge o’ the Chink, who
was tall and heavy-set with a dark, evil, leathery face. He kept a
grin on his face, too, which reminded me most of a rattlesnake at
sheddin’ time. He used the woman as a shield, an’ this checked our
fire an’ kept us dodgin’ for new positions. Still, all in all, this
part o’ the fight was about as satisfactory as any I ever took part
in.
Finally they retreated to the dip where the tunnel came out, and we
had to skirmish up the rocks to keep our vantage. Soon we discovered
that Ty had lost control of his men. He, Pepper Kendal, and two others
stood in the mouth o’ the tunnel, and took a few shots at us before
disappearin’; but six of his men ran straight across the dip, and down
the other side toward the crick. Tillte Dutch was standin’ close to
me, and I asked him where the hosses were. He said they were tied
across the crick just above the upper ford; so I sent him for ’em full
speed.
Horace and Tank stayed to watch the mouth o’ the openin’, while the
rest of us wrangled the six Cross-branders through the cottonwoods.
They had a good start, and so had time to cut the wire and cross the
crick toward some broken land on the left. By this time Tillte had
tied the reins and thrown ’em over the horns o’ the saddles so as to
lead a string, and he came lopin’ into view.
Slim, two o’ the Simpson boys, Olaf, and myself mounted and cut off
the six Cross-branders, who were too weary to even scatter. They had
had enough and surrendered. We tied their hands, and herded ’em back
to the old shack, where Oscar, Spider, and three disabled
Cross-branders were runnin’ a little private hospital. We fixed up
wounds as well as we could, sat the last six on a bench along the
wall, and left Dick Simpson to guard ’em. Spider had been shot and cut
consid’able; but he was able to stagger around some, while Oscar had
been punctured below the ribs, and things looked bad for him. Olaf had
been shot in the head, all right, just as The and I dove down the
stairway the night before, but his skull was bullet-proof, so nothin’
came of it.
The Friar had been ransackin’ the locality, and had found one o’ the
Simpson boys dead, and one badly hurt. Badly crippled, as we were, we
didn’t see any way to get at Ty except to starve him out. First off,
we made some coffee, and those who weren’t hurt dangerous were given
some side-meat and corn bread; for, truth to tell, we were about once
through. We spent the afternoon under a tree half way between the
mouth o’ the tunnel, and the old cabin, so as to be handy in case we
were needed. After talkin’ it all over, we couldn’t quite see why they
had split up, some of ’em tryin’ to escape, and some stayin’ with Ty.
Finally I went to the cabin, durin’ a time the Friar was on watch at
the cave mouth, and picked out the weakest lookin’ of the prisoners. I
brought him down, and we tortured him with questions until he got
fuddled and told us that the two who had stuck to Ty had been so bad
hurt, they couldn’t go any farther; but that neither Ty nor Pepper
were hurt to speak of.
The fact is, that in a general fight a feller loses his aim complete.
We had all aimed at Ty and Pepper the most, and here they were the two
not hurt at all. As darkness fell, the Friar couldn’t hold himself in.
All afternoon he had done what he could for the wounded; but at
thought of the woman spendin’ another night in the cave with those
men, he became as wild-eyed as a bronc at his first brandin’. Durin’
the afternoon, Tank had stiffened until he couldn’t do much travelin’;
but I saw the Friar had his mind made up to take a plunge, so I tried
to fix things to prevent it.
Olaf, two o’ the Simpson boys, Promotheus, Tillte, Slim, Horace, and
myself lined up as bein’ still in workin’ order; but while he was in
the act of claimin’ to be all right, Slim doubled up in a faint, and
we found he had been bad hurt without even himself knowin’ of it; so
countin’ Horace who had two black eyes and a shot through the
fore-arm, the’ was seven of us able to get about purty nimble. Hid
away in the cave, somewhere, were Ty Jones, Pepper Kendal, and the
Chink, unhurt so far as we knew, and two others, still probably able
to help a little.
We placed a couple o’ logs again’ the fake drawers in the library, and
left Tank to take charge of the prisoners and the cabin. Then we
rustled up some tarps from the bunk-shack, and prepared to camp near
the openin’ with a man allus on guard, to prevent them from comin’
out—and the Friar from goin’ in. We kept a lantern lit under shelter
of a rock, and made ready to rest up a bit.
I had told all the fellers to watch the Friar close, for he just
simply couldn’t get the upper hand of himself. He tried his best to
simmer down and go to sleep, but every few minutes he’d boil over
again. I lay awake in my tarp watchin’ him for some time; but I was so
sore and weary myself I could scarcely recall what business I was on,
and first I knew I had drifted off—and been shook awake again.
Promotheus was bendin’ over me with the news ’at the Friar had decided
to go into the tunnel, and they couldn’t hold him back. I sprang up
and started for the opening with the rest following me. Dan Simpson
had relieved The on watch and when he found what was in the Friar’s
mind, he had crept down and told The, who had awakened the rest of us.
We reached the Friar, just as he was goin’ into the openin’. I called
to him in a low tone; but he only shook his head. It was eleven
o’clock, and the shadow from the moon had already crept out from the
base o’ the cliff almost to the openin’. I saw that the Friar had took
the bit; so I whispered to the others: “I am goin’ in there with him;
but more ’n this would be bad. We’d be in each other’s way. Listen and
watch, but do not follow us in.”
“I know the way as well as you, and we could keep side by side,” sez
Promotheus; but I shook my head.
He came over to the openin’ and said in a low tone: “I haven’t time to
make you understand; but—but I just have to go in with you.”
“If you come, the rest’ll come too,” sez I, exasperated.
“You fellers stay here,” sez he to them in a pleadin’ tone; “but I
have reasons. I just have to go in.”
So we shed our boots and started down the incline after the Friar,
Promotheus touchin’ my feet with his fingers at every step I crawled.
I didn’t want to be there, I couldn’t see how we could do any good;
but the Friar had made my world for me, such as it was, and I
understood better ’n the rest what was gnawin’ at his heart; so I
hadn’t any choice. I had to go in, and somethin’ inside Promotheus
drove him in also. The only crumb o’ comfort I could find, lay in the
fact that Horace had been winged, and so couldn’t foller us, whether
he wanted to or not.