GALLWEY'S ADVENTURE
The night was still dark, and there was not then or afterwards any sign
of hail when Sergeant Grier halted his little force under the Blackfoot
Ridge. There were, in all, eight of them, excellently mounted, and most
of them rode with a magazine rifle slung across their shoulders. In
front of them a deep ravine wound away into the Ridge, which, though
sometimes called a mountain, consisted of a long, broken rise, perhaps
two hundred feet above the level of the rest of the prairie. Stunted
birches, and, where the grounds were moister, a dense growth of willows,
clothed its sides. Behind the first rise lay a rolling, deeply fissured
plateau, lined here and there with trees. It stretched away before them,
a black and shadowy barrier, and Sergeant Grier sat with his hand upon
his hip, looking at it reflectively.
"I guess your news can be relied on, Mr. Leland?" he said.
Leland patted his fidgeting horse. "I wouldn't have worried you with it
unless I had felt tolerably sure," he said. "Two waggons, driven by
strangers, passed through the Cannersly settlement three days ago. I
don't know what was in them, but they were full of something, and I have
my notion as to what it was. The same night four men, who asked about
those waggons, rode into Cannersly. They stayed there just five minutes,
and that appeared significant to me."
The Sergeant sat silent a moment, and then turned to the rest.
"Boys," he said, "I've been worrying the thing out most of the way. The
whisky boys have friends round Barber, and they'd get pack-horses there.
West of the settlement, the folks are shy of them, and it's easy
figuring they'd push on to get up north, beyond my reach. Well, it would
cost them a day to work a traverse round the mountain, and that's why
I'm putting down my stake on their coming through. There's only one good
trail, and we're here to block it; but a man who knew the way might
bring them out by the Willow Coulee. I guess it's not more than two
miles away." He raised his voice a little. "Trooper Standish, you and
Tom Gallwey will ride up the coulee, and lie by in the old herder's hut.
If you hear anything, a shot will bring us in at a gallop. Trooper
Cornet, you'll push on straight ahead for half an hour with Mr. Custer,
and hide your horses clear of the trail. I guess once the boys get into
the mountain they're going to have some trouble getting out again."
The troopers saluted, and four shadowy men melted into the darkness.
When they passed out of hearing, the Sergeant swung himself from the
saddle.
"Lead your horses well back among the trees, boys, and tether them," he
said. "Then we'll camp down here. I figure we're not going to see the
whisky boys before the morning."
They did his bidding. Presently Leland and one or two of the others lay
down among the first of the birches. The Sergeant sat close by, with his
back to one of the trees, his pipe in his hand.
"It's 'bout time we got in a blow," he said. "Things are going bad, and,
with the new country opening up north, I can't get more men. Now, we
wouldn't be long running off the regular whisky men; the trouble is that
every blamed tough between here and the frontier is standing in with
them, and, unless you catch him out at night, you've nothing to show
against him. When he comes home, he's a harmless settlement loafer, or
an industrious pre-emptor. A good year would kill the thing, but I guess
there's more in whisky than wheat, at present figures."
"There's more in running off horses," said one of the others. "The boys
get them for nothing, and I've lost three of mine. How much have they
taken out of you altogether, Charley?"
"Most of four or five thousand dollars, one way or another, and I have a
notion they've not done with me yet. In fact, it seems to me that either
the whisky boys or I will have to get out of this part of the prairie."
The Sergeant nodded. "It will be the whisky boys," he said. "You can
bluff the law for awhile, if you're smart enough, but it's quite hard to
keep it up, and the first mistake you make, it's got you sure. In
another way, Mr. Leland's right. I'd have done nothing with my few
troopers if he hadn't brought you in. We have nothing to raise trouble
over--a few steers and horses missing, a grass fire raised. They're
things that happen all the time. The whisky boys know it as well as I
do, and, since I can't get more troopers, it means that what is done
must be done by you. They know that, too, and it's running up quite a
big account against the man who's leading you."
There was a little murmur of concurrence, and Leland laughed.
"Well," he said, "there's a _per contra_ claim, and I fancy it's going
to be settled by-and-bye. I've had about enough to pull against this
season, and I don't feel kind towards the men who have made it harder
still for me."
Though he calmly filled his pipe, one or two of those who heard him
fancied that the reckoning he looked forward to would be a somewhat grim
one when it came. Leland of Prospect was, as they were aware, not the
man to submit patiently to an injury, and his quietness had its
significance. Still, he was only one man, and his enemies were many--men
who struck shrewdly in the dark, and left no sign to show who they were.
None of those who rode with him envied their unofficial leader.
In the meantime, Gallwey and the young trooper picked their way along
the edge of the bluff. The night was dark and hazy, and there were no
stars in the sky. The smoke of a big grass fire drifted in a grey mist
athwart the sweep of the plain. Now and then a crimson blaze leapt up
and faded on the horizon, and the still air was heavy with the smell of
burning. It was advisable to ride cautiously, for there were a good many
badger-holes, and here and there the ground was seamed by a
watercourse. Brittle branches occasionally snapped in the dense silence.
"I guess I could hear myself a mile away," the trooper said. "Still,
that horse of yours is making row enough for a squadron."
Gallwey did not contradict him, for, as it happened, the horse just then
blundered into a little watercourse and plunged down the slope of it
with a great smashing of undergrowth. Gallwey contrived to avoid a fall.
With some noise they scrambled up the other side, though this time
Trooper Standish made an effort to control his indignation.
"I guess you would report me if I told you what I think of you," he
said.
Still, they made the coulee without mishap, and the trooper checked his
horse as they rode into it. It opened up before them, a black and
shadowy hollow, with little streamlets trickling through. Dim trees
rolled up its sides, blurred masses against the sky above. Save the soft
splash of the stream, no sound broke the stillness.
"Nobody here, anyway," he said. "We'll push on for the herder's hut. It
was built when the Scotchman who had Lister's ranch put sheep on the
mountain, but the timber wolves got most of them, and he let up. It's
'bout the only place in this country where there are any wolves, and the
agent didn't think it worth while to mention it when he gave his lease
out. I guess you don't have timber wolves in Scotland."
Gallwey said they didn't. He made no further observations, for his horse
fell into the stream with a loud splash. After this they pushed on up
the coulee as silently as they could, until Trooper Standish pulled his
horse up.
"We're here," he said. "That looks like the hut. We'll get down and
hitch up the horses at the back of it."
Gallwey made out a shadowy mass among the birches, and swung himself out
of the saddle as his comrade did. It was not what Sergeant Grier would
have done, but Gallwey knew nothing of vedette duty, and Standish was
very young. He had hitched his bridle round a branch when the latter
turned to him.
"We may as well go in and make ourselves comfortable," he said. "If the
whisky boys come down this way, it's a sure thing that we'll hear them."
They turned back towards the door of the hut, Gallwey a few paces behind
the trooper, who thrust the door open. Gallwey could barely see him, for
they were in the deep shadow of the trees. Just after Standish strolled
in, there came the sound of a scuffle out of the darkness. Then there
was a crash, a cry, and the thud of a heavy fall.
Gallwey stood fumbling with his pistol-holster, which, as it happened,
was buttoned down. The button fitted tightly, and he was clumsy in his
haste. As he tore at it, he heard a sound behind him, and was swinging
round when a pair of sinewy arms were wound round him. He struggled
furiously, reaching back with one foot for his assailant's leg, and
succeeded in so far that he and the unseen man came down heavily
together. The other man, however, was uppermost, and when somebody else
came running up, Gallwey lay still.
"Let him up!" said the last arrival; and when he rose shakily, his
assailant jerked one arm behind him.
"Walk right into the shanty before you get hurt," he said.
Gallwey did it, since there was apparently no other course open to him.
The way the man held his arm was excruciatingly painful. Somebody struck
a sulphur match, and, lighting a lantern, held it up. It showed two more
men, busily engaged in holding Trooper Standish, who kicked and
struggled valiantly on the floor. Then the third man laid down the
lantern, and, taking up a rifle, prodded the trooper with the butt of
it. It was no gentle, perfunctory prodding.
"Let up and lie still before you're made. You're going to get it hard if
you move again," he said, and turned to Gallwey. "Sit right down
yonder."
Gallwey, who fancied that his expostulations would not be listened to,
did as he was bidden. His holster was buttoned down still, and he did
not think he could get it open without attracting undesirable attention.
Presently one of the men unclasped the belt it was fastened to and flung
it aside, while Gallwey, recognising that a conciliatory attitude was
advisable, nearly laughed as he looked at Trooper Standish. The lad
still lay flat upon the earthen floor, flushed in face, and hurled a
stream of vitriolic compliments at his captors. One of them grinned
broadly, but did not move his hands from the trooper's arms.
"Now," he said, "if one of you will pass me that pack-rope we'll tie him
up."
It took two of them to accomplish it. During the operation, Trooper
Standish contrived to kick one of them where it seemed to hurt. Still,
they did tie him, and the lad lay still, breathless with fury, with
wrists bound behind him, his ankles lashed together. Then the men turned
to Gallwey.
"I guess your hands will be enough. Hold them out!" said one.
Gallwey did it without protesting, which, it was evident, would be of
very little use. While one of the men went out of the hut, another
watched him.
"Nobody's going to hurt you if you sit quite still," he said.
Gallwey sat flat on the floor, a position far from comfortable, while
Standish, who now lay with his head turned from him, did not move at
all. Then another man went out, leaving only one, who stood on guard
with nothing in his hand. In spite of certain notions, there are, after
all, very few pistols to be seen in the West, and though a good many men
have rifles they keep them because game is plentiful. It was, perhaps,
ten minutes later when a beat of hoofs grew louder down the coulee,
until, though the door was shut, Gallwey could hear what seemed to be a
line of loaded pack-animals going by. He glanced at his jailer, who
smiled sardonically.
"I guess you're not quite smart enough to play this game," he said.
"You're from Prospect, aren't you?"
Gallwey said he was a servant of Leland's.
"That's all right," said the man. "It's kind of lucky you aren't his
partner. We have nothing in particular against you, but, when we get
hold of Charley Leland, we'll fix him differently."
Gallwey did not answer him. The last horse had gone by when one of the
men outside flung the door open.
"We have to get up and hustle," he said. "What are you going to do with
them?"
"I don't quite know," said his comrade. "We might lash this one up as we
have the trooper, and leave them here. They couldn't chew that pack-rope
through. You have got their horses?"
The other man said he had, and Gallwey broke in.
"We couldn't get very far without our horses, and you wouldn't be taking
any risk by leaving us as we are," he said. "It's quite evident that I
couldn't loose the trooper, and to be tied up so you can't move at all
is abominably uncomfortable."
The outlaw laughed. "Well," he said, "you have some sense in you, and,
as you haven't made us any trouble, I'll put a short hobble on you. Hold
your feet out."
Gallwey did so, and the man busied himself for a minute or two with a
piece of rope. It was evident that he was acquainted with the secure
hitches used in lashing a load on the pack-saddle.
"Now," he said, "you might jerk yourself along half a mile in the hour
if you were careful, though it's quite as likely you'd come down on your
nose. Anyway, by the time you find the Sergeant, we'll be quite a few
leagues away. That's about all, I think. Good-night to you."
He went out; and, as they heard him ride away, the trooper, wriggling
round, looked up.
"Can you get out?" he said.
"Yes," said Gallwey; "I think I could, though it's rather more than
probable that I shall fall over in attempting it. Under the
circumstances, half a mile an hour would, I fancy, be an excellent
pace."
"Still, you've got to try it," said the trooper. "Get up right away, and
go for the Sergeant."
Gallwey endeavoured to do so, managing to get out of the door before the
rope jerked him off his feet. He fell over a good many times descending
the coulee, stopping to rest for a minute or two on each occasion. Still
he persevered, and made some progress. Dawn was in the sky when a farmer
caught sight of him. He and his companions had just decided that
Leland's informant had deceived him, or that the rustlers had gone
another way, after all, when a weird figure moved out of the gloom
beneath the bluff. They could not see it clearly, for there was only a
faint grey light as yet, but it seemed to be moving in a most
extraordinary fashion. "Well," said one of them, "I never saw a man walk
quite like that. It is a man, anyway. There aren't any bears on the
prairie."
He broke off abruptly, for the mysterious object toppled over and
vanished altogether.
"It might have crawled into a hole," said another man. "No, the blamed
thing's getting up again. Anyway, it's like a man. I'm going along."
They all went together. A few minutes later, they came upon Gallwey
sitting in the grass. He had lost his hat, and there was a good deal of
dust and grass and leaves on him. He sat still, smiling somewhat feebly.
"I don't suppose my appearance is exactly prepossessing, but that's not
my fault, and I'm unusually pleased to see you, boys," he said. "As you
may have surmised, the Sergeant's little plan didn't quite work out as
it should have done. I'll try to tell you about it if you'll take these
ropes off."
Sergeant Grier, coming up at this juncture, made several observations
that are unrecordable, but after the first outbreak, he put a check on
his temper.
"They have come out ahead again," he said. "Well, it's quite likely
we'll get straight with them yet, and 'bout all we can do now is to pick
up their trail."
But they could find no trail, for, as little dew falls on a cloudy
night, the grass was dry and dusty by sunrise. They spent most of that
day riding about in twos and threes, but nobody at the scattered farms
where they made inquiries had seen a single outlaw. They and their
whisky had apparently vanished altogether.