THE LETTERS CHANGE HANDS AGAIN
What seemed at the moment an incomprehensible puzzle had, as we
afterwards learned, a very simple explanation. One of the G. S.
directors, Mr. Baldwin, who had come in on Mr. Camp's car, was
the owner of a great cattle-ranch near Rock Butte. When the train
had been held at that station for a few minutes, Camp went to the
conductor, demanded the cause for the delay, and was shown my
telegram. Seeing through the device, the party had at once gone
to this ranch, where the owner, Baldwin, mounted them, and it was
their dust-cloud we had seen as they rode up to Ash Forks. To
make matters more serious, Baldwin had rounded up his cowboys and
brought them along with him, in order to make any resistance
impossible.
I made no objection to the sheriff serving the paper, though it
nearly broke my heart to see Madge's face. To cheer her I said,
suggestively, "They've got me, but they haven't got the letters,
Miss Cullen. And, remember, it's always darkest before the dawn,
and the stars in their courses are against Sisera."
With the sheriff and Mr. Camp I then walked over to the saloon,
where Judge Wilson was waiting to dispose of my case. Mr. Cullen
and Albert tried to come too, but all outsiders were excluded by
order of the "court." I was told to show cause why I should not
forthwith produce the letters, and answered that I asked an
adjournment of the case so that I might be heard by counsel. It
was denied, as was to have been expected; indeed, why they took
the trouble to go through the forms was beyond me. I told Wilson
I should not produce the letters, and he asked if I knew what
that meant. I couldn't help laughing and retorting,--
"It very appropriately means 'contempt of the court,' your
honor."
"I'll give you a stiff term, young man," he said.
"It will take just one day to have habeas corpus proceedings in a
United States court, and one more to get the papers here," I
rejoined pleasantly.
Seeing that I understood the moves too well to be bluffed, the
judge, Mr. Camp, and the lawyer held a whispered consultation. My
surprise can be imagined when, at its conclusion, Mr. Camp
said,--
"Your honor, I charge Richard Gordon with being concerned in the
holding up of the Missouri Western Overland No. 3 on the night of
October 14, and ask that he be taken into custody on that
charge."
I couldn't make out this new move, and puzzled over it, while
Judge Wilson ordered my commitment. But the next step revealed
the object, for the lawyer then asked for a search-warrant to
look for stolen property. The judge was equally obliging, and
began to fill one out on the instant.
This made me feel pretty serious, for the letters were in my
breast-pocket, and I swore at my own stupidity in not having put
them in the station safe when I had first arrived at Ash Forks.
There weren't many moments in which to think while the judge
scribbled away at the warrant, but in what time there was I did a
lot of head-work, without, however, finding more than one way out
of the snarl. And when I saw the judge finish off his signature
with a flourish, I played a pretty desperate card.
"You're just too late, gentlemen," I said, pointing out the side
window of the saloon. "There come the cavalry."
The three conspirators jumped to their feet and bolted for the
window; even the sheriff turned to look. As he did so I gave him
a shove towards the three which sent them all sprawling on the
floor in a pretty badly mixed-up condition. I made a dash for the
door, and as I went through it I grabbed the key and locked them
in. When I turned to do so I saw the lot struggling up from the
floor, and, knowing that it wouldn't take them many seconds to
find their way out through the window, I didn't waste much time
in watching them.
Camp, Baldwin, and the judge had left their horses just outside
the saloon, and there they were still patiently standing, with
their bridles thrown over their heads, as only Western horses
will stand. It didn't take me long to have those bridles back in
place, and as I tossed each over the peak of the Mexican saddle I
gave two of the ponies slaps which started them off at a lope
across the railroad tracks. I swung myself into the saddle of the
third, and flicked him with the loose ends of the bridle in a way
which made him understand that I meant business.
Baldwin's cowboys had most of them scattered to the various
saloons of the place, but two of them were standing in the
door-way of a store. I acted so quickly, however, that they
didn't seem to take in what I was about till I was well mounted.
Then I heard a yell, and fearing that they might shoot,--for the
cowboy does love to use his gun,--I turned sharp at the saloon
corner and rode up the side street, just in time to see Camp
climbing through the window, with Baldwin's head in view behind
him.
Before I had ridden a hundred feet I realized that I had a
done-up horse under me, and, considering that he had covered over
forty miles that afternoon in pretty quick time, it was not
surprising that there wasn't very much go left in him. I knew
that Baldwin's cowboys could get new mounts in plenty without
wasting many minutes, and that then they would overhaul me in
very short order. Clearly there was no use in my attempting to
escape by running. And, as I wasn't armed, my only hope was to
beat them by some finesse.
Ash Forks, like all Western railroad towns, is one long line of
buildings running parallel with the railway tracks. Two hundred
feet, therefore, brought me to the edge of the town, and I
wheeled my pony and rode down behind the rear of the buildings.
In turning, I looked back, and saw half a dozen mounted men
already in pursuit, but I lost sight of them the next moment. As
soon as I reached a street leading back to the railroad I turned
again, and rode towards it, my one thought being to get back, if
possible, to the station, and put the letters into the railroad
agent's safe.
When I reached the main street I saw that my hope was futile, for
another batch of cowboys were coming in full gallop towards me,
very thoroughly heading me off in that direction. To escape them,
I headed up the street away from the station, with the pack in
close pursuit. They yelled at me to hold up, and I expected every
moment to hear the crack of revolvers, for the poorest shot among
them would have found no difficulty in dropping my horse at that
distance if they had wanted to stop me. It isn't a very nice
sensation to keep your ears pricked up in expectation of hearing
the shooting begin, and to know that any moment may be your
last. I don't suppose I was on the ragged edge more than thirty
seconds, but they were enough to prove to me that to keep one's
back turned to an enemy as one runs away takes a deal more pluck
than to stand up and face his gun. Fortunately for me, my
pursuers felt so sure of my capture that not one of them drew a
bead on me.
The moment I saw that there was no escape, I put my hand in my
breast-pocket and took out the letters, intending to tear them
into a hundred pieces. But as I did so I realized that to destroy
United States mail not merely entailed criminal liability, but
was off color morally. I faltered, balancing the outwitting of
Camp against State's prison, the doing my best for Madge against
the wrong of it. I think I'm as honest a fellow as the average,
but I have to confess that I couldn't decide to do right till I
thought that Madge wouldn't want me to be dishonest, even for
her.
I turned across the railroad tracks, and cut in behind some
freight-cars that were standing on a siding. This put me out of
view of my pursuers for a moment, and in that instant I stood up
in my stirrups, lifted the broad leather flap of the saddle, and
tucked the letters underneath it, as far in as I could force
them. It was a desperate place in which to hide them, but the
game was a desperate one at best, and the very boldness of the
idea might be its best chance of success.
I was now heading for the station over the ties, and was
surprised to see Fred Cullen with Lord Ralles on the tracks up
by the special, for my mind had been so busy in the last hour
that I had forgotten that Fred was due. The moment I saw him, I
rode towards him, pressing my pony for all he was worth. My hope
was that I might get time to give Fred the tip as to where the
letters were; but before I was within speaking distance Baldwin
came running out from behind the station, and, seeing me,
turned, called back and gesticulated, evidently to summon some
cowboys to head me off. Afraid to shout anything which should
convey the slightest clue as to the whereabouts of the letters,
as the next best thing I pulled a couple of old section reports
from my pocket, intending to ride up and run into my car, for I
knew that the papers in my hand would be taken to be the wanted
letters, and that if I could only get inside the car even for a
moment the suspicion would be that I had been able to hide them.
Unfortunately, the plan was no sooner thought of than I heard
the whistle of a lariat, and before I could guard myself the
noose settled over my head. I threw the papers towards Fred and
Lord Ralles, shouting, "Hide them!" Fred was quick as a flash,
and, grabbing them off the ground, sprang up the steps of my car
and ran inside, just escaping a bullet from my pursuers. I tried
to pull up my pony, for I did not want to be jerked off, but I
was too late, and the next moment I was lying on the ground in a
pretty well shaken and jarred condition, surrounded by a lot of
men.