THE SHERIFF'S PLIGHT
Riding slowly Rathburn kept well in toward the range and proceeded
cautiously. This wasn't alone a safety measure, for he wished to favor
his horse. The dun had been hard ridden in the spurt to gain the
mountains ahead of the posse. He had been rested at Price's cabin, to
be sure, and also at the Mallory ranch; but now Rathburn had a ride of
fifteen miles to the town of Hope, and he did not know how much riding
he might have to do next day.
When a scant three miles from Hope, he halted, loosened the saddle
cinch, and rested his horse, while he himself reclined on the ground
and smoked innumerable cigarettes. He was in a thoughtful mood,
serious and somewhat puzzled. The recollection of Eagen's proposition
caused him to frown frequently. Then a wistful light would glow in his
eyes, and he thought of Laura Mallory. This would be succeeded by
another frown, and then his eyes would narrow, and the smile that men
had come to fear would tremble on his lips.
He was again in the saddle with the first faint glimmer of the
approaching dawn. He covered the distance into Hope at a swinging lope
and rode in behind a row of neat, yellow-brick buildings which formed
the east side of one block on the short main street.
Securing his horse behind a building midway of the rear of the block,
he entered one of the buildings through a back door. It proved to be
a combination pool room and soft-drink bar. No one was in the place
except the porter who was cleaning up. Rathburn noted that the man
showed no evidences of knowing him, although this was Rathburn's home
town.
"Kind of early, ain't you, boss?" grinned the porter. "Maybe you're
lookin' for something to start the day with." He winked broadly.
Rathburn nodded and walked over to the bar.
"Just get in?" asked the porter, as he put out a bottle of white
liquor and glanced at the dust on Rathburn's clothes.
"Just in," replied Rathburn, pouring and tossing off one drink.
"Where's everybody? Too early for 'em?"
"Well, it's about an hour too early on the average, unless there's
been an all-night game," replied the porter, putting the bottle away,
as his customer declined a second drink. "But then there ain't very
many in town right now. Everybody's out after the reward money."
Rathburn lifted his brows.
"Say," exclaimed the porter eagerly, "you didn't see any men ridin'
looselike, when you was coming in, did you?"
Rathburn shook his head. "What's all this you're tryin' to chirp into
my ear?" he asked.
"Well, Bob Long, the sheriff, has got all his deputies out except just
the jailer--there ain't anybody much in jail now, anyway--an' all the
other men he could pin a star on, lookin' for a gang that held up the
stage from Sunshine yesterday mornin', shot the stage driver dead, an'
made off with an express package full of money. There's a big reward
out for the man that's leadin' the gang. He's called The Coyote. Used
to live here. He's a bad one."
"Sheriff out, too?" Rathburn asked, showing great interest.
"Sure. Come back in early last night an' got more men. They're tryin'
to surround Imagination Range, I guess. That's where this Coyote an'
his gang are supposed to be hanging out. The sheriff don't care so
much for the fellers that's with him, I guess, but he sure does want
this Coyote person. He told everybody to let the gang go if they had
to, but to get the leader."
Rathburn looked through the front windows with a quizzical smile on
his lips. The sun was shining in the deserted street.
"How many men has the sheriff got?" he inquired casually.
"Most two hundred, I guess. They're scattered all over the range, an'
a lot of 'em has hit over on the other side. They think The Coyote
crossed the range an' is makin' east."
"Well, maybe he has, an' maybe he hasn't," Rathburn observed. "The
best place to hide from a posse is in the middle of it."
The porter looked at him, then burst into a loud laugh. "I guess you
said something that time, pardner. In the middle of it, eh?" He went
about his work, chuckling, while Rathburn walked to a front window and
stood looking out.
A few minutes later he stepped quickly back into a corner, as a small
automobile raced up the street. He sauntered to the rear door, passed
out with a pleasant word to the porter, and when he gained the open,
hurried up behind the buildings the length of the block. There he
turned to the left and walked rapidly to a large stone building. He
went around on the east side and entered a door on the ground floor.
He found himself in a hallway, and on his left was a door, on the
glazed glass of the upper half of which was the gold lettering:
"Sheriff's Office."
After a moment's hesitation he opened the door quickly and went in. A
man standing before an open roll-top desk turned and regarded the
early-morning visitor. He was a small man, but of wiry build. His eyes
were gray, and he wore a small, brown mustache. He had a firm chin,
and his face was well tanned. He was holding a paper in his hands, and
the paper remained as steady as a rock in his grasp. His eyes bored
straight and unflinchingly into Rathburn's. He showed no surprise, no
concern. He made no move toward the pair of guns in the holsters of
the belt which reposed on top of his desk. He spoke first.
"Have you come to give yourself up, Rathburn?"
"Hardly that, sheriff," replied Rathburn cheerfully. "I arrived in
town this morning after most of the population had moved to the desert
and the country aroun' Imagination. I didn't think I was goin' to be
lucky enough to catch you in till I saw you arrive in that flivver.
Are you back for more recruits?"
The sheriff continued to hold the paper without moving.
"When you first started to talk, Rathburn, I thought maybe bravado had
brought you here to make a grand-stand play," he said coolly. "But I
see you're not as foolhardy as some might think. I always gave you
credit for being clever."
"Thanks, Sheriff Long," said Rathburn dryly. "There's a few
preliminaries we've got to get over, so----"
His gun leaped into his hand and instantly covered the official. He
stepped to the end of the desk, reached over and appropriated the belt
with the two guns with his left hand. He tossed the belt and weapons
to a vacant chair.
"Now, sheriff, I didn't come lookin' for a cell like you hinted; I
drifted in for a bit of information."
"This is headquarters for that article, especially if it's about
yourself," said Long, dropping the paper on his desk and sitting down
in the chair before it.
"What all have you got against me?" frowned Rathburn.
"Nothing much," said the sheriff with biting sarcasm; "just a few
killings, highway robbery, a bank stick-up, two or three gaming houses
looted, and a stage holdup. Enough to keep you in the Big House for
ninety-nine years and then hang you."
Rathburn nodded. "You're sure an ambitious man, sheriff. The killings
now--there was White and Moran, that you know about, an' a skunk over
in California named Carlisle, that you don't know about, I guess. I
couldn't get away from those shootings, sheriff."
"How about Simpson and Manley?" countered the official scornfully.
"Not on my list," said Rathburn quickly. "I heard I was given credit
for those affairs, but I wasn't a member of the party where they were
snuffed out."
"If you can make a jury believe that, you're in the clear," said Long.
"But how about that stage driver yesterday morning?"
Rathburn's face darkened. "I got in from the west just in time to
stumble on that gang of rats," he flared. "That's how your men came to
see me. The chase happened to come in my direction, that's all."
"If you can prove that, you're all right again," the sheriff pointed
out. "The law will go halfway with you, Rathburn."
"An' I probably wouldn't be able to prove it," said Rathburn bitterly.
"Those other things--the bank job an' the gamblin' stick-ups--I was
younger then, sheriff, an' no one can say that that bank sharp didn't
do me dirt."
"If you can show a good, reasonable doubt in those other cases,
Rathburn, I know the court would show leniency if the jury found you
guilty on the counts you just mentioned," said the sheriff earnestly.
"I'm minded to believe you, so far as yesterday's work was concerned.
I have an idea or two myself, but I haven't been able to get a good
line on my man. He's too tricky. Of course I'm not going to urge you
to do anything against your will. I appreciate your position. You're a
fugitive, but you have your liberty. Perhaps you can get away clean,
though I doubt it. But there's that chance, and you've naturally got
to take it into consideration. And you're not _sure_ of anything if
you go to trial on the charges there are against you. But it would
count like sixty in your favor, Rathburn, if you'd give yourself up."
Rathburn stared at the official speculatively. His thoughts flashed
back along the years to the time when he and Laura Mallory had played
together as children. He thought of what she had said the night before
about the compass. He shifted uneasily on his feet.
"Funny thing, sheriff, but I had some such fool notion," he
confessed.
"It takes nerve, Rathburn, for a man who is wanted to walk in and give
up his gun," said the sheriff quietly.
"I was thinking of something else," said Rathburn. "An' I've got to
think some more about this that you've sort of put in my head."
"How much time do you want, Rathburn?" asked Long.
Rathburn scowled. "Our positions haven't changed," he said curtly.
"I'm still the man you're lookin' for. I'll have to do my thinkin' on
my own hook, I reckon."
"Just as you say," Long said gravely. "Go over what I've told you
carefully and don't make any more false moves while you're making up
your mind. You wounded one of my men yesterday."
"I shot high on purpose," Rathburn pointed out. "I didn't aim to be
corralled just then."
"I know you did," was the sheriff's rejoinder. "I know you could have
killed him. I gave you credit for it."
"You give me credit for quite a few things, sheriff," said Rathburn
whimsically. "An' now you'll have to give me credit for bein' plumb
cautious. It ain't my intention to have my thinking spell disturbed."
His gun flashed in his hand.
"I'll have to ask you to go inside an' occupy one of your own cells,
sheriff, while I'm wanderin' around an' debatin' the subject."
"I know you too well, Rathburn," said the sheriff with a grim smile.
"I'm not armed, and I don't intend to obey you. If you intend to shoot
you might just as well start!"
Rathburn gazed at him coolly for a moment; then he shoved his gun in
its holster and leaped.
Quick as he was, Long was quicker. The sheriff was out of his chair in
a twinkling, and he made a flying tackle, grasping Rathburn about the
legs. The two fell to the floor and rolled over and over in their
struggles.
Although Rathburn was the larger man, the sheriff seemed made of steel
wire. He twisted out of Rathburn's holds, one after another. In one
great effort he freed himself and leaped to his feet. Rathburn was up
instantly. Long drove a straight right that grazed Rathburn's jaw and
staggered him, but Rathburn blocked the next blow and succeeded in
upper-cutting his left to the sheriff's chin.
They went into another clinch, and the sheriff got the better of the
close fighting. Rathburn's face was bleeding, where it had been cut on
a leg of the chair, when they were struggling on the floor. The feel
of trickling crimson drove him mad. He threw Long off in an amazing
burst of strength and then sent his right to the sheriff's jaw with
all the force he could put into it.
Long dropped to the floor, and Rathburn raised him and carried him to
a door leading into the jail proper. As he drew open the door, he drew
his gun and threw it down on the astonished jailer who was dozing in
the little office outside the bars.
"Open up!" Rathburn commanded.
The jailer hastened to obey, as he saw the appearance of Rathburn's
face and the dangerous look in his eyes.
Rathburn compelled him at the point of his gun to lead the way to a
cell in the rear, unlock it, and go inside. Rathburn pushed Long, who
was regaining his senses, in after him and took the jailer's keys.
"Tell Long I'm thinkin' over what he told me," he said to the jailer,
as he locked them in.
Then he hurried back to the entrance, locked it, and tossed the keys
in through the bars.
He wet his handkerchief with ice water from a tank in Long's office,
wiped his face clean, and left the building.