Sheriff Prince Functions
"Yippy yip yip yip!"
Old Reb, Quantrell's ex-guerrilla, now boss of mule-skinners for Prince,
galloped down the street waving an old dusty white hat. Women and
children and old men dribbled out from the houses, all eager for the
news.
"Billie he found Miss Lee in the Mal-Pais. That boy sure had his lucky
pants on to-day. She's all right too. I done seen her myself--just a mite
tuckered out, as you might say," explained the former cowpuncher.
Live-Oaks shook hands with itself in exuberant joy. For an hour the
school bell pealed out the good news. A big bonfire blazed in the
court-house square. Wise dames busied themselves baking bread and frying
doughnuts and roasting beef for the rescue party now homeward bound. It
was a certainty that their men-folks would all be hungry and ready for a
big feed.
By noon most of the searchers were back in town and the saloons were
doing big business. When Prince drove down the main street of Live-Oaks
an hour later, the road was jammed as for a Fourth-of-July celebration.
Tired though she was, Lee had not the heart to disappoint these good
friends. She went to the picnic ground at Fremont's Grove and was hugged
and kissed by all the woman at the dinner. She wept and was wept over
till her lover decided she had had all the emotion that was good for her,
whereupon he took her back to the home of her aunt and with all the
newborn authority of his position ordered her to bed.
"But it's only three o'clock in the afternoon," Lee protested.
"Good-night," answered Billie inexorably.
She surrendered meekly. "If you say I must, my lord. I _am_ awf'lly
tired." Little globes of gladness welled up in her eyes. "Everybody's so
good to me, Billie. I didn't know folks were so kind. I can't think what
I can ever do to pay them back."
"I'll tell you how. You be good to yourself, honey," he told her with a
sudden wave of emotion as he caught and held her tight in his arms. "You
quit takin' chances with blizzards an' crazy gunmen an'--"
"--And horsethieves hidden in the chaparral?" she asked with a flash of
demure eyes.
"You're goin' to take an awful big chance with one ex-horsethief. Lee,
I'm the luckiest fellow on earth."
She nestled closer to him. Her lips trembled to his kiss.
"Billie, you're sure, aren't you?" she whispered. "It wasn't just pity
for me."
He chose to reassure her after the fashion of a lover, in that wordless
language which is as old as Eden.
His heart was full of her as he swung down the street buoyantly. He
had known her saucy, scornful, and imperious. He had known her gay
and gallant, had been the victim of her temper. Occasionally he had
seen glimpses of tenderness toward Pauline and of motherliness
toward Jim Clanton. But never until last night had he found her
dependent and clinging. Her defense against him had been a manner of cool
self-reliance. In the stress of her need that had been swept aside to
show her flamy and yet shy, quick with innocent passion. She wanted him
for a mate, just as he wanted her, and she made no concealment of it. In
the candor of her love he exulted.
Lee slept round the clock almost twice and appeared for a late breakfast.
Her aunt told her some news with which Live-Oaks was buzzing.
Go-Get-'Em Jim had ridden into town, stopped at the sheriff's office, and
demanded cynically the thousand dollars offered by the Webb estate for
his arrest.
"He'll come to no good end," prophesied Miss Snaith, senior.
"You don't quite understand him, aunt," protested Lee. "That's just his
way. He likes to grand-stand, and he does it rather well. But he isn't
half so bad as he makes out. He says he did not shoot Mr. Webb, and we
feel sure he didn't."
"Of course he says so," replied the older woman indignantly. "Why
wouldn't he say so? But Dad Wrayburn was there and saw it all. There has
been a lot too much promiscuous killing and he's one of the worst of the
lot, your Jim Clanton is. Jimmie-Go-Get-'Em, indeed! I hope the law goes
and gets him now it has a chance."
The opinion of Lee's aunt was in accord with the general sentiment.
Washington County had within the past year suffered a change of heart. It
had put behind its back the wild and reckless days of its youth when
every man was a law to himself. Bar-room orators talked virtuously of law
and order. They said it behooved the county to live down its evil
reputation as the worst in the United States. Times had changed. The
watchword now should be progress. It ought no longer to be a
recommendation to a man that he could bend a six-gun surer and quicker
than other folks. "Movers" in white-topped wagons were settling up the
country. A railroad had pushed in to Live-Oaks. There was a lot of talk
about Eastern capital becoming interested in irrigation and mining. It
was high time to remember that Live-Oaks and Los Portales were not now
frontier camps, but young cities.
Since Live-Oaks had been good for so short a time it wanted to prove by a
shining example how it abhorred the lawlessness of its youth. At this
inopportune moment Clanton gave himself up to be tried for the murder of
Homer Webb.
When the news spread that Clanton had been given a change of venue and
was to be tried at Santa Fe, the citizens of Live-Oaks were distinctly
annoyed. It was known that the sheriff had always been a good friend of
the accused man. The whisper passed that if he ever took Go-Get-'Em Jim
out of the county the killer would be given a chance to escape.
Into town from the chaparral drifted the enemies Clanton had made during
his career as a gunman. Yankie and Albeen and Dumont and Bancock moved to
and fro in the crowds at the different gambling places and saloons. Even
Roush, who in the past three years had never given young Clanton an
opportunity to meet him face to face, stole furtively into the tendejons
of the Mexican quarter and spent money freely in treating. Among the
natives Go-Get-'Em Jim was in ill-repute for shooting a bad man named
Juan Ortez who had attempted to terrorize the town while on a spree.
"We're spendin' a lot of good money on this job. We'd ought to pull it
off," Dumont whispered to Albeen.
"Whose money?" asked the one-armed man cynically.
It struck him as an ironic jest that the money they had got from the sale
of Homer Webb's cattle should be spent to bring about the lynching of the
man who had killed him.
Both the sheriff and his deputy were out of town rounding up a half-breed
Mexican who had stabbed another at a dance. They reached Live-Oaks with
their prisoner about the middle of the afternoon. Lee was waiting for
them impatiently at the court-house.
"They're planning to lynch Jim," she told Prince abruptly.
"Who's goin' to do all that?" he asked.
"The riff-raff of the county are back of it, but the worst of it is that
they've got a lot of good people in with them. Some of the Flying V Y
riders are in town too. I never saw so much drinking before."
"When is it to be?"
"I don't know."
"Who told you?"
"Bud Proctor. He says Yankie and Albeen and that crowd are spending
hundreds of dollars at the bars."
"I knew there was somethin' on foot soon as we hit town--felt it in the
air." The sheriff looked at his watch. "We can just catch the afternoon
train, Jack. Take this bird downstairs an' lock him up. I'll join you in
a minute."
"What are you going to do?" asked Lee as soon as they were alone.
"Goin' to slip Jim aboard the train an' take him to Santa Fe."
"Can you do it without being seen?"
"I'll tell you that later," he answered with a grim smile. "Much obliged,
honey. I'm goin' to be right busy now, but I'll see you soon as I get
back to town."
Lee nodded good-bye and wait out. She liked it in him that just now he
had no time even for her. From the door she glanced back. Already he was
busy getting his guns ready.
Prince got his keys and unlocked the room where Clanton was. Jim was on
the bed reading an old newspaper.
"Hello, Billie," he grinned.
"We're leaving on the afternoon train, Jim. Get a move on you an' hustle
yore things together."
"Thought you weren't goin' till next week."
"Changed my mind. Jim, there's trouble afoot. Yore enemies are all in
town. I want to get you away."
Clanton did not bat an eye. "Plannin' a necktie party, are they?"
"They've got notions. Mine are different." "Do I get a gun if it comes to
a showdown, Billie?"
"You do. I'll appoint you a deputy."
Jim laughed. "That sounds reasonable."
Goodheart joined them. The three men left the back door of the
court-house and cut across the square. The station was three blocks
distant. Before they had covered a hundred yards a boy on the other side
of the street stopped, stared at them, and disappeared into the nearest
saloon.
The prisoner looked at his friend and grinned gayly. "Somethin' stirrin'
soon. We're liable to have a breeze in this neighborhood, looks like."
They reached the station without being molested, but down the street
could be seen much bustle of men running to and fro. Prince looked at
them anxiously.
"The clans are gathering," murmured Clanton nonchalantly, his hands in
his pockets. "Don't you reckon maybe you'll have to feed me to the
wolves after all, Billie?"
A saddled horse blinked in the sun beside the depot, the bridle rein
trailing on the ground. Its owner sat on a dry-goods box and whittled.
Jim glanced at the bronco casually. Jack Goodheart also observed the
cowpony. He whispered to the sheriff.
Prince turned to his prisoner. "Jim, you can take that horse an' hit the
dust, if you like."
"Meanin' that you can't protect me?"
The salient jaw of the sheriff tightened. He looked what he was, a man
among ten thousand, quiet and forceful, strong as tested steel.
"You'll have exactly the same chance to weather this that we will."
A mob of men was moving down the street in loose formation. There was
still time for a man to fling himself into the saddle and gallop away.
"You'd rather I'd stay, Billie."
"Yes. I'm sheriff. I'd like to show this drunken outfit they can't take a
prisoner from me."
Clanton gave a little whoop of delight. "Go to it, son. You're law west
of the Pecos. Let's see you make it stick."
Live-Oaks was as yet the terminus of the railroad. The train backed into
the station just as the first of the mob arrived.
"Nothin' doin', Prince," announced Yankie, swaggering forward. "You're
not goin' to take this fellow Clanton away. We've come to get him."
"That's right," agreed Albeen.
Jimmie-Go-Get-'Em grinned. "Makes twice now you've come to get me."
"We didn't make it go last time. Different now," said Bancock, moving
forward.
"That's near enough," ordered Prince. "You've made a mistake, boys. I'm
sheriff of Washington County, and this man's my prisoner."
"He's yore old side kick, too, ain't he?" jeered Yankie.
Goodheart, following the orders he had received, moved forward to the
engine and climbed into the cab beside the engineer and fireman. The
sheriff and his prisoner backed to the steps of the smoking-car. Billie
had had a word with the brakeman, his young friend Bud Proctor, who had
at once locked the door at the other end of the smoker.
"Now," said Prince in a low voice.
Jim ran up lightly to the platform of the coach and passed inside. A howl
of anger rose from the mob. There was a rush forward. Billie was on the
lower step. His long leg lifted, the toe caught Yankie on the point of
the chin, and the rustler went back head first into the crowd as though
he had been shot from a catapult.
Instantly Prince leaped for the platform and whirled on the mob. He held
now a gun in each hand. His eyes glittered dangerously as they swept
the upturned faces. They carried to every man in the crowd the message
that his prisoner could not be taken as long as the sheriff was alive.
Clanton threw open a window of the coach, rested his arms on the sill,
and looked out. Again there was a roar of rage and a forward surge of the
dense pack on the station platform.
"He ain't even got irons on the man's hands!" a voice shouted. "It's a
frame-up to git him away from us!"
"Don't hide back there in the rear, Roush. Come right up to the front an'
tell me that," called back Prince. "You're right about one thing. I don't
need to handcuff Clanton. He has surrendered for trial, an' I'm here to
see he gets a fair one. I'll do it if I have to put irons _in_ his
hands--shootin' irons."
Jim Clanton, his head framed in the window, laughed insolently. He was a
picture of raffish, devil-may-care ease.
"Don't let Billie bluff you, boys. We can't bump off more'n a dozen or so
of you. Hop to it."
"You won't laugh so loud when the rope's round yore gullet," retorted
Albeen.
"That rope ain't woven, yet," flung back the young fellow coolly.
Even as he spoke a lariat whistled through the air. Jim threw up a hand
and the loop slid harmlessly down the side of the car. One of the riders
of the Flying V Y had tried to drag the prisoner out with a reata.
"You mean well, but you'll never win a roping contest, Syd," jeered
Clanton. "Good of you an' all my old friends to gather here to see me
off, I see you back there, Roush. It's been some years since we met, an'
me always lookin' for you to say to you a few well-chosen words. I'll
shoot straighter next time."
The vigilantes raised a howl of fury. They were like a wolf pack eager
for the kill. Between them and their prey stood one man, cool,
indomitable, steady as a rock. He held death in each hand, every man
present knew it. They could get Clanton if they were willing to pay the
price, but though there were game men in the mob, not one of them
wanted to be the first to put his foot on the lower step of the coach.
From the other end of the car came the sudden noise of hammering. Some
one had found a sledge in the baggage-room and with a dozen armed men
back of him was trying to break down the door.
Prince called to his prisoner. "You've got to get in this, Jim. I appoint
you deputy sheriff. Unstrap this belt from my waist. Take the other end
of the car an' hold it. No shootin' unless it comes to a showdown.
Understand?"
Clanton nodded. His eyes gleamed. "I'll behave proper, Billie."
Five seconds later the beating on the door stopped. The eyes of the big
blacksmith with the hammer popped out with a ludicrous terror. Go-Get-'Em
Jim was standing in the aisle grinning at him with a six-gun in each
hand. With a wild whoop the horseshoer dropped the sledge and turned. He
flung himself down the steps carrying with him half a dozen others. Not
till he was safe in his own shop two blocks away did he stop running.
A shrill whistle rang out from the side of the train farthest from the
station. The wheels began to move slowly. There was a rush for the
engine. Jack Goodheart stood in the door of the cab ready for business.
"No passengers allowed here, boys," he announced calmly. "Take the
coaches in the rear."
A dozen revolvers cracked. There was a rattle of breaking windows. The
engine, baggage-car, and smoker moved forward, leaving the rest of the
train on the track.
Men, swarming like ants, had climbed to the top of the cars, evidently
with some idea of getting at their victim from above. Some of these were
on the forward coaches. They began to drop off hurriedly as the station
fell to the rear.
The wheels turned faster. Bud Proctor swung aboard and joined the
sheriff.
"I cut off the other cars and gave the signal to start," he explained
triumphantly.
"Good boy, Bud. Knew I could tie to you," Prince answered with the warm
smile that always won him friends.
They passed into the car together. Clanton was leaning far out of the
window waving a mocking hand of farewell to the crowd on the platform. He
drew his head in and handed the weapons back to his friend.
"Don't I make a good deputy, Billie? I didn't fire even once."