"Oh, sheriff an' ranger both wished me luck,
Yu' bet! when I jumped th' Line last Fall--
Yep!... Kind that a hog gets when he's stuck,
For I'd cert'nly made them cattle-men bawl.
Them fellers has cause to love me as much
As they do a wolf, or a sneakin' Piute;
But wouldn't this jar yu'--'gettin' in Dutch'
With th' Mounted Police, thru' a mangy coyote?"
--_The Rustler's Lament_
After giving the buckskin a light feed of grain and attending to
Johnny's hoof carefully, Ellis despatched an early lunch, saddled up
Shakem, and struck out for Tucker's ranch, which was about eight miles
distant. It was a glorious day and, feeling fully recovered from the
effects of his morning's shake-up, he rode slowly on through the golden
haze with that ease and contentment that comes to a man who feels that
he has earned it, and has sound health and a good horse under him.
Three miles or so beyond Gallagher's the trail veered slightly west,
then south, skirting the dense brush and timbered slopes of the
foot-hills. Emerging from a patch of poplar that fringed the base of a
small butte around which his trail led, a moving object suddenly
appeared above him, sharply defined against the sky-line. Glancing up
quickly he instantly recognized the tawny-gray, dog-like form of a
coyote. Benton, in common with most range men, loathed the slinking,
carrion-fed brutes and always shot them down remorselessly whenever
opportunity offered. Averting his gaze and still keeping steadily on his
way to deceive the wary animal, he cautiously lifted the flap of his
holster with the intention of making a quick whirl and snap-shot. With
shortened lines, he was just about to execute this maneuver when
something strange and unfamiliar in the actions of his intended victim
suddenly caused him to halt, paralyzed with open-mouthed curiosity and
astonishment.
Apparently, for the moment, completely heedless of the close proximity
of its mortal enemy, Man, it was pawing violently at its snout, and to
the Sergeant's ears came the unmistakable sounds of choking and
vomiting. Gripping the Colt's .45, Ellis's hand flashed up, but the
shell was never discharged. For just then came the sharp crack of a
rifle shot from somewhere on the other side of the butte, and the
coyote, with a bullet through its head, tumbled and slid, jerking in its
death-struggle almost to the horse's feet.
With a startled exclamation at the unexpected occurrence and, wrenching
his steed around as it shyed instinctively away, Benton swung out of the
saddle and turned wonderingly to examine that still twitching body. A
peculiar _something_--evidently the cause of its previous choking
motions--was protruding from its mouth and, prying open the clenched,
blood-dripping paws, Ellis tugged it out from away back in the throat,
down which it had apparently resisted being swallowed. Wiping the slimy
object on the grass, he spread it open. His eyes dilated strangely with
instant recognition, and a savage oath burst from him. It was the brand
cut out of the hide of a freshly killed steer.
With lightning-like intuition and a quick, apprehensive, upward glance,
the Sergeant crumpled up the clammy, half-chewed flap of skin, jammed it
up under his stable-jacket and, jumping for the buckskin, wheeled and
dashed into the shelter of the bush. Breathing rapidly with excitement,
he dismounted and, lying on his stomach, dragged himself cautiously
forward until he could discern the dead coyote.
His rapid movements had been only just in time. For, as he peered from
his hiding place, another object silhouetted itself against the
sky-line. A man, this time, wearing white-goatskin chaps, and in the
short, powerful body, red hair, and prognathous jaw, the policeman
discerned the all-familiar figure and lineaments of one--William
Butlin--generally known in the district by the soubriquet of "Short and
Dirty," or "Shorty."
He was coatless, and his bare, brawny arms were blood-stained up to the
elbows as, clutching a rifle in one hand and a knife in the other, he
slowly descended the incline and inspected the result of his
marksmanship. Being summer, it was a poor skin and mangy so, with a
muttered oath and a contemptuous kick, he turned and retraced his steps
up the butte, with bent head scrutinizing the ground carefully around
for something as he did so.
With a grim chuckle, the Sergeant watched him disappear from view and,
after waiting a moment or two, quietly raised himself and slid out of
his place of concealment. Climbing noiselessly until he reached the brow
of the incline, he dropped prone and, removing his hat, looked warily
down. He found himself looking down a narrow draw, dotted here and there
with patches of alder, willow-scrub, and cottonwood clumps--a huge
specimen of the latter rising from amongst its fellows at the lower end
of the draw. There, at the bottom, not fifty yards distant, Benton
beheld Mr. Short and Dirty busily engaged in stripping the hide from the
bloody carcass of a newly butchered steer.
He had chosen an ideal spot for his nefarious work, the slopes on either
side of the draw rendering him completely immune from ordinary
observation, and the hot rays of the overhead sun beat down on the
sprawled, glistening, pink and yellow monstrosity that his knife was
rapidly laying bare. His rifle lay on the ground, well out of his reach,
near his horse, a chunky, well-put-up white animal and, with back turned
to the fierce scrutiny of the representative of the Law that followed
his every movement, he bent over his work with nervous haste, skinning
with long sweeps of his knife and glancing furtively around him from
time to time.
With a stealthy movement Ellis arose, stood upright, and walked
noiselessly down to the impromptu barbecue.
"Oh, Shorty!" he called.
At the policeman's voice the man started violently and, wheeling like a
flash, knife in hand, faced him with open-mouthed amazement, fear,
guilt, cunning, and desperation flitting in turn over his rugged, evil
face. With carelessly-held revolver the Sergeant watched him intently
with glittering eyes, his attitude suggestive of a snake about to
strike.
"Pitch up!" he rapped out harshly.
The other made no move but a terrible spasm of murderous indecision
momentarily convulsed his face, which angered the policeman beyond
expression.
"_Pronto!_" he roared explosively, with a shocking blasphemy and a
forward jump of his gun that sent Shorty's arms aloft with a galvanic
jerk, the knife dropping to the ground.
Silently Benton surveyed him awhile, a deadly, menacing light like green
fire flaming in his deep-set eyes, and the muscles under the livid scar
on his cheek twitching.
"Yu' look at me like that agin," he drawled slowly and distinctly, "an'
I'll blow a hole thru' yore guts. Three paces forward,
march!--halt!--'bout turn!"
The movements were executed with a precise obedience that drew forth a
sneer from the observant sergeant.
"Huh! an old bird, eh?" he gibed. "Always thought yu' were, from th' cut
of yore mug. I guess th' 'Pen' shore went into mourning th' day yu'
worked yore ticket. There's a lump on yore hip I don't like," he
continued sharply. "Here! Let's go thru' yu'!"
He deftly extracted a revolver, glanced at it quickly, and then
transferred it to his own pocket.
"Packin' a Colt's automatic around, eh?" he snarled. "That's another
charge I'll soak into yu'--carryin' concealed weapons."
His swiftly working brain had, meantime, evolved a definite scheme of
action that he felt the circumstances required. Never for a moment
underrating the notoriously desperate character of his captive, he was
taking no chances, and purposely kept that individual under the tense
influence of his powerful will, giving him no opportunity to collect his
crafty wits.
"Quick, now, my lad!" he broke out in a fierce undertone, seizing the
other's shirt collar and pushing the muzzle of the revolver into his
back; "step out to that big cottonwood down there--keep yore wings up.
Make one break an' this'll go off!"
Bursting with helpless, impotent rage, the cowed and bewildered man was
roughly thrust forward to the indicated spot. Arriving there, Ellis
jerked out his handcuffs, opening these carefully so that he would be
able to manipulate them with one hand.
"Shove out yore mitts on each side of this stick!" came his sharp
command.
Shorty blinked at him with feigned stupidity out of veiled, bloodshot
eyes.
"Quick!" snapped the Sergeant, with a fresh burst of fury at the other's
irresolution. "Quick, yu' sorrel-topped skunk, or I'll kill yu'!"
Sullenly the gory arms were clasped around the tree and the handcuffs
clicked home. His man secure, the policeman turned swiftly.
"_Adios_, Shorty," he said, with grim levity. "I'm just takin' a little
_paseur_ now. I'll be back before the coyotes get yu'."
The rustler gazed after his retreating form with evil wonder. So far he
had uttered no sound, but now his lips framed themselves for speech.
Something causing him to change his mind, however, he only spat
viciously and resolutely held his peace.
An hour passed. A slow one, too, for the shackled man. Shifting wearily
from one foot to the other, he eventually sat down, shoving out a leg on
either side of the cottonwood, his arms, of necessity, hugging the butt.
The sound of voices presently smote his ear, not unpleasantly either,
for by this time he was beyond caring for _what_ happened to him so long
as he was released from his cramped, ludicrous position. Soon two riders
hove into view at the entrance to the draw, and in them he recognized
his captor, and--Gallagher.
The sight of the latter vaguely disturbed his warped conscience.
Gallagher had always been decent to him, he reflected. Had once even
lent him money. How could the policeman know it was Gallagher's steer?
He _couldn't_, he argued to himself. They were just trying to put some
bluff over him. And the conviction that he still held a trump card
hardened his heart.
Pulling up at the dead steer, they dismounted and, leaving Gallagher
examining the carcass, Ellis walked on down the draw and released his
prisoner, snapping the handcuff back on the wrist again.
"Get yu' over to th' beef an' set down," he ground out curtly.
The rancher looked up at their approach. "Howdy, Shorty," he said
quietly, with a grim nod, which salute the other returned sullenly, with
a brazen stare, sitting down resignedly, with his manacled hands
clasping his knees. Benton, rolling a cigarette, looked interrogatively
at Gallagher.
"Well," he queried.
"Shore _looks_ like one o' mine," answered that worthy; "but--"
His speech was suddenly interrupted by the rustler. Throughout his
capture he had remained as mute as a trapped wolf. Now he broke in with:
"Yes, but yu' cain't _swear_ it's yores." And the sneering taunt
conveyed a meaning that was not lost on his listeners.
For a moment or two the Sergeant scanned the faces of the two men, a
lazy, tolerant smile playing over his hard features as he fumbled inside
the breast of his stable-jacket.
"Oh, he cain't, cain't he?" he drawled mockingly. "No, but _I_ can, my
strawberry blonde. Here's a letter for yu', Gallagher," he continued,
grinning. "Reckon I'll let Shorty read it first, though." And, unfolding
the flap of hide, he carelessly held it up for that gentleman's
inspection.
With starting eyes and a ghastly imprecation the prisoner gazed at the
missing link, fear, anger, and astonishment flitting in turn over his
evil visage.
"Why, why--" he stuttered.
"Yes, _why_--" Ellis finished for him sarcastically. "_Why_ do yu' aim
to start in chokin' poor coyotes to death with other people's brands?"
He handed the sticky piece of evidence over to Gallagher. "Double H.F.,"
he said. "That's yore brand all right, ain't it, old-timer?"
The rancher nodded wonderingly.
"Yu'll find it fits into th' cut-out all hunkadory," the Sergeant added.
"Satisfied?" he queried presently. "All right, then." And, in the set
formula that the Law prescribes, he proceeded to formally charge and
warn his prisoner. This duty ended, he sank down with a lazy yawn and,
rolling a fresh cigarette, tossed it good-naturedly over to the captive,
with a match along.
"Have a smoke, Shorty," he observed, with an indolent, meaning smile. "I
guess yu' shore needs one."
The three men smoked meditatively awhile, amid a silence that was
eventually broken by Gallagher.
"Playin' it up kinder mean on me, ain't yu' Shorty?" he remarked
bitterly. "I reckon I've always treated _yu'_ white."
The shackled man, with sullen, averted eyes, gave a hopeless shrug.
"Didn't aim to put it over on _yu'_ in particular, Barney," he mumbled
in a low voice. "I was just a ridin' past here, casual like, lookin' for
some horses, when I see this steer a tryin' to catch up to th' bunch
with a broken leg. I kin pay yu' for it," he added defiantly. "An' if
yu'--"
"_Payin'_ don't go on a job like this," interjected the Sergeant
sharply. "Even if Barney _was_ willin'.... Case is out of his hands.
Besides, if yu' can afford to pay for beef yu' ain't obliged to rustle
it.
"Broken leg," he continued, with an incredulous grin. "Yes, an' I guess
it ain't hard to figure _what_ broke it. I've seen th' way yu' rope an'
throw--lots of times. _Casual!_ What? Oh, mighty bloody _casual_! A
skinnin' knife. A block an' tackle an' a butcher's cleaver in a
gunny-sack an' that big cottonwood to sling th' beef up to out o' reach
of th' coyotes till yu' could come around with a wagon an' team for it
after dark. What? _Casual_, eh? ... well, I should smile."
A lull followed this sally. Presently Shorty raised his head.
"My shootin' at that there coyote, it was, I guess, as fetched yu'?" he
inquired gloomily. "I was down at th' creek, gettin' a drink, an' when I
was comin' back I see him with somethin' in his mouth."
Ellis nodded and blew out a smoke ring with dreamy reflection.
"Aye, that an' other things," he drawled, slowly. "'Member makin' that
crack about a certain red-coated, yaller-laigged stiff whose goat yu'
was a goin' to get, like th' feller's before him? ... A little bit--not
much--I _don't_ think. Yu' ain't got no Corporal Williamson here. I've
been a-layin' for yu' ever since, an' now I reckon it's yu' for th'
goat."
Gallagher, listening amusedly, uttered his low, barking laugh.
"Goat!" he chuckled softly. "Goat!" The expression seemed to tickle his
imagination greatly. "Don't often get it put over yu', Sargint, I'll
gamble."
"Oh, I don't know," said Benton lazily. "Do sometimes." He wriggled into
a more comfortable position. "Talkin' o' goats," he continued, with a
dreamy smile of reflection, "just for th' sake of a yarn I'll give
myself away.
"It was two winters back--when I was stationed at Goddard," he began. "I
caught a feller there fixin' up another man's calf--all same Shorty,
here. I got th' owner to identify th' hide an' locked th' feller up.
Inspector Purvis happened to be down that day inspectin' detachments, so
I rustled up another J.P. and got them to commit this gink. I mind his
wife came to see him that night, an' kinder out of respect for her
feelin's I kept out o' hearin' while they chewed th' rag. Next
evenin'--I had a case on durin' th' day--I drives to th' station with
him to catch th' eight-thirty East-bound, usin' a wagon an' team I'd
borrowed. We had to pass _his_ place on th' way, an' he says to me,
kinder simple like: 'Corporal,'--I was a corporal then--'I'll most-like
be awaitin' trial some time an' I'll be wantin' some clothes. I fixed it
up with th' woman last night to have 'em ready when we come past. D'yu'
mind stoppin'?' 'All right,' I says, never suspicionin' nothin', for he
seemed a sorter homely, foolish kind o' 'mossback.' Sure enough, when we
comes opposite his place, out comes his wife with a big, fat gunny-sack.
Puts it in th' wagon. Cries, an' kisses him, an' says 'good-by.' It was
a bitter cold night, I mind, an' I had my fur coat collar turned up high
'round my face, an' my cap pulled down. Presently, when we was about
half ways there, he starts in to groan an' shiver up against me. 'What's
up?' I says. 'Cramps,' says he, still groanin'. 'Gosh, but I've got 'em
bad.' There was some straw in th' bottom of th' wagon, an' thinkin' it
might ease him some if he lay down a bit, I helped him over th' seat
into th' box, an' he lay down amongst th' straw, with his gunny-sack for
a pillow--_mine_, with th' calfskin exhibit in it, alongside me on th'
off-side of th' seat. Havin' cuffs an' leg-shackles on him I knew he
wouldn't be fool enough to make any kind of a breakaway, especially as
he really seemed sick, so I didn't watch him particularly close, an' we
jogged along through th' dark. He still seemed pretty bad when we made
th' station, so I got him a slug of whiskey an' we boarded th' train. I
handed him over at the guardroom, when we got into th' Post--locked up
my gunnysack, an' beat it back on th' West-bound that was late that
night. I didn't want to be around th' Post next day for fear Mickey, th'
S.M., might keep me in for duty. Well, the case came up about three
months later at th' Supreme Court.
"Mr. Man hires him a lawyer an' pleads 'not guilty,' as bold as brass.
As I figured I had th' case all hunkadory I only had one witness--th'
owner of th' calf. I goes into the box an' gives my evidence an' pulls
out th' hide exhibit to identify. A red an' white one I'd put in an' a
red an' white one I pulls out, but I well-nigh had a fit when I saw th'
brand on it. It was th' prisoner's _own_. I looked like a proper fool, I
guess, with th' mossback an' his 'mouthpiece' both givin' me th' 'ha,
ha.' Luckily for me, Inspector Purvis happened to be in court an' of
course his statement that everything had been in order at th'
preliminary trial when he committed th' man was accepted by the judge,
an' after a hard fight with th' defending counsel--who, of course,
wanted to proceed right then an' there--we got th' case set over, an'
started in to investigate. 'Twasn't much use, though. They--th'
prisoner, his wife, an' th' lawyer--put it all over us--easy. Yes,
_sir_, they had th' bulge on us, all right, an' they knew it. Case was
dismissed at its second hearing through lack of evidence--th' judge
intimating, however, that he was satisfied that there'd been some funny
work somewhere, though, under th' circumstances he had no alternative
but to give th' prisoner th' benefit of th' doubt. Th' O.C., Purvis, an'
th' lawyer, well-nigh crucified me with their remarks. Been mighty
careful ever since, yu' bet!
"A constable named Mason nailed him later, though, for stealing a horse.
He had him dead to rights an' made a better job of things than me. My
'rube' got three years. I had charge of th' escort when we took him,
along with some others, up to th' 'Pen.' It was then that he told me the
whole business. He'd fixed it up with his wife th' night she come to see
him in th' cells. When she came out with that gunny-sack, she'd put one
of their own calf-hides in on top of his clothes. That's what made th'
sack look so big. How in h--l he ever managed to snake _my_ sack from
alongside me on th' seat--without me feelin' him--swop them two hides,
an' then put it back again, was a corker, but he managed it, somehow,
an' dropped th' real 'un on th' trail, where his wife, followin' us up
in th' dark on a saddle-horse, snaffled it an' took it home in quick
shape an' burnt it."
This story, delivered with the Sergeant's characteristic humorous,
arrogant abruptness, caused his listeners--in spite of the gravity of
the circumstances attending its telling--considerable amusement. It was
a curious anecdote for a man to relate of himself, especially in the
midst of the somewhat grim situation under which they were met, but it
was quite in keeping with Benton's strange, complex character.
The three men lay silent awhile after this, each busy with his own
reflections. Presently Gallagher, who was gazing absently at the scar on
the policeman's cheek, said quietly:
"It was yu' killed 'Slim' Cashell, over to Pitman, wasn't it, Sargint?"
At the question the lazy good humor died out of Benton's face strangely.
Bleak and inscrutable became his expression on the instant--lowering and
sinister. His far-away, ruthless eyes began to glow with their peculiar
baleful light. It was the sun suddenly enveloped by a storm-cloud.
"Aye," he said darkly, and a long pause ensued. "It was me or him," he
went on, in a cold, even, passionless voice. "An' my way o' thinkin'
_an'_ actin' at such show-downs is th' same, I reckon, as old Israel
Hands'--a certain gentleman o' fortune in a book I guess yu've never
read, Barney.... 'Him as strikes first is my fancy; dead men don't bite;
them's my views--amen, so be it.' ... He had his chance, anyway, an' he
left me his card, which I'll pack to my grave," he ended significantly,
touching the scar.
The flies began to buzz around the carcass and the steady "munch, munch"
of the feeding horses sounded in their ears, whilst the sun, blazing
hotly down upon them without the mercy of a cooling breeze, sent up
little shimmering heat-waves from the sagebrush-dotted parched ground.
Shorty presently found his voice again.
"Sargint," he began, with a certain surly respect that it was noticeable
had hitherto been omitted, "d'yu' mind me askin' yu' a question?"
Ellis glanced at him indifferently, his deep-set gray eyes wide with
their peculiar, aggressive blank stare.
"Go ahead--what is it?" he said.
Shorty licked his dry lips. "Was it Jules le Frambois as told yu'
'bout--?"
"No," interrupted Ellis irritably. "Jules told me nothin', an' I asked
him nothin'; an' what's more, I'd see yu' an' him ten fathoms deep in
h--l before I'd suck up any of yu' Ghost River crooks' cursed lies."
"Were it George Fisk, then--or Scotty Robbins?" the other pursued.
A puzzling, suspicious thought suddenly flashed into the policeman's
alert brain at the man's persistence, and instantly his face became an
inscrutable mask.
"Now yu're talkin'," he answered meaningly.
His words produced a horrible change in the weather-beaten, sinister
countenance of his prisoner.
"By ----, I was a-thinkin' so.... Right from th' fust crack," he said
spitefully, with an oath. "An' now I'll tell _yu'_ somethin' that ain't
no lie. Them two same fellers has it fixed to annex old Bob Tucker's
bunch o' hawsses--tomorrer night. I was a-goin' to give 'em a hand,
too," he continued defiantly, with reckless abandon. "They figures on
takin' 'em up to a place they knows of in th' bush--up Ghost River
way--for a spell, till things quietens down a bit, I guess; then they'll
drive 'em South, to Paralee Junction, an' try an' ship 'em East from
there. George Fisk an' me had a sorter diff'runce 'bout whackin' up. He
says to me: 'Take it, or leave it!'--them were his words--'Me an' Scotty
ain't exactly pertic'lar whether yu' stays in th' family or not,' he
says."
He paused for breath. Ellis shot a warning glance that spoke volumes to
Gallagher who, with open-mouthed curiosity, was listening eagerly to
this amazing recital.
"Well, yu' see they've double-crossed yu', _amigo_," he said, with a
calm, convincing composure that left no further doubt in his prisoner's
mind.
"Just a frame-up," he continued. "Why, them fellers has good steady jobs
punchin' for th' Wharnock Cattle Company, which they ain't got no
intention o' leavin' for to run off anybody's hawsses. They ain't
exactly stuck on yu' so, naturally, they figured this was th' easiest
way to get rid of yu'."
Shorty spat vindictively, and his pale, lynx-like, merciless eyes glowed
as, with horrible blasphemies and threats, he broke out, reviling the
two alleged informers.
"Frame-up!" he snarled. "Yes! ... on me _an'_ yu'. Why, this very beef
here was for 'em, while they was up cached in the bush. Feller was
a-goin' to foller 'em up with it in a wagon. _I_ won't be th' only one
to get double-crossed, as yu'll find. Yu'll be gettin' one o' th' worst
falls _yu'_ ever got in yore natural if yu' turn this whisper o' mine
down now. Well, I've told yu', anyways." And, spent with his rage, he
lay back like a man weary of life.
The practical Gallagher glanced up at the slowly descending sun and
leapt to his feet.
"Time's gettin' on," he said. "I don't figure on losin' that beef,
anyways.... It's a-stiffenin' up a'ready."
And, picking up Shorty's knife, with practised dexterity, he proceeded
to complete what the rustler had begun. Ellis, outwardly nonchalant, but
seething inwardly with excitement at the news, the truth of which was
confirmed unhesitatingly by a certain native intuition he possessed,
lent him a hand at intervals and, presently, with the aid of the
block-and-tackle and a lariat on one of the saddle-horses, the two sides
of roughly dressed beef were slung up to a branch of the big cottonwood
tree, well out of reach of the coyotes.
Catching up the rustler's patient horse, the Sergeant picked up the
rifle and, after pumping out the shells, thrust it into its scabbard
slung under the legadeiro of the saddle; then, knotting the lines around
the horn, he proceeded to swiftly fashion a hackamore with his lariat.
"Reckon yu'll have to ride as yu' are, Shorty," he said. "I'm a-goin' to
trail yu' alongside. What's up?" he added, as the other, with manacled
hands on the saddle-horn, in the act of mounting, was staring at the
buckskin with interest.
"Some hawss, that, yu're ridin', Sargint," he remarked, with a meaning,
bitter smile.
"Some," assented Ellis dryly. "Well, yu' oughta know--bein' as 'twas yu'
topped him off. _Umbagi!_--let's _trek_. Don't forget that hide,
Barney!" he shouted. "Hang onto that brand, too--mind Shorty don't swop
it on yu'," he added with grim pleasantry.
The rancher, busily rolling up the bloody mass, with the rustler's knife
and cleaver inside, responded with one of his customary barking laughs
and, lashing it on behind his saddle, mounted; and with him bringing up
the rear, the little cavalcade turned homewards.
In due time they arrived at the detachment, and the Sergeant, after
carefully searching and locking up his prisoner, withdrew outside the
building to discuss matters with Gallagher.
"Guess there ain't no Bull-Durham about th' tip old Bob Tucker's got
this trip," he said with conviction. "Wonder who 'twas put that old
stiff wise?"
He was more excited than was his wont, and his brow was contracted with
impatient thought.
"Reckon he's tellin' th' straight tale?" Gallagher ventured dubiously,
with a back-flung jerk of his head to the building.
"Shore," answered the policeman. "'Twas just a bit o' lucky gammon I
threw into him--I'd no idea he'd fall for it like he did. Yu're a
witness of his admissions of being an accomplice o' these fellers. As a
matter o' fact," he continued, with a sly grin, "I haven't seen either
o' _them_ for well-nigh a month now. 'Twas Little Benny Parker wised me
up 'bout what Shorty figured he was goin' to do for me.... He was down
at th' post-office one mail day--quite a while ago, this is--an' these
fellers was all outside together a-talkin'--Jules le Frambois along.
Benny's only a little nipper, an' bein' on th' other side o' his horse,
cinchin' up, I guess they didn't notice him. Some cute kid, Benny!"
He remained silent for a space, in deep thought.
"Barney," he said presently, "I'd like yore help in this business.
Scotty Robbins ain't o' much account. He's a poor cur, he is. But Big
George's some bad man. I've got his record from over th' Line. He's done
two fives an' a three-year term for horse-stealin', an' I know for a
fact, too, that he's a gun artist. He killed two men in a dirty mix-up
at Los Barancedes, over in New Mexico, quite a while back. Th' Rurales
well-nigh put th' kibosh on him, but somehow he beat 'em out. So, yu'
see," he concluded with a whimsical smile, "it ain't exactly a one-man
job--at night, too. That is, if yu're willin'?"
His request was met more than half-way.
"Eyah! that I will, Sargint," the other answered bluntly and briefly. "I
guess I know me duty as a law-abidin' man should." He had, in his brief
acquaintance, formed a profound respect for the fearless man who sought
his assistance.
"I know it's not exactly a civilian's end o' th' deal to get shoved into
takin' unnecessary risks," Ellis went on. "If I had time I'd ride out to
Buffalo Wallow an' get Nicholson--he's about due there, on patrol. But I
haven't ... an' this lay's supposed to come off tomorrow night. Besides,
I wanta go an' see Tucker. Pity old Boswell, th' J.P.'s, gone East. I'd
a got yu' sworn in as a 'special.' So yu' see how it is," he ended
simply.
"Eyah!" said Gallagher, with a grim heartiness; "don't yu' worry over
nothin' son. My name's Barney Gallagher. I kin 'trail me coat' as good
as me father or me grandfather ever did. Yu'll find I'm right there with
th' goods."
Ellis regarded the speaker's hard-featured face with its twinkling
Irish-blue eyes, and his angular, powerful frame.
"Yu' just bet yu' are, Barney," he murmured thoughtfully. "Yu' just bet
yu' are. See here; look! I'll mosey on over to Tucker's first thing in
th' mornin'; an' I'll find out, if I can--without tellin' him
nothin'--what he knows. Shorty'll be safe enough locked up here while
we're away, an' if we nail these other two we can take th' whole bunch
into Sabbano for their preliminary trial. I'll be back mid-day, an'
towards evenin' we'll slide out."
Their arrangements thus settled, Gallagher departed to his ranch, and
Ellis proceeded to cook supper for himself and his prisoner. Later he
fixed up the horses for the night and, on second thought, after
examining Johnny's hoof with a satisfied scrutiny, and leading him
around a little, he wrenched off the remaining shoes and turned him
loose in the pasture, where there was good feed and running water.
"Go to it, old boy," he chuckled, amused at that animal's antics as,
delighted with his unwonted freedom, the horse, after a roll or two,
sailed off with a joyous kick and squeal, his previous limp now hardly
perceptible.
Ellis watched him lovingly a minute or two then, lighting his pipe, he
reentered the detachment.