THE RAIN MAKER.
Panther Pete was not fool enough not to know that there would be a
pursuit of himself, although he hoped that Bug-eye Slocum and his
friend Nate Rainey would be able to divert that pursuit in a wrong
direction.
Yet he was taking no chances; so he sent back over the various trails
that led in the direction of Scarlet Gulch what he called “stool
pigeons,” clever members of his road agent band, men whose shrewdness
he could rely on, and whose judgment and courage he could trust.
It was the business of these men to draw any pursuers into a certain
trap--a peculiar place, rock surrounded, not far from the hidden
valley, where they could be slaughtered readily by the road agents.
Bill Hatfield was one of the “pigeons,” and about the shrewdest of
the lot.
He had been sent out, and he had climbed into a low, thick tree,
after morning came, and from that coign of vantage was watching
the trail that stretched in the direction of the town, expecting
momentarily to see in it something worth while. What he saw after
a time was Silas Deland and young Ben Denton. They were mounted,
but were coming on slowly, for Denton’s wound made him weak. He was
hollow-eyed and pale; in this respect his face being in most marked
contrast with the red face of Deland.
“’Tain’t Buffler Bill,” said the “pigeon” in the tree, “ner anybody
like him; but they’re from ther town, and what they’re out hyer fer
nobody don’t need ter ask. So, I reckons, according to the order of
ther boss, it’s my duty to cut in, if I can.”
Yet he did not descend from the tree, but sat crouched in the thick
branches, watching the advance of the pair.
When the horsemen reached the tree, which stood on a little eminence,
they halted, just under him.
“I reckon we’ll light down here a little while, and rest ye,” said
Deland kindly, glancing about and seeing no signs of enemies.
“I believe that place is not far from here,” said Denton. Though pale
and weak, the fire of courage and determination burned in his eyes
and revealed itself in his voice. “I’d like to push right on.”
“There aire more of our crowd, and our kind, out here some’eres,”
said Denton’s companion. “And I’m fer signalin’ to them.”
“It will draw the attention of the road agents, if they’re near.”
“Well, what if it does? I’d like to bring a little rain. This country
is more droughted up than the desert of Sahiry. And that’s what brung
me to Scarlet Gulch, ye know, as I’ve been tellin’ ye, the droughty
condition out here. Says I to myself, ‘If I can go out there and
bring rain, it means the biggest kind of big money in my pocket.’”
He had slipped from his saddle, and was helping the young man to
dismount.
When Denton was on the ground, and had groped his way weakly to the
foot of the tree, where he dropped down with a sigh of relief, Silas
Deland turned his attention to a “grip,” or hand bag, of queer make,
which he had hung at the horn of his saddle. He set this on the
ground by the tree; and then, dropping down by the side of Denton, he
opened it.
“I was tellin’ ye about that,” he said, “and about the luck I had
over in Arizony. Well, the land is that dry and burned up in Arizony
that men are compelled to drink whisky because there ain’t water
enough to go round.”
He sprung open the bag, and within lay a number of small, egg-shaped,
white objects.
The spy in the tree craned his neck to see them, and stared with
popping eyes. At first he thought they were eggs. But, when Deland
took one of them out and began to talk about it, the spy discovered
his mistake.
“It’s this way,” said Deland, turning the white object around in his
fingers, handling it as gingerly as if it were an egg and he feared
to break it; “this land out here is the driest part of creation.
The last good rain was, I reckon, when Noah had his flood and the
mountains became seas.
“It was funny”--he turned the egg-shaped thing around in his fingers
again--“the way them scalawags humped when I pitched one of these
things into the midst of ’em there in Scarlet Gulch; they thought
they’d been dynamited.” He chuckled so much that for a second or two
he could not go on. “But it was harmless--perfectly harmless--unless
a man should get some of the fire in his hair, or in his skin, or
on his clothing, and then it might burn him some. Otherwise, it was
perfectly harmless. But you saw it! And did you ever see so small
an object made so much fire and smoke? And didn’t that gang of
vigilantes fall all over themselves in trying to get out of the way?
But perfectly harmless--perfectly harmless!”
The spy in the tree stared harder than before.
One of their members had been with the mob in front of the Flash
Light when the explosion came, and he had told about it to the other
members of Panther Pete’s gang, narrating a wonderful story.
So the rascal in the tree knew what was meant by the singular words
of Silas Deland--knew quite as well as did young Denton.
“It was strange,” Denton assented wearily.
It was plain he was not interested. He was thinking of the perils of
Ellen West, and was chafing at what seemed an enforced and needless
delay. He wanted to be hurrying ahead, instead of resting there under
that tree.
“You’ve heard about my rain-making experiments?” said Deland.
“No, I don’t think that I have, except what you’ve told me,” Denton
answered.
Deland looked surprised and disappointed. He had fancied that his
fame had preceded him.
“Well, it was at White Cloud, Arizony, where I made my biggest
experiment. No rain there for nigh about a year, and everything dry
as a powder mill. There wasn’t a speck of cloud in the sky when I
went there. I says to the people of White Cloud, ‘Give me a thousand
dollars after it’s done, and I’ll bring you all the rain you want
inside of twenty-four hours.’”
He stopped and looked at the sky, and then pointed a finger, seeming
to the spy in the tree to be pointing straight at him.
“Looky there now! When I set off that bomb in the crowd before the
Flash Light, there wasn’t a cloud as big as a man’s hand anywhere in
sight. I’ll leave it to you if there was.”
“No, there wasn’t.”
“And now, look at the sky--all covered over with clouds; and it will
sure rain inside of twenty-four hours, especially if I set off some
more of ’em. I think I’ll turn this one loose; it will signal to our
friends, maybe, and bring ’em to us; and it will bring rain to fill
up some of these hollers, so that we’ll have water fer ourselves and
our horses, and won’t be in danger of thirsting ter death before we
get back.” He toyed with the little bomb. “What do ye say?”
“I’m too tired to form an opinion,” Denton answered.
“Well, we need help, and that’s a fact. We don’t know where we’re
goin’. We’re jes’ amblin’ along, trustin’ to luck. Luck is a good
thing, but some other things aire better. This is.” He patted the
egg-shaped thing. “So, if you don’t object, I think I’ll touch her
off.”
“The road agents are as likely to see it and come as our friends.”
“We’ll keep our eyes open. And there’s one thing: If any road agents
aire drawn by it, we kin keep out of sight of ’em; and then we can
trail ’em, and by trailin’ ’em we’ll find where their hotel is out
here; and we’ll be close, then, to the place where they’re holding
the young lady.”
This was to Ben Denton the most convincing argument of all.
“Go ahead!” he said wearily.
He sat against the tree, his hat pulled over his eyes, his whole
appearance showing that he was on the verge of exhaustion.
“All right,” said Deland, “here she goes. But this is a different
kind from that I throwed in the street. This kind you touch off like
a rocket, by lighting this end, when it shoots up into the air.
You’ll be surprised when you see it go. It’s my own invention; all
of ’em aire. And I think I’ve hit on a thing that’s goin’ to make my
fortune.”
The spy in the tree had grown so interested in all this that he had
nearly forgotten what he was there for.
He saw Deland set the small white object on its large end, on the
ground; and then he saw him light a match and touch the lighted match
to the sharp, or upper, end. Almost instantly there was a flash and a
roar.
Something that was blazing bright shot by him with a whistling
screech, so alarming and astonishing him that he emitted a yell, and
fell headlong out of the tree.
The bomb sailed on into the sky, sputtering like a rocket, as the
“pigeon” struck the ground.
Though Deland and Denton were both astonished by this tumble of the
man out of the tree, they were not too surprised to act promptly.
Deland sprang on the man, and bore him backward to the ground, as
the fellow tried to rise. He yelled for Denton to come to his aid,
and this Denton did with such alacrity that he seemed not to be very
weak, after all.
As for the spy, the fall had knocked the breath out of him. This,
with his astonishing tumble from the tree, and the thing that had
preceded it, made him an easy victim. Almost before he knew it,
Deland had him by the throat and was choking him, and the younger man
was also throwing himself on him, helping to hold him down.
The rockety thing that had flashed into the sky exploded there,
emitting a big puff of white smoke that sprayed out and began to form
what was in shape a small cloud.
“Let up!” the spy gurgled, as he felt Deland’s fingers dig into his
throat.
However, Deland did not let up until young Denton had secured one
of the horsehair lariats, and from it had made cords and bound the
prisoner.
By this time the “pigeon” was almost black in the face and half
senseless.
Deland turned his attention to the sky, and to that floating smoke
cloud, as soon as he could do so. Just then a few drops of rain
spattered in his upturned face.
It was but a natural phenomenon, of course, but Deland was ready to
ascribe that spatter of rain to the effect of his exploding rain
bomb. He yelled with glee, and stretched out his hands, calling on
Denton to witness that it had actually rained.
“Denton,” he cried, “if I should send up enough of them things, I
could drownd the world, same’s it was in ther days of Noah. Did you
notice that beautiful sprinkle?”
Denton was paying attention to the prisoner.
The spy gurgled and coughed, wriggled about, but was helpless. Then
he recalled that bright thing which had startled him by flashing with
a hissing roar past his face, and his tumble out of the tree. He
lay back on the ground, groaning. Then his face brightened, for he
realized that he had not played in such bad luck, after all.
The command of Panther Pete was for him to intercept one of the
pursuing parties, let that party capture him, and then offer to lead
it to the hidden home of the outlaws; when Panther Pete would have a
force ready to wipe the said pursuers out.
Deland came back from the clouds, and gave some attention to his
prisoner.
“Who aire ye, and what was you doin’ there in the tree?” he demanded;
a thing which Denton had demanded already.
“I’m Bill Hatfield,” confessed the rascal, sure they had never heard
his name before. “I’m a peacerble citerzen.”
“What was you doin’ in that tree?”
“Come!” cried Denton, and he produced a revolver. “I know who you
are, all right. You’re not from the town, and that’s proof to me that
you’re one of Panther Pete’s men. Admit it, or I put a bullet through
you.”
Hatfield squirmed; then said, with seeming reluctance:
“Well, what you goin’ to do about it? I am one o’ them fellers,
but----”
“Ah, I knew it! And you were doing what, up in that tree?”
“I seen ye comin’, and jest shinned up there ter keep ye frum seein’
me. And say”--he turned to Deland--“what was that thing you shot at
me, anyhow?”
“That was a rain bomb,” said Deland proudly. “Young man, I didn’t
shoot it at ye, but you were permitted to see then a marvelous
exhibition; an effort to bring rain from rainless clouds, and
a successful one, too; for, see!” He held out his hand. “It’s
sprinkling; and it’s been dry as a bone in this country since about
the year one. Now, ain’t that so?”
Denton still held the revolver ready cocked, and again he pointed it
at the rascal’s head.
“You know where Panther Pete has his lair. You’ll tell us, or down
you go.”
The rascal wriggled and squirmed. Yet this was the thing he wanted.
“I don’t dare to tell,” he protested.
“Why?”
“’Cause Panther Pete would kill me.”
“And I’ll kill you if you don’t. So there you are. Take your choice.”
There was a strange flush of excitement on the face of Denton, and a
bright and staring light in his eyes.
Hatfield saw that in his present mental condition Denton was not a
man to fool with.
“I’ll shoot you, sure,” said Denton, “if you don’t tell me promptly
where Panther Pete is.”
“I--I----” Hatfield stammered, a bit terrified.
“Out with it!”
“I couldn’t tell you, but I might lead ye to--to the place.”
“That’s as good.” Denton turned to Deland.
“It’s sprinklin’,” said Deland joyfully, “by all the frogs of Egypt,
it’s actually sprinklin’, and in this country where----”
“Deland, did you hear what he says? That he will guide us to the lair
of Panther Pete?” He pointed the pistol again at the head of the
prisoner. “Another question,” he said: “Is there a young lady held
prisoner there?”
The spy again hesitated.
“Out with it!” shouted Denton.
“Well--yes, there is.”
“It’s the young lady, is it, who was taken last night from Scarlet
Gulch--Miss Ellen West?”
“I don’t know her name,” said the spy, “but it’s her; for she was
brought from that town.”
“And she’s in that place now, held there by Panther Pete?”
“You’re right. Anyway, she’s there, in one o’ the houses.”
“So they’ve got houses there!” He turned to Deland again. “Get the
horses ready, Deland, and this fellow is to be put on mine. I’ll sit
behind him, and make him guide the horse and pilot us. And, if he
tries any treachery, I’ll shoot a hole through him.”
His voice quivered. He was in deadly earnest.
“Correct ye aire,” said Deland, and he brought up the horses.
“Now, I’m going to untie your feet, so that you can get into that
saddle,” said Denton; “but, if you try to get away, I’ll pot you with
this pistol. Understand?”
He cast off the cords that held Hatfield’s feet, and the rascal
mounted to the saddle agilely enough.
“Now, Deland, give me a lift.”
Deland gave him the “lift,” and Denton secured a seat behind the
prisoner.
“Now, Deland, tie his feet under the horse’s belly.”
Hatfield did not like this, but he could not help it, for he had a
healthy fear of that big revolver; and his own weapons had been taken
away from him.
Deland also mounted, and they were ready to start.
The smoke from the rain bomb had dissipated, but there was a cloudy
sky and a threat of rain.
“I’d like to fire off some more of the bombs, and jest see what’d
come of it,” said Deland wishfully. “I’ll bet we’d have a flood
before night, if I did. But I ought to save ’em, I s’pose, to try fer
rain down in the town. That’s why I came there in the first place.
You can tell what an awfully dry country it is by seeing the people
hurry to the Flash Light.” He laughed humorously, and studied the
sky. “By Jove, I’d like to try some more of them bombs!”
He had the “grip” at the saddle horn in front of him as he thus rode
forth.
Hatfield smiled to himself, with face turned away. He was not pleased
to be tied up so tightly, but he was pleased by the fact that these
men had commanded him to lead them to the lair of Panther Pete. He
was leading them now toward the “trap” in the rock-girt hollow, where
he knew Panther Pete would have sharpshooting riflemen lying in
ambush.
Those riflemen, he believed, would cut the riders down with bullets,
and he would be free again, and in a very short time.