THE BATTLE OF BALD KNOB
After night had fallen men drifted inconspicuously to the Pony Express
Corral. They were armed, all of them with revolvers, two or three with
rifles. If any one had studied the faces of the group that gathered
round the lantern held by Byers, he would have voted these men hard
citizens. Their eyes were steady. They wasted no words and no gestures.
Byers had picked them because, as he had put it, “they would stand the
gaff.”
Without any discussion of the subject Scot naturally took command of the
expedition. He had learned the habit of it during the war.
“You know what we’re going to do,” he said quietly. “The Dodsons have
jumped our claims and put up dummies to hold them. We’ll not stand for
it. We plan to get the claims back by strategy. Later I’ll tell you how.
I suppose Dan has explained to you where you come in. We’ll give leases
on Bald Knob to those who go through with us. Understand one thing.
We’re not looking for trouble. I don’t want a single shot fired if we
can help it. We’re not going to kill anybody. It won’t be necessary. But
you boys know Sloan’s gang. They’ll fight if they get a chance. It’s up
to us to see that they don’t get that chance.”
An old-timer who had come round the Horn spoke up: “Sounds good,
Colonel. How do you aim to get these bully puss men of Dodson’s to give
up without snappin’ a cap at us? You sure got me guessin’.”
“That part of the programme comes a little later, Buck,” Scot said,
smiling at him. “I think we can pull it off, but I’m not sure. There’s a
risk for us. I don’t deny that. They might get one of us. We’ve got to
take a chance on that.”
“Let’s get this right, Colonel. Do you mean if they shoot at us we’re
not to give ’em what for back?”
“I mean that if there’s only a wild shot or two we’re not to fire back.
This isn’t a feud. We want possession of our property. The whole thing
will have to be fought out in the courts later, so we don’t want to go
to law with a black record of any killings against us. Besides, we’re
peaceable citizens who want our rights. We’re not gun-fighters.”
“All right,” grinned Buck. “You’re runnin’ this shebang. I never was in
a drift just like this before, but I reckon it’s all right. If I’m the
one they get, Colonel, you’ll have to be chief mourner at the plantin’.”
“Don’t worry, Buck. Our diamond drill’s going to strike pay ore sure.
It’s the Dodson crowd that’s likely to be in borrasca. Now if you’re all
ready we’ll be travelling.”
Byers led the way up the gulch back of the corral. Before the party had
gone far a young moon came out and lit the path. They picked their trail
through the sage and greasewood to the head of the ravine and followed a
draw which took into the cow-backed hills. The pony express rider wound
round to the rear of Bald Knob and climbed a spur upon which grew a
fairly thick grove of pine nut. Here he stopped.
“Better camp here, I reckon.”
The men unrolled their blankets and prepared a fireless camp. Soon most
of them were sound asleep. Scot and Byers moved up the shoulder of the
hill to reconnoitre. They knew that guards would be watching to prevent
a surprise, so they took precautions against being seen. By following a
swale through the brush they were able to come close enough to see dimly
the shaft house of the Ground Hog and the slaty dump which straggled
below like a thin beard.
“Looks quiet enough,” Scot whispered.
Byers nodded.
“Hugh won’t begin to paint the sky till after midnight,” the Colonel
went on. “About that time we’ll bring the men up here into the draw and
have them ready. You’re sure that little fellow Madden is all right? He
won’t betray us?”
“You can tie to him,” Byers said.
“I don’t doubt his good will. What about his judgment? He looks simple.
That’s all right, too, if he’s not shrewd enough not to make a mistake.”
“He won’t.”
“If they suspect a thing it’s all up with the plan.”
“Gotta take a chance.”
“Yes.”
They lay in the sage for hours, the multitudinous voices of the night
all about them in whispers of the wind, rustlings of furtive desert
dwellers, the stirring of foliage under the caress of the breeze.
McClintock read midnight on the face of his watch and murmured to his
companion, “Time to get the men up.”
Byers rose without a word and disappeared in the darkness.
Far away toward the north a faint pink began to paint the sky. The
colour deepened till the whole sky above Piodie took on a rose-coloured
tint.
The men from the camp below joined Scot. One whispered to another, “Look
at the sky, Ben.”
“Fire, looks like. Bet it’s Piodie,” the other said, startled.
“No, it’s not Piodie. It’s the valley back of the big hill north of
town,” McClintock told them.
“How do you know, Colonel?” asked the first speaker.
“Because that painted sky is a part of our fireworks,” he answered.
“I’ll explain the programme, boys. Madden is to run across the shoulder
of the hill toward the Ground Hog. When the guard stops him he’ll shout,
‘Fire in Piodie; whole town burning up.’ He’ll explain that Dodson wants
them all to come back to fight fire. My guess is that they’ll take one
look at the sky and start north _muy pronto_. For most of the men
guarding the mine own houses in Piodie. The news will spread down the
hill, and all we’ll have to do is to walk in and take possession. That
is, if we’re lucky.”
“Wow! Some strategy, Colonel. Did they learn you that in the war?” asked
the old-timer who had come round the Horn.
“Afraid I can’t take credit for it. Another man made the plan of
campaign. It’s up to us to execute it. Ready, Madden?”
“Y’betcha, Colonel.”
McClintock drew him to one side and gave careful instructions. “They’re
likely to ask you a lot of questions. Take your time to answer them.
You’ll be breathless and panting, because you’ve run all the way from
town to bring the news and to get their help. If you can’t think of a
good answer tell them you don’t know. You can say the fire was coming
down Turkey Creek Avenue when you left and that it was spreading to the
residence streets. But don’t know too much. That’s the safest way. You
met Bob Dodson and he asked you to come out for help.”
“I’ll say I met him just as I come out from my room fastenin’ my
suspenders,” contributed Madden, entering into the spirit of it. “I’ll
say I lit a shuck for Bald Knob an’ only hit the high spots on the way.”
“Good. Well, good luck to you.” Scot gave him one more suggestion. “They
may leave a man or two at the Ground Hog. If they do, try to lead them
round to the north side of the shaft house. We’ll creep up as close as
we can and try to surprise them.”
The reaction of Dodson’s mine guards to the news that Piodie was on fire
was exactly what the McClintocks had anticipated.
Madden, halted by the sentry, gasped out his message. In an incredibly
short time the men were out of their bunks listening to it. Not the
faintest gleam of suspicion touched the minds of one of them. Wasn’t the
proof of Madden’s story written red in the sky for any of them to read?
They plunged back into the bunk house and got into more clothes. As fast
as they were ready the men went straggling downhill toward town. Much
against his will they had elected a young teamster to stay on guard at
the Ground Hog. Madden volunteered to stay with him on duty.
It was easy to lead the teamster round to the north side of the shaft
house, from which point they could better view the angry sky and
speculate on the progress of the flames.
“Doggone it, tha’s just my luck to be stuck up here whilst the rest of
the boys go to town an’ see the fun,” the faithful guard lamented. “I
wisht I’d joined the hook an’ ladder comp’ny when I was asked, then I’d
sure enough have to go.”
Madden sympathized. It was tough luck. If he wasn’t all tired out
running from town he certainly would like to see the fire himself. Sure
enough it was an A-1 fire.
They sat down on a pile of timbers that had been hauled up to the Ground
Hog for sets to be used in underground work.
A man came round the corner of the shaft house and moved toward them.
The guard caught sight of him and remembered what he was there for. He
jumped up and pulled out a revolver.
“Keep back there!” he ordered excitedly.
The man moved evenly toward him, hands buried in his trousers pockets.
The guard backed away. “Who are you? Git back there. Hear me? Git back.”
In a duel of wits the man who is certain of himself has the advantage of
the one who is not sure. Scot McClintock did not lose a stride. His
unhurried indolence radiated confidence.
“Want a little talk with you,” he said quietly. “Thought probably——”
“Git back or I’ll plug you. Sure will.”
“Oh, no. No sense in that. Bob Dodson now——”
The teamster had backed to the wall. He did not know what to do. He
could not shoot a man lounging toward him with his hands in his pockets.
Perhaps Dodson had sent him, anyhow.
“Did Dodson——?”
The question died in his throat with a gasp of consternation. He
recognized now this easy-mannered intruder as the redoubtable Colonel
McClintock, and he was not sufficiently alert-minded to meet the
situation. If the man had come at him six-shooter in hand, he would have
known quickly enough what to do. But in the fraction of time given him
he hesitated. McClintock was a big man in the state. The teamster was
not sure how far Dodson would back him. He had been hired by Sloan to
take orders and not to show initiative. Before he could make up his mind
the chance was lost. A dozen men poured round the corner of the house.
Irritably he barked out a question: “What in Mexico you-all doin’ here?”
Colonel McClintock held out his hand smilingly. “Your six-gun please.”
Voice and eyes both carried an imperative.
The teamster clung to his long navy revolver. “Looky here. I’m in charge
here. Dodson won’t like you fellows hellin’ around the Ground Hog.” His
wandering eye took in the flushed sky, and found there a momentary
inspiration. “Mebbe you don’t know Piodie is burnin’ up right now.
You-all better light out for town.”
McClintock did not answer in words. His steady eyes still held the man
with the weapon. His hand was still extended. Reluctantly, against his
own volition it seemed, the teamster’s arm moved forward. He was still
telling himself he did not intend to give up the six-shooter when Scot’s
fingers closed on the barrel.
The two stood a moment, eye to eye. The mine guard’s hand dropped slowly
from the butt of the weapon.
“You carry good life insurance, Colonel?” asked drily the old
forty-niner.
McClintock divided his command. One third of the men he left with Byers
in charge of the Ground Hog. The rest he took with him to the other
claims that had been jumped. One of these was deserted. At another they
found the guard asleep. The jumpers on Scot’s claim surrendered at
discretion to superior numbers. Those who had been left at Vicky’s fired
a few wild shots, but as soon as they learned that the Ground Hog had
been captured they gave up with the honours of war.
The battle of Bald Knob had been won by the attackers with no
casualties.