THE MAN-KILLERS
BY
DANE COOLIDGE
AUTHOR OF "THE FIGHTING FOOL,"
"WUNPOST," ETC.
NEW YORK
E.P. DUTTON & COMPANY
681 FIFTH AVENUE
COPYRIGHT, 1921,
BY E.P. DUTTON & COMPANY
_All Rights Reserved_
_First printing_ _March, 1921_
_Second_ " _April, 1921_
Printed in the United States of America
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I The Trap 1
II Meshackatee 9
III The Neutrals 19
IV Maverick Basin 30
V The Casuist 40
VI The Ultimate Cause 47
VII A Showdown 57
VIII The Good Old Simple Plan 65
IX Ambush 74
X The Sheep-War 81
XI Allifair 88
XII The Man-Killing Bassetts 96
XIII Back from the Dead 104
XIV A McIvor 112
XV The Castle in the Air 122
XVI There's Always a Way 130
XVII Indian Tactics 141
XVIII I Claim Red 151
XIX Apaches 160
XX Up Horse-Thief Canyon 167
XXI The Randolphs 175
XXII The Flight 183
XXIII The Eagles' Nest 193
XXIV No Trail 201
XXV Live Bait 208
XXVI The Man-Trap 218
XXVII Winchester Takes the Long Chance 226
XXVIII The Honor of the McIvors 232
THE MAN-KILLERS
CHAPTER I
THE TRAP
There was a hush, a boding silence, in Deadman Canyon, and skirling
hawks, flying high against the cliffs, settled down and watched
expectantly. A man was riding warily up the Maverick Basin trail, and
ahead, like hunting animals, two men were skulking forth to cut him
off at the creek. Above them, stuck tight as mud-wasp's nests to the
shelves of sun-blackened crags, the white houses of cliff-dwellers, now
desolate and tenantless, gazed down upon the age-old tragedy; but the
man rode on, his rifle beneath his knee, and at the stalking place of
the Scarboroughs he stopped. A stream of cold water, gushing out of a
deep side chasm, formed a swirl in the tepid waters of the creek; and
close to its edge a flat stone had been laid, where a man could kneel
and drink. He knelt, and when he rose up he was looking down a gun.
"Put 'em up!" commanded a voice, and he started back defiantly, at
which a second voice came from the side.
"Right quick!" it added, and as the stranger obeyed Isham Scarborough
stepped out from behind his rock.
He was tall and slim, as befitted a Texan, with a red, freckled
face, lips swollen by the sun, and eyelashes bleached yellowish
white. A huge, black hat made him tower like a giant as he glowered
down insolently upon his captive and after a long, searching look
he jabbed him in the ribs and reached out to take his gun. But the
stranger stepped away with waspish quickness and at the look in his
eyes Isham flinched and drew back while his brother rose up to shoot.
Red Scarborough was short and chunky, with flaming red hair and eyes
with a piggish glint; and when he shouted out a warning the stranger's
hands shot up, for he, too, had learned to read eyes. Red strode forth
wrathfully and twitched away the prisoner's gun, then whirled on the
startled Isham.
"You're going to get killed," he warned, "if you don't quit monkeying
with these fellers."
"Huh, huh!" scoffed Isham, and swaggered up to the man, he regarded him
with his head on one side. "You're bad, now; ain't ye?" he demanded.
"Well, we'll soon break you of that. Where d'ye think you're going with
that horse?"
The stranger blinked and regarded him intently, then drew down his lips
to a line. He was dark and slender, with flashing black eyes and the
high cheek-bones of a fighter, but now he was ominously calm.
"I am going," he said, "to Maverick Basin. Is this a hold-up, or what?"
"It's a hold-up," replied Isham, "and you're dad-burned lucky it didn't
turn out a killing. I had my six-shooter on your heart and if you'd
ever went for that gun--we'd've left you here for the buzzards. What
takes _you_ over into Maverick Basin?"
"That is _my_ business," replied the prisoner, suddenly matching his
arrogance, and Isham glanced meaningly at his brother.
"Oh, it is, eh?" he observed, reaching over behind a rock and fetching
out a rawhide rope. "Well, I'll damn soon show you that it's mine!"
He shook out a loop, flipped it back into the sand and then, with the
practiced skill of a cowboy, snapped it over his prisoner's head.
Before he could move, the stranger's arms were pinioned; and as the
rope was jerked taut Red caught him from behind and tied his hands hard
and fast.
"Now!" cursed Red, "come through, Mister Man--are you going in to join
them Sorry Blacks?"
"Never heard of 'em," answered the man, and Red's sunburned lips drew
back in a hateful, distorted grin.
"I _know_ that's a lie," he said, "so we'll jest cut you off right
here."
He motioned to Isham, and, with their prisoner between them, they
toiled up a trail to the east. The canyon wall was low on that
side of the creek and at the base of the cliff there was a row of
cliff-dwellings, strung along under the overhang of the rim.
It was from behind their loopholed walls that the Scarboroughs watched
the trail, to cut off such chance travelers as he, and as the prisoner
climbed up his lip curled scornfully at the sight of their elaborate
precautions. In spite of their bluster something still seemed to tell
him that they were not as bad as they looked; although often, as he
knew, the most hideous crimes have been committed by cravens at heart.
They entered a low door and passed on from room to room until at last
he was thrust into a dark and noisome space and bound with his back
against a post.
It was one of those black holes which the cliff-dwellers themselves
had apparently used as a prison and against the square of light which
poured in from above he saw the heavy lattice of bars. Wooden bars, and
something else--and as he looked again he saw the sinister outlines of
a loop. It hung from a beam like the slack body of a snake, and there
was a hangman's knot on the end!
"Now," began Isham Scarborough, "perhaps you can talk. You ain't the
first Sorry horse-thief that has tried to hold out on us, but they
danged sure talked--or hung. So you never even heard of the Sorry
Blacks?"
"No, I never did," answered the prisoner stoutly, and Isham shook down
the loop.
"Say, now listen," he warned, "we know doggoned well that you ain't
no friend of ours. We're from Texas, see, and back where we come from
no white man rides a saddle like that. So you're ditched at the start
by that center-fire rigging and the danged fresh way you've got, but
before we stretch your neck we'll give you a chance to tell where you
got that horse."
He paused and opened up the hangman's loop, and the prisoner found his
tongue.
"I bought him in Bowie," he declared in a passion, "and I've got the
bill of sale in my pocket. But I swear I never heard of the Blacks in
my life--and I don't know what you're talking about."
"Well, the Bassett gang, then!" broke in Red Scarborough roughly,
"ain't you never heerd tell of the Dirty Black Bassetts? Well, that's
the outfit we're talking about!"
"Well, why didn't you say so?" demanded the prisoner resentfully. "Of
course I've heard of the Bassetts. But is that any reason for holding a
man up and threatening to hang him for a horse-thief? You must be some
of the Scarboroughs, but they informed me back in Tonto----"
"Well, what did they inform you?" prompted Isham hectoringly, and the
prisoner drew himself up.
"I was _informed_," he said, "that the Scarboroughs were Southern
gentlemen."
"Uhr," jeered Red, but Isham stood silent.
"Well?" he inquired.
"And as a Southerner myself," went on the prisoner, but Isham cut him
off short.
"You ignorant, black rascal," he burst out in a fury, "don't you dare
to open your mouth and say a word agin the Scarboroughs or I'll kick
your doggoned head off. You've got Injun blood yourse'f, if I'm any
judge, and I know for a certainty you're going into the Basin to throw
in with them dirty, black Bassetts!"
"No, you are mistaken," answered the prisoner firmly. "I'm just looking
for a certain party that I know."
"Oho!" exclaimed Red, stooping to feel for his badge, "so we've picked
up an officer, have we?"
"No, again," replied the prisoner. "I am looking for a friend, and your
quarrels are nothing to me."
"Well, er--who is this friend?" inquired Isham suspiciously, but the
stranger shook his head.
"I cannot tell you that, but I give you my word of honor I am not
going in to join the Bassetts. And now, if you'll kindly untie these
ropes----"
"Don't you think it!" raged Isham, "not after what you did! You
murdering black hound, you started to grab your gun and gut-shoot me
before I could pull. You're a Bassett gunman and you'll never git past
here, so you might as well say your prayers. Come on, Red; let's string
him up!"
"Naw, leave him wait!" answered Red impatiently. "I want to keep my eye
on that trail. Let's git that other jasper and throw him in here too;
and then, if they don't come through, we can hang 'em!"
They withdrew hurriedly and as he listened to their footsteps the
prisoner ventured the ghost of a smile. It was very impressive, with
the hangman's knot and all, but in spite of their bluster he still
doubted their big words and their threats to take his life. And as
for this other prisoner--he dismissed him with a shrug and turned to
inspect his cell. But as he gazed at the blank walls he heard a scuffle
without and the thud of heavy blows, and then a hoarse voice burst out
in frightful oaths which were smothered as the struggles increased.
"You ain't _man_ enough!" it roared, suddenly blaring out again. "No,
you can't _put_ me in there, the two of you!"
There was a rush and a slapping of feet, choking curses and a chorus
of grunts, and then Isham plunged through the doorway, heaving away at
a rope, while his brother fought the prisoner from behind. The rope,
which had once been thrown about the prisoner's neck, was clutched back
by a huge, hairy hand; and as Red pushed him in the other hand swept
out in a last, bearlike swipe at his head. But the Scarboroughs were
powerful men, accustomed to roping and tying steers, and despite his
efforts they dragged him to a post and tied his hands together behind
it.
"Oh, we cain't, hey?" they taunted, and the prisoner panted angrily as
he shook back his tumbled black hair.
"You danged, ornery cow-thieves," he began in measured tones, "I know
what's the matter with you--you're jealous. You want all the stealing
for yourselves. You ain't satisfied with taking what comes your way;
you want to hog it all. But I'll see you in hell first, you low-down
Texican polecats, before I'll----"
"Shut up!" broke in Isham, giving him a boot in the ribs, and as he
burst out in wicked curses they crawled out the doorway and closed it
with a huge flat stone. There was a hush, as their footsteps clumped
away into silence, and then, beneath the shadow of the hangman's knot,
the prisoners sat and stared at each other.