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[Illustration: "What have you done with Hollis?" demanded Norton,
thrusting his big six-shooter against Ten Spot's stomach. _Page 165_
_The Coming of the Law_]
THE COMING OF THE LAW
BY CHARLES ALDEN SELTZER
Author of "The Range Riders," "The Two-Gun Man,"
"The Triangle Cupid," etc.
With Frontispiece in Colors by R. W. AMICK
A. L. BURT COMPANY
Publishers--New York
Copyright 1912, By
OUTING PUBLISHING COMPANY
All Rights Reserved
First Printing, August, 1912
Second Printing, September, 1912
CONTENTS
I. The Arrival of the Man 9
II. The Rule of Cattle 25
III. Norton Makes a Discovery 42
IV. At the Circle Bar 53
V. The Girl of Dry Bottom 73
VI. Hollis Renews an Acquaintance 87
VII. The "Kicker" Becomes an Institution 107
VIII. Concerning the "Six O'Clock" 119
IX. How a Bad Man Left the "Kicker" Office 127
X. The Lost Trail 151
XI. Picking Up the Trail 161
XII. After the Storm 169
XIII. "Woman--She Don't Need No Tooter" 177
XIV. The Coalition 187
XV. To Support the Law 198
XVI. The Bearer of Good News 209
XVII. The Rustler 224
XVIII. The Tenth Day 238
XIX. How a Rustler Escaped 246
XX. The "Kicker's" Candidate 257
XXI. Dunlavey Plays a Card 267
XXII. Proof of Gratitude 280
XXIII. Ten Spot Uses His Eyes 289
XXIV. Campaign Guns 294
XXV. Handling the Law 314
XXVI. Autumn and the Gods 327
XXVII. The Sear and Yellow Days 336
XXVIII. In Defiance of the Law 342
XXIX. The Arm of the Law 354
XXX. Forming a Friendship 364
XXXI. Afterward 375
THE COMING OF THE LAW
CHAPTER I
THE ARRIVAL OF THE MAN
If the passengers on the west-bound train that pulled up at the little
red wooden station at Dry Bottom at the close of a June day in 18--,
were interested in the young man bearing the two suit cases, they gave
no evidence of it. True, they noted his departure; with casual glances
they watched him as he stepped down upon the platform; but immediately
they forgot his athletic figure and his regular featured, serious face
as their thoughts returned to the heat, the dust, and the monotony of
travel.
There was the usual bustle and activity which always follows the arrival
of a train. A mail bag was dumped out of the mail car, another thrown
in; some express packages were unceremoniously deposited near the door
of the station by the agent; the conductor ran to the telegrapher's
window to receive an order; ran back, signaling as he ran; the engine
bell clanged, the drivers clanked, the wheels ground, the passengers
sighed, and the train departed on its way.
The young man who had alighted stood motionless for a moment, listening
to the clatter of the wheels over the rail-joints, watching the smoke
from the engine-stack befoul the clear blue of the sky. Then he smiled
grimly, threw a rapid glance toward a group of loungers standing at a
corner of the station, and walked over to where the station agent stood
examining some newly arrived packages.
"Do you mind directing me to the courthouse?" said the young man.
The agent looked up, turned, and ran a measuring, speculative eye over
the new arrival. He noted the Eastern cut of the young man's clothing
and beneath the dust of travel the clear, healthy white skin of his
face. "Stranger here?" observed the agent, with a slight, humorous
narrowing of the eyes.
"Yes."
"No, I don't mind," resumed the agent, answering the young man's
question. "You won't have any trouble findin' the courthouse. There's
only one street in this town an' the courthouse is down to the other end
of it--you couldn't miss it if you tried." He grinned with some
amusement at the young man's back as the latter with a cordial "thank
you," returned to his suit cases, gripped them firmly by the handles,
and strode down the wooden platform toward the street, ignoring the
group of loungers at the corner of the station.
"'Nother tenderfoot," remarked one of the loungers as the young man
passed out of hearing; "they're runnin' this country plum to hell!"
The young man strode slowly down the board sidewalk that paralleled the
buildings on one side of the street, mentally taking in the dimensions
of the town. It was not an inviting picture. Many buildings of various
descriptions snuggled the wide, vacant space which the station agent had
termed a "street." Most of the buildings were unpainted and crude,
composed of rough boards running perpendicularly, with narrow battens
over the joints. There were several brick buildings two stories in
height, bearing the appearance of having been recently erected, and
these towered over the squat, one-story frames in seeming contemptuous
dignity. There were many private dwellings, some stores, but the young
man's first impression was that there was an enormous number of saloons.
He saw few people; those who came within range of vision were apparently
cowboys, for they were rigged in the picturesque garb that he had
studied many times in the illustrations of Eastern magazines. He had
admired them afar, for there was something about them, something in the
free, wild life they led, that appealed to him; something that struck at
the primitive in his heart. He had heard tales of them; travelers
returning from these regions had related sundry stories of these wild
men of the plains; stories of their hardihood, of their recklessness, of
their absolute fearlessness--clothing them with a glamor and romance
that had deeply impressed the young man. His own life had been rather
prosaic.
He saw some cowponies hitched to rails in front of several of the
saloons; in front of a store he observed a canvas-covered wagon which he
recognized (from sketches he had seen) as a "prairie schooner"; in front
of another store he saw a spring wagon of the "buckboard" variety. That
was all. The aroma of sage-brush filled his nostrils; the fine,
flint-like, powdered alkali dust lay thick everywhere. It was
unattractive and dismal.
The town, as it lay before him, began in desolation and ended in
desolation. Except that it was a trifle larger it differed in no
important particular from many others that littered the face of the
world through which he had passed during the last twenty-four hours. It
was a mere dot in the center of a flat grass country covering a vast
area. It sat, serene in its isolation, as far from civilization as
Genesis from Revelation. In the stifling heat of the lazy June afternoon
it drowsed, seemingly deserted except for the ponies and the two wagons,
and the few incurious cowboys who had rewarded the young man with their
glances. Apparently whatever citizens were here were busy in the
saloons. As this thought flashed upon the young man his lips
straightened grimly. But he continued slowly on his way, giving much
attention to objects that came within his range of vision. The more he
saw of the town, the less pleased he was with it.
The suit cases were heavy; he paused in front of a building and set them
down, while with his handkerchief he mopped the dust and perspiration
from his forehead. He saw a flaring sign on the roof of the building in
front of which he had stopped and he read the legend with a smile of
derision: "The Fashion Saloon." Several ponies were hitched to the rail
in front of the building; the bridle of one was gaily decorated with a
bow of ribbon. Only a woman would have decorated a pony thus, the young
man decided with a smile. Yet what sort of woman would hitch her pony in
front of a saloon? He looked about him for some explanation and saw a
vacant space beside him and beside the vacant space a store. There was
no hitching rail in front of the store, therefore here was the
explanation. He heard a sound behind him and turning he beheld the
figures of a man and a woman in the vacant space between the two
buildings.
The woman seemed to be little more than a girl, for as the young man
watched she turned slightly toward him--though not seeing him--and he
saw youth pictured on her face, and innocence, though withal she gave
the young man an impression of sturdy self-reliance that awakened
instant admiration for her in his mind.
She was attired in picturesque costume, consisting of short riding
skirt, boots, felt hat, woolen blouse with a flowing tie at the throat,
gloves, and spurs. It was not the sort of thing to which the young man
was accustomed, but she made an attractive picture and he took in every
detail of her appearance with eager eyes.
It was some time before he noticed the man. The latter stood facing the
girl and he could not get a view of his face. He had a gigantic frame,
with huge shoulders that loomed above the girl, dwarfing her. The young
man remained motionless, watching the two, for there was something in
the big man's attitude that held him. The man turned presently and the
young man had a glimpse of his face. It was heavy featured, coarse, and
an unmistakable brutality was betrayed in it. The young man's lips
curled. He did not like the type, and it was the girl's face that held
him now that he had seen the man's.
He leaned easily against the front of the building, not over fifteen
feet distant from the two, trying to appear uninterested, but not
concealing his interest. He believed the girl had not seen him, for
though she had looked in his direction he was sure that her glance had
passed him to rest on the pony at the hitching rail. Swift as the glance
had been the young man had seen in her face an expression that caused
him to decide to remain where he was until the girl mounted her pony, no
matter how long that time might be. So he relaxed, leaning against the
building--attentive, listening, though apparently entirely unconcerned
over their conversation.
The girl seemed moved with some deep emotion over something the big man
had said, for her slight figure had stiffened and she stood looking at
him with an angry, intense gaze. The big man had been taunting her, for
his teeth showed in a mocking grin as he hovered near her, apparently
sure of her. It was like a lion playing with a mouse. Then the young man
heard the big man's voice:
"So you don't take kindly to my courting? Don't want anything to do with
me at all?" His forced laugh had a harshness in it that caused the young
man's muscles to stiffen. He took a sly glance at the girl and saw her
chin uplift with disdain.
"Do you think it necessary for me to tell you that--again?" she said.
A strange satisfaction thrilled the young man; sympathy for her drew his
mouth into a peculiarly grim smile. But he had no time to enjoy his
satisfaction for the big man spoke and this time he did not laugh.
"Well," he said shortly, "you're going to have something to do with me.
You're going to hook up with me or I'm putting that crazy brother of
yours out of business!"
The girl was suddenly rigid and a deep red as suddenly suffused her
cheeks. The young man's face paled at the threat, his teeth came
together with a snap, and he leaned forward, wishing to hear some more
of this extraordinary conversation. More of it came quickly. The girl
spoke, her voice even and well controlled, though burdened with a biting
sarcasm:
"What a terrible man you are, to be sure, to threaten to make war upon a
defenseless girl and her afflicted brother. But I'm not afraid of you!"
She took a step toward him, standing very close to him and looking
straight into his eyes. She was fighting bravely for her composure, but
the young man had seen that her lips had quivered pitifully during her
brief speech. He stiffened with sympathy. He could not, of course,
understand this strange conversation, but he could discern its drift,
and the suggestive underplay in the big man's words. But plainly he had
not been mistaken in his estimate of the young woman--she seemed
entirely able to take care of herself.
He crowded a little closer, though he knew that this conversation was
none of his affair further than that he was interested--as any man would
be interested--in seeing that the young woman received decent treatment.
Certainly so far she had not received that, yet neither had the big man
said anything to warrant interference by a stranger. Stealing another
glance, the young man saw a heavy revolver at the man's hip, and he did
not doubt, from what he had thus far seen of him, that he would use the
weapon should he turn and discover that there was a listener to his
conversation. Such an action would accord perfectly with tales that the
young man had heard of this section of the country. But he edged closer.
The big man's face had become poisonously bloated. The girl's defiance
seemed to have enraged him.
"Hell!" he said venomously. "You're talking damn brave!" He leaned
closer to her. "And you think you'd be disgraced if folks knowed you was
a friend of mine?" He laughed harshly. "Most folks are tickled to be
known as my friend. But I'm telling you this: If I ain't a friend I'm an
enemy, and you're doing as I say or I'm making things mighty unpleasant
for you and your poor, 'afflicted' brother!"
The young man saw the girl's hands clench, saw her face grow slowly
pale. Twice now had the big man taunted her about her brother, and
plainly his words had hurt her. Words trembled on her lips but refused
to come. But for an instant she forced her eyes to meet those of the man
and then they suddenly filled with tears. She took a backward step, her
shoulders drooping. The big man followed her, gloating over her. Again
the young man's thoughts went to the lion and the mouse.
"Hurts, does it?" said the big man, brutally. "Well, you've brought it
on yourself, being such a damn prude!"
He reached out and grasped her by the shoulder. She shrank back,
struggling with him, trying to grasp the butt of an ivory-handled
revolver that swung at her right hip. The big man pinned her arms and
the effort was futile.
And then retribution--like an avalanche--struck the big man. He heard
the movement, sensed the danger, and flung his right hand toward his
pistol butt. There was a silent struggle; a shot, one of the young man's
arms swung out--flail like--the clenched hand landing with a crash. The
big man went down like a falling tree--prone to the ground, his revolver
flying ten feet distant, a little blue-white smoke curling lazily upward
out of its muzzle. The big man was raised again--bodily--and hurled down
again. He lay face upward in the white sunlight--a mass of bruised and
bleeding flesh.
The young man's anger had come and gone. He stood over the big man,
looking down at him, his white teeth gleaming through his slightly
parted lips.
"I think that will do for you," he said in an even, passionless voice.
For an instant there was a tense silence. The young man turned and
looked at the girl, who was regarding him with surprised and bewildered
eyes.
The young man smiled mirthlessly. "I think I waited rather too long. But
he won't bother you again--at least for a few minutes."
He saw the girl's gaze directed to a point somewhere behind him and he
turned to see that a door in the side of the Fashion Saloon was vomiting
men. They came rushing out, filling the space between the two
buildings--cowboys mostly, with a sprinkling of other men whose
appearance and attire proclaimed them citizens. The young man stood
silent while the newcomers ranged themselves about him, others giving
their attention to the big man who still lay on the ground. The girl had
not moved; she was standing near the young man, her face pale, her
slight figure rigid, her eyes wide and flashing. The young man looked
from her to the men who had crowded about him and he became aware that
one of the men--a slender, olive-skinned cowboy--evidently a
half-breed--was speaking to him. He stood looking at the man, saw menace
in his eyes, heard his voice, writhing in profane accusation:
"So you've shot Beeg Beel, you tenderfoot----!" said the man. His right
hand was hooked in his cartridge belt, near the butt of his six-shooter.
The young man had been coldly scrutinizing the face of the half-breed;
he had seen a sneering insolence on the thin, snarling lips, and he knew
instantly that this man was a friend of his fallen adversary. He had
smiled grimly when the man had begun speaking, being willing to argue
the justice of his action in striking the big man, but at the man's vile
insult his white teeth gleamed again and his right arm flew out--like a
flail--the fist crashing against the half-breed's jaw. Like the big man
the half-breed collapsed in a heap on the ground. There was a sudden
movement in the crowd, and pistols flashed in the sunlight. The young
man took a backward step, halted, drew himself up and faced them, his
lips curling.
"Of course you'll shoot now," he said bitterly.
He heard a rustle beside him, and turned to see the girl standing within
a foot of him, the ivory-handled pistol in hand, her eyes flashing
coldly.
"I don't think that any of them are going to shoot," she declared
evenly, her voice resounding in the sudden silence that had fallen; "Big
Bill got just what he deserved, and this gentleman will not be molested.
He isn't armed," she said, with a dry laugh; "shooting him would be
murder, and if he is shot I promise to avenge him immediately." She
turned slightly, speaking to the young man while keeping her eyes on the
men around her. During the pause that followed her words several of the
men stealthily sheathed their weapons and stepped back.
"I think Big Bill is able to fight his own battles," continued the girl,
taking advantage of the evident reluctance of the men to force trouble.
Her face became slightly paler as she saw the big man sit up and stare
about him. He got to his feet and stood, swaying dizzily for an instant,
and then his gaze sought out the young man and was fixed on him with
foreboding malignance. His right hand fell to his holster, and finding
no weapon there he turned and sought it, finding it, and returning to a
point near the young man, the weapon in hand. As he halted there was
another movement and the half-breed was on his feet and dragging at his
revolver. The young man crouched, prepared to spring, and the big man
spoke sharply to the half-breed.
"Quit it!" he said, snarling. "Mind your own business!" Then he seemed
to realize that the half-breed had been worsted also, for he looked at
the latter, saw the dust on his clothing and grinned expressively.
"So he got you too, did he, Yuma?" His heavy features wreathed into a
mocking sneer as he faced the young man.
"Knocked me down!" he said in a silky, even voice. "Knocked me cold with
a punch. Knocked Yuma Ed down too!" He took another step toward the
young man and surveyed him critically, his eyes glinting with something
very near amusement. Then he stepped back, laughing shortly.
"I ain't shooting you," he said. "I've got an idea that you and me will
meet again." There was an ominous threat in his voice as he continued:
"Shooting you wouldn't half pay you back. Mark that, young man--shooting
you wouldn't half pay you back."
He stepped away from the young man, motioning the other men into the
door through which they had emerged to come to his assistance, and they
filed slowly in without protest. The big man paused long enough to look
again at the young man.
"Knocked me down!" he said as though scarcely able to realize the truth;
"knocked me cold with a punch!" He laughed, his coarse features twisting
into an odd expression. "Well, I'll be damned!" He turned abruptly and
disappeared through the door through which the other men had gone.
For an instant the young man stood, looking after him. Then he turned
and saw the young woman, standing near her pony, regarding him with
grave eyes.
"Thank you," she said. He caught a flashing smile and then she was in
the saddle, loping her pony down the street toward the station. For a
moment the young man looked after her and then with a smile he returned
to his suit cases and was off down the street toward the courthouse,
which he saw in the distance.