UNDER ARREST
When Brown emerged from behind the protection of the cabin, his
freckled face yet burning red in memory of his strenuous love-making,
he discovered both Hicks and Winston standing upon the rock which
shortly before had formed their breakfast table, gazing watchfully off
into the purple depths of the canyon, occasionally lifting their eyes
to search carefully the nearer surroundings about the hostile
"Independence." Something serious was in the air, and all three men
felt its mysterious presence. Hicks held the field-glasses in his
hands, outwardly calm, yet his old face already beginning to exhibit
the excitement of rapidly culminating events. That they were not to be
long left undisturbed was promised by an increasing number of figures
distinctly visible around the distant shaft-house and dump, as well as
the continuous shouting, indistinguishable as to words but pronounced
in volume, borne through the clear air to their ears.
"I 'm a liar if ther was n't twenty in that last bunch," Hicks
muttered, just a trifle uneasily. "Good Lord boys! it 's an army they
're organizin' over yonder. Blame me if I onderstan' that sorter
scheme at all. It don't look nat'ral. I never thought Farnham was no
coward when ther time come fer fightin', but this kind o' fixin' shore
looks as if we had him skeered stiff. Wal, it 'll take more 'n a bunch
o' San Juan toughs to skeer me. I reckon ther present plan must be ter
try rushin' ther 'Little Yankee.'"
He wheeled about, driving the extended tubes of his glass together, his
gray beard forking out in front of his lean, brown face like so many
bristles.
"Oh, is thet you come back, Stutter? Thought I heerd somebody walkin'
behind me. I reckon, judgin' from ther outlook over thar, thet the
dance is 'bout ter begin; leastwise, the fiddlers is takin' their
places," and he waved his gnarled hand toward the distant crowd. "Got
somethin' like a reg'ment thar now, hoss and fut, an' it's safe ter bet
thar 's more a-comin'. This yere fracas must be gittin' some
celebrated, an' bids fair ter draw bigger 'n a three-ringed circus.
All ther scum o' San Juan must 'a got a private tip thet we was easy
marks. They 're out yere like crows hopin' ter pick our bones clean
afore the law kin git any show at all. Wal, it 'll be a tough meal all
right, an' some of 'em are mighty liable ter have trouble with their
digestion, fer thar 's goin' ter be considerable lead eat first. Now
see yere, Stutter, the safest thing we kin do is git ready. You chase
that whole bunch yonder back behind them rocks, where they 'll be out
o' the way--the Swede an' the women. Do it lively, an' you an' Mike
stay up thar with 'em, with your guns handy. Keep under cover as much
as ye kin, for some o' them lads out thar will have glasses with 'em,
and be watchin' of us almighty close. Hurry 'long now; me an' Winston
will stop yere until we find out just what their little game is likely
ter be."
He turned away from his partner, facing once again toward the
"Independence." Then he readjusted the tubes, and passed them over to
his silent companion.
"Just see what you make out o' it, Mr. Winston; ye 're some younger,
an' yer eyes ought ter be a heap better 'n mine."
The young engineer, his heart already beginning to throb with the
excitement of an unaccustomed position of danger, ran the lenses
carefully back and forth from the half-concealed bunk-house to the
nearer ore-dump, searching for every sign of life. Whatever emotion
swayed him, there was not the slightest tremor to the steady hands
supporting the levelled tubes.
"They have certainly got together a considerable number of men," he
reported, the glass still at his eyes. "Roughs the most of them look
to be, from their clothes. The largest number are grouped in between
the shaft-house and the dump, but there must be a dozen or fifteen down
below at the edge of those cedars. Farnham is at the shaft-house--no,
he and another fellow have just started down the dump, walking this
way. Now they have gone into the cedars, and are coming straight
through. What's up, do you suppose--negotiations?"
"I 'm damned if I know," returned the old miner, staring blankly.
"This whole thing kinder jiggers me. Maybe he thinks he kin skeer us
out by a good brand o' talk. He 's a bit o' a bluffer, that Farnham."
The two watchers waited in breathless expectancy, leaning on their
loaded Winchesters, their eyes eagerly fastened on the concealing
cedars. Behind where they remained in the open, yet within easy
rifle-shot, the heads of Brown and Old Mike rose cautiously above the
rock rampart of their natural fort. Suddenly two men, walking abreast,
emerged from out the shadow of the wood, and came straight toward them
across the open ridge of rocks. They advanced carelessly, making no
effort to pick their path, and in apparently utter indifference to any
possible peril. The one was Farnham, his slender form erect, his
shoulders squared, his hat pushed jauntily back so as to reveal fully
the smoothly shaven face. The other bent slightly forward as he
walked, his wide brim drawn low over his eyes, leaving little visible
except the point of a closely trimmed beard. He was heavily built, and
a "45" dangled conspicuously at his hip. If Farnham bore arms they
were concealed beneath the skirt of his coat. Watching them approach,
Winston's eyes became threatening, his hands involuntarily clinching,
but Hicks remained motionless, his lean jaws continuously munching on
the tobacco in his cheek.
"Who the hell is that with him?" he questioned, wonderingly. "Do you
know the feller?"
Winston shook his head, his own steady gaze riveted upon Farnham.
Deliberately the two climbed the low ore-dump side by side, and came
forth on top into the full glare of the sun. Hicks's Winchester sank
to a level, his wicked old eye peering along the polished barrel.
"I 'll have to ask ye ter stop right thar, gents," he said, genially,
drawing back the hammer with a sharp click. "Ye 're trespassin' on my
property."
The two men came to an instant halt, Farnham smiling unpleasantly, his
hands buried in his pockets. His companion hastily shoved back his
hat, as though in surprise at the summons, revealing a broad, ruddy
face, shadowed by iron-gray whiskers. Hicks half lowered his gun,
giving vent to a smothered oath.
"By God, it's the sheriff!" he muttered, in complete bewilderment.
"What the hell are we up against?"
There was an interval of intense silence, both parties gazing at each
other, the one side startled, unnerved, the other cool, contemptuous.
It was the sheriff who first spoke, standing firmly on his short legs,
and quietly stroking his beard.
"You probably recognize me, Bill Hicks," he said, calmly, "and it might
be just as healthy for you to lower that gun. I ain't here hunting any
trouble, but if it begins I 've got a posse over yonder big enough to
make it mighty interesting. You sabe?"
Old Hicks hesitated, his finger yet hovering about the trigger, his
eyes filled with doubt. There was some mystery in this affair he could
not in the least fathom, but he was obstinate and hard-headed.
"Yes, I know you all right, Mr. Sheriff," he returned, yet speaking
half angrily. "But I don't know what ye 're dippin' inter this yere
affair fer. I haven't any quarrel with you, ner any cause fer one.
But I have with that grinnin' cuss alongside o' yer. I 'll talk with
you all right, but Farnham will either mosey back ter his own den o'
thieves, 'er I 'll blow a hole plumb through him--that's flat. I don't
talk ter his kind."
The sheriff held up one hand, taking a single step forward, his face
grown sternly resolute.
"Mr. Farnham chances to be present as my deputy," he announced gravely.
"I don't know anything about a quarrel between you two men, and I care
less. I 'm here to enforce the law and arrest law-breakers. If you
decide to interfere between me and my duty I 'll know how to act. I
've smelt of the business end of a gun before to-day, and I guess
nobody ever saw Sam Hayes play baby when there was a fight on tap. If
there 's trouble between you and Farnham, have it out, and git done
with it in proper fashion, but just now he 's a sworn officer of the
law, and when you threaten him you threaten all Gulpin County. Do you
manage to digest that fact, Hicks?"
The sturdy old prospector, his face white with rage under the tan,
uncocked his rifle and dropped the butt heavily upon the earth, his
eyes wandering from the face of the sheriff to that of Winston.
"What the hell is it yer want, then?" he asked sullenly. Hayes smiled,
shifting easily so as to rest his weight on one leg.
"Got anybody in your bunch named Winston?" he questioned, "Ned Winston,
mining engineer?"
The younger man started in surprise.
"That is my name," he replied, before Hicks could speak. The sheriff
looked toward him curiously, noting the square jaw, the steady gray
eyes; then he glanced aside at Farnham. The latter nodded carelessly.
"So far, so good. By the same luck, have you a Swede here called Nels
Swanson?"
Hicks shook his head in uncertainty.
"There 's a Swede here, all right, who belongs ter the 'Independence'
gang. I don 't know his name."
"It's Swanson," put in Farnham, cheerfully. "Those are the two birds
you 're after, sheriff."
The latter official, as though fascinated by what he read there, never
ventured to remove his watchfulness from the face of the engineer, yet
he smiled grimly.
"Then I 'll have to trouble you to trot out the Swede, Hicks," he said,
a distinct command in his voice. "After he 's here we 'll get down to
business."
It was fully five minutes before the fellow arrived, his movements slow
and reluctant. From his language, expressing his feelings freely to
Mike and Brown, who were engaged in urging him forward, it was evident
he experienced no ambition to appear in the limelight. The four men
waiting his coming remained motionless, intently watchful of one
another. As the slowly moving Swede finally approached, Hayes ventured
to remove his eyes from Winston just long enough to scan swiftly the
mournful countenance, that single glance revealing to him the character
of the man. The latter gazed uneasily from one face to another, his
mild blue eyes picturing distress, his fingers pulling aimlessly at his
moustache.
"Ay ban yere by you fellers," he confessed sorrowfully, unable to
determine which person it was that wanted him.
"So I see," admitted the sheriff laconically. "Are you Nels Swanson?"
The fellow swallowed something in his throat that seemed to choke him.
This question sounded familiar; it brought back in a rush a
recollection of his late controversy with Mr. O'Brien. His face
flushed, his eyes hardening.
"Ay ban Nels Swanson!" he exploded, beating the air with clenched fist.
"Ay ban Lutheran! Ay ban shovel-man by Meester Burke. Ay get two
tollar saxty cint! Ay not give won tamn for you! Ay lick de fellar
vot ask me dot again!"
The sheriff stared at him, much as he might have examined a new and
peculiar specimen of bug.
"I don't recall having asked you anything about your family history,"
he said quietly, dropping one hand in apparent carelessness on the butt
of his "45." "Your name was all I wanted." He tapped the breast of
his coat suggestively, his gaze returning to Winston.
"Well, gents, we might as well bring this affair to a focus, although
no doubt you two understand the meaning of it pretty well already. I
've got warrants here for the arrest of Winston and Swanson. I hope
neither of you intend to kick up any row."
The white teeth of the young mining engineer set like a trap, his gray
eyes gleaming dangerously beneath frowning brows. Instinctively he
took a quick step forward.
"Warrants?" he exclaimed, breathlessly. "In God's name, for what?"
Hayes tightened his grip on the gun butt, drawing it half from the
sheath, his eyes narrowing.
"For the murder of Jack Burke," he said tersely. "Don't you move,
young man!"
There was a long moment of intense, strained silence, in which the five
men could hear nothing but their own quick breathing. Before Winston
everything grew indistinct, unreal, the faces fronting him a phantasy
of imagination. He felt the fierce throb of his own pulses, a sudden
dull pain shooting through his temples. _Murder_! The terrible word
struck like a blow, appearing to paralyze all his faculties. In front
of him, as if painted, he saw that fierce struggle in the dark, the
limp figure lying huddled among the rocks. _Murder_! Aye, and how
could he prove it otherwise? How could he hope to clear himself from
the foul charge? Even as he yet swayed unsteadily upon his feet, a
hand pressed across his eyes as if shielding them from that horrible
vision, a voice, deep and strident, rang out:
"Mike an' me have got the two cusses covered Mr. Winston. If they
move, or you give us the highball, we 'll plug 'em dead centre!"