THE DEATH OF DU SANG
Whispering Smith, with his horse in a lather, rode slowly back twenty
minutes later with Seagrue disarmed ahead of him. The deserted
battle-ground was alive with men. Stormy Gorman, hot for blood, had
come back, captured Karg, and begun swearing all over again, and Smith
listened with amiable surprise while he explained that seeing Dancing
killed, and not being able to tell from Whispering Smith's peculiar
tactics which side he was shooting at, Gorman and his companions had
gone for help. While they angrily surrounded Karg and Seagrue, Smith
slipped from his horse where Bill Dancing lay, lifted the huge head
from the dust, and tried to turn the giant over. A groan greeted the
attempt.
"Bill, open your eyes! Why would you not do as I wanted you to?" he
murmured bitterly to himself. A second groan answered him. Smith
called for water, and from a canteen drenched the pallid forehead,
talking softly meanwhile; but his efforts to restore consciousness
were unavailing. He turned to where two of the cowboys had dragged
Karg to the ground and three others had their old companion Seagrue in
hand. While two held huge revolvers within six inches of his head, the
third was adjusting a rope-knot under his ear.
Whispering Smith became interested. "Hold on!" said he mildly, "what
is loose? What are you going to do?"
"We're going to hang these fellows," answered Stormy, with a volley of
hair-raising imprecations.
"Oh, no! Just put them on horses under guard."
"That's what we're going to do," exclaimed the foreman. "Only we're
going to run 'em over to those cottonwoods and drive the horses out
from under 'em. Stand still, you tow-headed cow-thief!" he cried,
slipping the noose up tight on George Seagrue's neck.
"See here," returned Whispering Smith, showing some annoyance, "you
may be joking, but I am not. Either do as I tell you or release those
men."
"Well, I guess we are not joking very much. You heard me, didn't you?"
demanded Stormy angrily. "We are going to string these damned critters
up right here in the draw on the first tree."
Whispering Smith drew a pocket-knife and walked to Flat Nose, slit the
rope around his neck, pushed him out of the circle, and stood in
front of him. "You can't play horse with my prisoners," he said
curtly. "Get over here, Karg. Come, now, who is going to walk in
first? You act like a school-boy, Gorman."
Hard words and a wrangle followed, but Smith did not change
expression, and there was a backdown. "Have you fellows let Du Sang
get away while you were playing fool here?" he asked.
"Du Sang's over the hill there on his horse, and full of fight yet,"
exclaimed one.
"Then we will look him up," suggested Smith. "Come, Seagrue."
"Don't go over there. He'll get you if you do," cried Gorman.
"Let us see about that. Seagrue, you and Karg walk ahead. Don't duck
or run, either of you. Go on."
Just over the brow of the hill near which the fight had taken place, a
man lay below a ledge of granite. The horse from which he had fallen
was grazing close by, but the man had dragged himself out of the
blinding sun to the shade of the sagebrush above the rock--the trail
of it all lay very plain on the hard ground. Watching him narrowly,
Smith, with his prisoners ahead and the cowboys riding in a circle
behind, approached.
"Du Sang?"
The man in the sagebrush turned his head.
Smith walked to him and bent down. "Are you suffering much, Du Sang?"
The wounded man, sinking with shock and internal hemorrhage, uttered a
string of oaths.
Smith listened quietly till he had done; then he knelt beside him and
put his hand on Du Sang's hand. "Tell me where you are hit, Du Sang.
Put your hand to it. Is it the stomach? Let me turn you on your side.
Easy. Does your belt hurt? Just a minute, now; I can loosen that."
"I know you," muttered Du Sang thickly. Then his eyes--terrible,
rolling, pink eyes--brightened and he swore violently.
"Du Sang, you are not bleeding much, but I'm afraid you are badly
hit," said Whispering Smith. "Is there anything I can do for you?"
"Get me some water."
A creek flowed at no great distance below the hill, but the cowboys
refused to go for water. Whispering Smith would have gone with Seagrue
and Karg, but Du Sang begged him not to leave him alone lest Gorman
should kill him. Smith canvassed the situation a moment. "I'll put you
on my horse," said he at length, "and take you down to the creek."
He turned to the cowboys and asked them to help, but they refused to
touch Du Sang.
Whispering Smith kept his patience. "Karg, take that horse's head,"
said he. "Come here, Seagrue; help me lift Du Sang on the horse. The
boys seem to be afraid of getting blood on their hands."
With Whispering Smith and Seagrue supporting Du Sang in the saddle and
Karg leading the horse, the cavalcade moved slowly down to the creek,
where a tiny stream purled among the rocks. The water revived the
injured man for a moment; he had even strength enough, with some help,
to ride again; and, moving in the same halting order, they took him to
Rebstock's cabin. Rebstock, at the door, refused to let the sinking
man be brought into the house. He cursed Du Sang as the cause of all
the trouble. But Du Sang cursed him with usury, and, while Whispering
Smith listened, told Rebstock with bitter oaths that if he had given
the boy Barney anything but a scrub horse they never would have been
trailed. More than this concerning the affair Du Sang would not say,
and never said. The procession turned from the door. Seagrue led the
way to Rebstock's stable, and they laid Du Sang on some hay.
Afterward they got a cot under him. With surprising vitality he talked
a long time to Whispering Smith, but at last fell into a stupor. At
nine o'clock that night he sat up. Ed Banks and Kennedy were standing
beside the cot. Du Sang became delirious, and in his delirium called
the name of Whispering Smith; but Smith was at Baggs's cabin with Bill
Dancing. In a spasm of pain, Du Sang, opening his eyes, suddenly threw
himself back. The cot broke, and the dying man rolled under the feet
of the frightened horses. In the light of the lanterns they lifted him
back, but he was bleeding slowly at the mouth, quite dead.
The surgeon, afterward, found two fatal wounds upon him. The first
shot, passing through the stomach, explained Du Sang's failure to kill
at a distance in which, uninjured, he could have placed five shots
within the compass of a silver dollar. Firing for Whispering Smith's
heart, he had, despite the fearful shock, put four bullets through his
coat before the rifle-ball from the ground, tearing at right angles
across the path of the first bullet, had cut down his life to a
question of hours.
Bill Dancing, who had been hit in the head and stunned, had been moved
back to the cabin at Mission Spring, and lay in the little bedroom. A
doctor at Oroville had been sent for, but had not come. At midnight of
the second day, Smith, who was beside his bed, saw him rouse up, and
noted the brightness of his eyes as he looked around. "Bill," he
declared hopefully, as he sat beside the bed, "you are better, hang
it! I know you are. How do you feel?"
"Ain't that blamed doctor here yet? Then give me my boots. I'm going
back to Medicine Bend to Doc Torpy."
In the morning Whispering Smith, who had cleansed and dressed the
wound and felt sure the bullet had not penetrated the skull, offered
no objection to the proposal beyond cautioning him to ride slowly.
"You can go down part way with the prisoners, Bill," suggested
Whispering Smith. "Brill Young is going to take them to Oroville, and
you can act as chairman of the guard."
Before the party started, Smith called Seagrue to him. "George, you
saved my life once. Do you remember--in the Pan Handle? Well, I gave
you yours twice in the Cache day before yesterday. I don't know how
badly you are into this thing. If you kept clear of the killing at
Tower W I will do what I can for you. Don't talk to anybody."