UP THE WALL
Pipes were glowing in the shadows away from the fire, where men lay in
various attitudes of ease. A few were examining wounds while others
cleaned rifles and saw that their revolvers were in good condition.
Around the fire but well back from it four men sat cross-legged, two
others stretched out on their elbows and stomachs near them.
"You say everything is all right on th' ranch?" asked Buck of a man
who, covered with alkali, had just come from the Bar-20. "No trouble,
hey?"
"Nope; no trouble at all," replied Cross, tossing his sombrero aside.
"Lucas an' Bartlett each sent us four men to help out when they
learned you had come out here. We shipped four of 'em right on to th'
H2, which is too short-handed to do any damage to rustlers."
"Much obliged for that," spoke up Meeker, relief in his voice. "I'm
blamed glad to hear things are quiet back home--but I don't know how
long they'll stay that way with Eagle so close."
"Well, Eagle ain't a whole lot anxious to dip in no more," laughed
Cross, looking at the H2 foreman. "Leastawise, that's what Lucas said.
He sent a delegation down there which made a good impression. There
was ten men in it an' they let it be known that if they came back
again there would be ten more with 'em. In that case Eagle wouldn't be
no more than a charred memory. Since Quinn died, being shot hard by
Nevada, who I reckons is out here, th' town ain't got nobody to tell
it how to do things right, which is shore pleasant."
"You bring blamed good news--I'm glad Lucas went down there," Buck
replied. "I can't tell as good news about us out here, yet. We've had
a hard time for a week. They got Pie to-day, an' most of us are shot
up plentiful. Yo're just in time for th' festival, Cross--we're going
to try to rush 'em to-night an' get it over. We reckon Skinny an' Pete
can get us a way up that wall before dawn."
"Me for th' rush," laughed Cross. "I'm fresh as a daisy, which most of
you fellers ain't. How many of 'em have you got so far? Are there many
still up there?"
"We've got four of 'em that I knows of, an' how many of 'em died from
their wounds I can't say," replied Hopalong. "But a whole lot of 'em
have been plugged, an' plugged hard."
"But how many are up there still able to fight?"
"I should say about nine," Hopalong remarked, thoughtfully.
"Ten," corrected Red. "I've been watching th' positions an' I know."
"About nine or ten--they shift so nobody can really tell," Buck
replied. "I reckon we've seen 'em all in Eagle, too."
"Frenchy got Nevada an' another to-day, on th' west side," Johnny
interposed.
"I'm glad Nevada is gone--he's a terror in a mix-up," Cross rejoined.
"Best two-handed gun man in Eagle, he was."
"Huh!" snorted Johnny. "Stack him up against Hoppy an' see how long
he'd last!"
"I said in Eagle!" retorted Cross.
Buck suddenly stood up and stretched. "You fellers all turn in now an'
snatch some sleep. I'm going out to see how things are with Billy.
I'll call you in time. Doc, you an' Curtis are too shot up to do any
climbing--you turn in too. When I come back I'll wake you an' send you
out to help Billy watch th' trail. Where's Red?"
"Over here--what do you want?" came from the shadows.
"Nothing, only get to sleep. I reckoned you might be off somewheres
scouting. Skinny, where's yore rope? Got that manilla one? Good! Put
three more hemp lariats out here where I can find 'em when I come
back. Now don't none of you waste no time; turn in right now!" He
started to walk away and then hesitated, turning around. "Doc, you an'
Curtis better come with me now so you won't lose no time hunting
Billy in th' dark when yore eyes are sleepy--it's hard enough to find
him now in th' dark, when I'm wide awake. You can get yore sleep out
there--he'll wake you when yo're needed."
The two punchers arose and joined him, Doc with his left arm bandaged
and his companion with three bandages on him. When they joined Buck
Doc protested. "Let me go with you an' th' rest of th' boys, Peters,
when you go up that wall. I came out here to get th' Greaser that
murdered Curley, an' I hate to miss him now. If I can't climb th' boys
will be glad to pull me up, an' it won't take no time to speak of. My
gun arm is sound as a dollar--_I_ want that Greaser!"
Buck glanced at Meeker, who refused to give any sign of his thoughts
on the matter. "Well, all right, Doc. But if we should have to fight
as soon as we get up an' don't have no time to pull you after us,
you'll miss everything. But you can do what you want."
"I'll just gamble on that. I ain't hurt much, an' if I can't climb
I'll manage to get in th' scrap someway, even if I has to hunt up
Billy," replied Doc, contentedly, returning to the fire.
Buck and his companion moved away into the darkness while those around
the fire lay down to get a few hours' rest, which they needed badly.
George Cross, who was not sleepy, remained awake in a shadow and kept
guard, although none was needed.
Buck and Curtis found Billy by whistling and the wounded H2 puncher
found a place to lie down and was soon asleep, while the foreman and
his friend sat up, watching the faint glow on the mesa, the camp-fire
of the besieged. Once they heard the clatter of a rifle from the head
of the trail and later they saw a dim figure pass quickly across the
lighted space. They were content to watch on such a night, for the air
had cooled rapidly after the sun went down and the sky was one
twinkling mass of stars.
Twice during the wait Buck disappeared into the black chaparral close
at hand and struck a match under his coat to see the time, and on the
last occasion he returned to Billy, remarking: "Got half an hour yet
before I leave you. Are you sleepy?"
"No, not very; my head hurts too much to sleep," Billy replied,
re-crossing his legs and settling himself in a more comfortable
position. "When you leave I'll get up on my hoofs so I won't feel like
dosing off. I won't wake Curtis unless I have to--he's about played
out."
"You wake him when you think I've been gone half an hour," Buck
ordered. "It'll take him some time to get his eyes open--we mustn't
let any get away. They've got friends in Eagle, you know."
"Wish I could smoke," Billy remarked, wistfully.
"Why, you can," replied Buck, quickly. "Go back there in th' chaparral
an' get away with a pipeful. I'll watch things till you come back, an'
if I need you quick I can call. You've got near half an hour--make th'
best of it."
"Here's th' gun--much obliged, Buck," and Billy disappeared, leaving
the foreman to plan and watch. Buck glanced at the sleeping man
occasionally when he heard him toss or mutter and wished he could let
him sleep on undisturbed.
Suddenly a flash lighted up the top of the trail for an instant and
the sharp report of a rifle rang out loudly on the still, night air.
Buck, grabbing the Winchester, sprang to his feet as an excited chorus
came from the rustlers' stronghold. Then he heard laughter and a few
curses and quiet again ensued.
"What was that, Buck?" came a low, anxious hail from behind.
The foreman laughed softly and replied: "Nothing, Billy, except that
th' guard up there reckoned he saw something to shoot at. It's funny
how staring at th' dark will get a feller seeing things that ain't.
Why, had yore smoke so soon?" he asked in surprise as Billy sat down
beside him.
"Shore," replied Billy. "Two of 'em. I reckon yore time is about up.
Gimme th' gun now."
"Well, good luck, Billy. Better move up closer to th' trail if you can
find any cover. You don't want to miss none. So long," and Billy was
alone with his sleeping companion.
When the foreman returned to the camp he was challenged, and stopped,
surprised. "It's Peters," he called.
"Oh, all right. Time to go yet?" asked Cross, emerging from the
darkness.
"Purty near; but I thought I told you to go to sleep?"
"I know, but I ain't sleepy, not a bit. So I reckoned I'd keep watch
over th' rest of th' gang."
"Well, since yo're wide awake, you help me knot these ropes an' let
th' others have a few minutes more," Buck responded, picking up
Skinny's fifty-foot lariat and placing it to one side. He picked up
the three shorter ropes and threw one to his companion. "Put a knot
every foot an' a half--make 'em tight an' big."
In a few minutes the work was finished and Buck awakened the sleeping
men, who groped their way to the little stream close by and washed the
sleep out of their tired eyes, grabbing a bit of food on their return
to the fire.
"Now, fellers," said the foreman, "leave yore rifles here--it's Colts
this trip, except in Red's case. Got plenty of cartridges? Everybody
had a drink an' some grub? All right; single file after me an' don't
make no noise."
When the moon came up an hour later Red Connors, lying full length on
the apex of the pinnacle which Johnny had tried and found wanting,
watched an indistinct blurr of men in the shadow of the mesa wall. He
saw one of them step out into the moonlight, lean back and then
straighten up suddenly, his arm going above his head. The silence was
so intense that Red could faintly hear the falling rope as it struck
the ground. Another cast, and yet another, both unsuccessful, and
then the fourth, which held. The puncher stepped back into the shadow
again and another figure appeared, to go jerking himself up the face
of the wall. While he watched the scaling operations Red was not
missing anything on the top of the mesa, where the moon bathed
everything in a silvery light.
Then he saw another figure follow the first and kick energetically as
it clambered over onto the ledge. Soon a rope fell to the plain and
the last man up, who was Skinny, leaned far out and cast at the second
ledge, Pete holding him. After some time he was successful and again
he and his companion went up the wall. Pete climbed rapidly, his heavy
body but small weight for the huge, muscular arms which rose and fell
so rapidly. On the second ledge the same casting was gone through
with, but it was not until the eighth attempt that the rope stayed up.
Then Red, rising on his elbows, put his head closer to the stock of
his rifle and peered into the shadows back of the lighted space on the
rocky pile. He saw Pete pull his companion back to safety and then,
leaping forward, grasp the rope and climb to the top. Already one of
the others was part way up the second rope while another was squirming
over the lower ledge, and below him a third kicked and hauled, half
way up the first lariat.
"String of monkeys," chuckled Red. "But they can't none of 'em touch
Pete in that sort of a game. Wonder what Pete's doing?" he queried as
he saw the man on the top of the mesa bend, fumble around for a
moment, and then toss his arm out over the edge. "Oh, it's a knotted
rope--he's throwing it down for th' others. Well, Pete, old feller,
you was th' first man to get--_Lord_!"
He saw Pete wheel, leap forward into a shadow, and then a heaving,
twisting, bending bulk emerged into the moonlight. It swayed back and
forth, separated into two figures and then became one again.
"They're fighting, rough an' tumble!" Red exclaimed. "Lord have mercy
on th' man who's closing with that Pete of ourn!"
He could hear the scuffling and he knew that the others had heard it,
too, for Skinny was desperately anxious to wriggle over the edge,
while down the line of ropes the others acted like men crazed. Still
the pair on the mesa top swayed back and forth, this way and that,
bending, twisting, and Red imagined he could hear their labored
breathing. Then Skinny managed to pull himself to the top of the wall
and sprang forward, to sink down from a kick in the stomach.
"God A'mighty!" cried Red excitedly. "Who is it that can give Pete a
fight like that? Well, I'm glad he's so busy he can't use his gun!"
Skinny was crawling around on his hands and knees as Buck's head arose
over the edge. The foreman, well along in years, and heavy, was too
tired to draw himself over the rim without a moment's rest. He had no
fear for Pete, but he was worried lest some rustler might sound an
alarm. Skinny now sat up and felt for his Colt, but the foreman's
voice stopped him. "No shooting, yet! Want to tell 'em what's up? You
let them fellers alone for a minute, an' give me a hand here."
Pete, his steel-like fingers darting in for hold after hold, managed
to jerk his opponent's gun from its sheath and throw it aside, where
Skinny quickly picked it up. He was astonished by the skill and
strength of his adversary, who blocked every move, every attempt to
get a dangerous hold. Pete, for a man reputed as being slow, which he
was in some things, was darting his arms in and out with remarkable
quickness, but without avail. Then, realizing that his cleaner living
was standing him in good stead, and hearing the labored breathing of
the rustler, he leaped in and clinched. By this time Hopalong and
three more of the attacking force had gained the mesa top and were
sent forward by the foreman, who was now intent upon the struggle at
hand.
"It's Big Sandy!" Hopalong whispered to Skinny, pausing to watch for a
moment before he disappeared into the shadows.
He was right, and Big Sandy, breathless and tired, was fighting a
splendid fight for his life against a younger, fresher, and stronger
man. The rustler tried several times for a throat hold but in vain,
and in a fury of rage threw his weight against his opponent to bear
him to the ground, incautiously bringing his feet close together as he
felt the other yield. In that instant Pete dropped to a crouch, his
vice-like hands tightened about Big Sandy's ankles, and with a sudden,
great surge of his powerful back and shoulders he straightened up and
Sandy plunged forward to a crashing fall on the very edge of the mesa,
scrambled to his feet, staggered, lost his balance, and fell backwards
a hundred feet to the rocks below.
The victor would have followed him but for Buck, who grasped him in
time. Pete, steady on his feet again, threw Buck from him by one sweep
of his arms and wheeled to renew the fight, surprise flashing across
his face at not seeing his opponent.
"He's down below, Pete," Buck cried as Johnny, white-faced, crawled
over the edge.
"What was that?" exclaimed the Kid. "Who fell?"
"Big Sandy," replied the foreman. "He--" the report of a shot cut him
short. "Come on!" he cried. "They're at it!" and he dashed away,
closely followed by Johnny and Pete as Jim Meeker came into view. The
H2 foreman slid over the mesa rim, leaped to his feet and sprinted
forward, Colt in hand, to be quickly lost in the shadows, and after
him came Red Connors, the last.
Down below Doc, hearing a thud not far from him, hurried around a spur
of rock in the wall, sick at heart when he saw the body. Bending over
quickly he recognized the mass as once having been Big Sandy, and he
forthwith returned to the rope to be pulled up. When he at last
realized that his friends had forgotten him there was loud, lurid
cursing and he stamped around like a wild man, waving a Colt in his
right hand. Finally he dropped heavily on a rock, too enraged to
think, and called the attacking force, collectively and individually,
every name that sprang to his lips. As he grew calmer he arose from
the rock, intending to join Billy and Curtis at the other end of the
pasture, and as he took a step in that direction he heard a sharp
click and a pebble bounced past him. He stepped backwards quickly and
looked up, seeing a figure sliding rapidly down the highest rope. He
was immediately filled with satisfaction and easily forgave his
companions for the anxiety they had caused him, and as he was about to
call out he heard a Spanish oath. Slipping quickly and noiselessly
into the deeper shadow at the base of the wall he flattened himself
behind the spur of rock close to the rope, where he waited tensely, a
grim smile transforming his face.