'Twas then--like tiger close beset
At every pass with toil and net,
'Counter'd, where'er he turns his glare,
By clashing arms and torches' flare,
Who meditates, with furious bound,
To burst on hunter, horse, and hound,--
'Twas then that Bertram's soul arose,
Prompting to rush upon his foes.
SCOTT
The old detachment clock struck nine wheezy notes. Yorke and Redmond,
seated at a table busily engaged in cleaning their service revolvers,
glanced up at each other sombrely.
"Getting near time," muttered the former, "the moon should be up soon
now. Lanky," he continued, addressing that individual who was sitting
nearby, "what are you and the Doctor going to do? Going back to Cow Run
tonight, or what?"
"Don't think it," replied the teamster laconically. He glanced towards
the open door and assumed a listening attitude. "Th' Sarjint an' him's
out there now--chewin' th' rag 'bout it--hark to 'em!"
Ceasing their cleaning operations for a space, the two constables
listened intently to the raised voices without. "No! no! no!" came
Slavin's soft brogue, in tones of vehement protest to something the
coroner had said, "I tell yu' 'tis not right, Docthor, that yu' shud run
such risk! Wid us 'tis diff'runt--takin' th' chances av life an'
death--just ord'nary course av juty. . . ."
"Oh, tut! tut! nonsense, Sergeant," was the physician's brisk response.
"You forget. I've taken those same chances before, too, and, by Jove! I
can take 'em again! All things considered," he added significantly,
"seems to me--er--perhaps just as well I should be on hand."
Yorke and Redmond exchanged rueful grins. "The old sport!" quoth the
latter admiringly. "Damme, but I must say the Doc's game!"
"It's the old 'ex-service spirit'," said Yorke quietly, "rum thing!
Always seems to crop out, somehow, when there's real trouble on hand."
Nonchalantly puffing a huge cigar, the object of their remarks presently
strolled back into the room, followed by the sergeant. "Behould th'
'last coort av appeal,' Docthor," began Slavin majestically. With a
whimsical grin he indicated his subordinates. "Bhoys," he explained,
"contrairy tu my wishes, th' Docthor insists on comin' wid us this night.
Now fwhat yez know 'bout that?"
"Tried to shake me!" supplemented that gentleman tersely, waving his
cigar at the last speaker. "What's this court's ruling?"
A stern smile flitted over Yorke's high-bred features. "Appeal
sustained," he announced decisively, "eh, Reddy?"
For answer, his comrade arose and silently wrung the doctor's hand; then,
without show of emotion, he resumed his seat and likewise his cleaning
operations. Yorke, as silently, duplicated his comrade's actions. The
ex-Naval surgeon said nothing; but his eyes glistened strangely as he
dropped into an easy chair and proceeded to envelope himself in a cloud
of smoke,
Suddenly the nasal voice of the teamster, Lanky Jones, made itself heard.
"How 'bout me?" he drawled, "ain't I in on this, too? I kin look after
th' hawsses, anyways, fur yeh!"
"Arrah thin! hark tu um?" said Slavin, in mock despair. "Docthor, 'tis a
bad example ye're setting All right, thin, Lanky, ye shall come, an' ye
wish ut. An' as man tu man--I thank ye! We will all go a 'moonlightin'
tugither. Eyah!" he resumed reminiscently, "many's th' toime I mind me
ould father--God rist him!--tellin' th' tales av thim days, whin times
was harrd in Oireland, an' rints wint up an' th' pore was dhriven
well-nigh desprit. How him an' his blood-cousin, Tim Moriarty, lay wan
night for an' ould rapparee av a landlord, who'd evicted pore Tim out av
house an' home. Tim had an' ould blundherbuss, all loaded up wid bits av
nales an' screws an' such-like, wid a terribul big charrge av powther
behint ut. Four solid hours did they wait for um--forninst a hedge on
th' road he had tu come home by, from Ballymeen Fair.
"By an' by they hears um a-comin . . . a-hollerin' an' laughin' tu
umsilf, an' roarin' an' singin' 'Th' Jug av Potheen.' Full av ut, tu, by
token av th' voice av um. Tim makes all ready wid th' blundherbuss. All
av a suddint tho', th' tchune shtops, an' tho' they waits for um for
quite a toime, he niver shows up. By an' by they gets fed up wid lyin'
belly-down in th' soakin' rain. 'H-mm! mighty quare!' sez me father, 'I
wonder fwhat's happened tu th' pore ould ginthleman?' 'Let us go luk for
um?' sez Tim, wid blood in his oi, ''tis may be he's on'y shtoppin' tu
take another dhrink out av th' jug.'
"So, up th' road they goes a piece, till they comes tu a bog at th' side
av ut. An' there they finds um--head-first shtuck in th' bog--just th'
tu feet av um shtickin' out an' which boots Tim sez he can swear tu.
'Begorrah!' sez me father, 'that accounts for th' tchune shtoppin' so
suddint! Let us luk for th' jug?' Well, they hunts around for th' jug
awhile, but all they finds is his ould caubeen. So they shtuck that on
wan of his feet, an' Tim, he pins th' warrant av evictmint tu ut,
currsin' somethin' fierce th' whiles bekase he was done out av getthin' a
shot at the 'ould rapparee wid th' blundherbuss."
Slavin shook his head slowly at the conclusion of the story. "Eyah!" he
said wistfully, "many's th' toime have I heard me father tell that same
tale. They must have been shtirrin' times, thim!" In characteristic
fashion his mood suddenly changed. His face hardened, as with upraised
hand he silenced the burst of laughter he had provoked from his hearers.
"Ginthlemen!" he resumed quietly, "we're none av us cowards here, but--no
need tu remind yu'--fwhat sort av a man we are goin' up against this
night."
Unconsciously he drew himself up, with an air of simple, rugged dignity
that well became his grim visage and powerful frame. In that hour of
impending danger the brave, true, kindly heart of the man stood
revealed--a personality which endeared him to Yorke and Redmond beyond
any ties of friendship they had known.
Slowly he repeated, "we are none av us cowards here, but--remimber Larry
Blake, an' that pore hobo shtiff back in th' shed there. An' remimber
thim dogs this mornin'. We du not want tu undherrate um. We du not want
tu cop ut like did Wilde, whin he wint tu arrest Charcoal; or Colebrook,
whin he tackled Almighty Voice. Maybe he'll just come a-yawnin' tu th'
dhure, wid th' dhrawlin' English spache av um, sayin' 'Well, bhoys, an'
fwhat's doin'?' An' yet again--may be he's all nerves afther th' bad
break he made in front av us this mornin'--expectin' us--eyah!--waithin',
watchin' belike, wid his gun in his fisht. Luk at th' way he acted
afther his gun play--leery as hell. . . ."
"Yes!" said Yorke thoughtfully, "egad! there was something darned queer
in the way he acted, all right. Guess we'd better take carbines along,
eh, Burke? . . . in case we get let in for a man hunt. For all we know,
he may have beat it already. Another thing--he may start in bucking us
about not having a warrant--just to gain time?"
Slavin met the other's suggestion with a grim nod of acquiescence.
"Shure! we'll take thim," he said, "but"--his jaw set ruthlessly--"if I
wanst get my grub-hooks on um . . . why! 'tis all up!--carbines, or no
carbines--warrant or no warrant. Section thirty av th' Code covers th'
warrant bizness--in a case like this, anyways. Come on, thin, bhoys,
saddle up! An' Lanky!--yu give me a hand wid th' team! we must be
getthin'!"
Presently all was in readiness, and the small, well-armed party left the
detachment under the light of a brilliant three-quarter moon. Slavin led
in the police buckboard, with the doctor seated beside him, and Lanky
Jones crouched behind them. Yorke and Redmond rode in the rear, with
their carbines slung at the saddle-horn. It was a hazardous mission they
were bound on, as they all fully realized now, knowing the terribly
ruthless character of the man they sought to apprehend.
Descending the grade which led to the bend of the river they swung due
east at a smart pace, following the winding Lower Trail. This last road
ran past Gully's ranch, which lay some three miles distant. As they
neared their objective the sergeant slackened his team down to a walking
pace.
Suddenly Redmond tongue-clucked to himself in absent fashion. The sound
of it roused Yorke out of the sombre reverie into which he had fallen.
"What's up, Red?" queried he waggishly, in a low voice, "dreaming you're
taking that dive again, or what?"
"No!" muttered George abstractly in the same key. "I was thinking what a
rum, unfathomable old beggar Slavin is. Fancy him springing that comical
old yarn at such a time as this?"
"Ah!" murmured his comrade reflectively. "When you come to know Burke as
well as I do you'll find he's generally got some motive for these little
things--blarney and all. You laughed, didn't you? Guess we all of us
gave the giddy 'ha! ha'.' Felt quite chipper after it, too, the bunch of
us . . . well then?"
"Sh-sh!" came the sergeant's back-flung, guarded growl, "quit your gab
there! We're gettin' nigh, bhoys--here's th' brush forninst his
place . . . must go mighty quiet an' careful now."
Looming up dark and forbidding ahead of them they beheld the all-familiar
sight of the huge, shadowy thicket of pine and Balm o' Gilead clumps that
fringed the west end of Gully's ranch. Entering its gloomy depths, they
felt their way slowly and cautiously along the stump-dotted trail. At
intervals, from somewhere overhead, came the weird, depressing hoot of a
long-eared owl, and, seemingly close at hand, the shrill, mocking
"ki-yip-yapping" of coyotes echoed sharply in the stillness of the night.
Stray patches of moonlight began to filter upon the party once more as
they gradually neared the end of the rough-hewn avenue; the thick growth
of pine giving place to scattered cotton-wood clumps.
Arriving at the verge of the timber the party halted. There, some two
hundred yards distant, upon a patch of open ground partially encircled by
dense, willow-scrub, lay a ghostly-shadowed cluster of ranch buildings.
The living habitation itself stood upon a slightly raised knoll, hard
upon the river-bank. To their nostrils the night air brought the strong,
not unpleasant scent of cattle, drifting up from the numerous recumbent
bovine forms which dotted the ground all around the ranch.
Awhile the party gazed speculatively at the habitation of him--the
undoubted perpetrator of the deadly deeds--for whom they had sought so
long. The peaceful aspect of their moonlit surroundings suddenly smote
the minds of all with a strange sense of unreality, as full realization
of the sinister import of their errand came home to them. In uncanny
telepathy with their disturbed feelings sounded the owl's derisive
hooting, and the persistent mocking raillery of the coyotes.
It was Slavin who broke the long, tense silence. "Damn that 'Dismal
Jimmy' owl!" he ejaculated testily, in a low tone--"an' thim
ki-oots! . . . beggars all seem to be givin' us th' ha! ha! as if they
knew. P'raps he has beat ut on us afther all? . . . 'Tis harrd tu
say--we cannot shpot a glim from this side--winders all face east. Now!
luk a-here, all av yez!" He turned to his companions with a grim,
determined face, his deep-set eyes glittering ominously in the light of
the moon. "Lets get things cut-an'-dhried behfure we shtart in," he
whispered. "Whin he knows th' jig's up--that's if he is in--he may act
like a man av sinse, an' agree tu come peaceable--but--" and Slavin shook
his head slowly--"if he refuses . . . fwhy? . . . 't'wud be straight
suicide tu attimpt tu rush um. There's on'y wan dhure. Hidin' in th'
dark there, wid that Luger gun av his coverin' ut, we'd shtand no show at
all. He'd put th' whole bunch av us out av business--in as many shots,
behfure a man av us got a chance tu put fut inside. Now, let's see!" he
murmured reflectively. "Fwhat is th' lay av th' shack agin? There's--"
"The door and two of the windows face east," interpolated Yorke,
softly--"living-room and kitchen--one window to the south--that's his
bed-room."
"Eyah! that's ut," whispered the sergeant, "now thin--Lanky--du yu' shtay
right here wid th' harses. Kape yu're head--even if ye du hear shootin'.
Du not shtir from here onless ye get ordhers from wan av us." Turning to
the others he continued in a sibilant hiss, "Yu, Reddy, shlip along th'
edge av th' brush here, an' over th' river-bank onto th' shingle. Kape
well down an' thread careful ontil ye come forninst th' back winder.
Thin pop yu're head up circumshpict an' cover ut wid yu're carbine. Use
good judgmint tho'; none av us want tu shtart in shootin' onless we're
forced tu ut. Ondher th' circumstances 'tis best we thry an' catch um
alive."
For a moment Slavin stared after Redmond's crouching form, as his
subordinate disappeared in the gloom, "Thrust no harm comes tu th' lad,"
he muttered irresolutely, "quick as a flash is th' bhoy wid his head,
eyah! but he's inclined tu be over rash at toimes."
"Oh, he's all right," hissed Yorke reassuringly, "don't you get worrying
over him making any bad breaks, Burke. He's as fly as they make 'em."
Presently the sergeant faced round with a dreary sigh. "Come on thin,
Docthor," he murmured heavily, "wid me an' Yorke."
Making a wide detour they circled the ranch and wormed their way
cautiously through the dense scrub on its eastern side. Suddenly, with a
warning gesture to his companions, the sergeant halted. They had reached
the verge of the scrub and the front of the ranch-house faced
them--barely twenty yards distant. They could discern a faint light
glimmering around the lower edge of one of the windows.
"He is in!" whispered Slavin exultantly. "Blinds down though. 'Tis a
quare custom av his. Come on thin, Yorkey, me bould second-in-command!
In a mighty few short minuts we shall know"--his jaw dropped--"fwhat we
shall know! . . . Arrah thin, Docthor!"--he silenced a violent protest
from that adventurous gentleman, who made as though to accompany
them--"if ye wud help us in best fashion--shtay right here, an' mark
fwhat comes off. If we shud happen tu get ut in th' neck . . . just yu'
beat ut back tu Lanky! Ye know fwhat tu du--thin. I'll lave me carbine
here awhile."
He stepped clear of the brush and, revolver in hand, advanced softly upon
the low, one-story, log-built dwelling. Yorke followed a few steps in
his rear, with his carbine held in readiness at the "port-arms."
Reaching the door, the sergeant rapped upon it sharply. There was no
response from within, but--the light vanished on the instant. Yorke
stepped warily to the side and covered the door with his weapon. A few
tense moments passed, and then Slavin rapped again. Heavy footfalls now
sounded, approaching the door from the inside, halted, and then, through
the panels came Gully's hollow, booming bass: "Who's there?"
"Shlavin of th' Mounted Police, Gully. Opin up! we wud shpake wid ye."
"What do you want? What's your business at this hour of the night?"
"Fwhat do we want?"--the sergeant uttered mirthless chuckle--"fwhy 'tis
yu' we want, Gully--for murdher! Come off th' perch, man, th' jig's up!
There's a bunch av us here--we've got yu're shack covered properly--wid
carbines--north, east, south, an' west--ye can pull nothin' off. Come
now! will ye pitch up an' act reasonable? 'Tis no manner av use ye
shtartin' in tu buck th' Force. Juty's juty--ye know that."
"Have you got a warrant, Sergeant?"
"Eyah!" came Slavin's sinister growl. "We've bin fishin', Gully, up in
th' big pool beyant. _Well_ ye must know that pool. Fwhat we caught
there is our warrant. Opin up now, will ye? else we bust yu're dhure in!"
"Slavin--Sergeant! You and Yorke whom I've known all this time--good
fellows"--the deep, imploring tones faltered slightly--"do not push me to
it, man! You and your men go away and leave me in peace this night.
Christ knows! I don't want to do it but--if you persist in forcing an
entrance in here without a warrant--why! I'll pull on your crowd till
there's not a man left."
"Gully!" the sergeant's voice shook with passion at the other's threat,
"ye bloody murdherin' dog! Ye dhirty back-av-th'-head gun-artist!
Thryin' for tu come th' 'good-feller' over us av th' Mounted! There's
on'y wan answer tu that, an' ye know ut. Now, will ye opin up this
dhure, or I'll bust her down!"
And, as if to enforce his command, Slavin set his huge shoulder against
the door and gave a heave which caused the stout wood to crack ominously.
"Look out, Burke!" cried Yorke suddenly. His right arm shot out and
jerked the maddened Irishman violently towards him. His hasty action was
only just in time.
Bang! bang! Two muffled shots detonated within, and white splinters flew
from a spot in the door covered a moment before by the sergeant's broad
breast. With a startled oath Slavin flung up his gun, as if to fire
back; but Yorke clutched his arm and arrested the action.
"No, no, Burke!" he hissed warningly, "no use doing that! You bet he's
not there now. Lying 'doggo' behind the logs, most likely. You'd only
blow a hole in the door that he could pick us off through after. We're
proper marks in the moonlight here! Let's back up, and keep the front
covered."
Slavin, balked of his prey, rumbled in his throat awhile, like some huge
bear; then, adopting Yorke's suggestion, he slowly backed up with the
latter to the sheltering brush, where they rejoined the expectant,
anxious doctor.
"Hit, either of you?" he enquired tersely.
Yorke replied in the negative. "Mighty close shave for Burke here,
though" he added, "lucky I heard Gully cocking that blasted Luger of
his." He uttered a suppressed chuckle, "Burke's always one to go
cautioning others, and then lose his temper and expose himself."
For some few minutes they canvassed the situation in tense whispers,
lying prone in the brush with their carbines covering their objective.
"Sh-sh!" hissed the doctor suddenly. "Hark!"
With all their faculties on the stretch, they held their breaths and
listened intently. In the stillness they heard the unmistakable noise as
of a window being cautiously lifted. The sound came from the southern
end of the building.
Then they heard Redmond's voice ring out sharply from the bank: "No use,
Gully! I've got you covered! You can't make it from there! You'd
better give in, man."
There was an instant's silence, then--crack! came the crisp report of the
Luger. It was answered by the deep, reverberating bang! of a carbine,
and the crash of splintered glass and woodwork was followed by a boyish
laugh.
"Told you Reddy was there with the goods!" remarked Yorke, triumphantly,
to his superior, "don't suppose he got him though--Gully's too fly--he'd
duck into shelter the instant he'd fired. I'll bet he's doing some tall
thinking just now. Beggar's between the devil and the deep
sea--properly. He'll chuck up the sponge just now, you'll see."
"Eyah!" agreed Slavin, with an oath, "he's up against it. But Reddy down
there--I du not like th' idea av th' bhoy bein' all alone. Yorkey, yu'
shlink thru' th' brush an' down th' bank an' kape um company awhile. Th'
Docthor an' me'll kape th' front here covered."
A few minutes later, Yorke, after first challenging Redmond cautiously,
crept up beside his comrade below the sheltering river-bank.
"Did you get him?" he queried in a tense whisper.
"No, I don't think so," muttered Redmond disconsolately, "but--he d----d
near got me--look!"
He exhibited his Stetson hat. A clean bullet perforation showed in the
pinched-up top. "I could have got him--easy," he added, "when he first
opened the window. Wish I had, now--but you know what Burke said--about
getting him alive--I only loosed off after he'd thrown down on me. I was
scared for you and Burke, though! I could see you both backing up--after
he'd shot through the door."
Bang! A dull, muffled report detonated within the building. The ominous
echoes gradually died away, and the stillness of the night settled over
all once more.
The crouching policemen stared at each other strangely. "Hear that?"
ejaculated Redmond, with a startled oath, "By G----d! he's shot himself!
must have--it sounded muffled. . . . All over! I'll bet his brains--"
He broke off short and, shoving the barrel of his carbine over the edge
of the bank, he commenced to clamber up. "Wait a second! . . . Good
God, Red! don't do that!" snarled Yorke warningly. "He's as cunning as
a blasted _lobo_. May be it's only a tr--"
The entreaty died in his throat. Crack! A spurt of flame shot from the
opened window, and Redmond, with a gasping exclamation of rage and pain,
toppled backwards onto the shingle, his carbine clattering down beside
him. Fearful of relaxing his vigilance even at this crisis, the maddened
Yorke flung up his weapon and sent shot after shot crashing through the
open casement. All could hear the smashing, rending sounds of havoc his
bullets were creating within.
"Doctor!" he shouted. "Oh, Doctor! Come on round quick!" In a hoarse
aside he spat out feverishly, "Red! Red! my old son! . . . hit bad?
Where'd you get it?"
"Shoulder! Oh-h!" gasped poor Redmond, moaning and rolling on the
shingle in his agony, "Oh, Christ, it hurts!"
There came a crashing in the undergrowth on their right, and presently a
crouching form came creeping rapidly towards them under cover of the
sheltering bank. In a terse aside Yorke acquainted the doctor with the
details of his comrade's mischance, keeping a wary eye meanwhile on the
window. The ex-naval surgeon wasted no time in unnecessary question or
comment, but with the grim composure of an old campaigner swiftly
proceeded to render first aid to the wounded man.
"Right shoulder--low down!" he presently vouch-safed to the anxious
Yorke. "Trust it's missed the lung! . . . can't tell yet! . . . I must
get him away the best way I can. No! . . . don't move, Yorke! You keep
on your mark! I can pack him I think. I'll get him to the buckboard
somehow. This is going to be a long siege, I'm thinking. You'll be
getting reinforcements later. Slavin told me to send for them."
Bang! crash! The crisp sounds of splintering woodwork on the east side
of the shack denoted the fact of their quarry apparently attempting a
second escape from the front entrance. Unaided, the doctor cleverly
executed the professional fire-fighter's trick of raising, balancing on
the back, and carrying an unconscious human body. With an overwhelming
feeling of relief, not unmixed with admiration, at the other's gameness,
Yorke watched him stagger away in the gloom, bearing poor George upon his
bowed shoulders.
His momentary lack of vigilance proved well-nigh his own undoing, also.
Crack! spat the Luger again from the window. His hat whirled from his
head, but he kept his presence of mind. It was not the first time by
many that Yorke had been under fire. Ducking down on the instant, he
moved swiftly three paces to his right, and then, finger on trigger, he
suddenly jerked upright and sent two more shots crashing through the
aperture.
"Mark-er!" he called out mockingly. "Signal a miss, mark-er! Ding-dong!
You'll get tired of it before we do, Gully! You'd better give up the
ghost, man!"
His grim sarcasm failing to draw further fire from his desperate
opponent, the senior constable reloaded wearily and settled down to what
promised to be a long, danger-fraught vigil.