"Me, Tom Tuttle, holding up my hands while a fellow takes my gun! What
will Emerson Mead say to that! Well, I reckon he wouldn't have done
different, for Emerson's got good judgment."
Such was Tuttle's soliloquy as he mounted the gradual ascent of the
range that bounded the plain on the west. Alternately he chuckled and
slapped his thigh in appreciation of the joke on himself, and exploded
an indignant oath as mortified pride asserted itself.
After a time he espied a black dot in a halo of dust coming down the
mountain side. He considered it a moment and then decided, "It's a man
on horseback." He took out his revolver and, holding it in his hand,
made another scrutiny of the approaching figure.
"Je-e-mima! If he don't ride like Nick Ellhorn! I shouldn't wonder if
it's Nick!"
Presently the figure flourished a black sombrero and down the dusty
road came a yell which began full-lunged and ended in a screeching
"whee-ee-e." Tuttle answered with a loud "hello," and both men put
spurs to their horses and were soon shaking hands.
"What's the news at Plumas and out at Emerson's?" asked Tuttle.
"Oh, things are fairly quiet at Plumas just now, but you never know
when hell is going to break loose there. You're just in time, though,
for Emerson's up to his ears in fight. Goin' to stay?"
"I will if Emerson needs me. I've been with Marshal Black over to
Millbank after some counterfeiters from Colorado. He took 'em back,
and, as he didn't need me, I thought I'd just ride over here and see
if you-all mightn't be in trouble and need some help."
"Ain't after anybody, then?"
"No. But, say, Nick! I struck the darndest outfit last night! I got
regularly held up!"
"What! You! Held up?"
"Yes, I did. Sat with my hands in the air like a fool tenderfoot while
a man took my gun and cross-questioned me like a lawyer."
Ellhorn rolled and rocked on his horse with laughter. When he could
speak he demanded the whole story, which Tuttle told him in detail.
"What was their lay?" he asked.
"I'll give it up. I've thought of everything I could, and there ain't
a blamed thing that'll explain it."
"Tommy, I reckon they need to be arrested about as bad as two men ever
needed anything. Come along and we'll corral 'em."
"We've got no warrants, Nick!"
"Haven't you got any in your pockets?"
"Yes, but not for them."
"Tommy, you're a deputy marshal, and that outfit took you at a
disadvantage and misused you shameful. You're an officer of the law,
Tommy, and it was as bad as contempt of court! It's our duty to arrest
'em for it and bring 'em in."
"But we can't do it without warrants, Nick."
Ellhorn took some papers from his pocket and looked them over. "I'm
lookin' for a Mexican named Antonio Diaz," he said. "Here's the
warrant for his arrest. Violation of the Edmunds act. You say one of
these men was a Mexican. I think likely he's Antonio. We'll go and
find out. Never mind tellin' me how he looked," he went on hastily, as
Tuttle began to speak. "It's likely he's Antonio, and it's my duty to
go and find out. Of course, they'll resist arrest, and then they'll
get their punishment for the way they treated you."
Tuttle looked disapproving. "Nick, what do you think would be
Emerson's judgment?"
"Emerson ain't here, and I'm acting on my own judgment, which is to go
after this outfit and pepper 'em full of holes if they're sassy."
Tuttle shook his head. "I don't like the scheme."
"Well, it ain't your scheme, and you don't have to like it. I think we
ought to go after these men right now. They've done something they
ought to be arrested for. And, anyway, they ought to be punished for
holdin' you up."
"Nick, I'd go with you in a minute, you know I would, if we had a
warrant for 'em, or if I had any reason to think that the Mexican is
the man you want. You don't think so yourself. They might have blowed
my brains out any minute, and nobody would ever have known a thing
about it. But they didn't and I reckon they treated me as white as
they could and look after their own interests. It's my judgment, and I
think it would be Emerson's, too, that it would be a mean trick for me
to come up behind 'em and begin shootin', just for holdin' me up, when
they might have treated me a whole heap worse. I won't go with you,
Nick."
"Sure, then, and I'll go alone," Ellhorn responded cheerfully.
"They'll be two to one."
"Not very long, I reckon."
"Better wait a few days, Nick, till you can go after 'em legally."
"They'll be out of the country by that time. I'm under no obligations
to be kind to 'em, and I don't mean to be. I'm goin' to camp on their
trail right now." He dismounted and cinched up his saddle and
inspected his revolver.
Tuttle regarded him dubiously and in silence until he remounted. Then
he said, slowly: "Well, my judgment's against it, Nick, but I won't
see you go off alone into any such scrape as this is bound to be.
I'll go with you, but I won't do any shootin'--unless you need me
mighty bad."
They galloped back to the scene of Tuttle's captivity the night
before. They found the trail of the wagon, and followed it rapidly
toward the north. Soon they saw a glaring white line against the
horizon. "There's the White Sands," said Ellhorn. "We ought to catch
'em before they get there." A few moments later they came within sight
of the wagon. Tuttle and Ellhorn spurred their horses to a quicker
pace and when they were within hailing distance Ellhorn shouted to its
two occupants to surrender. Their only response was to put whip to
their horses, and Ellhorn sent a pistol ball whizzing past them. They
replied in kind and a quick fusillade began. Tuttle rode silently
beside his companion, not even drawing his six-shooter from its
holster. A bullet bit into the rim of his sombrero, and he grumbled a
big oath under his breath. Another nicked the ear of Ellhorn's horse.
In the wagon, the Mexican was crouched in the bottom, shooting from
behind the seat, apparently taking careful aim. The tall man stood up,
lashing the horses furiously. He turned, holding the reins in one
hand, and with the other discharged another volley, necessarily
somewhat at random. But it came near doing good execution, for one
bullet went through Tuttle's sleeve and another singed the shoulder of
Ellhorn's coat.
"Whee-ee-e!" shouted Ellhorn. "Sure, and I've winged him! I've hit the
big one in the leg!"
The next moment his pistol dropped to the ground. A bullet from the
Mexican's Winchester had plowed through his right arm. Tuttle, who had
not even put hand to his revolver, drew rein beside him while the
other men stopped shooting and devoted all their energies to getting
away as quickly as possible. Tuttle tore strips from his shirt with
which to bind Ellhorn's wound, and persuaded him to return to Las
Plumas, where he could have the services of a physician.
"I guess I'll have to, Tom," he said regretfully. "I'd like to go
after 'em and finish this job up right now. I got one into the big
one, but that's nothin' to what they deserve. Lord! but they need to
be peppered full of holes! But I can't fight now, and you won't, so
it's no use."
As they rode back Tuttle said: "You say that Emerson's up to his ears
in fight? What's it about? That cattle business?"
"Yes, that's it. You know he's been havin' trouble for some time with
Colonel Whittaker and the Fillmore Cattle Company, and I reckon hell's
a-popping over there by this time. Colonel Whittaker--he's manager of
the company now, and one of the stock-holders--wants to corral the
whole blamed country for his range. Well, there's Emerson Mead has had
his range for the last five years, and Willet still longer, and
McAlvin and Brewer, they've been there a long time, too, and they all
say they've got more right to the range than the company has, because
they own the water holes, and they don't propose to be crowded out by
no corporation. But I reckon they'll have to fight for their rights if
they get 'em."
"How's Whittaker off for men? Got anybody that can shoot?"
"You bet he has. Young Will Whittaker is mighty near as good a shot as
Emerson is. He does most of the managing at their ranch headquarters,
while the old man works politics over in Plumas."
"Have they had any fights yet?"
"I haven't seen Emerson for a month. He was over in Plumas then and he
said he expected to have trouble and wanted me to come out."
"You don't mean to say that the Fillmore outfit is really tryin' to
drive Emerson and the rest of them out of the Fernandez mountains?"
"Well, they want to get control of the whole range for about a hundred
miles, if they can. And there's some politics mixed up in it, of
course. Old Whittaker is a Republican, you know, with a lot of
political schemes he wants to put through. Of course Emerson and the
others are Democrats and stand in with the party, and the Colonel
thinks he'll be doing the Republicans a big service if he can break
them up. Emerson expected the trouble to come to a head over the
spring round-up, for Colonel Whittaker said that Emerson and McAlvin
and the rest of them shouldn't round-up with him."
"Well, Emerson won't stand any such nonsense as that!"
"I guess Whittaker and his cow-boys will have to flirt gravel mighty
fast if they keep him from it!"