THE MAN-TRAP
The Scarborough gang disappeared over night, disappeared and was lost
track of completely, and its dissolution was as complete as that
of a bubble which suddenly explodes and is gone. The outlaws and
horse-thieves who had so terrorized the country, carrying their trade
as far as Wyoming and Texas, took to the hills and were gone, leaving
the stock they had stolen to be rounded up and restored by Meshackatee.
In the corrals by the Rock House horses and cattle awaited their
owners; and the Rock House itself, once the holdout of the gang, became
the abode of Tonto County deputies. But Isham himself, the wolf who had
turned fox, was lost and could not be found.
He had started west, taking the trail to the Geronimo, and somewhere
on the way he had disappeared. For hundreds of miles along the base of
the Rim, and for thousands of square miles along its top, there was a
forest of pines as unbroken as the first wilderness, as untracked as
the Arctic regions. Once out of the trail a man was lost to all pursuit
but, knowing his directions, he was free to ride on as he pleased until
he came to the edge of the forest. Into this covert of trees and
brush Isham had slipped like a weasel, leaving his wife to ride on to
Geronimo; but McIvor cut his trail at last, and, after a month of hard
riding, he too rode into Geronimo. For the wolf, now turned fox, had
doubled on his tracks and taken shelter within the shadow of the law.
There had been a time when Isham had scoffed at the law, but that was
in Tonto County. Geronimo County was different, and there was also a
sharp rivalry between the mountain and valley counties. Geronimo was
down in the valley, a land of heat and broad canals and alfalfa fields
stretching away for miles, and its people were peaceably inclined; but
the mountainous Tonto had achieved an unenviable reputation as the
home of horse-thieves and outlaws. The Geronimo papers had made the
most of his outlawry but Isham had reckoned well when he depended upon
local jealousy to protect him from the hand of the law. No Tonto County
deputy could arrest him in Geronimo, and he knew that no Geronimo
deputy would. And to add to his security it soon became evident that
Tonto was glad to get rid of him. The county was bankrupt already from
trying to convict him and it was content to let sleeping dogs lie.
This much McIvor learned before he had been in town an hour--and
then he experienced a shock. A tall man that he knew sauntered into
the saloon and regarded him out of the tail of his eye--it was Burge
Masters, one of the Scarborough gunmen. He took a drink and sauntered
out, and as Hall sat at a card table another tall Texan walked in.
"Say," he said, coming over to where Hall sat, "haven't I seen you
before around here somewhere?"
"Why, not that I know of," responded Hall, and looked him
over carefully. He belonged to a breed that he knew all too
well--heavy-jawed, with high cheek-bones and narrowed eyes--he was
a gunman, straight from Texas. But what was he doing here in this
peaceful farming community? The answer was in his eyes. He was there
for a purpose and that purpose, for some reason, was not unconnected
with him, Hall.
"That your horse out there?" inquired the Texan abruptly, "blue roan
with a slit in one ear? Well, I'll have you to know you _stole_ 'im!"
He struck the table and Hall glanced up at him quickly, but he did not
make a move.
"You are mistaken, my friend," he answered at last, and the Texan
turned away. Hall stepped out the door after him, just in time to see
three Texans making a critical examination of his roan. And then it
flashed over him, the old Scarborough trick which Isham had attempted
at Cold Spring. They were trying to prove him a horse-thief. He stood
and watched them, stamping their faces on his memory, and at last they
slouched away. But he had the answer now--they were still Scarborough
gunmen, and they knew he had come with a purpose. What that purpose
was he would admit to no man; but they knew, and Isham would know. He
was there to kill the last of the Scarboroughs.
Even if he were not superstitious the appearance of Hall McIvor would
send the chill of fear over Isham; for the blue roan which he rode had
lured Red to his death, and then horse and man had lured Elmo. It was
like the shadow of a raven, the heavy winging of Death itself, to see
that drooping roan at the horse-rack, and as McIvor watched the street
he was conscious of tense faces that seemed to divine his mission.
Perhaps it was his clothes, torn by riding through the brush, or the
stern set look in his eyes; but he could tell by their looks that these
strangers knew all about him, although now they studiously ignored
him. Even the Texans kept away from him, retreating to the saloon
across the street; but he knew what was in their hearts. There was a
thousand-dollar reward on his head.
Not for nothing had Burge Masters' friend slapped the table insultingly
and accused him of being a horse-thief; they were out for the reward
and if he refused to fight there were other ways of embroiling him.
Hall sensed mischief in the air and yet he was puzzled--they seemed to
be prepared for his coming. Where before there had been one Texan now
there were eight or ten, all armed and watching him closely; and as
he mounted his tired horse and rode him down to the corral he saw two
of them swing up and start after him. Then he knew it--he had ridden
into a trap. Isham had assembled his gunmen and made all things ready,
and then let his presence be known; and McIvor, following blindly, had
ridden into an ambush, right there in that peaceful, farming town. If
he fled, they would follow him; and if he stayed--well, then it would
be ten to one.
He rode down to the feed corral and looked it over closely, then
summoned the proprietor from his office.
"Put this horse in a box stall," he directed, "and don't let any person
go near him. I want to leave him saddled--and I'll hold you personally
responsible if he isn't right here when I want him."
"All right, pardner," answered the livery-stable keeper, "I suppose the
horse is yours?"
"Yes, and here's the bill of sale."
Hall took out the bill of sale which he had carefully preserved and
showed it to the worldly-wise proprietor, who nodded and passed it back.
"Kee-reck," he remarked. "'Be sure you're right,' sez I, 'and then go
ahead.' Your horse will be here when you call for him."
The Texans had disappeared when Hall returned to the main street, but
he sat with his back to the wall. It was a habit he had acquired in
just such towns as this, when the clans had gathered for court-day.
But here all was different, the air was furnace-hot and strange
birds fluttered about through the palms; there was the smell of
desert greasewood, the rank tang of arrow-weed and the fragrance of
sun-ripened hay. Heavy wagons dragged past, loaded with wheat for the
flour mill which stood at the edge of the river-bottom; long-haired
Indians strode by, their bare feet whispering along the sidewalk, and
Mexicans sat smoking on their heels. There were ranchers in sweaty
shirts and faded-out overalls, and the usual collection of bums; but
the Texans were gone and as evening came on Hall retired to his room
above the saloon.
Here was a new problem, new conditions, a conspiracy on foot to draw
him into a quarrel; and he wondered rather wearily if it would not be
better to withdraw and come in again. Isham Scarborough had rented a
ranch several miles out of town and was reported to be harvesting his
wheat; he was forewarned now and if Hall rode to his ranch he would
expose his hand to no purpose. And then the hired gunmen, who even now
were dogging his footsteps, would find the opportunity they sought. He
would be shot down from ambush, somewhere along the road, and Isham
would escape unscathed. Every circumstance was against him, but now
he could not flee, for they would hunt him down like a rabbit. All he
could do was to stand pat and wait.
In towns like Geronimo there is but one place to wait and Hall found
himself back in the saloon. The Keno was the largest by far in the city
and there he would find company and friends. It was a protection, in a
way, to mingle with the crowd that gathered to gamble and drink; and if
the Texans came to gang him these men of the valley would see that he
had fair play. So as the evening came on, making the darkened streets
dangerous, he drifted back into the Keno; and to pass away the time he
ventured small sums at roulette, always keeping one eye on the door.
And then they came in, not eight or ten of them, but fifteen or twenty
armed Texans; and a hush settled over the room.
The skitter of the roulette balls sounded with painful distinctness;
and drunken men, wrangling in an uproar, heard their voices break
through and rise high in the sudden silence. Texans were rare in
Geronimo, they almost never came there, and especially in the heat of
summer; and these swashbucklers from Tonto were known for what they
were, though their purpose that night was still a mystery. All the
Arizonans knew was that they were out to make trouble--Hall knew they
had come to get him. They called for the drinks and then scattered
through the room, some watching the crap-games, others losing a dollar
at roulette, but gradually closing in. A hand, coming from nowhere,
reached out to steal his pistol; another man jostled him from behind,
but as the gang surged towards him Hall slipped between two tables and
stood with his back to the wall.
There was a pause, in which crap dealers slid down softly beneath their
tables and the rest of the assembly stood frozen, and then Hall spoke
to the nearest of the gang.
"What can I do for you, my friend?" he asked with deceptive quietness,
and the nerve of the Texan broke.
"Have a drink!" he guffawed, turning and heading for the bar; but Burge
Masters stepped out in his place.
"We want you," he said, "and you might as well come quietly. If you
don't----"
"I won't come," stated Hall.
There was another pause, and the crowd by the door suddenly ducked
and charged out into the street; then, after an interval, another
crowd surged in, and in the lead strode Wahoo Meshackatee. He had a
gun in each hand and when he saw the Texans he started, then glanced
inquiringly at McIvor.
"Well, hello!" he exclaimed, "what's going on here, anyhow? Have I
broke in on a little family party?"
Burge Masters turned his head but he did not speak and his men began to
shuffle away.
"Oh, nothing much," he mumbled, and Meshackatee beckoned to Hall, then
held up his hand to the bar-keeper.
"Have a drink, boys," he said. "Your faces seem familiar. Long time
since I've seen a live Texan."
They looked at him and winced, for they knew what he meant, and
suddenly all the fight went out them.
"Well," grumbled Masters, and they drank in stony silence then turned
and filed out of the door.