BIRDS OF A FEATHER
Purdy did not hit for the subterranean hang-out of the gang. Instead,
after entering the bad lands, he continued on up the river for a
distance of several miles, being careful to select footing for the
horses among the rock ridges and coulees that would leave no trail--no
trail, at least, that any white man could pick up and follow. Two hours
later with five or six miles of trailless bad lands behind him he
dismounted and, climbing a rocky eminence, carefully surveyed his
surroundings. An object upon the river caught his attention, and after a
moment's scrutiny he made out a man in a skiff. The boat was close in
shore and the man was evidently scanning the bank. He was still a
half-mile above, and clambering hastily down, Purdy led the horses into
a patch of scrub a few hundred yards from the river. Loosening the rope,
he allowed the body of the unconscious girl to slip to the ground. He
secured her feet and hands with a few quick turns of the rope, hobbled
the horses, and hastening to the bank concealed himself in a bunch of
willows. "If it's the pilgrim," he muttered, "--well, it's my turn
now." He drew the gun from its holster and twirled the cylinder with
his thumb. The boat approached slowly, the man resting on his oars
except at such times as it was necessary to force the light craft out of
the clutch of backwaters and eddies. Not until he was nearly opposite
did Purdy see his face: "Long Bill," he growled, and returning the gun,
wriggled from the willows and hailed him. Long Bill shot his boat into a
pool of still water and surveyed the man on the bank.
"That you, Purdy?" he drawled.
"Yeh, it's me. What's yer hurry?"
Long Bill pondered. He had no wish to run ashore. In the skiff were
upwards of a hundred of the dodgers hastily struck off at the Timber
City printing office, which proclaimed the reward for the Texan and the
thousand-dollar reward for information concerning the whereabouts of
Alice Endicott. Long Bill was canny. He knew the river and he had
figured pretty accurately the probable drift of the ferry boat. He
expected to come upon it any time. And he wanted that reward for
himself. The hundred dollars offered for the Texan did not interest him
at all, but if he could find out what had become of the girl, he could,
with no risk to himself, claim the larger reward. Why acquaint Purdy
with the fact of the reward? Purdy had a horse and he would ride on
ahead and scour the bank. Of course, later, if he should fail to find
the boat, or if its occupants had escaped, he would distribute the
bills. He wanted to see the Texan caught--he owed him a grudge anyway.
"I got to be goin' on down--got some business below," he answered.
"Huntin' yer ferry?"
Long Bill glared at the questioner. Purdy must have found the flat-boat
or he would not have known it was missing. And if he had found the boat,
he must know something of its occupants. He could not know of the
reward, however, and acting on the theory that half a loaf is better
than none, Long Bill reached for his oars and pulled ashore.
"That's what I'm a-huntin'," he answered, "saw any thin' of her?"
Purdy nodded: "She's layin' up agin' the mouth of a coulee, 'bout two
mile or so this side of Red Sand."
Long Bill removed his hat, scratched his head, and stared out over the
river. Finally he spoke: "See her clost up?"
"Yup. Went right down to her."
Another pause, and with a vast show of indifference Long Bill asked:
"Anyone in her?"
"No."
"Any tracks around--like anyone had be'n there?"
"Not none except what I made myself. Look a-here, Bill; what you so
damned anxious to find that ferry fer? It would cost you more to haul it
back upstream than what it would to build you a new one."
"Sure they wasn't no one there? No one could of got off her an' struck
back in?"
"Not onless they could of flew," opined Purdy, "how'd she come to bust
loose?"
Long Bill burst into a tirade of profanity that left him breathless.
"I'll tell you how come she bust loose," he roared, when he had
sufficiently recovered to proceed, "that damned son of a--of a Texian
stoled her--him an' the pilgrim's woman!"
"Texan!" cried Purdy, "d'ye mean Tex--Tex Benton?"
"Who the hell d'ye s'pose I mean? Who else 'ud have the guts to steal
the Red Front saloon, an' another man's woman, an' my ferry all the same
day--an' git away with it? Who would?" The infuriated man fairly
screamed the words, "Me--or you--not by a damn sight! You claim to be a
horse-thief--my Gawd, if that bird ever turned horse-thief, in a year's
time horses would be extincter than what buffaloes is! They wouldn't be
_none_ left fer _nobudy--nowheres_!"
It was some moments before Purdy succeeded in calming the man down to
where he could give a fairly lucid account of the happenings in Timber
City. He listened intently to Long Bill's narrative, and at the
conclusion the ferryman produced his dodgers: "An' here's the rewards--a
hundred fer Tex, an' a thousan' fer information about the woman."
Purdy read the hand-bill through twice. Then for several minutes he was
silent. Finally, he turned to Long Bill. "Looks like me an' you had a
purty good thing--if it's worked right," he said with a wink.
"Wha' d'ye mean?" asked the other with sudden interest.
"I mean," answered Purdy, "that I've got the woman."
"Got the woman!" he repeated, "where's Tex?"
Purdy frowned: "That's what I don't know. I hope he's drownded. He never
landed where she did. They wasn't no tracks. That's the only thing
that's botherin' me. I don't mind sayin' it right out, I ain't got no
honin' to run up agin' him--I don't want none of his meat."
"Course he's drownded, if he never landed," cried Long Bill, and taking
tremendous heart from the thought, he continued: "I hain't afraid of
him, nohow--never was. I hain't so damn glad he drownded neither. If I'd
of run onto him, I'd of be'n a hundred dollars richer. I'd of brung him
in--me!"
"You'd of played hell!" sneered Purdy, "don't try to put yer brag over
on me. I know what you'd do if you so much as seen the colour of his
hide--an' so do you. Le's talk sense. If that there pilgrim offered a
thousan' first off--he'll pay two thousan' to git his woman back--or
five thousan'."
Long Bill's eyes glittered with greed: "Sure he will! Five thousan'--two
thousan' five hundred apiece----"
Purdy fixed him with a chilling stare: "They wasn't nothin' mentioned
about no even split," he reminded, "who's got the woman, you or me?"
Long Bill glared angrily: "You didn't know nothin' about the reward till
I come along. An' who's got to do the dickerin'? You don't dast to show
up nowheres. You'd git nabbed. They's a reward out fer you."
Purdy shrugged: "When we git the five thousan', you git five hundred.
Take it or leave it. They's others can do the dickerin'."
Long Bill growled and whined, but in the end he agreed, and Purdy
continued: "You listen to me. We don't want no mistakes about this here.
I'll write a note to the pilgrim an' sign Tex's name to it, demandin'
five thousan' fer the return of the woman. You take the note to him, an'
tell him Tex is hidin' out in the bad lands, an' they ain't a show in
the world to git the woman without he pays, because Tex will kill her
sure as hell if he goes to gittin' any posses out. Then you fetch him
over here--this place is good as any--today a week, an' we'll give him
his woman."
"What if he won't come? What if he thinks we're double-crossin' him?"
Purdy shrugged: "If he wants his woman bad enough, he'll come. It's his
only chanct. An' here's another thing: Before you hit back acrost the
river, you spread them bills around all the ranches an' on all the
trails around here. They ain't no one else can horn in on the big
reward 'cause I've got the woman, an' if the Texan should of got to
shore, it's just as well to have everyone huntin' him."
"I ain't got no horse," objected the ferryman.
"Drift down the river till you come to a coulee with two rock pinnacles
on the left hand side. Go up it till you come to a brush corral, there's
two horses in there, an' a saddle an' bridle is cached in a mud crack on
the west side. Saddle up one of 'em, an' be sure you put him back or
Cass Grimshaw'll make coyote bait out of you."
As Purdy watched Long Bill disappear down the river, he rolled a
cigarette: "If I c'n double-cross the pilgrim, I will," he muttered, "if
I can't, back she goes to him. Five thousan' is a higher price than I'll
pay fer luxeries like women. Anyhow there's McWhorter's gal left fer
that. An' seein' there ain't no one else in on this but me, I'll just
duck the hang-out, an' take her over to Cinnabar Joe's. Him an' his
woman'll keep her safe--or he'll do time. Them's the only kind of
friends that's worth a damn--the ones you've got somethin' on." And
having thus unburdened himself he proceeded leisurely toward the scrub.
Alice Endicott returned slowly to consciousness. Her first sensation was
one of drowsy well-being. For some minutes she lay while her brain
groped in a vague, listless way to find itself. She and Win were going
West--there was a ranch for sale--and ... she suddenly realized that she
was uncomfortable. Her shoulders and hips ached. Where was she? She
felt cold. She tried to move and the effort caused her pain. She heard a
sound nearby and opened her eyes. She closed them and opened them again.
She was lying upon the ground among trees and two horses stood a short
distance away. The horses were saddled. She tried to raise a hand to her
eyes and failed. Something was wrong. The recollections of the night
burst upon her with the suddenness of a blow. The river--the lightning
and drenching rain, the frantic bailing of the boat, the leap into the
water with the Texan! Where was he now? She tried to sit up--and
realized that her hands and feet were tied! Frantically she struggled to
free her hands. Who had tied her? And why? The buckskin horse she
recognized as the one she had ridden the night before. The Y Bar brand
showed plainly upon his flank. But, where was she? And why was she tied?
Over and over the two questions repeated themselves in her brain. She
struggled into a sitting posture and began to work at the knots. The
tying had been hurriedly accomplished, and with the aid of a projecting
limb stub the knot that secured her wrists was loosened and she freed
her hands. It was but the work of a moment to loosen the hitch about her
ankles and she assayed to rise. She sank back with a moan of pain. Every
muscle in her body ached and she lay still while the blood with an
exquisite torture of prickling and tingling, began to circulate her
numbed veins. Again she struggled to her feet and, supporting herself
against a tree, stared wildly about her. Nobody was in sight. Through
the trees she caught the sparkle of water.
"The river!" she breathed. A wild idea flashed into her brain. If she
could find a boat she could elude the horseman who had made her a
prisoner. The numbness was gone from her limbs. She took a step and
another, steadying herself by means of the tree-trunks. Finding that she
could walk unaided she crossed an open space, paused and glanced out
over the flood with its rushing burden of drift. The thought terrified
her--of being out there alone in a boat. Then came the thought of her
unknown captor. Who was he? When would he return? And with the thought
the terror of the water sank into insignificance beside the terror of
the land. Reaching the edge of the bank she peered cautiously over.
There, just at the end of a clump of willows, a boat floated lazily at
the end of its painter. She could see the oars in their locks, and a
man's coat upon the back seat. She was about to descend the bank when
the sound of voices sent her crouching behind a bush. Through the
willows she could make out the forms of two men. Even as she looked one
of the men rose and made his way toward the boat. At the edge of the
willows he turned to speak to the other and the terrified girl gazed
into the face of Long Bill Kearney! The other she could not see, but
that he was her captor she had no doubt. She felt suddenly weak and sick
with horror. Whoever the other was he was a confederate of Long Bill's
and she knew how Long Bill must hate her on account of the treatment he
had received a year ago at the hands of Win and the Texan. In all
probability they had even now murdered the Texan--come upon him weak and
exhausted from his struggle with the river and murdered him in cold
blood and taken her prisoner.
Stifling a sob, she turned to fly. Her trembling knees would scarce
support her weight as she crossed the open space. Once in the timber she
staggered toward the horses. Grasping the reins of the buckskin, she
tried to lead him into the open, but he followed slowly with a curious
shuffle. Her eyes flew to the hobbles, and kneeling swiftly she pulled
at the thick straps that encircled his ankles. Her trembling fingers
fumbled at the heavy buckles. Jerking frantically at the strap, she
pushed and pulled in an endeavour to release the tongue from the hole.
Minutes seemed like hours as she worked. At length she succeeded in
loosening a strap and set to work on the other. Fortunately the horse
was thoroughly gentle, "woman broke," as Colston had said, and he stood
motionless while she tugged and jerked at his ankles. After an
interminable time the other strap yielded and, throwing the hobbles
aside, Alice sprang erect, grasped the reins and started for the open,
her throbbing brain obsessed by one idea, to ride, ride, ride!
Stumbling, tripping in her frantic haste she made her way through the
scrub, the buckskin following close upon her heels. Only a few yards
more and the open country stretched before her, ridge after rocky ridge
as far as the eye could see. Redoubling her effort, she pushed on,
tripped upon a fallen tree limb and crashed heavily to her knees. She
struggled to her feet and as her eyes sought the open, stood rooted to
the spot while the blood froze in her veins. Directly before her, legs
wide apart, hands on hips, an evil grin on his lips, eyes leering into
her own, stood Jack Purdy!