Miss Schuyler had conjectured correctly respecting the rifle-shot which
announced the arrival of a messenger; a few minutes after the puff of
white smoke on the crest of the rise had drifted away, a mounted man rode
up to Grant at a gallop. His horse was white with dust and spume, but his
spurs were red.
"Railroad district executive sent me on to let you know the Sheriff had
lost your man," he said.
"Lost him," said Grant.
"Well," said the horseman, "put it as it pleases you, but, as he had him
in the jail, it seems quite likely he let him go."
There was a growl from the teamsters who had clustered round, and Grant's
face grew stern. "He was able to hold the two homesteaders Clavering's
boys brought him."
"Oh, yes," said the other, "he has them tight enough. You'll remember one
of the cattle-boys and a storekeeper got hurt during the trouble, and our
men are not going to have much show at the trial Torrance and the Sheriff
are fixing up!"
"Then," said Grant wearily, "we'll stop that trial. You will get a fresh
horse in my stable and tell your executive I'm going to take our men out
of jail, and if it suits them to stand in they can meet us at the trail
forks, Thursday, ten at night."
The man nodded. "I'm tolerably played out, but I'll start back right now,"
he said.
He rode off towards the homestead, and Grant turned to the rest. "Jake,
you'll take the eastern round; Charley, you'll ride west. Give them the
handful of oats at every shanty to show it's urgent. They're to be at
Fremont in riding order at nine to-morrow night."
In another ten minutes the men were riding hard across the prairie, and
Grant, with a sigh, went on with his ploughing. It would be next year
before he could sow, and whether he would ever reap the crop was more than
any man in that region would have ventured to predict. He worked however,
until the stars were out that night and commenced again when the red sun
crept up above the prairie rim the next day; but soon after dusk mounted
men rode up one by one to Fremont ranch. They rode good horses, and each
carried a Winchester rifle slung behind him when they assembled, silent
and grim, in the big living-room.
"Boys," said Grant quietly, "we have borne a good deal, and tried to keep
the law, but it is plain that the cattle-men, who bought it up, have left
none for us. Now, the Sheriff, who has the two homesteaders safe, has let
the man we sent him go."
There was an ominous murmur and Grant went on. "The homesteaders, who only
wanted to buy food and raised no trouble until they were fired on, will be
tried by the cattle-men, and I needn't tell you what kind of chance
they'll get. We pledged ourselves to see they had fair play when they came
in, and there's only one means of getting it. We are going to take them
from the Sheriff, but there will be no fighting. We'll ride in strong
enough to leave no use for that. Now, before we start, are you all willing
to ride with me?"
Again a hoarse murmur answered him, and Grant, glancing down the row of
set faces under the big lamps, was satisfied.
"Then we'll have supper," he said quietly. "It may be a long while before
any of us gets a meal again."
It was a silent repast. As yet the homesteaders, at least in that
district, had met contumely with patience and resisted passively each
attempt to dislodge them, though it had cost their leader a strenuous
effort to restrain the more ardent from the excesses some of their
comrades farther east had already committed; but at last the most peaceful
of them felt that the time to strike in turn had come. They mounted when
supper was over and rode in silence past willow bluff and dusky rise
across the desolate waste. The badger heard the jingle of their bridles,
and now and then a lonely coyote, startled by the soft drumming of the
hoofs, rose with bristling fur and howled; but no cow-boy heard their
passage, or saw them wind in and out through devious hollows when daylight
came. Still, here and there an anxious woman stood, with hazy eyes, in the
door of a lonely shanty, wondering whether the man she had sent out to
strike for the home he had built her would ever ride back again. For they,
too, had their part in the struggle, and it was perhaps the hardest one.
It was late at night when they rode into the wooden town. Here and there a
window was flung open; but the night was thick and dark, and there was
little to see but the dust that whirled about the dimly flitting forms.
That, however, was nothing unusual, for of late squadrons of stockriders
and droves of weary cattle had passed into the town; and a long row of
shadowy frame houses had been left behind before the fears of any citizen
were aroused. It was, perhaps, their silent haste that betrayed the
horsemen, for they rode in ordered ranks without a word, as men who have
grim business in hand, until a hoarse shout went up. Then a pistol flashed
in the darkness in front of them, doors were flung open, lights began to
blink, and a half-seen horseman came on at a gallop down the shadowy
street. He pulled his horse up within a pistol-shot from the homesteaders,
and sat still in his saddle staring at them.
"You'll have to get down, boys, or tell me what you want," he said. "You
can't ride through here at night without a permit."
There was a little ironical laughter, and somebody asked, "Who's going to
stop us?"
"The Sheriff's guard," said the horseman. "Stop right where you are until
I bring them."
"Keep clear," said Grant sternly, "or we'll ride over you. Forward,
boys!"
There was a jingle of bridles, and the other man wheeled his horse as the
heels went home. Quick as he was, the foremost riders were almost upon
him, and as he went down the street at a gallop the wooden houses flung
back a roar of hoofs. Every door was open now and the citizens peering
out. Lights flashed in the windows, and somebody cried, "The rustler boys
are coming!"
Other voices took up the cry; hoots of derision mingled with shouts of
greeting, but still, without an answer, the men from the prairie rode on,
Grant peering into the darkness as he swung in his saddle at the head of
them. He saw one or two mounted men wheel their horses, and more on foot
spring clear of the hoofs, and then the flash of a rifle beneath the black
front of a building. A flagstaff ran up into the night above it, and there
were shadowy objects upon the verandah. Grant threw up a hand.
"We're here, boys," he said.
Then it became evident that every man's part had been allotted him, for
while the hindmost wheeled their horses, and then sat still, with rifles
across their saddles, barring the road by which they had come, the
foremost pressed on, until, pulling up, they left a space behind them and
commanded the street in front. The rest dismounted, and while one man
stood at the heads of every pair of horses, the rest clustered round Grant
in the middle of the open space. The jail rose dark and silent before
them, and for the space of a moment or two there was an impressive
stillness. It was broken by a shout from one of the rearguard.
"There's quite a crowd rolling up. Get through as quick as you can!"
Grant stood forward. "We'll give you half a minute to send somebody out to
talk to us, and then we're coming in," he said.
The time was almost up before a voice rose from the building: "Who are
you, any way, and what do you want?"
"Homesteaders," was the answer. "We want the Sheriff."
"Well," said somebody, "I'll tell him."
Except for a growing clamour in the street behind there was silence until
Breckenridge, who stood near Grant touched him,
"I don't want to meddle, but aren't we giving them an opportunity of
securing their prisoners or making their defences good?" he said.
"That's sense, any way," said another man. "It would be 'way better to go
right in now, while we can."
Grant shook his head. "You have left this thing to me, and I want to put
it through without losing a man. Men don't usually back down when the
shooting begins."
Then a voice rose from the building: "You wanted the Sheriff. Here he
is."
A shadowy figure appeared at a window, and there was a murmur from Grant's
men.
"He needn't be bashful," said one of them. "Nobody's going to hurt him.
Can't you bring a light, so we can see him?"
A burst of laughter followed, and Grant held up his hand. "It would be
better, Sheriff; and you have my word that we'll give you notice before we
do anything if we can't come to terms."
It seemed from the delay that the Sheriff was undecided, but at last a
light was brought, and the men below saw him standing at the window with
an anxious face, and behind him two men with rifles, whose dress
proclaimed them stockriders. He could also see the horsemen below, as
Grant, who waited until the sight had made its due impression, had
intended that he should. There were a good many of them, and the effect of
their silence and the twinkling of light on their rifles was greater than
that of any uproar would have been.
"Now you can see me, you needn't keep me waiting," said the Sheriff, with
an attempt at jauntiness which betrayed his anxiety. "What do you want?"
"Two of your prisoners," said Grant.
"I'm sorry you can't have them," said the Sheriff. "Hadn't you better ride
home again before I turn the boys loose on you?"
But his voice was not quite in keeping with his words, and it would have
been wiser if he had turned his face aside.
"It's a little too far to ride back without getting what we came for,"
said Grant quietly. "Now, we have no great use for talking. We want two
homesteaders, and we mean to get them; but that will satisfy us."
"You want nobody else?"
"No. You can keep your criminals, or let them go, just as it suits you."
There was a laugh from some of the horsemen, which was taken up by the
crowd and swelled into a storm of cries. Some expressed approval, others
anger, and the Sheriff stepped backwards.
"Then," he said hoarsely, "if you want your friends, you must take them."
The next moment the window shut with a bang, and the light died out,
leaving the building once more in darkness.
"Get to work," said Grant. "Forward, those who are going to cover the
axe-men!"
There was a flash from the verandah, apparently in protest and without
intent to hurt, for the next moment a few half-seen objects flung
themselves over the balustrade as the men with the axes came up, and
others with rifles took their places a few paces behind them. Then one of
the horsemen shouted a question.
"Let them pass," said Grant.
The door was solid and braced with iron, but those who assailed it had
swung the axe since they had the strength to lift it, and in the hands of
such men it is a very effective implement. The door shook and rattled as
the great blades whirled and fell, each one dropping into the notch the
other had made; the men panted as they smote; the splinters flew in
showers.
"Holding out still!" gasped one of them. "There's iron here. Get some of
the boys to chop that redwood pillar, and we'll drive it down."
There was an approving murmur, but Grant grasped the man by the shoulder.
"No," he said. "We haven't come to wreck the town. I've another plan if
you're more than two minutes getting in."
The axes whirled faster, and at last a man turned breathlessly. "Get
ready, boys," he said. "One more on the bolt head, Jake, and we're in!"
A brawny man twice whirled the hissing blade about his head, and as he
swung forward with both hands on the haft with a dull crash the wedge of
tempered steel clove the softer metal. The great door tilted and went
down, and Breckenridge sprang past the axe-men through the opening. His
voice came back exultantly out of the shadowy building. "It was the old
country sent you the first man in!"
The men's answer was a shout as they followed him, with a great trampling
down the corridor, but the rest of the building was very silent, and
nobody disputed their passage until at last a man with grey hair appeared
with a lantern behind an iron grille.
"Open that thing," said somebody.
The man smiled drily. "I couldn't do it if I wanted to. I've given my keys
away."
One or two of the homesteaders glanced a trifle anxiously behind them. The
corridor was filling up, and it dawned upon them that if anything barred
their egress they would be helpless.
"Then what are you stopping for?" asked somebody.
"It's in my contract," said the jailer quietly. "I was raised in Kentucky.
You don't figure I'm scared of you?"
"No use for talking," said a man. "You can't argue with him. Go ahead with
your axes and beat the blamed thing in."
It cost them twenty minutes' strenuous toil; but the grille went down, and
two of the foremost seized the jailer.
"Let him go," said Grant quietly. "Now, we can't fool time away with you.
Where's the Sheriff?"
"I don't quite know," said the jailer, and the contempt in his voice
answered the question.
Grant laughed a little. "Well," he said, "I guess he's sensible. Now, what
you have got to do is to bring out the two homesteaders as quick as you
can."
"I told you I couldn't do it," said the other man.
"You listen to me. We are going to take those men out, if we have to pull
this place to pieces until we find them. That, it's quite plain, would let
the others go, and you would lose the whole of your prisoners instead of
two of them. Tell us where you put them, and you can keep the rest."
"That's square?"
"Oh, yes," said Grant. "There are quite enough men of their kind loose in
this country already."
"Straight on," said the jailer. "First door."
They went on in silence, but there was a shout when somebody answered
their questions from behind a door, which a few minutes later tottered and
fell beneath the axes. Then, amidst acclamation, they led two men out, and
showed them to the jailer.
"You know them?" said Grant. "Well, you can tell your Sheriff there wasn't
a cartridge in the rifles of the men who opened his jail. He'll come back
when the trouble's over, but it seems to me the cattle-men have wasted a
pile of dollars over him."
He laughed when a question met them as they once more trampled into the
verandah.
"Yes," he said. "The boys are bringing them!"
Two horses were led forward, and the released men swung themselves into
the saddle. There was a hasty mounting, and when the men swung into open
fours a shout went up from the surging crowd.
"They have taken the homesteaders out. The Sheriff has backed down."
A roar followed that expressed approbation and disgust; it was evident
that the sympathies of the citizens were divided. In the momentary silence
Grant's voice rang out:
"Sling rifles! Keep your order and distance! Forward, boys!"
Again a hoarse cry went up, but there was only applause in it now, for the
crowd recognized the boldness of the command and opened out, pressing back
against the houses as the little band rode forward. Their silence was
impressive, but the leader knew his countrymen, for, while taunts and
display would have courted an onset, nobody seemed anxious to obstruct the
men who sat unconcernedly in their saddles, with the rifles which alone
warranted their daring disdainfully slung behind them.
On they went past clusters of wondering citizens, shouting sympathizers,
and silent cattle-men, until there was a hoot of derision, and, perhaps in
the hope of provoking a conflict in which the rest would join, a knot of
men pushed out into the street from the verandah of the wooden hotel.
Grant realized that a rash blow might unloose a storm of passion and rouse
to fury men who were already regretting their supineness.
"Keep your pace and distance!" he commanded.
Looking straight in front of them, shadowy and silent, the leading four
rode on, and once more the crowd melted from in front of them. As the last
of the band passed through the opening that was made for them a man
laughed as he turned in his saddle.
"We can't stay any longer, boys, but it wasn't your fault. It's a man you
want for Sheriff," he said.
"No talking there! Gallop!" said Grant, and the horsemen flitted across
the railroad track, and with a sinking thud of hoofs melted into the
prairie. They had accomplished their purpose, and the cattle-men, going
back disgustedly to remonstrate with the Sheriff, for a while failed to
find him.