THE LAST STAKE
Templeton Buck might have a dirty streak in him, but he was no coward.
If the man’s make-up held a large amount of deliberate criminality,
of cold and unscrupulous evil, it also held a large amount of
strength and resolute purpose. Otherwise, Buck could never have
remained the leader of such men as followed him.
And on this bright and sunny morning Templeton Buck was facing the
hardest battle he had ever faced--a battle with himself.
On the previous night he had learned of the disaster which had
overwhelmed all his craftily laid plans. True, he had Jake Harper a
prisoner, tied into the big chair before the fireplace. But Robinson
had turned out to be Sam Fisher--and the roads were watched by the
Circle Bar men.
The story told by the two men on the previous night had been utterly
incredible, but with daylight it had been backed up when Sandy Davitt
undertook to ride forth. Sandy’s horse had been killed under him.
No one else tried to leave the Running Dog buildings.
Here in the living room of the ranch house, alone with the old man
tied into the chair, Buck paced up and down, fighting out his battle.
Would he lie to his men, or tell them the truth? That was it.
From the chair old Jake Harper watched him with terrible, intent eyes.
“Give me your word to act gentle, and I’ll loose you, Jake,” said
Buck.
“I’ll give you my word,” said Jake, his voice deadly, “that all I
want is to git my hands on a gun, and I’ll fill ye full o’ lead, ye
mis’able coyote!”
So Jake Harper remained where he was. Buck continued his steady
pacing back and forth, then suddenly came to a pause before his
captive and shot out a remark:
“Where I made a mistake was in killing Cervantes. I should have
given him a chance.”
Jake Harper swore at him angrily.
“Where you done made your mistake, Buck, was in tryin’ to covet the
Shumway place. You stole the Lazy S cattle, and you should ha’
stopped there.”
Silence again. Buck went on with his uneasy stride. It was a
difficult decision which faced him.
At this moment, while he stood on the brink of disaster, Templeton
Buck for the first time saw clearly how things had come to this pass.
He was rich in money and land. He did not need the Shumway land
added to his own. He was powerful.
Being rich and powerful, he had thought himself secure, had
determined to get both Stella and the Lazy S, and had been careless
as to his methods. Back in the old days, when Frank Shumway had
knocked him down, he had revenged himself by sending young Shumway to
the penitentiary--deliberately framing him.
He had not stopped there. One thing had led to another--little
things, most of them. Like a rolling snowball, the affair had gained
impetus. The one man Buck had feared was Sam Fisher, the sheriff of
Pecos, and he had tried desperately to keep Fisher out of the way.
Even now, he perceived, Fisher was the one man who threatened him.
If he could only be rid of Fisher! With Fisher out of the way all
would yet be well. The murder of Cervantes could be met and faced
down; with Sheriff Tracy handling the affair, no jury in the county
would dare to convict Buck. Jake Harper could be held a prisoner
until the mortgage was foreclosed. Lies and false witnesses would
still serve to smooth the way.
Buck strode from the room, left the building, and passed over to the
corrals. Here his entire outfit was lounging about as though waiting
for his coming. Not until he met their nods and greetings did Buck
come to a full decision as to what he would do.
For, as yet, these punchers knew nothing of the Cervantes killing
beyond what had been reported from town. None of them had witnessed
it. All of them, beyond a doubt, held strong suspicions. It had
been a despicable act, even in their eyes.
Buck came to a halt, beckoned to the men, and met their curious
stares with a flame of resolution in his eyes.
“Boys,” he said quietly, “the story that Sam Fisher told in town was
true. Steve Arnold must have seen the killing of Cervantes. We
could have made it stick on Fisher, at that, if he hadn’t been too
smart for me.”
Every man there appreciated what this confession meant to Buck.
“Now, boys,” went on the rancher, “Sam Fisher is no fool. As things
stand right now, he’s playin’ a strong game and a winnin’ game. He’s
got us blockaded here, and the only thing left for me is to take my
med’cine without a whine. I aim to do it. Still, that’s no reason
for draggin’ you boys into the same noose, so I’m here to give each
of you his time. You ain’t workin’ for me no more.”
An outburst of protest was quieted by Buck’s uplifted hand, in which
was a roll of bills.
“Sandy Davitt! Come an’ git it, puncher.”
Davitt stepped up, started to speak, reddened, and checked the words.
He took the money placed in his hand, and waited. One by one the
other Running Dog men stepped up to Buck and received their wages.
When it was finished Buck smiled thinly.
“Now, I reckon, you-all can git past the Circle Bar men.”
Nobody moved. Of the eleven men who stood there in the sunlight
around the tall figure of Templeton Buck, none budged. Sandy Davitt
glanced around, hitched up his belt, and grinned at the rancher. His
cast eye gave the grin a baleful aspect.
“Buck,” he said, “I opine we ain’t workin’ for you no more. Is that
c’rect?”
“You said it, Sandy.”
“Then, far as I’m concerned, I don’t give a durn about Cervantes.
You’ve spoke out to us like a man, Buck, and by thunder I’m stickin’
right here!”
“And me!” chimed in a voice. Then a chorus: “Me, too! We stays
here, Buck!”
Buck stood in silence a long moment, his thin, high-boned features
flushed darkly. It was a magnificent tribute these men paid him--a
tribute of which he was unworthy. To the last one they were men;
reckless, scoundrelly if you like, but men unafraid.
“Ain’t none of you ridin’ to town?” asked Buck.
“Nary one, I guess,” Sandy Davitt made response. A growl of assent
backed him up.
“I appreciate this, boys; I sure do!” Buck’s tall figure
straightened up. “Well, I give you the worst end of the talk on the
start. It’s true that Sam Fisher is playin’ a winning hand so far,
but he ain’t raked in the pot by a long sight! He’s bluffed out
Tracy, and he’s got Pahrump buffaloed--but all he’s got behind him is
the Circle Bar, and we’ve got Jake Harper here. That means we got to
wipe out Sam Fisher to win the pot!”
“And Steve Arnold,” corrected Davitt. Buck nodded.
“Yep. Them two, y’ understand. They’re over to the Lazy S, as I get
it, while Harper’s bunch has us held up here. Also, we can’t afford
to drop Fisher when, he comes to arrest me; it’d look too much like
he was killed in the performance of his duty, y’ understand? We want
to fix it so nobody won’t know jest what happened. Do you foller me?”
“You bet!” came the admiring response. “How ye goin’ to work it?”
Buck was silent for a moment, his eyes searching the surrounding
country. Not a sign of the Circle Bar men was in evidence, but well
he knew that they were waiting, grimly hidden.
Almost any man, given the opportunity, will shoot rather than be sent
to the penitentiary, and Buck was now perfectly cool and steady in
his resolute air. He had everything to gain and nothing to lose, and
a single bold, well-planned stroke might yet save him from the brink
of disaster.
“Twelve of us,” he murmured. “We might work it! How many horses in
the corral, Sandy?”
“Close to thirty,” returned Davitt at once.
“And the Circle Bar lays right up the valley from the Lazy S.
Anybody at Shumway’s would be sure to see the Circle Bar if she was
burnin’, I guess?”
Davitt straightened up in surprise.
“Certain, Buck, certain! They’d see the smoke sure. But how ye
goin’ to reach the Circle Bar to fire her?”
Buck smiled weakly. “That’s the easiest part of it, Sandy. This
here Sam Fisher, he never wants no crowd; it’s always a lone-hand
play with him. If him and Arnold seen the smoke from the Circle Bar,
what’d they do?”
“Light out to investigate where we were,” was the response. “They’d
know we’d got away from here and was busy. And they’d come
a-smokin’.”
“Exactly, Sandy,” was Buck’s triumphant return. “Jest what I figger
my ownself.”
“But how in time are we goin’ to git away from here?”
Buck laughed and clapped his ex-foreman on the shoulder.
“Jest ride, cowboy, ride!” he exclaimed. “All right, boys; rustle up
some grub and git saddled. Bring out every hoss in the corral, rope
’em together, and wait. Saddle an extry hoss for Jake Harper.
Sandy, come along and give me a hand with Jake.”
Comprehending, at least in part, the bold scheme which Buck planned,
the men leaped into action.
Thirteen of the horses were saddled, the others were hastily strung
together; rifles were booted, packets of grub made up, canteens
filled. By the time the punchers were mounted they had not long to
wait; Sandy Davitt and Buck appeared, shoving forward the figure of
old Jake Harper, hands firmly bound behind his back. They could not
bind his tongue, however, and he cursed the entire gang with
vitriolic emphasis as he came. The hearers smiled and grinned,
making no response.
“Climb or we boosts you, Jake,” said Buck, reaching the spare saddle.
The boost was necessary, and was given; following which the old scout
was firmly lashed in the saddle. At Buck’s orders a reata was put
about his neck, the loose end of which Buck took over when he had
mounted. Then, revolver in hand, Buck gave the word to ride north.
“Take it easy, boys,” he ordered. “No hurry.”
His strategy became only too apparent to friend and foe alike. Any
shots from ambush would draw an instant bullet into the body of Jake
Harper; the menace of the rope and Buck’s drawn revolver were
entirely obvious.
Buck himself rode in the van, Jake Harper a little in front. Behind,
the Running Dog men spread out, the extra horses crowding up in the
rear. As they wound out on the way, Jake Harper perceived how he was
being used, and he sent a booming roar of command at the empty spaces
around, where he knew his men were hidden.
“Fire into ’em, boys! Shoot! Don’t ye mind me! Shoot!”
No response was made. None could be made; the Circle Bar outfit
dared not call the silent bluff that Buck was running. Well they
knew that the bluff would be backed up.
Without a shot being fired, without an enemy being sighted, the
Running Dog men rode off in peace. After them, undoubtedly, would
trail Harper’s men, but it would take some time for the latter to
collect and follow.
Immediately upon reaching the highway, Buck halted and lifted a hand.
“I want two of you boys to take all the spare hosses and ride on to
the Circle Bar. Fire her, barns and all, and kill your beasts
gettin’ there. It’s got to be done quick. Harper’s outfit will
likely foller your trail. Four stays here to hold ’em up half an
hour, no more. The rest goes with me.”
Two of the men at once gathered in the lines of the spare horses,
waved an adios, and went north at a gallop. To the four who
announced themselves as ready to hold up the pursuit, Buck gave a few
brief words.
“No killin’ if ye can help it. Shoot the hosses. Then make your
get-away to town and wait for news. If I win I’ll join ye there
to-night. If not, then beat it into Laredo County and lay low. Good
luck to ye, boys!”
“Same to you!” they rejoined, and scattered out to take position.
Five men with him, besides their captive, Buck turned from the road
and led the way toward the hills.
Old Jake Harper cursed luridly as he perceived the really admirable
strategy that was under way, although its object was hidden from him.
When the Circle Bar came up, they would be delayed appreciably by the
four men. When at last left free to take the trail, they would
naturally follow that left by the largest number of horses, leading
toward their home ranch. And in the meantime Buck would be somewhere
else.
“What’s the big idea, Buck?” asked Sandy Davitt, riding at the
rancher’s stirrup. “Where we off for?”
“Git through the hills, hit the valley trail beyond, and lay up,”
said Buck with a grin. “Sam Fisher and Arnold are bound to come that
way from the Lazy S when they see the smoke, ain’t they?”
Sandy Davitt slapped his thigh with a loud guffaw.
“Whoop-ee! Buck, you sure wins the deal! And while we gathers in
the sheriff o’ Pecos and his pal, the Circle Bar outfit is millin’
around tryin’ to find out what’s done happened, eh?”
“Somethin’ like that, Sandy,” and Buck grinned confidently.
Jake Harper fell silent from sheer desperation.