Some one laid his hand gently on Wade's shoulder. "Come on quick, now,"
he whispered softly, "don't make any noise."
It was Judson. Wade followed on silently. No sound broke the stillness
of the early morning, save the clatter of the horses' feet. Far to the
left of them the clatter was dying out; to the right of them the noise
was growing fainter; no sound came from old Peter Judson. The only
immediate sound was that made by their rifles as they clanked against
the brass parts of their saddles. The twinkling stars shone on,
undisturbed by anything that had happened. Those two Nightriders, Judson
and Wade, rode on for several miles without the exchange of words.
Finally Peter, concluding that there was no danger, jerked the cap from
his head and stuffed it into his saddle pocket.
"Take off yer head-gear," he said to Wade, who complied gladly.
"It's pretty warm under this thing," said Jack.
"Not so warm as hit was under them straps, is it?"
Wade made no reply.
"Ye don't like that much," said Peter, smiling, "Well, ye air not ter
blame, but ye'll see ther point afore ye air many days older. Now, I
want to tell ye somethin'. They was four o' them Thompsons' thar, an'
we've gotter look out, 'cause they're shore to head us off. We air not
travelin' ther same road as we come down when we went to ther spankin'.
Think yer kin take on a little shootin' fun ter-night, Wade?"
While Peter spoke he was glancing sharply about them. He was accustomed
to the ways of those old mountaineers, and felt quite certain that
trouble was lurking near. His experience in feuds had taught him about
what to expect, and he would not likely be caught unawares.
"Ef ye kin," he continued, "unhook yer gun, fer they's a-goin' ter be
somethin' doin' soon."
The words had hardly passed from his lips when there sang over their
heads the "zing" of a rifle bullet.
"Thar ye air," shouted Peter. "We mout a-looked for that shore. Git
ready, now, an' when ye see a black spot down ther road let 'em have it
good an' straight."
"_Bling_!" Another bullet passed harmlessly near. "_Bling!_" one was
sent back.
"Move up a little, Jack," said Peter, tapping his horse. "I'm not
a-feered,--don't want ye ter think that,--but they be too many fer us to
stop an' argify with."--"_Bling!_" "_Blang!_"--"Give 'em thunder, boy.
Thar they air!"--"_Bling!_"--"Git to t'other side o' ther road,
Jack"--"Blang!"--"we air too close together, so's they cain't hit us so
easy."--"_Blang!_" "_Blang!_"--"Keep it a-goin', boy, ye'll git used ter
ther ways o' the mountain yet"--"_Blang!_"--"Ther durn fool!" ejaculated
Peter, grunting loudly.
"What's the matter?" asked Wade.
"The tip end o' one o' my fingers is gone clear as a whistle, that's
what ther matter is, boy. Give it to 'em, now,--thar they air, but they
hain't a-coming so fast. Think we must hit somebody that time. What air
they now? I don't see 'em anymore."
"Neither do I. They have given up, Peter, as sure as you live; they've
quit the fight. Somebody got a bullet."
"Don't be too shore, boy; they must be foolin' us and' goin' 'round to
head us off. I've been through mor'n a dozen sich fights as this,--got
two bullet holes in one leg at ther same scrap,--but they hain't got old
Peter yet. I guess it's all over for this time, Wade. Follow me now,
quick. I'm goin' ter give 'em the slip. We'll go clean 'round that hill
yonder, an' they won't know whatever become of us, ef they do try to
out-trick us."
After skirting the hill in silence, old Peter began again: "That was one
good short fight, boy, an' I declare ye air a putty good stayer. Ye kin
pull ther trigger 'bout as fast as any Kentuckian as ever fit with me,
lessen hit was Rube Willers. I remember one time years ago when I was
on t'other side o' ther mountain, when Bill Tulliver's outfit was agin
me an' Rube Willers. 'Course we had friends, an' so did they, but Rube
could outshoot any feller what ever come into the mountains, an' I seed
him put 'bout five holes through Bill Tulliver afore he hit ther ground.
But Bill come near a-gittin' him, shore; he put a hole in Rube's
shoulder, an' ef hit'd 'a' been one inch t'other way Rube'd never 'a'
had time ter git anybody after that, he'd never 'a' had time to a-told
what struck him. These old mountaineers know how to use ther
shootin'-irons, that's shore. But I forgot to ax ye ef ye got hit, did
ye?"
"No, I'm safe this time."
"Ye talk like ye mout git a ball some other time, an' ye had better look
sharp all the time now. Al Thompson is a lion, but we made him git
ter-night, I believe. Don't ye think we've slipped them?"
Jack did.
The gray streaks of dawn were appearing in the eastern horizon and there
would likely be no more fighting. Judson and Wade were not far from home
now. Being tired and sore, they rode on in silence. Jack Wade was no
coward, a coward would never have undertaken the heavy task which he
had, but he also was not fond of fighting. Had he lived in the mountains
all his life he would have enjoyed the sport, but he had not, there was
not so much sport in it for him as there was for old Peter Judson, who
knew nothing else.
The trouble between the Judson and Thompson factions could be dated back
to the early days, when one Alex Judson, a very young man, shot to death
one Bill Allen, a kinsman of the Thompsons, on the streets of the little
village. Alex Judson flew to the mountains, and there arose two factions
out of the killing. From time to time a Thompson or a Judson was picked
off his saddle as he rode over the mountain in the dead of night, but
after the death of Alex Judson the trouble had been patched up, and for
years had lain still, but only sleeping, not dead. The history began
before the present generation came into being, and old Peter's act in
clipping Al Thompson's trigger finger off had opened the wound anew, the
old sore bled, and the end of the trouble was not yet.
All this and more Peter told Wade as they rode on toward home, finally
pulling up at Wade's cabin.
"An' now, Wade," said Peter, "ye air a Judson, an' ye can't expect
anything but death. Somebody's a-goin' ter git killed afore this thing
is over. Hit may be me, hit may be you, hit may be Jim Thompson or his
son Al, an' hit may be Tom. Nobody knows who it will be till he's done
fer."
"I shall be satisfied," replied Wade.
Jack watched the old man out of sorrowful eyes as he rode up the hill
leading Tom's horse behind him.
"The old fellow has had much trouble," he thought, "but he seems to
enjoy the sport of a feudal fight." Wade attended to his own stock and
then lay down for a few hours of rest. The strenuous night had been too
much for his nerves, but there was much other trouble before him of
which he little dreamed as he lay across his bed to rest. He was not
long in falling fast asleep, and it was near noon by the sun when he was
awakened by the low whine of Rover standing at the door. Wade rose and
shook himself much after the fashion of a dog coming out of the water.
His head felt heavy, his brain dull. The events of the night before were
trying to fix themselves in his memory, but he could not shape them. He
had faint recollection of all he had gone through from the time of
hearing the dog-horn, the two successive rifle shots, his hasty rush
through the fields to Judson's, and then, ah, then, of his acceptance of
the invitation to go out into the darkness of the night to watch the fun
of flogging a farmer. It all passed hazily through his sleep-clogged
brain. He could now see it all just as it happened, the firing of
rifles, his own hasty retreat, the running conversation of old Peter
Judson, as he encouraged him to keep up a continuous fire on the dark
spots in the road behind them; then Peter's exclamation that the end of
his finger had been shot away by the murderous marksmen, the escape, and
finally the return to his own cabin.
He could not keep these events out of his memory, they were there as
dark spots and would remain so forever. Reaching for his coat, he made
the discovery that he had narrowly escaped death, for there, a half-inch
from the second button from the top, was the tell-tale hole made by a
Winchester bullet. He could remember now just when the bullet which had
nearly taken his life flew by him. He had heard the "zing!" and the
"swish!" but had not suspected that it came so close to boring a hole
through his heart. A cold shudder ran over him as he thought of the
close proximity to death. Ah, well, that was life in the mountains, that
was the fulfillment of the "call of the wilds," and he must not now
complain. Wade seemed stupefied. All the while he dreamed the good old
brown dog looked longingly up into his careworn face, as if to say,
"What's the matter, master?" But there was no reply.
Rover whisked about him from one side to the other, in a vain effort to
attract him, but the result was the same, the mystic stupefaction was on
him, and he cared not for the dog just then. Of a sudden Rover ran out
of the door, baying furiously. Wade looked out and discovered the reason
for Rover's action. From toward the city came three men on horseback,
riding leisurely. Wade watched them closely as they came on. They were
strangers so far as he could tell from the distance that separated them.
When they were just opposite the cabin they halted, Wade still watching
them. Their actions now seemed a little strange, for one rode around the
other two and stood near the gate. Rover was tearing up the earth in his
anxiety to get at them. The man near the gate cried out loudly, and
Wade, unconscious of lurking danger, went out in answer to the call,
unarmed. He had not seen the necessity of arming himself to meet three
strangers in bright noonday. The other two lined up near the fence, and
when Wade approached, commanding Rover to be quiet, the three men
covered him with revolvers. "Hands straight up," said one.
Wade obeyed the command. "What outrage is this?" he asked warmly.
"No outrage at all, friend," said the captain. "It means that we have
come to arrest you, and if you make any fuss about it you might be
seriously hurt."
"I don't understand," said Wade.
"You will soon enough. You are under arrest in connection with the death
of one Lem Franklin, who passed in his checks last night with his boots
on."
"What proof have you that I know anything of the death of this
Franklin?" asked Wade.
"Sufficient to convict you of murder, sir," was the reply.
"I don't know this Franklin at all."
"Likely enough you don't, but the proof of your guilt is sufficient to
warrant the arrest."
It was beginning to dawn upon Wade's bewildered mind that he and Judson
had dropped one of the enemy during the running fight of the night
before. He could see it plainly now, but he knew it would not do to
submit willingly and meekly to an arrest which would deprive him of his
liberty for a long time.
"I am not armed at all, as you can see," he said, "and I believe it will
look better if you gentlemen will lower your revolvers. I will feel more
free then to talk with you. You have a serious advantage."
"And we intend to hold it, too," said the captain. "A fellow must get
an advantage and keep it in this country. Make ready now, and come on."
Wade looked fire. "I shall not submit," he said hotly.
"Then if you will not, we must force you, and I warn you that one move
contrary on your part will cause your immediate death."
"You are a bluffer," said Wade, "and a coward." Jack had now recognized
this man.
The latter raised his revolver until it pointed directly at Wade's head.
"You think it a bluff, do you, and that I won't shoot?"
"You won't do any thing fair, that's certain," exclaimed Wade.
The assistant officers kept very quiet, not offering any way out of the
difficulty. The captain got off his horse and stepped toward Wade. "I'll
blow your brains out," he said, angrily, "if you don't come out at
once."
"You did blow one man's life out recently," said Wade sneeringly, "and I
do not doubt but that you would blow my life out, if you were in the
dark where two other gentlemen could not look upon the deed."
The peculiar manner in which Wade remarked this caused the two to look
one at the other, and the captain turned pale, staggered toward his
horse, and replied more cautiously: "I don't understand you, but there
is no use to argue the case. You must submit to an arrest, and that as
quickly as possible."
Wade knew that his remarks had made a telling blow, and that he now had
an equal advantage.
"I will not submit," he replied coolly, "and if you do not leave without
further request I shall have this entire country on to you in less time
than an hour--even before you could get three miles down the road."
Turning to Rover, Wade said, "Go home, quick, and give the alarm." The
good old, well-trained dog, seeming to understand, galloped off in the
direction indicated by Wade's pointing finger, while the officers looked
after him anxiously. The mark had been struck, however, and the
officers, thinking it a good time to depart, said, "We'll get you a
little later, old boy." With this they galloped off toward Guthrie.
The man whom Wade had defied was no other than the assistant officer who
accompanied the warehouse man out that fateful night when Fred Conover
was so wantonly murdered. Wade had recognized him, and used the
knowledge to his own good, and to save himself from the jail at that
time.
Thoughtfully Wade made his way slowly up the road toward Judson's home,
where he told of what had just happened.
"That," said Peter, "is the work of Al Thompson, shore. He's to the back
of it. Seein' as how he couldn't fetch us fair and square with a bullet,
he's made up his mind ter git us any way he kin. Apt's not, ef ther
truth was known, he shot Franklin in ther back hisself, so's ter say we
done it. Hit looks kinder like he was after you specially, Wade, cause
he hain't got no right ter know that ye were out last night unless he
seed ye or heerd ye a-talkin', or seed Tom's hoss, one t'other. Ef he
didn't, he's a-playin' a sneakin' game, that's what. Well, I see I
cain't git 'bout, fer awhile, on account o' this hyar finger bein' a
little sore, an' Tom, he's walkin' 'bout a little now, an' you an'
him'll hafter kinder keep things a-goin'--keep 'em warm till I git so I
kin shoot agin. Ye needn't be afeerd o' them officers a-comin' back
agin. They won't do that. Only 'cause ye air putty nigh a stranger hyar
that they ever tackled ye 'tall. Thay won't tackle a feller what knows,
that's shore. They're skeered o' their shadders, that's what they air."
Old Peter quit talking long enough to put out a plug of tobacco as large
as his fist to be replaced with another equally as large, and continued:
"Now, Wade, ye've got ther best of one man anyway, an' I reckon ye
better keep ther knife thar a little while. Hit'll do us all good some
time, an I reckon ye better not go a-fishin' ter-day, 'cause Al
Thompson'll turn ther mountain over ter do us up. I seed Frank Buckalew
ter-day, an' told him how things was a-goin', an' he said he'd fix
things warm over t'other side, an' he'll do it, too. He's my cousin, an'
as good a fighter as ever carried a gun over ther mountain, I seed him
kill a feller onct after the other feller had him kivered. Hit was done
so quick he never know'd what struck him."