THE BATTLE ON THE CLIFFS
Stamford came to the raft-landing on the river's edge, tired and
perturbed, and seated himself to rest. He was very weary and hungry.
Dakota had gone on faster and faster. Suddenly Stamford remembered
that somewhere ahead, down that cliff, Isabel Bulkeley would be
waiting for her brother. He picked himself up in a fever of anxiety
and plunged recklessly on.
He was still far away when he saw them--Isabel and Dakota. The
cowboy was sitting boldly on a rock close to her, one foot swinging.
His Stetson was pushed to the back of his head, and now and then he
threw back his head to laugh. Isabel did not laugh. Stamford saw
her withdraw suddenly and turn, and Dakota reached swiftly for her,
seizing her arm. She struggled but did not scream. Dakota laughed
and drew her to him.
At that moment Cockney Aikens hurled himself from above and landed on
all-fours close to Dakota. The cowboy recoiled, leaped farther back,
and his hand went to his belt. Cockney raised himself, lunged, and
Dakota flashed his gun and fired. Cockney halted for but the
fraction of a second, then his great fist landed on Dakota's face,
and the cowboy tumbled back among the rocks.
Cockney seemed to go limp then; he sank to his side. But he turned
to Isabel and pointed, and she dropped behind a rock. The wounded
man rolled himself slowly to cover. Dakota was nowhere to be seen.
Cockney threw his left arm over the rock to ease his position, and a
spot of smoke broke from the place where Dakota was hiding, and the
arm slid off and Cockney fell back in a contorted position. Another
burst of smoke, and Isabel ducked. Dakota was keeping them both to
cover.
Stamford dashed upward to the prairie to make better speed. He could
see Cockney better now. His left arm lay limp. One side of shirt
and trousers was soaked with blood. His one sound hand reached up
and pushed a bandage from his eyes. On the exposed rock, ten yards
away, lay his revolver. In his leap from the rocks it had fallen
from his belt. He was unarmed, of which Dakota was evidently
ignorant. Cockney's hand was fumbling at his belt. Isabel, too, had
her eyes on the revolver.
Stamford dropped to cover in the upper rocks behind Isabel to
consider the situation. Then he advanced stealthily to the edge of
the open, drew a long breath, and dashed out on the ledge where the
revolver lay. He scooped it up and tossed it to Cockney. As he
turned Dakota fired. A hot needle pierced his left shoulder. A
second bullet missed him altogether, though it fanned his hair.
"Gosh!" he exclaimed, as he sank beside Isabel. "Gosh!"
It was so boyishly inadequate that Isabel smiled through the fear
that had come into her eyes.
"Bah!" he jeered. "I thought those cowpunchers were dead shots."
He kept his left shoulder away from her and settled down with his
back to the rock. He did not ask for an explanation. It only
mattered that Dakota was on one side and the other three of them on
the other. Cockney, by the sound of things, was making it hot for
Dakota, now that he had his gun. A curse from the cowboy registered
a nip. Stamford grinned foolishly.
"I bet on Cockney," he said.
"But he's wounded, terribly wounded."
He raised himself to look over. Cockney was lying on his stomach far
out from cover. His left arm was horribly unnatural, but his right
held the gun pointed at the rock behind which Dakota lay.
A flash of movement brought an immediate report from Cockney's
revolver, and Dakota's gun rattled out on the open ledge. A second
shot sent it far out of reach.
Cockney's plan was evident: Dakota was not to be allowed to take aim.
The cowboy was a two-gun man, Cockney knew. A Stetson showed above
the rock, but Cockney ignored it; bits of rock jerked up in the air
but failed to draw fire. Suddenly Dakota exposed his second gun and
fired, Cockney returning it instantly. Both seemed to have missed.
The chance shot was repeated from the other side of the rock, and
Cockney failed to reply.
For a minute or two the battle waned. Dakota tried a third shot.
Both guns spoke together. Stamford, his eyes held by the
recklessness of the wounded rancher lying there in the open, saw one
of his feet jerk. At the same moment Dakota's second gun jangled
among the rocks, though it did not come into view. They waited for
its reappearance, but evidently the shot had damaged it.
"He has a rifle, Cockney," Stamford shouted.
Cockney nodded without turning his head.
After a long time the rifle snapped, but it did not show. Twice it
was repeated. Dakota was summoning his friends.
An answering volley burst out down the river, followed by the shouts
of the cowboys. Dakota jeered.
"And now, Cockney Aikens, comes the end o' the chapter. I knew you
been tracking us all summer. You've drawn your little share of the
rustling manys a year without knowing it--but there'll not be a damn
cent for you of the big bunch we're taking out to-night. Then we'll
scoop all that's left--including dear little Mary and the girl there."
Stamford took a chance. He looked out to the east. The cowboys were
coming on the run, darting from cover to cover. At the end of the
ledge they separated, some slinking over the edge to work up behind.
"I knew you killed Kid Loveridge at Dunmore Junction that day,"
Dakota went on, "just 'cause he shot a slinking Policeman who'd 'a'
got us shore if he hadn't. I've always held one bullet for you ever
since. If you'd told the Police you'd 'a' got it sooner. You didn't
know I fired the other bullet that got the Corporal. I only wish I'd
been nearer to help the Kid. You was too quick on the draw for him."
Cockney was stiffly trying to drag himself to cover, his eyes darting
about for a place to make a last stand.
"Stamford," he called, "can you get her to one of those fissures--the
one my right foot's pointing at? I can protect you from here, I
think."
Stamford examined the crevice.
"It's too far," he said. "We're not badly off here."
Cockney's revolver spat, and Muck Norsley flopped from the edge of
the cliff and lay half in the open. Two others bolted across and
sank out of sight. Cockney fired again but missed. Two of their
enemies were now at their backs.
Stamford moved round Isabel and watched behind. A rifle barrel came
slowly into sight and dropped until it almost covered them--then the
peak of a Stetson. He raised himself to protect the girl at his side.
"Isabel," he whispered, "it looks as if it's about time to say
something--to tell you that--I love you. If you can say anything
that'll make me go with a smile--quick!"
His eye was on the rifle. He hated the thought of being shot in the
back. But the rifle lifted unexpectedly to the sky, and Bean Slade
reared his bony shoulders into view.
"It's only a woman, boys!" he shouted, with a scornful laugh. "A
woman!"
"Bean," growled Stamford, "it may seem ungrateful, but why didn't you
wait a second?"
"Shoot, you blasted idiot!" shrieked Dakota. "They're all in it.
Get the boss and that editor-fellow anyway."
Stamford grinned sheepishly at Bean's lanky figure leaning over the
rock, and turned to Isabel.
"I guess it's up to me to postpone the tale. I'm a bit too
thin-skinned for this kind of a game."
"You don't _need_ to postpone it--Morton," Isabel whispered.
"Yes, shoot, and do it quick!" muttered Stamford. "Before I waken.
Do you know," he said, with a whimsical smile, "I've a feeling we're
going to pull through."
Ten yards from Bean Slade rose the ruddy countenance of General
Jones. Deliberately he raised his rifle.
Like a flash Bean fired, and with the report General crumpled out of
sight.
"That's for Billy Windover," cried Bean, expectorating.
With the shot Cockney turned his head weakly. Dakota heard General's
single cry and stood out in the open to fire. Without a groan Bean
slid from the rock.
"And that's for General," hissed Dakota, dropping to cover.
Bean lifted his head and looked into Stamford's eyes. A slow smile
passed across his lean features.
"Ta-ta!" he murmured, and dropped back lifeless.
Stamford's eyes were blinded with tears. For the first time an
overpowering fury rose within him. He reached to his pocket and drew
a small automatic.
"Damn!" he exploded. "I forgot all about it." He fumbled the little
weapon in unaccustomed hand. "But what does the beastly thing do? I
never fired one in my life."
She grabbed it from him and fired, and a figure that had been trying
to creep across behind them darted back. Cockney turned his head and
smiled wanly at them. His gun was lying beside him now; he seemed
too weak to help.
"I'll just toddle over and get Bean's rifle," Stamford announced. "I
seem to be useful only as an ammunition wagon in this fracas. Never
fired a gun in my life, but I'll close my eyes and--darn the
consequences! It may scare them almost as much as me. If I could
only hit that rock in front of Dakota----"
He had risen to his feet, but she seized his arm.
"I'm going with you," she said.
He blinked into her eyes.
"That means?"
"It's dangerous; you're not going without me."
A shot broke from behind them and struck the rock above their heads.
"I think," smiled Stamford, "the second instalment of that serial is
about due. I love you, Isabel."
For answer she reached up and pulled his lips to hers. At the kiss
he paled.
"Life without this," he sighed, "could never equal death with it."
"But why not life _with_ it?" she smiled.
"That," he said, "is worth any risk."
He looked at her, but she was watching the rocks behind with raised
revolver.
Alkali Sam shouted:
"D'ye want the gal, Dakota?"
"You're shore right I do, old hoss!"
"Cudn't yo hang the li'l editor-chap t' yer watch chain? He don't
seem wuth powder."
Stamford glared.
"Keep one bullet," he ordered Isabel. Then he smiled. "They don't
seem to like me."
Alkali was shouting a ribald song as he climbed upward for a better
shot.
"I think," said Stamford, "things are going to happen."
What happened was a new sound from across the river--the pound of a
running herd. Silence fell suddenly over the tragedy on the ledge;
every eye was turned to the opposite cliffs.
Swiftly along the edge of the cliff galloped a bunch of steers, their
tails held high. And driving them on was Professor Bulkeley, mounted
on Gee-Gee, two huge dogs bounding before him.
Stamford peered over the rock at Cockney--he could not help it. But
Cockney was almost past surprise. Dakota and his comrades were
shouting to each other excitedly. Isabel was laughing at Stamford
from the corner of her eye. She nodded to his unspoken query.
But between them and the help in sight an impassable canyon ran.
The Professor, with the roar of the cattle and the river in his ears,
had heard nothing. He would pass them by without a suspicion that
within rifle range his sister and friends were in direst peril.
Stamford and Isabel shouted, but no noise they could make would carry
against the clamour closing the Professor in. Isabel fired into the
air until the automatic was empty. It was useless.
Stamford darted to Bean's lifeless body. Leaning the rifle on the
rock he took as careful aim as he knew how at the running cattle, but
missed. He repeated the failure. Then, reckless of exposure, he
carried the rifle to Cockney. Lifting the heavy man to his side, he
thrust the rifle before him and held it against the rock. Cockney's
face twisted in pain, but he placed his eye to the stock, held his
breath, and pulled the trigger.
A steer leaped, stumbled, and those behind trod over it. A second
time a steer fell. Cockney sank back. He could stand it no longer.
As the first steer went down, the Professor pulled up sharply. He
had not heard the shot, but he recognised the results. The next shot
he heard. And then a third snapped from the rock where Dakota lay,
and Gee-Gee sank to his side.
Dakota sent a piercing whistle over the river, and the two great dogs
came slinking to the edge of the cliff and lay looking over.
Dakota jeered aloud.
"Them was two fine pups the Inspector got for us, Alkali. I'll
borrow dogs like them any time they come to the West. I need 'em in
my biz."
"Hurrah for Dakota Fraley an' his glad eye!" shouted Alkali.
"Dakota, boy, you're a devil with dogs an' skirts."
A rifle-shot broke from across the river. Dakota Fraley raised
himself with a spasmodic jerk, a look of shocked incredulity on his
swarthy face, and fell full length out on the ledge. His limbs
scarcely twitched as he lay. Cockney smiled weakly.
Alkali and Dude could be heard seeking cover from the newer peril.
Again and again the rifle-shots came from the unseen marksman. Bits
of rock flew about the two cowboys. Stamford rose in his excitement
and waved his hat. He could see bullet after bullet flash a white
sideways mark on the face of the cliff, and the chips rise lower down
where the bullet had bent its course. At the fifth shot Alkali cried
out. Richochet shooting was an art even he, notorious gunman as he
was, had never learned.
The firing ceased as suddenly as it had begun. The Dude remained.
Suddenly above them a stern command rasped down. Two Mounted
Policemen leaned over the edge of the cliff, their rifles covering
Dude.
The cowboy stepped out, his arms up. The battle on the ledge above
the Red Deer was ended.
Stamford and Isabel ran to Cockney. He was lying at full length, his
left arm crumpled under him. The bandage on his head had slipped.
He looked up in Stamford's face and smiled.
"My guest--to the last--anyway, Stamford. I'm going to--beat
you--away--from the H-Lazy Z."
Isabel whispered to one of the Mounted Police, who dashed up to his
horse and rode away.
"No--don't touch me. Let me lie--awhile. Where's the Professor?"
An exclamation from Sergeant Prior drew their eyes to the opposite
shore. The Professor had jumped into the river--he could not wait to
go round by the ford. They watched, Stamford satisfied that what the
powerful fellow had done once he could repeat, Isabel alarmed,
Sergeant Prior frankly sceptical.
They did their best for Cockney where he lay, but there was so little
to be done. When they attempted to lift him, he swooned, and they
left him at last and waited--waited.
The dripping Professor bounded up the rocks, scrambling from foothold
to foothold.
"You're safe, dear?" he panted, when Isabel ran to him.
For one terrible moment Stamford stared at them. She read his fear
and touched his arm.
"Morton, Morton! He is only a brother. I've been helping him in
this case--I do sometimes."
"Heavens, Prior!" cried the Professor. "I feared you'd be too late.
I stampeded the cattle. I had to. They were taking them away
to-night." Then he saw Cockney. "My God, Aikens! What have they
done to you?" He sank beside the wounded man.
"This is--my bad day," murmured Cockney, with a twisted smile.
"First you thrashed me--now I'm--on the way, Professor."
"Not Professor, Cockney--Amos Barnes, of the Mounted Police."
Cockney smiled. "I suspected.... I helped you--what I could. But I
hated--the Police so. _Your_ English saddle.... Pink Eye yours now
without--breaking into the corral--at nights."
Mary Aikens ran along the ledge and sank by his side. She was out on
Matana when the Policeman found her.
"Jim! Jim!"
He pressed her feebly back with his right hand.
"No sentiment--Mary.... I--haven't time. You're--in good hands.
This is the best way--out." His breath was coming in gasps.
"Now--now, Mary Merrill--just one kiss--to help me on my way ... in
memory of ... what might have been. If--Amos--doesn't mind."
She touched his lips tenderly with her own, and the tears rained on
his face. He opened his eyes, and the sweet smile of big, kindly,
light-hearted Cockney Aikens relieved the end.
Amos Barnes gently raised the weeping woman to her feet.
"He died as you would have him die, Mary," he whispered. "In his
death you loved him as never in his life. And that's how Jim would
have it. You're going home now--to your mother. We'll look after
the ranch. I'll come to you when you send for me.... Poor Jim! The
whole country loved him---but he'll rest best out here on the cliffs
of the H-Lazy Z, where he found himself."
THE END