The next morning after his arrest Nick Ellhorn was released on bail.
He came out thoroughly sobered, and when he learned what had been the
result of his drunken trick his vocabulary of abusive epithets ran dry
in his effort to characterize his conduct.
"How did you happen to get drunk, Nick?" Judge Harlin asked. "I
thought you had quit. What did you do it for?"
"Sure, and what did I do it for?" said Nick, and the strong Irish
accent in his speech told how deeply he felt his misdeed. For he was
always most Irish when most moved. "I reckon," he went on, and the
rolling intonation fell from his tongue like a faint breath from the
green isle itself, "I reckon I did it just to show my friends what a
measly, coyote, white-livered, tackey, ornery, spavined, colicky,
mangy, blitherin' sort of a beast I am. Sure, now, Judge, I just
wanted everybody to know what a gee-whillikined damn fool I can be if
I try. And they know, now. Oh, yes, they know. There's nothin' more I
can tell. Hold on, Judge! Sure, and I'm thinkin' it all came along of
the way I mixed my drinks yesterday when I first struck the Palmleaf.
I had beer, and whisky, and some mint juleps, yes, and maybe a
cocktail, and I think there was some more beer--yes, there was more
beer, and I think likely that I had some brandy up there in that sick
man's room. For I seem to remember that I took a drink of brandy
because it was goin' to kill him if he drank it, and so I took it in
his place. Yes, I must have had some brandy, sure, because nothin' but
brandy will set me up that way. Now, just look at that, Judge! Ain't
that a fine lay-out for a man to swallow that knows better? If I'd
never been inside a saloon before there'd be some excuse. But me
a-mixin' my drinks like that! It's plumb ridiculous!"
"Jim Halliday isn't sorry you did it. He's as proud as a boy with his
first pants over the haul he made yesterday. I hear he's going to be
measured for a brand-new, tailor-made cartridge belt and six-shooter
as a memento of the occasion."
"He'd better hurry up, then, before the occasion turns a back
somersault on him. I reckon what he needs most is a new hat that will
be about six sizes too big for him a week from now. Jim Halliday's all
right as long as he keeps to his own side of the street, but he'd
better not come over here or he'll be filled so full of bullets that
he won't know himself from a dice box. Say, Judge, what's become of
that John Chiny's pigtail they say I cut off?"
"I suppose it's in the hands of the district attorney and will be
brought in as part of the evidence when your case is tried."
"Harry Gillam's got it, has he? Well, I want it myself. It's mine, and
I want it as a reminder not to mix my drinks. What had I better do
about this business, Judge?"
"There's only one thing you can do, Nick--plead guilty and throw
yourself on the mercy of the court, and trust to your confounded Irish
luck to get you off easy."
Nick Ellhorn sent a telegram to Thomson Tuttle to return as quickly as
possible and then attended to the shipment of Emerson Mead's cattle.
When he appeared on Main street again in the afternoon he found the
town dividing itself into two hostile camps. The Palmleaf and the
White Horse saloons were, respectively, the headquarters of the two
factions, and men were dropping their work and leaving their shops and
offices to join the excited crowds that filled the two saloons and
gathered in groups on the sidewalks. On the west side of Main street
the general temper was pleased, exultant, and inclined to jeer at the
other side whenever a Republican met a Democrat. On the east side,
anger and the determination to get even, shone in men's eyes and
sounded in their talk.
In the afternoon news came that the territorial district court had
decided in favor of the Democrats a controversy over the sheriff's
office that had been going on ever since the election the previous
autumn, when on the face of the returns the Republican candidate,
John Daniels, had been declared elected. The Democrats had cried
"fraud," and carried the case into the courts, where it had ever since
been crawling slowly along, while Daniels held the office. The
election had been so hotly contested that each side had counted more
votes than had been registered. But each had felt so confident that it
could cover up its own misdeeds and hide behind its execration of
those of its enemy that neither had had any doubt about the outcome.
The news of the decision embittered the quarrel which had been opened
by the arrest of Emerson Mead. There were threats of armed resistance
if the Democrats should attempt to take the office, and both John
Daniels and Joe Davis, who had been the Democratic candidate, went
about heavily armed and attended by armed friends as bodyguards, lest
sudden death at the mouth of a smoking gun should end the dispute.
Toward night the angry talk and the buzzing rumors again centered
about Emerson Mead. It began to be said on the west side of the street
that this whole controversy over the sheriff's office had been worked
up by Mead and his friends in order that they might get his party into
power and, under its protection, harass the cattle company and by
arrests and murders ruin their business and take their stock. As the
talk whizzed and buzzed along the street men grew more and more
reckless and angry in their assertions. They lashed themselves into a
state in which they really believed, for the time being, that Mead's
continued existence would be a peril to themselves and a danger to the
community. Suggestions of lynching were hazarded and quickly taken up
and discussed. There were many who thought this the best thing that
could be done, and a little group of these got together in the coolest
corner of the White Horse saloon and formed themselves into a secret
vigilance committee. News of these things came by way of the back door
into Judge Harlin's office. He took the lead on the Democratic side of
the street and organized a party of twelve of their bravest men and
best shots to guard the jail during the night and resist any attempt
to take out Emerson Mead. He was careful also to see that news of what
he was doing was carried to the leaders on the other side. Late in the
evening he and Ellhorn and the rest of their party posted themselves
in dark corners and convenient hiding-places in the neighborhood of
the jail. An hour or more passed and there was no sign that the
vigilance committee had survived the fervors of the afternoon. Finally
Nick Ellhorn began to suspect what had happened and he called Judge
Harlin to account.
"I call it downright mean, Judge," he complained, "to bring us fellows
out here in the hope of havin' a scrimmage and then send the other
side word we're here, so they'll be sure not to come! You'll be
runnin' on their ticket next thing we know! Now that we are out here
and all ready for business, and nothin' to do, we'd better just
slam-bang ourselves against that jail over there and get Emerson out."
Judge Harlin, Ellhorn, Joe Davis and two others were standing in the
recess of a deep doorway under a _portal_. On the top of the _portal_,
stretched at full length, with one ear over the edge, lay a Mexican
listening to their talk. He could not hear Harlin's reply to Nick's
suggestion, but one of the others quickly agreed. The listener did not
wait to hear more, and in five minutes the back room of the White
Horse saloon was in a bustle of excitement. John Daniels and Jim
Halliday called for a posse of citizens to help them defend the jail,
and the party set out at once on a quick run up the street.
Judge Harlin was trying to restrain Ellhorn's enthusiasm over the idea
of assaulting the jail. "No, Nick," he said, "we don't want to do
anything illegal. We are all right so far, because we are here to
protect human life and uphold the law. But the minute you throw
yourself against the doors of the jail you forfeit the law's
protection and--"
"Here they come!" Nick interrupted excitedly. His quick ear had caught
the hurried tramp of the approaching party.
With Daniels, Whittaker and Halliday in the lead and the others
trailing on close behind, they came down the middle of the street on a
half run, plainly revealed in the bright moonlight. They expected to
find the Democrats battering down the jail door, if they were not
already taking the prisoner out, and all their attention was turned
toward that building. Presently they saw that the entrance and all the
street round about were silent and apparently deserted, and they
concluded that the rescuing party was already inside the jail. Daniels
turned and made a hushing gesture.
"Softly, boys," he said in a repressed voice. "Come along as quietly
as you possibly can and get up to the door in a bunch. Have your guns
ready."
Scarcely were the words out of his mouth when from the darkness and
silence of a _portal_ a block beyond them came a flash and a report,
and on the instant a dozen more blazed out along that side of the
street, for half a block.
The sheriff's party came to a sudden stop, stunned for a moment by the
complete surprise. One of their number threw out his hands and sank
down groaning into the dust.
"We're ambushed, boys! It's a trick!" shouted a man in the rear, and
he started off as fast as his legs could carry him. Another and
another followed his example, and three others picked up the wounded
man and carried him away. Daniels and Halliday and three or four
others returned the fire, guessing at the location of the enemy, but
one of their party fell to the ground and another dropped his pistol
as his arm suddenly went limp and helpless.
"It's nothin' but a trick to get us out here and kill us," said
Daniels.
"It's no use to stand here and make targets of ourselves in the
moonlight," added Halliday. "We'd better get out as quick as we can."
They picked up the wounded man, and supporting him between two others,
sought the shadow of the sidewalk and hurried away, followed by a
jeering "Whoo-oo-oo-ee" in Nick Ellhorn's well-known voice.
"No more shooting, boys!" shouted Judge Harlin. "We've buffaloed
'em--let 'em go!"
"You're always spoilin' the fun, Judge," Nick complained. "This job
was too easy! Now, did you ever see such a pack of cowards start on a
lynchin' bee? But I reckon they've learned one lesson and won't try to
lynch Emerson again in a hurry."
The next day excitement ran higher than ever. The Republicans,
smarting under their defeat, were in a white heat of indignation over
what they believed was a deliberate plan to ambush and kill their
leading men. The Democrats, while they were jubilant over their
victory, were equally indignant over what they declared was an
attempt, by the very men who ought to have protected him, to lynch
Emerson Mead. In reality, each side had been trying to protect him and
uphold the law, but each scoffed at and spurned the story of the
other. Main street was in two hostile camps and all the fire-arms in
the town that were not already in evidence in holsters and hip
pockets, were brought to the center of hostilities and placed within
handy reaching distance in shops and offices. Behind the bar in each
of the saloons was a stack of shot-guns and rifles. The sidewalk on
each side of the street was constantly crowded, but nobody crossed
from one side to the other.
The women began to feel the war spirit and early in the day Judge
Harlin's wife and John Daniels' wife, who were ordinarily the dearest
friends, passed each other on the street without speaking. The ladies
of Las Plumas were accustomed to meet at frequent teas, luncheons and
card parties on terms of the greatest cordiality, but long before
night, if any one whose masculine affiliations were on one side met
one belonging to the other, they passed with a haughty stare.
Sheriff Daniels was much disturbed over the situation, fearing that he
would be unable to keep his prisoner in jail. He talked the matter
over with his advisers and together they decided that the best plan
would be to get Emerson Mead out of town for the present, and
accordingly a telegram was sent to the sheriff of the adjoining county
asking permission to lodge Mead temporarily in his jail. The Democrats
heard of this plan, and Nick Ellhorn fumed indignantly. Judge Harlin
was secretly pleased, and contrived to send word to Colonel
Whittaker, Sheriff Daniels and Jim Halliday that he approved their
plan and would do his best to control the Democratic faction while
they were making the change. He did not tell Nick Ellhorn that he had
done this, but he reasoned with that loyal friend at great length on
the matter.
"But see here, Judge," Nick replied to all his arguments, "I got
Emerson into trouble this time and I've got to get him out. If he
hadn't been chasin' around alone, tryin' to get me out of the beastly
drunken scrape I'd been fool enough to get into, this wouldn't have
happened. You know it wouldn't, Judge. It's all my fault, and I've got
to get Emerson out of it."
"That's all right, Nick. Your loyalty to Emerson does you great
credit. Much more than your judgment does. But if you'll just wait a
week or two the grand jury will pronounce on his case, and they're
bound to let the bottom out of the whole thing. They'll never find a
true bill against him, with no evidence to go on and no proof even
that Will Whittaker is dead. Then Emerson will come out a vindicated
man and they will have to let him alone after that. His interests will
not suffer now by his being detained a few days, and he will gain in
the respect of the community by submitting quietly. Take my advice,
Nick, and keep still, and let matters follow their legal course for
the next week or two."
"A week or two, Judge! And let Emerson stay in jail all that time?
When he's no more right to be there than you or me! Sure, now, Judge!
and what do you-all take me for, anyway?"
"For a sensible man, Nick, who will see the reason in what I have been
saying and will take my advice in the matter."
Nick leaned his face on his hand and gloomed across the desk at the
big judge, who sat calm and judicial on the other side. Judge Harlin
pleased himself much by believing that he could handle Nick Ellhorn
better than any other man in the county, except Emerson Mead, and he
liked to have the opportunity to try his hand, just as he liked to
drive a nervous, mettlesome, erratic horse. He could drive the horse,
but he could not manage Nick Ellhorn. The tall Texan had learned not
to batter words against the judge's determination, which was as big
and bulky as his figure. He simply gave tacit acquiescence, and then
went away and did as he pleased. If his scheme succeeded he adroitly
flattered the judge by giving him the credit; if it failed he
professed penitence and said how much better it would have been to
follow the judge's advice. He saw that Judge Harlin had decided to
allow Emerson Mead to stay in jail until the grand jury should meet,
so he presently said:
"Oh, I reckon you-all are right about it, Judge, but it's damn hard on
Emerson. But if it's the only way to keep this blamed town from
fallin' to and gettin' rid of itself I reckon we'll have to let him
stand it." He got up and walked up and down the room for a few minutes
and then, with his black eyes dancing and a broad smile curling his
mustache around the dimple in each cheek, he went to the telegraph
office and sent to Thomson Tuttle a telegram which read:
"Get off the train to-morrow at Escondida and ride to Bosque Grande,
where you will find Missouri Bill with horses and instructions."
Escondida was the first station on the railroad north of Las Plumas
and the Bosque Grande was a river flat, covered with a dense growth of
cottonwoods and willow bushes through which the railroad ran, about
midway between the two towns. Missouri Bill was one of Mead's cow-boys
who had come in with the herd of cattle.
When it became known that Emerson Mead was to be taken to the
Silverado county jail to await the session of the grand jury and that
the Democrats would not object to the scheme, the war feeling at once
began to abate. The town still rested on its arms and glared across
Main street, each party from its own side. There was no more talk of
extreme measures and there were no more threats of blood letting. So
things went on for a few hours, until the matter of Mead's transfer to
the Silverado jail was finally settled. Then all the town looked on
while Judge Harlin strolled leisurely across the street, nodded to
Colonel Whittaker and Sheriff Daniels, and the three men went into
the White Horse saloon and clinked glasses together over the bar. A
little later Jim Halliday went to the Palmleaf and he and Joe Davis
joined in a friendly "here's luck." After which all the town put away
its guns and went quietly about its usual affairs.
The Republicans frankly gave out that Emerson Mead would be taken away
on the north bound overland train, which passed through Las Plumas in
the middle of the day. Nick Ellhorn decided that this was told too
openly to be true. He guessed that the journey would be made on a
"local" train which passed through the town in the early morning and
that Sheriff Daniels hoped, by thus secretly carrying off his
prisoner, to forestall any possible attempt at a rescue. Accordingly,
he sent another telegram to Tuttle to be in the Bosque Grande for this
train and started off Missouri Bill with two extra horses before
daybreak on the second morning after the fight.
With Sheriff Daniels beside him and Jim Halliday walking close behind,
Emerson Mead stepped into the rear coach of the "local" train with
none to witness his departure other than the handful of regular
travelers, and a half dozen well armed Republicans who were at the
station to help prevent any attempt at escape. Mead greeted these with
smiling good nature, as if there were no thought of quarrel between
them, and cast his eyes about for sight of his own friends. Not one
could he see. He did not know what plan for his assistance Ellhorn and
Tuttle might have schemed, he did not even know that Tuttle had gone
away, but he felt sure they would not allow him to be taken away from
Las Plumas any more than they would allow him to remain in jail longer
than the earliest possible moment at which they could get him out. So
he went along quietly and good-naturedly with his keepers, his eyes
watchful and his mind alert, alike for any relaxation of their
vigilance which would give him a chance of escape, and for the first
sign from his friends.
Nick Ellhorn did not appear on the station platform at all. He rushed
up from the opposite side just as the train was starting and jumped on
the steps of the smoking car. Inside he saw a man whom he knew, and,
sitting down beside him, they smoked and chatted and laughed together
until the train reached the edge of the Bosque Grande, when Nick
walked leisurely into the baggage compartment which formed the front
half of the smoking car. He nodded a friendly good morning to the
baggage man, handed him a cigar, lighted a fresh one himself, and with
one eye out at the open door stood and bandied a joke or two with the
train man. Presently he caught sight of a bunch of horses behind a
willow thicket a little way ahead and saw a big, burly figure near the
track.
Then he leaped to the top of the tender, and in another moment was
sitting with his long legs dangling from the front end of the coal
box. "Whoo-oo-oo-ee!" sounded in the ears of the engineer and fireman,
above the rattle of the train and the roar of the engine. They looked
around, astonished and startled by the sudden yell, and saw themselves
covered by two cocked revolvers.
"Stop your old engine before she gets to that trestle yonder or I'll
blow both of you through your headlight!" yelled Nick.
The engineer knew Ellhorn and he yelled back, "What for, Nick?"
"Never mind what for! Stop her quick or--one, two--"
The engineer waited no longer, but let his lever forward with a sudden
jerk. The wheels ground and scraped and the train trembled and stood
still with the rear coach only a few feet in front of Tuttle's post.
Inside the car, Halliday, who sat in the seat behind Mead and the
sheriff, had walked to the front end of the car and was drinking at
the ice-water tank when the train came to a sudden stop. He went to
the front platform and looked up the track to see what was the matter.
Seeing nothing there he turned to face the rear. By that time Tom
Tuttle was on the back platform and nothing was to be seen in that
direction. So he turned to the other side of the platform and looked
diligently up and down the road. Sheriff Daniels and his prisoner were
sitting on the opposite side of the train from that on which Tuttle
was entering. The sheriff stepped into the next seat and put his head
out of the window. Mead's faculties were on the alert, and when he
heard a quick, heavy step leaping up the back steps of the car he
knew, without turning his head, that it was either Tuttle or Ellhorn.
He leaned over the back of the seat in front of him and jerked the
sheriff's pistol from its holster just as Tuttle stood beside him.
Daniels jumped back, as he felt his gun drawn out, and found himself,
unarmed, confronted by cocked revolvers in the hands of two of the
best shots in the territory. He yelled for Halliday, and Mead and
Tuttle backed quickly toward the rear door. The train was moving again
as Halliday came rushing in, and Tuttle, disappearing through the back
door, transferred his aim from the sheriff to the deputy. Halliday
knew well that if he fired he would shoot to his own death, and he
paused midway of the car, with his gun half raised, as the two men
leaped from the moving train.
"Much obliged!" yelled Nick Ellhorn, jumping to the ground from
his perch on the coal box. Daniels and Halliday stood on the rear
platform as the three men leaped on the horses which Missouri Bill had
ready beside the track. Daniels shook his fist at them in rage, and
Halliday emptied the chambers of his six-shooter, but the bullets did
no more damage than to cut some hairs from the tail of Mead's horse.
Ellhorn waved his sombrero and shouted his loudest and longest
"Whoo-oo-oo-ee!" Tuttle yelled "Buffaloed!" and Mead kissed his hand
to the two angry men on the rear platform of the departing train. Then
they put spurs to their horses and rode away over the plains and the
mountains. They stopped over night at Muletown, and reached Mead's
ranch about noon the next day.