A FIGHT IN THE FLAMES
Bud knew there was no use of trying to get away just now. He could see
that the upstairs was lighted, and he knew that those already outside
the tunnel would see that he did not escape in that direction.
He could hear men shouting upstairs, as they questioned each other.
A cold draught was blowing in the tunnel exit, but Bud did not move.
Something seemed to tell him to keep still and wait. There seemed to be
no one except himself left in the tunnel.
[Illustration]
Then, out near the center of the room, a match flared up. Whoever
lit the match was lying on the floor. As it grew brighter, Bud could
see the saturnine features of Joe Burgoyne. He raised himself up and
looked around. The room was a wreck. Just beyond him lay a man, flat on
his face, and another was propped against the wall, his head flopped
forward.
As Joe turned to look at this man the flame of the match scorched his
fingers and he flung it aside.
A sheet of flame seemed to fairly lift from the floor around Joe and he
sprang to his feet with a yelp of alarm.
He had dropped the match into the pool of oil from the smashed lamp.
Joe backed away from it; backed almost into the bar before he turned
and saw Bud. But Bud had risen to his haunches and launched himself
straight into the surprised half-breed.
Joe was as lithe as a tiger, and, although Bud's attack carried him
almost into the flames, he twisted loose and bounded toward the
stairway. A cloud of kerosene-laden smoke billowed up through the trap.
Someone yelled a warning and before Joe could reach the top of the
stairs the trap crashed down.
Bud had lost his gun and now he darted back to the bar, searching for
it. Joe must have divined Bud's misfortune, for, with a yelp of joy, he
darted back from the stairs, knife in hand. It seemed as if the whole
end of the room was in flames now and the black smoke was stifling.
Bud braced himself for the shock, but the half-breed did not come
to close quarters. He stopped just out of reach, half crouched, the
knife held point outward, as though he was using a rapier. The light
glistened on the polished blade, but Bud did not retreat.
Joe's face was scarred and bleeding from the fight in the dark, which
had but increased the injuries inflicted by Bud in Beaudet's store. Joe
balanced on the balls of his feet and worked in closer and closer.
Bud was standing almost over his revolver, but did not dare to stoop
for it. Behind Joe the flames roared upward, licking at the beamed
ceiling, and the heat was growing intense.
"You finish queek now!" said Joe.
Bud began working slowly toward the bar, dragging the gun with his
foot. Joe advanced inches at a time. He did not understand what Bud was
trying to do. Then his eyes flashed to the bar--and he knew.
The keg, with its scarlet coat, had fallen to the floor, but the wide
hat was still there, partly concealing the bottle, on which it had
rested.
Quick as a flash Joe darted forward, but Bud, instead of reaching for
the bottle, as Joe expected him to, dropped flat on the floor under
Joe's feet, rolling forward as he fell.
The move was so unexpected that Joe took a header into the bar, while
Bud rolled away and sprang to his feet clutching the revolver in one
hand.
The fall did not hurt Joe. He had lost his knife, but not his presence
of mind. He scrambled to his feet and darted straight for the tunnel
exit, but Bud blocked him with a swing of the heavy revolver and Joe
went down in a heap.
The room was an inferno now. Bud grasped the limp half-breed, swung him
up in his arms and staggered into the tunnel. There was less smoke in
there, owing to a breeze outside, which drove the smoke up through the
cracks on the room above.
Bud was traveling blindly, holding Joe in front of him and hoping
against hope that there would be no one guarding the tunnel entrance.
But his hopes were not realized.
He caught a glimpse of the lantern and could see that it was held in
the hands of a man. There were other men out there, too. Bud halted.
"Nobody left in there," argued a voice, which he knew belonged to Bull
Cook. "Whatsa use of stayin' here?"
"I'm be not so sure," replied another. "Conley not get out ahead of us,
and, ba gosh, he never get up de stairs. W'ere is Joe Burgoyne?"
"Must 'a' gone up the other way. What's all the yellin' about?"
Bud knew that the yelling must be from those at the burning hotel.
"We stay here," declared the man. "Dis be one damn bad night for
Kingsburg, eh?"
"Yeah, I reckon we gotta drift, Frenchy. I hope that Joe nails that
dirty spy."
Bud knew that there was no time to lose, if he was going to get away.
There were two men guarding the tunnel, but two men would be easier to
handle than that whole mob, which might appear at any time.
He gripped Joe tightly in his arms, half burying his face in Joe's
back, and stumbled straight into the lantern light.
"De place be on fire," he stated, imitating the language and tone of a
French-Canadian.
"I'm save de boss, ba gar!"
"_Mon dieu!_" exclaimed one of them. "W'at happen to Joe? You say----"
The man had placed his hands on Joe, when Bud let loose with his right
hand, and, with a short swing of the heavy gun, struck the man across
the head. He grunted softly and went to his knees, and Bud flung the
limp body of Joe across him.
The other man sprang aside and threw up his rifle, but he was cramped
in the narrow space and the rifle spouted fire across Bud's breast. The
concussion staggered him, but he dove into the man, trying to hit him
with his revolver.
The rifle clanged to the floor and the husky cowboy flung Bud aside
against the rocks, but instead of following up his advantage he ducked
low and ran into the tunnel.
Bud staggered away from the rocks, his breath almost knocked from his
body. His lungs ached and a stream of blood was running into his mouth,
but he managed to pick Joe up in his arms and stagger away from the
tunnel.
The glow from the burning hotel seemed to light up the whole country.
Men were yelling and running about, but Bud only staggered on,
half-falling, laughing foolishly, swearing at himself, as he headed for
the wagon and team, which must be somewhere out that way.
Several times he went down, falling over Joe, but he got back to his
feet, picked up his unconscious captive and staggered on. He was
hanging onto his gun all this time, and swearing at Joe for being a
burden on him.