WICKWIRE
McCloud and Dicksie met them at the porch door. Marion, unnerved, went
directly to her room. Whispering Smith stopped to speak to Dicksie and
McCloud interposed. "Bob Scott telephoned the office just now he had a
man from Oroville who wanted to see you right away, Gordon," said he.
"I told him to send him over here. It is Wickwire."
"Wickwire," repeated Whispering Smith. "Wickwire has no business here
that I know of; no doubt it is something I ought to know of. And, by
the way, you ought to see this man," he said, turning again to
Dicksie. "If McCloud tells the story right, Wickwire is a sort of
protege of yours, Miss Dicksie, though neither of you seems to have
known it. He is the tramp cowboy who was smashed up in the wreck at
Smoky Creek. He is not a bad man, but whiskey, you know, beats some
decent men." A footstep fell on the porch. "There he comes now, I
reckon. Shall I let him in a minute?"
"Oh, I should like to see him! He has been at the ranch at different
times, you know."
Smith opened the door and stepping out on the porch, talked with the
new-comer. In a moment he brought him in. Dicksie had seated herself
on the sofa, McCloud stood in the doorway of the dining-room, and
Whispering Smith laid one arm on the table as he sat down beside it
with his face above the dark shade of the lamp. Before him stood
Wickwire. The half-light threw him up tall and dark, but it showed the
heavy shock of black hair falling over his forehead, and the broad,
thin face of a mountain man.
"He has just been telling me that Seagrue is loose," Whispering Smith
explained pleasantly. "Who turned the trick, Wickwire?"
"Sheriff Coon and a deputy jailer started with Seagrue for Medicine
Bend this morning. Coming through Horse Eye Canyon, Murray Sinclair
and Barney Rebstock got a clean drop on them, took Seagrue, and they
all rode off together. They didn't make any bones about it, either.
Their gang has got lots of friends over there, you know. They rode
into Atlantic City and stayed over an hour. Coon tracked them there
and got up a _posse_ of six men. The three were standing in front of
the bank when the sheriff rode into town. Sinclair and Seagrue got on
their horses and started off. Rebstock went back to get another
drink. When he came out of the saloon he gave the _posse_ a gun-fight
all by himself, and wounded two men and made his get-away."
Whispering Smith shook his head, and his hand fell on the table with a
tired laugh. "Barney Rebstock," he murmured, "of all men! Coward,
skate, filler-in! Barney Rebstock--stale-beer man, sneak, barn-yard
thief! Hit two men!" He turned to McCloud. "What kind of a wizard is
Murray Sinclair? What sort of red-blood toxin does he throw into his
gang to draw out a spirit like that? Murray Sinclair belongs to the
race of empire-builders. By Heaven, it is pitiful a man like that
should be out of a job! England, McCloud, needs him. And here he is
holding up trains on the mountain division!"
"They are all up at Oroville with the Williams Cache gang, celebrating,"
continued Wickwire.
Whispering Smith looked at the cowboy. "Wickwire, you made a good ride
and I thank you. You are all right. This is the young lady and this is
the man who had you sent to the hospital from Smoky Creek," he added,
rising. "You can thank them for picking you up. When you leave here
tell Bob Scott to meet me at the Wickiup with the horses at eleven
o'clock, will you?" He turned to Dicksie in a gentle aside. "I am
riding north to-night--I wish you were going part way."
Dicksie looked at him intently. "You are worried over something," she
murmured; "I can see it in your face."
"Nothing more than usual. I thrive, you know, on trouble--and I'm
sorry to say good-night so early, but I have a long ride ahead." He
stepped quietly past McCloud and out of the door.
Wickwire was thanking Dicksie when unwillingly she let Whispering
Smith's hand slip out of her own. "I shore wouldn't have been here
to-night if you two hadn't picked me up," laughed Wickwire, speaking
softly to Dicksie when she turned to him. "I've knowed my friends a
long time, but I reckon they all didn't know me."
"I've known you longer than you think," returned Dicksie with a smile.
"I've seen you at the ranch-house. But now that we really do know each
other, please remember you are always sure of a home at the
ranch--whenever you want one, Mr. Wickwire, and just as long as you
want one. We never forget our friends on the Crawling Stone."
"If I may make so bold, I thank you kindly. And if you all will let me
run away now, I want to catch Mr. Whispering Smith for just one
minute."
Wickwire overtook Smith in Fort Street. "Talk quick, Wickwire," he
said; "I'm in a hurry. What do you want?"
"Partner, I've always played fair with you."
"So far as I know, Wickwire, yes. Why?"
"I've got a favor to ask."
"What is it--money?"
"No, partner, not money this time. You've always been more than
liberal with me. But so far I've had to keep under cover; you asked me
to. I want to ask the privilege now of coming out into the open. The
jig is up so far as watching anybody goes."
"Yes."
"There's nobody to watch any more--they're all to chase, I reckon,
now. The open is my kind of a fight, anyway. I want to ride out this
manhunt with you."
"How is your arm?"
"My arm is all right, and there ought to be a place for me in the
chase now that Ed Banks is out of it. I want to cut loose up on the
range, anyhow; if I'm a man I want to know it, and if I ain't I want
to know it. I want to ride with you after Seagrue and Sinclair and
Barney Rebstock."
Whispering Smith spoke coldly: "You mean, Wickwire, you want to get
killed."
"Why, partner, if it's coming to me, I don't mind--yes."
"What's the use, Wickwire?"
"If I'm a man I want to know it; if I ain't, it's time my friends
knowed it. Anyhow, I'm man enough to work out with some of that gang.
Most of them have put it over me one time or another; Sinclair pasted
me like a blackbird only the other day. They all say I'm nothing but a
damned tramp. You say I have done you service--give me a show."
Whispering Smith stopped a minute in the shadow of a tree and looked
keenly at him. "I'm too busy to-night to say much, Wickwire," he said
after a moment. "You go over to the barn and report to Bob Scott. If
you want to take the chances, it is up to you; and if Bob Scott is
agreeable, I'll use you where I can--that's all I can promise. You
will probably have more than one chance to get killed."