“We'll go out by the river way,” said Howard tentatively. “Eh, what
think, Sig? It's longer, but Yorky will be expecting us to take the
short cut over the pass.”
The Norwegian agreed. “It bane von chance, anyhow.”
By unfrequented trails they traversed the valley till they reached the
cañon down which poured Squaw Creek on its way to the outside world.
A road ran alongside this for a mile or two, but disappeared into the
stream when the gulch narrowed. The first faint streaks of gray dawn
were lightening the sky enough for Fraser to see this. He was riding in
advance, and commented upon it to Siegfried, who rode with him.
The Norwegian laughed. “Ay bane t'ink we do some wadin'.”
They swung off to the right, and a little later splashed through the
water for a few minutes and came out into a spreading valley beyond the
sheer walls of the retreat they had left. Taking the road again, they
traveled faster than they had been able to do before.
“Who left the valley yesterday for Gimlet Butte, Sig?” Howard asked,
after it was light enough to see. “I notice tracks of two horses.”
“Ay bane vondering. Ay t'ink mebbe West over----”
“I reckon not. This ain't the track of his big bay. Must 'a' been
yesterday, too, because it rained the night before.”
For some hours they could see occasionally the tracks of the two horses,
but eventually lost them where two trails forked.
“Taking the Sweetwater cutout to the Butte, I reckon,” Howard surmised.
They traveled all day, except for a stop about ten o'clock for
breakfast, and another late in the afternoon, to rest the horses. At
night, they put up at a ranch house, and were in the saddle again early
in the morning. Before noon, they struck a telephone line, and Fraser
called up Brandt at a ranch.
“Hello! This Sheriff Brandt? Lieutenant Fraser, of the Texas Rangers, is
talking. I'm on my way to town with a prisoner. We're at Christy's, now.
There will, perhaps, be an attempt to take him from us. I'll explain the
circumstances later.... Yes.... Yes.... We can hold him, I think, but
there may be trouble.... Yes, that's it. We have no legal right to
detain him, I suppose.... That's what I was going to suggest. Better
send about four men to meet us. We'll come in on the Blasted Pine road.
About nine to-night, I should think.”
As they rode easily along the dusty road, the Texan explained his plan
to his friends.
“We don't want any trouble with Yorky's crowd. We ain't any of us
deputies, and my commission doesn't run in Wyoming, of course. My notion
is to lie low in the hills two or three hours this afternoon, and give
Brandt a chance to send his men out to meet us. The responsibility will
be on them, and we can be sworn in as deputies, too.”
They rested in a grassy draw, about fifteen miles from town, and took
the trail again shortly after dark. It was an hour later that Fraser,
who had an extraordinary quick ear, heard the sound of men riding toward
them. He drew his party quickly into the shadows of the hills, a little
distance from the road.
They could hear voices of the advancing party, and presently could make
out words.
“I tell you, they've got to come in on this road, Slim,” one of the men
was saying dogmatically. “We're bound to meet up with them. That's all
there is to it.”
“Yorky,” whispered Howard, in the ranger's ear.
They rode past in pairs, six of them in all. As chance would have it,
Siegfried's pony, perhaps recognizing a friend among those passing,
nickered shrilly its greeting. Instantly, the riders drew up.
“Where did that come from?” Yorky asked, in a low voice.
“From over to the right. I see men there now See! Up against that hill.”
Slim pointed toward the group in the shadow.
Yorky hailed them. “That you, Sig?”
“Yuh bane von good guesser,” answered the Norwegian.
“How many of you are there?”
“Four, Yorky,” Fraser replied.
“There are six of us. We've got you outnumbered, boys.”
Very faintly there came to the lieutenant the beat of horses' feet. He
sparred for time.
“What do you want, Yorky?”
“You know what we want. That murderer you've got there--that's what we
want.”
“We're taking him in to be tried, Yorky. Justice will be done to him.”
“Not at Gimlet Butte it won't. No jury will convict him for killing Jed
Briscoe, from Lost Valley. We're going to hang him, right now.”
“You'll have to fight for him, my friend, and before you do that I want
you to understand the facts.”
“We understand all the facts we need to, right now.”
The lieutenant rode forward alone. He knew that soon they too would hear
the rhythmic beat of the advancing posse.
“We've got all night to settle this, boys. Let's do what is fair and
square. That's all I ask.”
“Now you're shouting, lieutenant. That's all we ask.”
“It depends on what you mean by fair and square,” another one spoke up.
The ranger nodded amiably at him. “That you, Harris? Well, let's look at
the facts right. Here's Lost Valley, that's had a bad name ever since
it was inhabited. Far as I can make out its settlers are honest men,
regarded outside as miscreants. Just as folks were beginning to forget
it, comes the Squaw Creek raid. Now, I'm not going into that, and I'm
not going to say a word against the man that lies dead up in the hills.
But I'll say this: His death solves a problem for a good many of the
boys up there. I'm going to make it my business to see that the facts
are known right down in Gimlet Butte. I'm going to lift the blame from
the boys that were present, and couldn't help what happened.”
Yorky was impressed, but suspicion was not yet banished from his mind.
“You seem to know a lot about it, lieutenant.”
“No use discussing that, Yorky. I know what I know. Here's the great big
point: If you lynch the man that shot Jed, the word will go out that the
valley is still a nest of lawless outlaws. The story will be that the
Squaw Creek raiders and their friends did it. Just as the situation is
clearing up nicely, you'll make it a hundred times worse by seeming to
indorse what Jed did on Squaw Creek.”
“By thunder, that's right,” Harris blurted.
Fraser spoke again. “Listen, boys. Do you hear horses galloping? That
is Sheriff Brandt's deputies, coming to our assistance. You've lost
the game, but you can save your faces yet. Join us, and kelp escort the
prisoner to town. Nobody need know why you came out. We'll put it that
it was to guard against a lynching.”
The men looked at each other sheepishly. They had been outwitted, and in
their hearts were glad of it. Harris turned to the ranger with a
laugh. “You're a good one, Fraser. Kept us here talking, while your
reënforcements came up. Well, boys, I reckon we better join the
Sunday-school class.”
So it happened that when Sheriff Brandt and his men came up they found
the mountain folk united. He was surprised at the size of the force with
the Texan.
“You're certainly of a cautious disposition, lieutenant. With eight men
to help you, I shouldn't have figured you needed my posse,” he remarked.
“It gives you the credit of bringing in the prisoner, sheriff,” Steve
told him unblushingly, voicing the first explanation that came to his
mind.