The third letter reached Sheriff Walt Evans four days later. He
found it, like the two others, stuck under his door. He brought it
straightway to Jim Torrance, whom he found, early in the morning, up
and about and devouring a man’s sized breakfast. He tossed the fresh
news onto Jim’s table and started prowling up and down the room.
Torrance read it to the neglect of a sort of Tower of Pisa made of rich
brown buckwheat cakes.
Dear Walt: Be sure you get these details straight: You are to hand
Jim Torrance over to his friends tomorrow night. They don’t want you
to let him know what you’re doing with him; the boys want to have
their fun and give him a surprise. So you’ll put him on horseback
after dark; you’ll have him tied down to the saddle; you’ll tell him
you’re taking him to some other jail to make sure his gang doesn’t
pour down and get him free. Also, you’re to stuff the fifty thousand
into his pockets. Got all that, Walt?
Next: You and Torrance, alone, ride out on the Bear Creek road about
seven miles, to where the trail cuts up over the mountain to the old
Sun Dodger’s place. When you get up to the mouth of the pass you’ll
tie Torrance’s horse to a tree, make sure he’s tied down hard in the
saddle, and you’ll back off down trail. Got that straight, Walt?
You’ll wait there for me. I’ll be with you right away. I’ve fixed
things with these boys so that I know I’ll be all right if you just
do what I say-- Walt, old man, my life depends on you and I don’t
want to die. Walt, for God’s sake, do as you’re told. This whole
thing is getting me down.
Bill Hasbrook.
Evans, watching Torrance read, said curtly: “Well, you’d take Will
Hasbrook for a yellow skunk, wouldn’t you? And that’s just what he
ain’t! They couldn’t get him down if they took out their pocket knives
and started to skin him. And here again he calls me ‘Walt’ all over the
map.”
“And I’m to be tied up good and tight,” said Torrance. “No gun on me,
of course. As Hasbrook puts it, ‘The boys want to have their fun and
give him a surprise!’”
“He says for tomorrow night,” said Evans. “Going to be strong enough
for that sort of ride by then? Anyhow ten miles.”
“Sure,” said Torrance. “That part of it’s all right. But do you think
it’s possible that Hasbrook has tried to write in anything else between
the lines? And that you’ve missed it?”
“I’ve read every one of his notes forty times,” growled Evans. “I know
damn well that his ‘Walts’ and ‘Bills’ are stuck in to give me a high
sign. Beyond that I can’t get an inch. He might mean I’m just to stall
along and pay no attention to anything. Or--maybe--”
“He might mean that you’re to talk things over with me, just as you
have done. That business of having me tied down in the saddle, just for
fun, makes you pretty sure what Bordereau’s game is, I guess!”
“We start out a little before midnight, Torrance,” said Evans. “That’s
for tomorrow night. You better take things easy today. Will says we’re
to wait for him up at the mouth of the pass; we’ll do that.”
“There’s the chance, of course, that they’ll be hid in the brush and
burn us down--”
“Nope. If he hadn’t been sure on that point, Will wouldn’t have written
the way he did.”
“I’ll be ready,” said Torrance.
That afternoon Doc Kibbee, who had had a good talk with the sheriff,
came in, looked Torrance over, grunted and went out.
Later Sally Dawn ran in.
“Jim Torrance,” she said, “you look as good as brand-new again. You’re
about ready to ride, aren’t you? You’re to come back home with me, you
know, and get a good rest there. Mrs. Sam will feed you and--”
“Sally Dawn,” said Torrance, “you just travel along back home today,
and you tell Mrs. Sam to start in roasting chickens, baking cakes and
making pies, for just as sure as you’re alive I’ll be dropping in on
you mighty soon. I’ve got a thing or two to tend to here first, and--”
Sally Dawn looked at him sharply.
“If you had said you’d promise to come ‘Just as sure as _you’re_ alive’
it would sound more like you meant it,” she said unhappily. She put
an impulsive hand on his arm. “Jim Torrance, you and Walt Evans are
cooking something up. You’re back on Steve Bordereau’s trail, aren’t
you? Why can’t you just forget he ever existed? He’ll be up and away,
out of the country for good after this.” She pleaded; her eyes and her
softened voice were beseeching. “_Please_, Jim.”
“Take that back, Sally Dawn,” said Torrance gravely. “I don’t want you
to ask me, ever, anything I can’t do for you. Take it back, Sally Dawn!”
Sally Dawn turned abruptly and went to the window, giving him her back
to look at. He looked at it and waited. Then she turned again and came
back to him, and somehow it struck him that she was marching like a
little soldier with drums beating and flags flying.
“I understand, Jim,” she said very softly, and there was only the
vaguest hint of a quiver upon her red lips, though no tremor came into
her steady voice. “I don’t blame you, Jim. I’ll go home now. There’ll
be roast chicken and cakes and pies and--and I’ll be waiting, Jim
Torrance.”
She darted out of the room then, as swift as a swallow, and it was
not ten minutes later that Jim Torrance, out on the porch in the weak
October sunshine, saw her and Curly Redmond and Dave Drennen swoop by,
riding out of Canyon City, headed south. She didn’t wave good-by, she
didn’t even turn in the saddle. He pulled off his hat and stood with it
turning slowly in his hands until the three riders were out of sight.
* * * * *
The next night between eleven o’clock and midnight Torrance and Walt
Evans rode out of Canyon City headed toward Indian Mountain and the
old Sun Dodger’s place and the high pass across the ridge. There was
a packet tied to Torrance’s saddle strings; in it, in gold and bank
notes, was fifty thousand dollars. Torrance’s hands were on his saddle
horn and there was a rope about his wrists. Also there was a rope about
his ankles and under his horse’s belly. You would have said that he
was bound hand and foot; that he was unarmed; that he was still the
helpless prisoner of the sheriff of Coconambo County.
It was a clear night and there was a moon, and the mountain ridges
stood up sharply defined against a star-strewn sky. It was a fair bet,
both men agreed, that from the time they rode out of the dark alley
behind the livery stable they were being watched. They were equally
aware of the fact, as they left Canyon City behind them and struck into
the road that was like a long winding slash through thick timber, that
a rifle might crack at any minute and a storm of bullets knock them out
of their saddles. They were at Steve Bordereau’s mercy, and Bordereau
was merciless. Just the same, they banked on Will Hasbrook.
“I know damn well,” said Evans, “that Will wouldn’t have let us in for
this without somehow being pretty sure we’d make out. I don’t see how
he figures it, but a man can gamble on Will Hasbrook and on his keeping
his head. Just the same-- Look here, Torrance, if you want to back out
while you’ve got the chance I can’t say I’ll blame you. If I’ve got you
right, if you haven’t lied me blind, this may be the last night you
ever get a good look at the stars.”
“We’ll play out our string, Evans,” said Torrance.
Before they were a mile on their way, a rider, coming on after them
from Canyon City, overtook them and passed on. He called out, “Hello,
Jim! We’ll be waitin’ for you and glad to have you with us again.” They
could make nothing of his face, lost in the shadow of his hat.
For an instant the sheriffs hand hardened to the butt of his old
walnut-gripped Colt; then he sighed and relaxed in the saddle.
“Nothing we can do about anything until we get to the rendyvoo,” he
said disgustedly, “and most likely damn little we can do then. Looks
like they had us with our noses shoved down in the dirt.”
“They’ve got the edge on us,” conceded Torrance coolly. “They’ve got
us guessing more or less, and they’ve got the odds on us. That’s all
they’ve got.”
“Good Lord, man! Ain’t that a-plenty?”
“Just the same,” Torrance went on, “you never quit on a proposition
just because it was an uphill pull, did you?”
Sheriff Walt Evans of Coconambo County swore fluently. At the end he
said:
“Damn if I don’t sort of like your style, Torrance. And if they get
your hide tonight I’ll do my level damnedest to sort of even things up
with them later on.”
“Fair enough,” said Torrance.
They rode on in silence. The road under their horses’ scampering hoofs
started abruptly climbing up Indian Mountain, winding in and out of
graded ravines, and they had to pull down to a swinging walk. Torrance
said: “That hombre took a look-see to make out whether I was tied up
or not. They’ll have some more spies posted along the road, sure as
shooting. And I’m here to bet you we meet up with them quite a spell
before we get to the place where Hasbrook said we were to come.”
High up on the flank of the mountain they struck into a road that
ran almost level in a high valley, and here they rode hard and were
watchful and suspicious. Every shadow might be a man with a rifle at
his shoulder; the place was lonesome enough for that sort of thing.
But they shot across this bit of mountain meadow without anything
happening, dipped into another canyon and climbed steeply again. Then,
startling them, with their nerves already at stretch, a voice shouted:
“Hello, Jim! Like old times come again, huh?”
“Damn ’em, they make my flesh creep,” snorted the old sheriff.
“They’re having them their fun,” said Torrance.
“We ought to be there in ten-fifteen minutes now, Kid,” said the
sheriff, and for the first time sounded uncertain and uneasy. “If I was
you-- Dammit, Kid, if I was you-- Oh, hell, I dunno! But if you want to
turn tail right now and get the hell out of here, headed back where we
just came from, me I wouldn’t blame you.”
“We called for cards; let’s play the hand out,” said Torrance. And
after that, if he was ever going to have need of a friend, all he’d
have to do would be send word to the sheriff of Coconambo County.
Then it wasn’t long before they saw what they recognized as a signal
to halt. In the middle of the trail where there was an opening through
trees, and where the moon and stars made the place bright, a freshly
skinned pole stood upright, based in a nest of stones, and from the top
of the pole a scrap of white cloth drooped and fluttered in the draft
of night air down through a cut in the mountains. They reined in when
they first saw this mast and flag, something like fifty yards before
they came to it. Beyond, so straight-as-a-string was the trail right
here, they could see an open distance of perhaps twice fifty yards.
“If it comes to fighting it out, Kid,” said Evans in an undertone, “I’m
with you.”
“No,” said Torrance, and though he too spoke almost under his breath
his tone sounded savage. “No change of plans now, Evans. You get
Hasbrook out of this if you can; all I want is Bordereau.”
Then they saw three mounted men moving slowly out of the timber ahead
of them and coming toward them down trail. Evans called out sharply:
“That you, Will?”
“Yes, it’s me, Walter,” answered the banker.
“You’re to come ahead alone,” the sheriff called back. “Those coyotes
with you know they can take your word, and I know they’re a pack of
liars whose word is no better than rotten eggs.”
Another voice spoke up. Jim Torrance felt a tingle run through his
blood as he heard it; he recognized it beyond a doubt as Steve
Bordereau’s.
“You, Evans!” the voice called. “You’ll do as you’re damn well told,
or the gun I’ve got jammed between Hasbrook’s shoulder blades is going
off; and there’s a rifle trained on you now that will zip you into
kingdom come.”
“No, by the Lord!” yelled back an angry sheriff. “You’ll do as I say
now. Send Hasbrook down alone to me and let the two of us ride out
of this, and you’ve got my word for it your money is tied to Jim
Torrance’s saddle strings. If you don’t like that, kill Hasbrook and
try to kill me and be damned to you.”
“Is that Torrance with you?”
The three oncoming riders had stopped.
“Yes. It’s Jim Torrance. I’ve done my part; you do yours and do it the
way I say, or else.”
Then one of the three horsemen came on alone, and Torrance and Sheriff
Evans made out that it was banker Hasbrook. Bordereau called out again,
not waiting for Hasbrook to reach the sheriff’s side:
“Evans! You give me your word you’ve got the money with you?”
“Yes.”
“Is Torrance tied or free?”
“As if you didn’t know already! He’s got ropes on his wrists and on his
legs, if you call that being tied. The money’s on his saddle; I’ll drop
it into the trail or leave it there. But you’re to let me and Hasbrook
get down trail to the bend before you come on. If you boys had rather
prove yourselves the bunch of liars I’ve called you and would rather
shoot it out, hop to it.”
“Leave the money where it is,” said Bordereau. “Tie Torrance’s horse to
a tree like I said. Then get to hell out of here.”
“Here goes,” said Evans.
Hasbrook came on. By the time he had reached them, Sheriff Evans had
used the tie rope on Torrance’s saddle, an end of which was already
around the horse’s neck; the other end he tied and drew tight with a
jerk around a young tree. Then for a moment or two Torrance and Evans
and Will Hasbrook were together, no Bordereau man in sight but the two
up trail, and they a good seventy-five yards away. Hasbrook, grasping
Evans’ arm, said sharply:
“Dammit, Walter! Haven’t you and Torrance talked? Hasn’t he told you--”
Torrance in a savage undertone cut in:
“We’ve made our plans, Hasbrook. You do what Evans says. What Bordereau
says, too. Get the hell out of here.”
“I’ll do nothing of the kind! Leaving you tied like this? They’ll
murder you in two minutes!”
“Hey, there!” shouted Steve Bordereau. “What are you birds talking
about? Break it up and scatter for home--or else, like Evans says.”
Evans muttered, his voice in Hasbrook’s ear: “He means business. I’ve
done all I could with my eyes shut, Will. Now you do as I say. We’re on
our way.”
Hasbrook called softly to Jim Torrance: “I don’t get this. Until hell
freezes solid I’m with you, Kid.”
“Ride then,” snapped Torrance. “Now.”
Their hushed conference was so short that when Evans sang out to
Bordereau, “All right; me and Hasbrook are on our way,” it was before
Bordereau even called a second command. Evans whirled his horse and
spurred down trail, gone at a run, and with him went a reluctant
Hasbrook. The two vanished around the bend in the trail.
Bordereau and the man with him came on then, riding at a slow trot;
Torrance could see the metallic gleam of the rifles they carried. He
saw also something else, for those narrowed and watchful eyes of his
were everywhere at once, as they had to be, did he mean to go on living
even a few minutes. He saw a third member of Bordereau’s party; this
man stepped out from under the trees almost at his side. He carried his
belt gun in his hand and was not six paces away when Torrance heard his
soft tread and made him out, close enough to assure himself that Evans
had done a good job of tying the free end of Torrance’s tie rope about
the tree; close enough to see the rope about Torrance’s wrists. He
called out, laughing:
“Come ahead, boys. He’s tied up tighter’n a drum.”
A shout and a big booming laugh broke from Steve Bordereau then, and he
and the man with him came on at a swinging gallop.
“Now!” thought Jim Torrance. “Now!”