SHORTLY after noon of the next day an unexpected procession entered Lariat. At its head rode three men who sagged weakly in their saddles. Each led a horse on which was tied the body of a dead rustler. Behind these rode a group of six disgruntled captives, and bringing up in the rear were three of Tomlinson’s cowboys and Sheriff Bob Lee.
Bob halted the party before the courthouse, ordered the six sound prisoners from their horses, and, calling upon two of Tomlinson’s men to help him, herded them into the building and locked them in cells. Men surrounded Bob as he returned to the street, asking eager questions; but he told them he would give them the story later, and proceeded to conduct his three wounded captives to the office of Doc Weatherspoon. He left two of his companions to guard them while their injuries were being dressed, instructed the other to put the captured horses in the jail corral, and continued down the street with the remaining three animals and their gruesome burdens.
He found the proprietor of the undertaking establishment awaiting him, and, dismounting, busied himself untying the knots which held the dead outlaws in their saddles. A sudden sharp exclamation sounded at his elbow, and he turned swiftly to look into the face of Duke Haslam.
The owner of the Paris had been shocked out of his calm. His face was deathly white, his eyes burning. The dead rustlers were draped over their horses in such positions that Haslam could not see their faces. He nodded jerkily. “Who are they?” he asked.
“One was called ‘Gloomy’; I don’t know his real name. The others are Pete Grubb and Kurt Dodd.”
“Kurt!” There was agony in the blurted word, and Bob realized with some surprise that Haslam was deeply affected.
“Tried to drive a bunch of Tumblin’ T steers through the Bottle Neck. We were layin’ for them and trapped them. Haslam, I’m goin’ to tie you up with this bunch yet. You might like to know that Kurt died game. He knew he was goin’, but he wouldn’t squeal. He shot Pete to keep him from talkin’.”
For a moment it appeared as if Haslam had lost his nerve; then, quite suddenly, he stiffened and the flame leaped into his eyes again.
“Damn you, Lee!” he said in a low, tense voice. “I’ll get you for this if it’s the last thing I do!” Before Bob could reply he had turned and was walking through the crowd, brushing men roughly from his path in his blind haste.
Bob helped the undertaker carry the bodies into his parlors, then told the curious crowd briefly what had happened. Excitement turned to adulation and he had a difficult time getting away. He finally made his escape with the horses, removed the equipment, and put them in the corral. The wounded men arrived in the company of their guards and were locked up, after which Bob and the Tumbling T men descended upon a restaurant and ordered double portions of steak, hashed brown potatoes, coffee, bread pudding, and apple pie.
The meal finished, Tomlinson’s men started back toward the ranch, and Bob spent an unprofitable afternoon trying to wring information from prisoners who were determined not to talk. They were disgruntled and sullen; none seemed to remember for whom they were working, and all appeared to resent the fact that Bob had been at the Neck when he was supposed to be in Redrock.
He was on his way to supper when Joe Villegas rode in on a lathered pony. The Mexican dropped wearily from his saddle and stumbled across the sidewalk to where Bob had halted.
“I’m mos’ dead from slip,” he apologized. “We ride lak ’ell from tam we get to Redrock.”
“Any luck?”
Joe shrugged. “We ’ave not’ing to go on except they ride east. Eees lak look from needle in smokestack.”
“I reckon so. Well, what do you want to do first; eat or sleep?”
“Me, I’m ’ongry. I’m can eat two, t’ree cow.”
“All right. Come along to the hotel with me. I’ll ride to Redrock in the mornin’. You stay in town and hold down the office. We got nine prisoners caught in the act of rustlin’ cows, and they all seem to think that Sylvester Fish is goin’ to save their necks for them.” Bob told him the story while he cared for Joe’s horse. At the conclusion the Mexican swore softly.
“Seven men keel t’ree, woun’ t’ree, and mak the prisoner of seex! Ees good job, amigo.”
“The seven were Texas men, Joe.”
“Ees mak difference,” Joe admitted loftily. “May be those pipples from Redrock fin’ out w’at Texas men can do. Ace and Deuce they ride out of town weeth me. They t’ink the t’ree ’oldup men come back eef they mak out lak they ride to Lariat.”
“Not a bad idea,” said Bob.
He left for Redrock the next morning, not dreaming that he was riding into tragedy. Before starting he searched all the prisoners again and went over every inch of their cells. Joe was instructed to permit nobody to see the prisoners during his absence. Two day men and a night jailer were on hand to assist the Mexican.
While Bob was holding to a trail gait on his way to Redrock, his two deputies in that neighborhood were camped on the side of a hill which overlooked the little town. Since noon of the day before they had doggedly held their positions, alternating in watching.
Toward evening of the first day they had seen a horseman leave Redrock, and had identified him as the shifty-eyed former deputy of Pete Grubb.
“It shore is amazin’ how far that Duke Haslam’s arm can reach,” observed Ace. “I don’t like the looks of that jigger down there, and I’ll bet six bits against a lead nickel that he’s ridin’ right now to tell Shab and Cole and Dick that we’re on our way to Lariat.”
“I shore hope he does. I’m honin’ for action. Bob, back there at the Bottle Neck, is hoggin’ all the fun while we mess around hills lookin’ for three jiggers that rode east a half day before. East! My gosh; they could be in Georgia now.”
“You ain’t loco enough to think they’ll keep travelin’ east, are you? Betcha if they come back it’ll be from the south. That’s the way this jigger just rode.”
The rest of the afternoon dragged without sign of the three bandits, or, for that matter, of the rider who had left town several hours before. With the approach of darkness the two deputies left their camp and descended to the neighborhood of the town. Separating, one circled Redrock to station himself near the road which entered the village from the south, while the other took a position near the one which led from the north.
Their vigil was in vain, and with the setting of the moon they joined forces and returned to their hill camp for a few hours’ sleep.
“If this keeps up very long we’ll have to give it up as a bad job or show our hand by ridin’ to town for supplies,” said Deuce as they munched a cold breakfast. “Betcha that jigger just rode out to see his sick grandma.”
Ace agreed somberly and stretched out on the edge of the cliff to resume his watch of the town. Almost immediately he reported to Deuce. “That jigger you just mentioned is ridin’ back to town. Comin’ from the south.”
“His grandma must ’a’ got well again,” murmured Deuce.
Mid-morning brought the north-bound stage. It stopped at Redrock for a few minutes, then lumbered out of town on its way to Lariat. The dust of its passage had hardly settled when Ace called Deuce to him.
“Look! To the south there. Three riders. See ’em?”
Deuce squinted against the bright light. “Shore. Three of ’em, or I’m a Chinaman! Big boy, let’s get goin’.”
They discussed plans while they saddled their horses.
“Comin’ in for supplies,” said Deuce. “That means they’re headin’ for the store. Ace, how’ll we tackle ’em? Ride right in a-shootin’?”
“We’d likely scare them off or get plugged ourselves. There’s three to our two, and they can all shoot.”
“We could come in from opposite ends of the street.”
“Then we’d be pluggin’ at each other.”
“Yeah, that’s right. You’d probably hit me; especially if you was aimin’ at somethin’ else. How about you takin’ one alley and me the other? One of us could walk in the back door of the store while the other covered the front.”
“Deuce, sometimes you amaze me by showin’ symptoms of intelligence. I’ll take the alley behind the store and do the walkin’ in on ’em.”
“You will not. You’d likely butt yore brains out on the top of the door frame and save ’em the trouble of shootin’ you. I’ll do the walkin’ in.”
“You ain’t big enough to see over a counter. They’d pepper you while you was huntin’ for a box to stand on.”
“If I’m that little they’d have a hard time hittin’ me at all.”
“And if I’m so danged skinny like you say, I could walk sideways and they couldn’t even see me.”
Deuce fished a quarter from his pocket. “We’ll toss for it. Heads, I take the back door; tails, you take it.” He flipped the coin. “Heads she is. There must be a special Providence guidin’ this affair. You’d be shore to make a mess of it.”
“Aw, you make me tired! When you get in there shoot ’em; don’t try to talk them to death.”
Cautiously they descended to the floor of the valley, seeking every bit of cover so as to avoid being seen by the approaching horsemen. They followed the low spots until they were back of the town. Here it was necessary that Ace circle in order to reach the alley behind the row of buildings on the far side of the street.
Deuce dismounted and tied his horse to a cedar, then made his way to the rear of the store, keeping the building between himself and anyone who might happen to be on the town’s single street. He reached the alley in safety and cautiously peered around a corner of the building.
Presently he heard the measured thud of hoofs, and three men rode into view. His heart gave a leap as he recognized Shab Cannon, Cole Bradshaw, and Dick Markley. They were not wearing masks.
They passed out of Deuce’s range of vision, and he heard the creak of leather as they swung from their saddles in front of the store. Boots clumped across the sidewalk and up the wooden steps.
Deuce hesitated. Ace had not had sufficient time to reach his position, but to delay very long meant that the three would be bunched in front of the store when the two deputies made their play. Reasoning that Ace would abandon caution and come at a run if he heard a shot, Deuce drew his gun, examined it briefly, more from habit than necessity, and stepped to the rear door.
He raised the latch and pulled. The door swung back noiselessly. Deuce, peering through a crack, saw that it opened behind a pile of merchandise which hid it from those at the front of the store. He slipped through the opening, closed the door carefully, and tiptoeing to the pile of merchandise peered over it. Shab was at the counter and Cole Bradshaw stood in the doorway.
“A sack of flour,” ordered Shab.
The storekeeper nodded and started for the rear of the store. Deuce swore under his breath. The merchandise behind which he was hiding consisted of sack upon sack of flour!
A dozen paces from him, the storekeeper halted, staring. Vainly Deuce signaled for silence. In the gloom the man did not recognize him.
“Come out of that!” he snapped. “Who are you?”.
Both Shab and Bradshaw tensed, their hands flashing to guns.
Deuce leaped from behind the sacks. “Put ’em up !”
Neither man obeyed. Shab, cursing, fired, the report blending with that of Deuce’s gun. Deuce felt a searing blow on his left thigh at the same instant he saw the dust spurt from the calfskin vest. Shab uttered a hoarse bellow and staggered backward, still thumbing his hammer. The slugs went wild, but close enough for Deuce to hear their vicious scream. He fired again, saw the dust spurt from the calfskin vest once more.
Bradshaw, at the door, had had no chance to shoot because Shab stood between him and the deputy. Now he leaped forward as Shab was about to collapse, and, circling him with his left arm, started pumping lead at Deuce. A heavy slug struck Deuce on the shoulder with terrific impact and knocked him down. When he tried to raise his gun his arm muscles refused to obey his will.
Quickly he reached over with his left hand and plucked the weapon from his numbed fingers. Another bullet struck him, but he was unaware of any pain. The smoke almost completely hid the two men from him. He raised his weapon with his left arm and fired until it was empty.
Outside he heard the sound of a shot, then the frenzied voice of Dick Markley, “Through the back door, fellas!” Came the thud of hoofs, the rumble of planks as the horses were urged across the sidewalk, Dick’s voice repeating, “Out the back way, fellas! Out the back way!”
Shab’s body thumped on the floor and Cole Bradshaw came leaping out of the smoke pall. His eyes were cold and glittering, and a thin line of smoke eddied from the muzzle of his gun. He glanced down at Deuce, leveled the Colt swiftly, and snapped the hammer. It fell on an empty shell and Bradshaw, with a wicked oath, leaped over Deuce, wrenched open the door, and sprang into the saddle on his waiting horse.
Deuce heard him yell, “Shab’s down. Cut his horse loose and ride!” Then came the swift staccato pound of hoofs.
Ace stumbled through the smoke-filled doorway. He was yelling, “Deuce! Where are you, you li’l’ runt? Answer me, dang you!”
“I’m—here,” gasped Deuce. “Stop—yore bellerin’. And don’t—step on me—with them—big feet.”
Ace came striding across the floor and dropped on his knees beside his partner. “Where you hit, buddy?”
The little cowboy’s face was a sickly white, but he grinned. “Danged if I know. Three—four places. Ace, Cole—forgot—his flour.”
When Ace picked him up he fainted.
Bob arrived an hour later. Deuce was still unconscious, and a grim-faced Ace sat beside the cot on which he lay, bathing the still face with cold water, replacing the blood-soaked bandages. There was no doctor at Redrock.
Tersely he told Bob of the fight. “The li’l’ runt would have to take the most dangerous part,” he complained bitterly. “I oughtn’t ’a’ let him do it. Likely he cheated me on that toss just to get it.” For a moment he was sielnt, then he looked somberly at Bob. “I’ll get Cole Bradshaw for this.”
“The first thing to do is get Deuce to Lariat,” said Bob. “I’ll dig up a spring wagon and some mattresses. The road is good and we can get him there in about the time it would take to bring Doc Witherspoon here. You start after Bradshaw. I’ll be back to help just as soon as I can make it.”
“Take him to the Tumblin’ T,” suggested Ace. “It ain’t much farther and the li’l’ runt would want to be there.”
Bob nodded and went after the wagon. Shortly after noon he started the long, slow trip to Lariat.