Now, gallant Saxon, hold thine own!
No maiden's hand is round thee thrown!
That desperate grasp thy frame might feel,
Through bars of brass and triple steel!--
They tug, they strain! down, down they go,
The Gael above, Fitz-James below.
--_Scott_
Seven o'clock came, and the Sergeant, with a few parting instructions to
old Hiram Bryan, saddled up and departed for Gallagher's.
The latter who, pipe in mouth, was seated on the steps of his shack
busily splicing a hondu in a rawhide lariat, or riata, looked up at the
other's approach, and glanced curiously at the Sergeant's unfamiliar
dress and mount.
"Hello," he said waggishly. "Fancy-dress ball, eh? What's th' idea?"
For Benton was riding the prisoner's white horse and also wearing that
gentleman's chaps, coat, hat, and white handkerchief.
Ellis grinned. "They're expaictin' Shorty," he said. "Mustn't disappoint
'em."
Half an hour later the two men rode slowly along the trail leading to
Fish Creek. The evening shadows began to close in, but they dawdled,
keeping a wary look-out and talking in low, guarded tones, for voices
carry far over the range on still nights.
"Sergeant," said Gallagher casually, during their progress. "'Member, it
ain't that I'm grudgin' givin' yu' this bit o' help but, d'yu' know,
I've often thort it kinder queer-like as yu' don't get 'em to give yu'
another man to help yu' out here?"
Ellis did not reply immediately. "I could," he said presently. "But
what'd be th' use? They'd most likely send me along some gentlemanly
young 'Percy,' just fresh up from Regina, who didn't know his mouth from
a hole in th' ground. It ain't no child's play--handlin' th' crooked
stock cases in a district like this. A man's got to be onto his job
right from th' drop o' th' hat. Look how they put it over
Williamson--what! He should never have come here. He should have stayed
with that staff job in th' Q.M.'s store ... never did nothin' else since
he's bin in th' Force. They saddled me with a peach once, I mind--when I
was stationed at Goddard. He was a nice, well-meanin' kid, all right,
but all th' same he queered two o' th' best cases I've ever had," he
ended bitterly.
They rode side by side in silence awhile.
"Yu' heeled?" inquired the Sergeant quietly. And, as the other nodded,
and tapped his hip significantly: "Mind, though, I ain't anxious to have
any shootin' on this business, unless it's absolutely necessary. I don't
want no cursed chasin' in th' dark, either, with th' chances o' th'
hawsses comin' down wallop, in every doggoned badger-hole around. I
ain't just figured _how_ I'm a-goin' to get 'em yet! Can't tell, this
stage o' th' game. It'll most likely have to be somethin' almighty
sudden, yu' can take yore oath o' that!"
Arriving later at the previously mentioned line of brush that fringed
the west side of Tucker's pasture, they struck in along the old cow
trail and dismounting about thirty yards from the gate, still within the
shelter of the dense bush, they squatted down and awaited events.
A three-quarter moon showed itself rarely through a thick rift of clouds
and, as their eyes became accustomed to the curious gray light that
flooded everything around, objects within a certain radius stood out
with surprising clearness.
"Lord!" said the policeman in a low undertone, "I wish we could smoke.
'Twon't do to chance strikin' a match, though. Reckon they'll foller th'
fence-line from th' sou'west angle when they _do_ come. Good job Tucker
ain't got no dogs to start in yappin'. Guess _he's_ drunk an' sleepin'
by now. Good job, too, he don't know no more'n he does. He'd be
a-runnin' around all worked up like a flea in a mitt, with that old
Mauser o' his, an' shootin' at th' moon."
"We'll have ter look out for them hawsses o' our'n a-whinnyin', too,"
said Gallagher anxiously. "That's what I'm scared of."
A slow, dreary hour passed. Ellis arose stiffly, and stretched himself.
"I'm gettin' tired o' settin' here," he whispered to the other. "I'm
a-goin' out to th' edge o' th' brush. If either o' them hawsses starts
in, yu' cut th' wind off'n him quick." And he stole away noiselessly.
He was barely away ten minutes before he came gliding back.
"Here comes somebody," he whispered. "Along from th' sou'west angle, as
I figured, too. Guess it's them, all right. If 'tis, I reckon I'll have
to jump somethin' hot off'n th' brain 'bout gettin' 'em."
With all their faculties on the stretch, they held their breaths and
listened intently. Soon their eager ears caught the sound of approaching
horses and the faint creak of leather. Straining their eyes in the
gloom, they presently made out the forms of two riders slowly and
cautiously traversing the cleared strip that lay between the fence and
the line of brush.
Reaching the gate they halted, but making no attempt, as yet, to
dismount or open it, remained lolling on their horses and talking in low
tones.
"Waitin' for Shorty," whispered Ellis to Gallagher who, smothering a
chuckle, whispered back: "Some wait!"
Even in that dim light they could see that one of the riders loomed up a
big, bulky shape, in contrast to his slighter-appearing companion.
"That's Big George, all right," murmured the rancher into Benton's ear
as a low, deep bass undertone rumbled to them. "Listen ter that voice o'
his!"
Ready for emergencies, they quietly watched the two dark forms and
patiently waited. Their vigil was short. An unmistakable, smothered oath
came to their ears. The guarded, booming growl of the bigger man, became
more insistent. They saw the slighter shape dismount and, presently the
"tang" of a tightly stretched barbed-wire gate being released and drawn
aside sounded sharply in the stillness. The big shape, still mounted,
slowly disappeared into the shadows beyond, the smaller one resuming his
seat in the saddle and waiting at the opening.
Feverishly the Sergeant weighed the situation. "Scotty" Robbins--and,
without a doubt, it must be he--possessed an extraordinarily fast horse,
he reflected. Even if he _was_ able, under the guise of Shorty, to range
near enough to close, it was not particularly easy to pull a good rider
like Scotty out of the saddle. He would be sure to raise a loud outcry
at the first attempt, and thus warn Fisk. If he once got away, it would
be futile to follow him in the dark.
The emergency caused a wild thought to flash into Benton's fertile
brain. Why not _rope_ him? Long years of constant practise had rendered
him clever with a lariat. It was worth trying. The tumble would insure
Scotty's partial silence anyway, and Gallagher could fix the rest,
leaving him free to tackle Big George, whom he knew it would be suicidal
to ever call on to surrender at close range.
Clutching his companion, he whispered tensely: "Now they're split! I'll
have to nail Mister Scotty quick, before he gets a chance to make a
breakaway. That roan o' his--'Duster'--can run anythin' around here
off'n its laigs. I'm a-goin' to try _ropin'_ him. Let's have that
rawhide riata o' yores--that 'black-jack' o' mine kinks. Get yore
handkerchief ready, an' run out an' cram it into his kisser an' choke
th' ---- if he starts in to holler. Here, Barney!"--he slipped the
latter a pair of handcuffs--"hold these. Keep 'em open an' give 'em to
me when I say. Now look out! Gaffle him quick when I jerk him off'n th'
perch."
Leading Shorty's horse slowly and heedfully back through the brush, the
way they had come, he mounted and, after carefully shaking out a loop to
his liking in the riata, which he trailed in readiness with back-flung
hand, he circled around until he reached the clear space between the
fence and the brush.
Suddenly his borrowed mount nickered. Scotty Robbins started nervously
at the sound, but a sigh of relief escaped him as the shape of the
familiar white horse became revealed to his vision.
"Oh, Shorty--that yu'?" he called out, in a loud, tense undertone.
There was no answer from the rider, who approached near--_nearer_.
Suddenly. "Swis-s-s-s," came the sibilant hiss of something through the
air, and the loop of a riata flopped fairly over his head and shoulders.
Taken utterly by surprise, he uttered a frightened squawk and, with a
quick upward thrust of his arm, endeavored to free himself of the
encumbrance. The movement was too late. That single squawk was his
limit. For the other, wheeling his horse on the instant, rammed in the
spurs, and the next moment there came a terrible jerk that tore his
clutching hands from the saddle-horn and flung him to the ground with
all the breath knocked out of his body.
The startled, riderless horse gave a violent jump at the unexpected
occurrence and tried to run, but the trailing lines under its feet
causing its head to be yanked down severely at every step, from
customary experience it soon pulled up, snorting nervously.
With as much compunction as a cow-puncher who drags a calf up to the
branding fire, so Ellis swiftly trailed the unfortunate Scotty towards
the opening in the brush. The watchful Gallagher darted noiselessly
forward and, turning him on his back, slacked off the lariat.
Benton leaped down. "Quick!" he whispered fiercely. "Let's have 'em!"
Snatching the handcuffs from the other, he snipped them on Scotty's
wrists. The latter was still moaning and gasping with the shock of his
fall.
"Yu' ain't croaked him, hev yu', Sargint?" said the rancher, in a low
voice.
"Nah," snarled the policeman, in a tense whisper. "That flop's jerked
th' wind outa him, that's all. He'll come to in a second an' most likely
start in to bawl, so yu'll wanta be ready with that handkerchief. Say!
that's sure some rope-horse o' Shorty's--c'n turn on a dollar. See here;
look! I'm a-goin' to wait at th' gate for George. No use for to try an'
rope _him_--he's too heavy. I'll have to fix him some other road. He'll
be some handful, too, believe me! If I shout for yu', leave Scotty an'
come on th' dead run. Mind, though, I don't want no shootin' unless it's
absolutely necessary."
He turned swiftly, and was about to mount again, when a sudden thought
flashed into his mind. Scotty was not wearing white chaps. They would be
a "dead give away," he reflected. At close range they would show up
plainly to Fisk in that light.
The next instant he had unbuckled the waist-strap and kicked them off;
then, leaving Shorty's white horse, he ran to where his late victim's
mount still stood waiting. At his sudden, hasty approach, it edged away
slightly, and snorted, scenting an unfamiliar being; but, impatient, he
grabbed at and caught one of its trailing lines, and the next minute was
in the saddle. The stirrups were about an equal length to his own, so he
felt comfortable enough on the beautiful, springy beast. Taking up its
owner's previous position at the open gate, he waited quietly.
Soon there came a slowly gathering, muffled thud of many hoofs, and the
shadowy blurr of a bunch of horses became visible to him as they drew
near. On they came, and the leader, after suddenly stopping and snorting
with puffed-out nostrils at the apparition of the rider, who remained so
motionless at the side of the gate, darted through, the others speedily
following, well strung out by the skilful tactics of their driver to
avoid jamming at the opening.
As the last horse passed through the gate, Ellis planted himself
squarely in the midway, facing the rider, who was bringing up the rear.
The huge form gradually loomed up nearer to him in the surrounding
gloom.
"H--l! what yu' waitin' fur, d--n yu'?" rumbled the deep, harsh,
low-pitched voice. "Why didn't yu' head 'em off, west?"
Benton moved forward slowly with raised hand.
"Sh-sh!" he hissed warningly.
Fisk halted irresolutely. Scotty's horse fooled him completely.
"What's up?" he growled.
Ellis, his powerful right arm swinging free, ranged up alongside as if
to have speech with the other. Then suddenly, and with an uncanny
swiftness, he silently and viciously struck for the angle of the big
man's jaw.
The blow crashed home, and the great body went lurching sideways out of
the saddle. Like a flash the Sergeant swung down off his horse and
jumped for the rustler, dragging out another pair of handcuffs as he did
so.
His haste was his undoing, for he got wedged in between the frightened,
jostling horses and knocked sprawling. The next instant a huge,
bear-like shape that made horrible, beast-like noises in its throat,
fell upon him and clutched his arms. Frenziedly he writhed under that
terrible grip.
"Barney!" he yelled. "Oh, Bar--!"
But his cry changed to a gurgle as the other's hold shifted to his
throat. With desperate efforts he fought off the choking clasp and,
wriggling somehow from under his enemy's smothering weight, scrambled
with reeling brain to his feet.
Big George had arisen also, snorting and grinding his teeth with mad,
demoniacal passion, and Ellis instinctively guessed that he was fumbling
for his gun. Entirely forgetful of his own weapon in the Berserker rage
that possessed him, the Sergeant sprang at the giant rustler, hitting
out with great smashing punches to the jaw and stomach, that sent Fisk
staggering back and gave him no opportunity to draw. With a snarl like a
wild beast, he closed again with his slighter antagonist and, as the two
men swayed hither and thither, Benton became dimly conscious of
Gallagher's form and voice added to the melee.
Stumbling and tripping, the struggling, cursing trio came headlong to
the ground. Suddenly, with a gurgling yell of pain, Fisk released his
grip on Ellis, who was the under dog and, clutching at his own throat,
fell backwards; his head, meanwhile, giving curious, spasmodic jerks.
Uncomprehending, but quick to follow up his advantage, the Sergeant
rolled over upon him; and as he did so, his hands, seeking the other's
neck, encountered a rope, and he instantly realized what had happened.
"Steady, Barney!" he panted. "Ease up a bit. Yu'll choke him."
Roughly, and with the swift celerity of men accustomed to throwing and
hog-tying steers, they trussed up their late formidable antagonist,
winding the forty-foot riata around him as he kicked and raved, with a
maze of knots that left him as helpless as a child. Then, utterly spent
with their exertions, they lay back, gasping for air and sweating.
Gradually recovering, they regained their speech somewhat.
"G--d!" said Ellis, still breathing heavily, "that's about the worst
man-handling I guess I ever _did_ get! Here! This won't do, lyin' on our
backs all night. Where in h--l's them bracelets? I dropped 'em
somewheres around here." And, arising unsteadily, he began to kick
amongst the short grass.
With the aid of some matches the missing articles were eventually found.
The two men then turned to the huge, bound figure of the rustler, who
was still cursing and twisting under his bonds. Cautiously, loosening
one great arm at a time, they clasped the steel loops around the
enormous wrists.
"Should have a gun," muttered the Sergeant. "He was a-tryin' to draw,
all right. Can't get at it, though, while he's on his back. Here, let's
roll him over on his face, Barney, so's I can get at his hip-pocket."
In about as gentle a fashion as a lumber-jack twisting a log with a
cant-hook, so the big body was heaved over into the desired position,
and Ellis commenced his investigations. A smothered exclamation escaped
him.
"Hullo!" he said, "what's this? So _that's_ why I didn't get mine, eh?"
He struck a match, disclosing by its light the butt of a long-barreled
Colt's .45 protruding from the rustler's right hip-pocket. Being
unscabbarded the wing of the hammer had (providentially, for Benton)
caught in the torn lining of the pocket and become firmly fixed therein.
"Eyah!" ejaculated Gallagher. "D'yu' ever see th' likes o' that, now?
Talk about luck--what!"
Ellis carelessly spilled the shells into his hand. "How's Scotty?" he
inquired.
"Oh, him?--he's all right," answered the rancher. "He come around while
yu' was a-waitin' at th' gate fur Big George, here. He started in to
snivel, but I d--d soon shoved th' handkerchief in his trap."
"Mighty good job yu' fixed George as yu' did," said the Sergeant. "I
didn't wanta shoot, but I guess I'd a-had to if yu' hadn't come along
just then. I ain't heavy enough to rough-an'-tumble it with a bull like
him. He well-nigh got me that first trip. Thank yu', Barney. Yu're right
there with th' goods, an' no mistake.... I'll never forget it."
"Aw, h--l," said the other roughly, to hide his feeling. "'Twarn't
nothin', Sargint. I on'y picked up th' first thing as come handy--that
riata yu'd chucked off'n Scotty. That's all right."
A string of oaths from the recumbent Fisk aroused them.
"Hey!" rumbled the growling, bass voice threateningly. "Who is yu'
fellers, anyways? What'n h--l d'yu' think yu're at? Yu'l....
"One o' yu's Barney Gallagher--I know that. I'll fix yu' fur this,
Barney!"
Ellis unwound the lariat from around the big man's legs; then, striking
another match, held it to his own face.
"Know _me_, now?" he said. "George--I reckon I've got yu'! Get up, yu'
big stiff, or I'll fix _yu'_!"
A fresh burst of blasphemy greeting his request, he picked up the riata
again and, dropping a loop over the rustler's head and shoulders, drew
it taut.
"Yu' go get me one o' them hawsses, Barney," he said quietly.
Gallagher sauntered over to where the two animals had halted after their
first scare and were placidly feeding, and returned with Scotty's horse.
The Sergeant mounted and took a turn of the riata around the
saddle-horn.
Amidst an ominous silence he swung around in his seat with shortened
leg. "Comin'?" he inquired significantly.
Big George was no coward, but he was between the devil and the deep sea;
for in the cold cruelty of the policeman's tones he read aright the
signs of a pitiless purpose if he still persisted in further obstinacy.
Sullenly he rolled over onto his knees, and awkwardly raised himself on
his feet.
"So," said Ellis approvingly, "that's better."
Dismounting leisurely, he drew off the loop and coiled up the riata.
"Get yu' over to that openin' in th' brush, where yore partner is," he
continued, in an authoritative, menacing voice. "Here!--this way." And,
grasping the big man's shoulder, he guided him over to the indicated
spot.
There they found the handcuffed, miserable Scotty. He had made no
attempt to run away. Naturally a timid rogue, the rough handling that he
had received had knocked whatever little pluck he possessed out of him
completely. Now he whined like a frightened child, blaming Fisk for
their mutual mischance; but the latter cursed savagely back, threatening
him in horrid terms, so he ceased his lamentations in pure dread of the
other's dominant personality, and relapsed into shivering silence. Fisk
began to raise his voice again.
"What d'yu' figure on chargin' us with, anyways?" he snarled. "Why, yu'
ain't got nothin' on us! We was on'y lookin' fur one o' our own hawsses,
as we thort might--"
"George," said the Sergeant appealingly, with up-raised, protesting
hand, "don't! Yu' gimme a pain--honest, yu' do. I'll tell yu' what I'm
chargin' yu' both with, bein' as yu're from Missouri, an' want to be
shown." And in no uncertain terms he proceeded to do so, and cautioned
them.
"Why didn't yu' call on me an' tell me yore business, as yu're supposed
ter do?" blustered Big George in injured tones. "I'd a-come with yu'
peaceable enough. I'll make a statement ag'in yu' two fellers 'bout th'
way I was man-handled."
The policeman uttered a snort of ironical amusement.
"'Come peaceable'!" he echoed. "Yes, yu'd a-come peaceable enough--yu've
shown that. I've got th' marks an th' feel o' yore little donnies on my
throat yet. I don't bear yu' no grudge fur that, though. Yu' go ahead,
then, with yore statement, Mister Bloomin' Lawyer, an' I'll come back at
_yu'_ with a charge of 'resisting arrest an' assaultin' a police-officer
in th' lawful execution of his duty,' fur which yu're liable to get two
years extra. 'Call on yu' an' tell yu' my business' indeed! An' who's to
prove I _didn't_?" he queried, with an ugly laugh. "If yu' like to call
it square why, all right. But if yu' mean actin' dirty, I'll act dirty,
too--an' ahead o' yu' at that."
The force of the other's argument seemed to impress the big rustler
considerably, and he remained silent.
"I've got yore record from over th' Line, George," the Sergeant
continued. "It's sure a peach.... Five years in th' State 'pen' at
Huntsville, Texas. Another five in Rawlins, Wyoming. An' three in Sante
Fe, New Mexico.... 'Call on' a rough-neck like yu'?" he repeated. "With
such a record as that? In th' dark--at close range--with a .45 on yore
hip? 'Call on yu'! '--an' bring my knittin'. What'd yu' bin doin' th'
whiles? Shot me dead, most likely, or made some break that'd a-forced me
to shoot _yu'_--just 'bout th' last thing I wanted to happen. No, Mister
George; for reasons yu'll know later, yu're worth more to me alive than
dead. 'Call on yu'!' Not if I know it. I'd trust yu' 'bout as much as I
would a grizzly, a wolf, or a 'diamond-back.' Yu' don't get me like them
two yu' stretched down at Los Barancedes. Yep, I know all 'bout _that_,
too. What's that? On'y 'greasers'? Mebbe--but if th' Rurales'd a-caught
yu' they'd a-surely bumped yu' off, greasers or not. Now, see here;
look," he concluded with a harsh ring in his raised voice, "yu' get me,
once an' for all. Yu're a prisoner. I know my duty as a Mounted
Police-Sergeant, an' I don't have to get arguin' th' point with
four-flushin', tin-horn scum like yu'. An' mind, now, what I said about
that charge goes if yu' make one more break, talkin' back to me."
A hasty search of the two men's pockets, revealing nothing more
dangerous than a jack-knife belonging to Scotty, he turned to Gallagher
and bade him bring up the horses.
"Knot th' lines 'round th' horns o' George's an' Scotty's," he said,
"an' string 'em together 'bout three foot apart with yore lariat,
Barney. I want yu' to trail 'em. I'll come on behind."
When all was in readiness he jerked out a curt order to the captives, to
"Climb aboard an' hold onta th' jug-handle!"
"'Member," he added warningly. "I'm close behind, so don't be so foolish
as to chance anythin'. First man that does'll get hurt--bad."
Then, and for the first time, Big George noticed the Sergeant's mount.
Speechless for the moment, he stood, pop-eyed, gaping stupidly.
"Look, look!" he ejaculated to his partner in distress, "why, that's
Shorty's--" his voice failed him.
"Eyah! That's what put th' kibosh on me," commiserated poor Scotty
feelingly. "He must ha' corralled _him_, too, an' th' ----'s given us
away. _Must_ have--who else could ha' put this feller onta us?"
Ellis, in his own saturnine fashion, chuckled grimly at this last
remark. "Sure," he said, "_that's_ what. Now, yu' fellers climb up
_pronto_. I ain't a-goin' to hang around here all night."
In dismal silence they obeyed resignedly, and the grim little procession
eventually reached the detachment. Wearily they dismounted, and the
Sergeant drew Gallagher aside.
"Yu' go on in first Barney," he whispered. "Light th' lamp, an' wake th'
old feller I told yu' about. Tell him to go an' camp in th' kitchen for
th' night--I'll bring him in some blankets, later. I don't want them
fellers to see _him_."
The other, nodding silently, entered the building, and soon a light
shone through the open door. Presently he came out again.
"All set," he said.
The Sergeant then proceeded to usher in his prisoners and, after
leg-ironing them together, with a significant gesture handed the key
over to Gallagher. Seen in the light the two rustlers presented a
grotesquely dissimilar appearance.
Big George fully justified his soubriquet. Standing nearly six feet two,
his enormous breadth of shoulder and hairy, barrel-like chest which the
torn shirt revealed seemed, somehow, though, to detract from his actual
height. His age might have been forty or thereabouts. On some
physiognomies evil passions have imprinted their danger signals
unmistakably. Fisk's sinister countenance, with its somber, desperate
eyes and bushy tangle of coal-black beard which hid, one instinctively
guessed, a cruel mouth and a terrible, animal-like jaw, might to many
imaginations have found its prototype in the ruthless visage of a
moss-trooping cattle-reiver of the Middle Ages captured, perchance, in
some Border night foray.
In strange comparison to _his_ formidable personality, a comparison
which might have been likened to that of a coyote shackled to a grizzly
bear, stood alongside him his slightly-built companion, Scotty. He had
sandy hair, closely set, shifty blue eyes, and a large, loose-lipped
mouth with a receding chin. It was a cunning, vicious, yet decidedly
weak face and, noting its defects, one could easily imagine the truth of
old Hiram Bryan's previous assertion: "Th' young chap seems ter do as he
tells him."
Ellis, with seemingly careless indifference, but keeping a wary eye on
Big George, removed the handcuffs off both men. He then proceeded to
relieve them of all their belongings, which he placed in separate bags
that were specially made for that purpose, and numbered. Then, after
making out an itemized list for each, he began to--ostentatiously--count
out their money. Each of the men possessed a small quantity, and this he
put in a couple of envelopes, marking the amount on the outside.
Gallagher, leaning against the door, watched the performance with
curious interest. He had an inkling of what was coming. Benton, seating
himself, beckoned the two forward to the table. Shackled together, they
awkwardly obeyed. He chose Scotty first, and reckoned up the few bills
and silver belonging to that individual.
"Eight dollars and sixty-five cents," he concluded. "That correct?"
Scotty nodded. "All right, then," said Ellis, licking up the envelope
and pushing over a pen. "Look over that list an' see 'f it's O. K.
before yu' sign for it."
Scotty glanced through the items and nervously affixed his signature.
The same procedure was gone through with Fisk. As the latter finished
signing, the policeman drew the piece of foolscap towards him and,
extracting a folded paper from a small wallet, leisurely compared the
two specimens of caligraphy. With a satisfied sigh, he thrust them both
into his pocket and looked across the table with a sinister smile at Big
George.
"Mister Gordon Brown," he murmured reflectively.
The two culprits started violently, and stared with dismay at the man
who had thus outwitted them once more. Fisk strove to recover himself.
Over his perturbed, evil face there crept the blank, lifeless expression
of duplicity.
"Wha's that?" he inquired innocently.
The Sergeant's smile vanished. His face hardened, and he began to speak,
drawling out his words one by one.
"I'm chargin' yu' both," he said sententiously, "with stealin' a team,
wagon, an harness, valued at two hundred an' seventy-five dollars, from
one, Lloyd Pryce, of Beaver Dam, on th' sixth o' June; afterwards
selling the same as your own property to one, Hiram Bryan, on th'
thirteenth o' th' same month." Then followed the customary warning.
"That's all," he finished, "an I guess it's sure enough, too." He eyed
them a moment amidst a dead silence, and then broke out irritably:
"What do th' likes o' yu' want to come over _this_ Side for--peddling
yore dirty work in a decent, law-abiding country? Why in h--l couldn't
yu' stay where yu' both belong? Now, get yu' away back there an' sit on
that bench."
Apathetically they obeyed, with the hopeless resignation of men for whom
life could hold no more surprises, and which, in Fisk's case, was all
the more remarkable, considering his previous belligerent attitude. It
had been on the tip of the policeman's tongue to question him as to what
had become of the money thus fraudulently obtained but, on second
thought, he desisted. Some lie or another would be the only result of
such an inquiry, he reflected; and besides, he had warned them.
Gambling, he knew, was notoriously rife at the Wharnock ranch, which was
probably the true cause of its disappearance. (A correct guess, as was
subsequently proved at their trial.)
Ellis looked at his watch. It was just going on midnight.
"Seems too bad--a-commandeering yu' for all this work, Barney," he said
apologetically, to Gallagher.
"Oh, I ain't worryin' none, Sargint," the other answered. "I got that
meat in all right, this mornin'; but there's my team I'd like to turn
out inter th' pasture, a cow as should be milked, an' some chickens I
wanta leave some feed out for. I guess yu'll be wantin' me inter Sabbano
with yu' th' next couple o' days, eh?"
Benton nodded. "P'r'aps it's more'n likely somebody'll be around in th'
mornin'," he said hopefully. "An' then yu'll be able to run on down an'
do yore chores. Say, will yu' off-saddle an' fix up th' hawsses? Turn
them two belonging to these fellers out in th' pasture--there won't be
room for no more when yores an' Shorty's is in--an' say, Barney; bring
in all th' blankets yu' can lay yore hands on in there."
In about half an hour the rancher returned, laden with a heavy bundle of
the aforesaid articles, which Ellis shook down on the floor in the
corner farthest from the door, subtracting two, however, for old Bryan
in the kitchen.
"Yu'll have to bunk down here for th' night," he remarked curtly to the
prisoners. "Yu' might as well get down to it right away, an' get all th'
sleep yu' can, because it'll be a long trip tomorrow."
Wearily they rolled their coats for pillows, and curled themselves down,
dormant murder gleaming in Fisk's somber, brooding eyes as he glanced
now and again at the cell door whence issued the untroubled snores of
Shorty.
Benton drew Gallagher on one side. "We'll have to do a 'night guard' on
these fellers," he whispered. "Guess we'll do two hours apiece. I'll do
th' first trick an' hand over th' watch to yu' when I'm through. Yu' go
on inta my room there, an' lie on th' bed."
Slowly the night dragged through for the tired, haggard, unkempt
watchers. After waking the Sergeant up at eight o'clock, the rancher
went out and did the stable chores, and when he returned Ellis cooked
breakfast for all hands--taking good care to keep Shorty and old Bryan
aloof from their former acquaintances.
As they were finishing the meal there came a knock at the door, and on
opening it the policeman was surprised to see Pryce and two other riders
outside. Benton closed the door behind him and stepped forward. The
rancher seemed oppressed with a certain shamefacedness, and fidgeted
nervously with his quirt.
"Sargint," he began. "I guess I kinder riled yu' yesterday--actin' as I
did--but I was fair mad, an' I--well, it's that cursed temper o' mine
gets th' better o' me. I ask yu' to try an' forgit it."
"Oh, that's all right, Pryce," said Ellis shortly. "I'm glad yu've come
around, anyways, as I was just figurin' how I was goin' to get word to
yu' to come inta Sabbano." And in a few words he acquainted the other
with an account of the previous night's adventures.
"Well, yu' do surprise me!" exclaimed Pryce wonderingly and, with rising
wrath: "Why, Big George, an' Scotty--I always give 'em th' run o' my
place as if they belonged there, whenever they come a-ridin' around.
Why! come to think o' it, three days before my outfit was stole, I
'member meetin' up with Scotty in th' Four-mile coulee; we was both
lookin' for strayed stock--an' I mind tellin' him as me an' th' woman
figured on drivin' inta Sabbano on th' Thursday, an' he asked me to
bring him some Bull-Durham 'baccer from there. Guess I forgot it.
Anyways, Big George, he was around about a week afterwards, an' listen!
He had th' gall to tell th' woman as how what a dirty deal it was to
rustle a feller's outfit, an' what th' parties deserved as did it. Where
was them hawsses all th' time, d'yu' think, Sargint, before they sold
'em to th' old man, I mean?"
"Staked out in th' bush somewheres, I guess," said Benton. "They've both
o' 'em got touches o' rope-burn around th' fetlocks. Say, who's yore
friends, Pryce?"
"Two fellers as kin swear to my outfit," replied the rancher. "I brought
'em around to see it." And, turning, he introduced the men to the
Sergeant.
"Well, put yore hawsses up an' come on in," said Ellis. "Don't yu' get
a-talkin' to th' prisoners mind, though," he added. "Least said, soonest
mended. We figure on pullin' out in 'bout an hour's time."
A clatter of wheels disturbed them and, turning, they beheld a wagon and
team approaching, driven by none other than old Bob Tucker. There was
something irresistibly funny in the excited motions of the dissipated,
elderly Jehu, as he urged his team forward with an unending string of
Afrikander expletives, which made them all burst out laughing.
"_Eyck! Eyck! Azi-wan-n! Ari-tsemah! Hamba-ke!_" he bawled.
The policeman stepped forward and held up his hand as the sweating
horses drew near.
"_Wana!_" he shouted. "_Wacht-een-bietje!_ What's bitin' yu' now, Dad?"
Tucker was tremulous and incoherent, but by degrees he managed to impart
the somewhat belated news that "'is 'orses 'ad bin let aht of 'is field"
during the night, and that "'e 'ad fahnd 'em abaht free mile sou'west
from 'is plice."
"Yu better let 'em stay out now, too," said the Sergeant. And he told
the old man everything. "Yu needn't be scared of yore bunch no more now.
What! Yu' didn't hear nothin' in th' night? Why, I reckon we made 'bout
as much racket amongst us as yu' do a-shovin' yore old team along. I
guess 'Johnny Burke' put _yu'_ to sleep, all right. Yu'd better
_outspan_, now yu've got here, an' turn yore team out in my pasture.
We'll want yu' along with us in Sabbano as a witness. Yu' can come back
with Barney Gallagher on Shorty's hawss. Yu' can ride _him_, all
right--he's quiet."
Fisk looked up brazenly at the new-comers as they entered, but Scotty
remained with downcast eyes, in nervous trepidation as Ellis and his
visitors, withdrawing into a corner, commenced to converse in low tones.
Seeing the re-enforcements, Gallagher slipped away and departed to his
ranch. When he returned, he found Pryce's wagon and team standing
outside the detachment, with old Hiram Bryan occupying the driver's seat
and Tucker alongside him.
Putting the stable-blankets and some hay in the bottom of the box, the
Sergeant led forth the handcuffed and shackled Fisk and Robbins, and
assisted them into the wagon. Shorty, for obvious reasons, he placed on
the former's own horse, which was led by Gallagher. A wise precaution,
considering the glances of deadly hatred which, from time to time, were
exchanged between the former and Big George, each still firmly believing
the other to have turned traitor. Ellis brought up the rear on the
buckskin, with Shorty's rifle in a carbine sling at the saddle-horn.
It was a long, monotonous trip, but nothing untoward happened. To avoid
stopping anywhere for dinner, the Sergeant had previously put in the
wagon a big pack of cooked food and a jar of water; so, halting mid-day,
they ate a meal and then, resuming their journey, arrived in Sabbano
about sundown. Tired and dusty, they eventually drew up at the
detachment.
Sergeant Churchill surveyed the party with astonishment.
"Hello! Where you klatch-um?" he inquired jocosely.
"Klatch-um allee same Chellee Kleek," responded Ellis. "Give us a hand,
Churchill, an' let's get 'em inside. Cloakey an' Wardle--them two J.P.'s
of yours--are they both in town?"
"Billy Cloakey is," answered the other. "But Old John Wardle went away
to th' coast a couple o' days ago, for a holiday. Don't know _when_
he'll be back. What's up? Want 'em to hold a prelim'?"
"Yes," said Benton thoughtfully. "Guess I'll go an' wire the O.C. just
now, to send one o' the inspectors down by the mornin' train."
As the nine-thirty west-bound train drew up at the little station next
morning Benton, who was on the platform awaiting it expectantly, stepped
forward and saluted a tallish, blond man, dressed in the dark-blue serge
uniform of an inspector.
"Well, Sergeant," greeted the latter, "you've been doing great business,
I hear? But I can't forget you're the disturber of my rest, all the
same," he added, with a wry smile. "Aren't there any local J.P.'s around
here who could have handled these cases?"
Ellis grinned back apologetically. "Sorry to have had to drag you out of
bed so early, sir," he said. "Yes, there are a couple of resident J.P.'s
here. Wardle, who runs a general store and the post-office, and Cloakey,
a real estate man. Wardle's away at the coast just now, so I was forced
to wire for you. Cloakey's here, though, to sit with you on these cases.
Two of the men I've arrested are particularly tough, and I was anxious
to get them into the Post by tonight's train, if possible."
They turned away from the station, and commenced to walk slowly up the
main street.
"Have they engaged counsel?" pursued Inspector Darby. "I didn't see any
one on the train I knew, coming up."
"No, sir," answered the Sergeant. "I asked them all, individually, last
night, before I wired to the O.C., but none of them seemed inclined to
want a lawyer when I explained that this was merely the preliminary
trial. It was the same about witnesses before we left Cherry Creek.
Fisk, the ringleader, starting in to bluff that: 'They'd have all the
"mouthpieces" _and_ witnesses they wanted, when the _real_ trial came
off'; so I didn't bother with them any further. But, as a matter of
fact, sir, I don't see how they possibly could have any witnesses at
all. They've taken pretty good care of _that_ in the crooked work
they've been carrying on. This is Mr. Cloakey coming down the street
now. I don't think you've ever met him, have you, sir?"
The Inspector replied in the negative, as he gazed with well-bred
curiosity at his prospective associate on the magisterial bench, who was
just then drawing abreast of them. He beheld a big, cheery-faced,
somewhat corpulent, man nearing middle age, who grasped his hand with
genial warmth, as the Sergeant, with easy deference, introduced him. A
few civilities were exchanged, and Ellis led the way to the detachment
which, on entering, he perceived to have suddenly assumed an unwontedly
tidy appearance. After hurriedly gathering his witnesses, he formally
opened the court, and the preliminary inquiry began.
Shorty's case was taken first, the local sergeant guarding the other two
in an inner room, so as to be out of hearing. A sullen plea of "Not
guilty" was entered to the first and second charges. "Guilty" to the
third--that of "Having a weapon on his person when arrested." Dealt with
summarily on this minor offense, he was given the option of paying a
fine or the alternative of a short term of imprisonment with hard labor.
He chose the latter.
The two principal charges--"Cattle stealing," and "Conspiring to commit
an indictable offense"--were next proceeded with. Ellis, after being
sworn, gave his evidence, the strange nature of which--in the former
charge--relaxed even the imperturbable Inspector's judicial calm, as he
and his colleague listened with unconcealed interest to the coyote
episode, and viewed the half-chewed brand which the Sergeant fitted into
the cut-out in the hide. Benton's testimony in both cases being largely
corroborated by Gallagher, Shorty was duly committed to stand his trial
at the next sitting of the Supreme Court.
The case against Fisk and Robbins was much more protracted and tedious.
Charged jointly, they entered a similar plea to their confederate on
each indictment. From time to time, during the proceedings, the
Inspector's casual glance flickered curiously from Big George's battered
physiognomy to the bruised face and scratched throat of the Sergeant.
But he was a wily, old, experienced officer and, as neither side
appeared anxious to enlighten him, he drew his own conclusions and
wisely refrained from comment. Adjourning for lunch, and also to view
the alleged stolen team and wagon, the hearing was resumed again in the
afternoon, and eventually the two rustlers were committed.
Ellis then drew the attention of the Court to the case of old Hiram
Bryan, who had shakily given his evidence during the trial. All huddled
up, the aged, decrepit man sat there in silence, his wistful gaze
wandering from face to face.
"Your Worships," he said, "in the absence of all proof of complicity, I
have detained this man merely under a 'vagrancy' charge, so as to insure
his appearance in this court as an all-important witness."
The two justices of the peace nodded understandingly. A whispered
colloquy ensued between them, then they turned and gazed thoughtfully at
the bowed figure of the broken man who was awaiting their will with the
apathetic resignation peculiar to the aged. Inspector Darby, leaning
forward, chin resting in hand, presently broke the silence.
"Sergeant Benton," he said, with a slight note of irresolution in his
voice, "taking into consideration the somewhat cruel position that
circumstances have placed this man in, it is not, of course, our
intention to press that charge against him. But you no doubt realize
that it is of vital importance to this last case that his evidence be
forthcoming at the Supreme Court."
Ellis bowed his head in assent. He was prepared for this emergency that
he had foreseen from the beginning.
"Your Worships," he said, in quiet, convincing tones, "if you see fit to
discharge the accused I will hold myself personally responsible for his
appearance when this case comes up at the next Sessions."
His superior turned again to his fellow justice, and they conferred
awhile in low tones. This consultation ending, the Inspector faced round
once more.
"All right, Sergeant," he said.
Ellis motioned to the old man to stand up. Dully and awkwardly though
the order was obeyed, the venerable face was not devoid of a certain
dignity as its owner raised a pair of honest eyes and gazed back
unflinchingly at his judges. The Inspector cleared his throat.
"There has been no evidence adduced in this case to prove that you had
any knowledge of these men's alleged criminal actions and intent," he
said, in his even, passionless tones. "Rather, it seems that you have
been their unfortunate victim, for which you have this Court's sympathy.
This charge of 'vagrancy' against you will be dismissed ... but you
understand that your evidence will be required again when the Supreme
Court sits."
The old man gazed at him vacantly, and the Sergeant opened the door.
"All right, Bryan," he said; "you can go. I want to see you later,
though."
And, clutching his hat in his trembling old hands, the other tottered
slowly out.
Pryce arose. "Your Worships," he began imploringly, "how 'bout me team
an' wagon? Is there any chance of me bein' able to take 'em back with
me? I've got a tur'ble pile o' work to do, an' I need 'em bad."
The Inspector contemplated the rancher's anxious face thoughtfully a
moment or two before replying.
"Why, yes, Mr. Pryce," he answered slowly, eyeing his confrere, who
nodded his concurrence to this request. "I don't see why you shouldn't.
But you will have to sign a document undertaking to produce them, if
required, when this case comes up at the next Sessions, you understand."
All business being now at an end, the Sergeant formally closed the
court, Inspector Darby and the congenial Mr. Cloakey departing to the
hotel, and Ellis to the depot freight office with Pryce to make
inquiries respecting the arrival of some police stores that were
overdue. Finding that the latter had come, he arranged with the rancher
to haul them out to the Cherry Creek detachment on his return trip.
With this and various other small duties the time passed rapidly, and
twilight was descending when the Sergeant retraced his steps up the main
street on his way back to the detachment. He felt jaded and weary from
lack of sleep and the strain on his physical and mental powers during
the past forty-eight hours, but a certain exultation at the thought of
all that had been accomplished in that space of time buoyed him up.
In the midst of his somewhat tiredly complacent reflections he became
aware of a figure approaching him unsteadily along the uneven board
sidewalk whom he recognized as Hiram Bryan.
A sharp gust of wind suddenly deposited the latter's ancient battered
hat in the gutter and made merry sport with his venerable wisps of hair
and gray beard. Stooping to recover his headgear, he lost his balance
and pitched heavily forward. He struggled to his feet again with
difficulty and leaned for a space, all covered with dust, up against the
wall of the Chinese restaurant, his breath coming and going with wheezy
asthmatical sobs.
Ellis presently drew up alongside and contemplated the unlovely but
pitiable spectacle with a slightly compassionate grin.
"Hello, Dad," he remarked. "Where d'yu' get it? Been celebratin' along
with Bob Tucker, I guess. Well, old gentleman, yu' got outa that mix-up
all hunkadory, an' I was glad of it."
But the old man only rocked perilously on his heels, regarded his
interlocutor somberly awhile with liquor-blurred eyes, and resolutely
held his peace.
Momentarily nonplussed at the other's silence, the Sergeant continued in
tones half playful, half serious:
"Come, old Kafoozleum; yu' ain't very grateful, it seems. Life an'
liberty's somethin', anyhow, an' it's more than teams an' wagons--or
booze. For now, see here; look! This is th' straight goods--if yu'd ever
gone up in th' Ghost River bush, along with them two fellers, either yu'
or th' nitchie, they'd a-seen to it as neither o' yu' come out of it
alive again to, perhaps, get a-talkin' afterwards. Yu' can take yore
oath o' _that_."
"An' I hadn't bin diddled out o' me outfit," piped old Bryan doggedly,
with the hopeless, unreasoning obstinacy of the aged. "I'd a-bin away
from yu' all--a-livin' quiet on some little ol' homestead. But--yu'
corralled me team an' wagon, lad. I'm little better'n a hobo now."
Surprise, not unmixed with amusement at this somewhat illogical
outburst, rendered Ellis speech- less for the moment.
"But they _wasn't_ yore team an' wagon, Dad," he said. "Th' Law--" And
then he stopped, recognizing the absurdity of ever attempting to argue
under such conditions. A great pity, though, for the old, broken man,
welled up in his heart.
"Here, here," he began, not unkindly. "Don't get a-talkin' foolish, now,
Hiram."
And his hand sought the other's shoulder. But Bryan avoided his touch.
"Nay," he said thickly. "Let be, lad. I'm an old man, an'--an' draw fast
to homeward. I'll soon be in a good place, God grant--an' out o' reach
o' all yore laws an' contraptions. Let be, lad. Yu've played h--l wi'
me, amongst yu'."
The words of rough condolence died in the Sergeant's throat. He saw,
through misty eyes, the poor old derelict, fuddled with whiskey and
sorrow, go shambling on his way with bowed gray head. And the sight was
more than he could stand. With a few strides he overtook the aged Hiram
and, in spite of his feeble resistance, gently, but firmly, turned him
around.
"I've been a-figurin' this business out--right since we come in from
Cherry Creek," he said huskily. "Yu're comin' along with us on th' train
to-night, Dad, when we take them prisoners down. An' I'm a-goin' to get
yu' into a certain place that I know of, where yu'll be looked after
good for th' rest o' yore days--Father Rouleau's Home for the aged an'
infirm. Besides--I want yu' somewheres handy when that case comes off."