THE cowboy told his story as they rode along the trail. Ace had lost no time in starting after Bradshaw and Markley. With the two cowpunchers whose services he had enlisted, he had picked up the trail and followed it out of Redrock.
“Trail kept to the stage road for a piece, headin’ due south; but we knew they would be afraid to ride into Jupiter, because it’s a right big town and the end of the stage line. The messenger they’d potted lived there, and they’d ’a’ shore got their hides loaded the minute they was recognized. Also they couldn’t keep on to the border, for they had no supplies and the country is right rough.”
“They circled?”
“They did. We lost the trail and rode back to Red-rock. Spelled each other watchin’ that crooked ex-deputy, and shore enough come evenin’ he slipped into the store and bought a lot of grub. We followed him to a basin three miles south-west of town, where he camped. Got as near as we dared and took turns watchin’. That long deputy of yores was on the job when the two rode in early this mornin’. He jumped them, and they broke for a cabin at the foot of the rimrock.
“This Ace fella had no rifle, but he banged away with his sixgun and hit Bradshaw’s horse. The critter run a hundred yards before he fell. Ace would ’a’ got the jigger, for Bradshaw was stunned, but that Markley fella rode back and pulled him up behind him. By the time we got the horses and started after them they had reached the cabin. They’re there now, and unless we get ’em before dark we can kiss ’em good-by.”
The reason for this positive statement became apparent to Bob when, shortly afternoon, they joined Ace and the other cowboy. The cabin in which Bradshaw and Dick had taken refuge nestled at the foot of the rimrock. Centuries before, some mighty upheaval had split the barrier, creating a cleft probably a hundred feet wide. Eroded rock and rubble had half filled this immense crack, and across this debris a trail led to the barren, rocky country beyond.
“They cain’t cross in the daylight,” the cowboy explained, “because that fill is higher than the roof of the cabin and we could pick ’em off with rifles; but when night comes they can sneak over that trail and thumb their noses at us.”
“Any way of gettin’ in the pass from behind?”
“There ain’t a horse livin’ that can climb that rimrock, and if you do it afoot it would take days to cut in behind them. The only other way would be to follow the stage road south from Redrock and then cut in behind the hills; but that’s awful rough travelin’, and I reckon you’d stumble around a long while before findin’ that pass. No sir; we get ’em while daylight lasts or we don’t get ’em at all.”
“We’ll have to do our best to hit one of them,” Bo’ decided. “One man cain’t defend both ends of the cabin at the same time. Spread out and lie low. Keep pumpin’ lead through the windows and the door.”
They set about the grim task, stretching out in a thin line and maintaining a slow but steady fire. There was no response from the cabin; the two were quite aware that if they kept whole until nightfall they would be able to slip over the rubble in the cleft and win free.
After an hour or so of this sniping, Bob recalled his men and outlined a simple plan which had occurred to him. They received it doubtfully.
“Too risky for you,” Ace summed up their objections. “I’d rather rush them from four different points.”
“They could pick us off at their leisure,” Bob vetoed shortly. “They’re behind shelter, and we cain’t run and shoot at the same time. No, this is the only way. Now you two boys remember yore part: work over to the extreme right so you will be shootin’ through the windows diagonally. Start pumpin’ lead as soon as you get set. Ace, come with me.”
Still shaking his head dubiously, the long cowboy followed his chief along the gully and through the chaparral to a point some distance left of the cabin. They moved cautiously in order that their progress would not be detected by Dick and Bradshaw.
“You stay here,” Bob told Ace finally. “Get down behind that bush and draw a bead on the near window. Sight just inside the lower right-hand corner. When I make my play, they’ll shoot at me from the right of the windows, because it’s the only place they’ll be safe from the cross fire. If I got it figured right you won’t have to find yore target; the target will pop right up in front of yore sights. When it does, don’t miss.”
“If it’s Bradshaw I shore won’t,” Ace promised grimly.
“Don’t bother with the man at the other window. You hold on one until you get him.... There goes the boys openin’ up. I’ll slide over to the left fifty feet or so. Remember, when he takes a shot at me, get him.”
Before Ace could object he was gone, worming his way through the brush to the point he had selected.
For several minutes the two cowboys threw hot lead into the cabin, their bullets cutting through the openings diagonally from right to left. Bob, crouching behind his shelter, could see Ace stretched on the ground, rifle stock cuddled against cheek. He picked a clump of rocks some hundred feet ahead as his objective, drew a long breath, and, rising suddenly to his feet, ran in a swift zig-zag course toward them.
His eyes were on the cabin windows, and almost instantly he saw a shadowy form at the far one, caught the glint of the barrel as the rifle was raised. Bob felt a violent tug at his right hip and was thrown off stride. Recovering, he continued toward the rocks. The bullet had struck his holstered gun.
A head appeared at the second window, and eyes which Bob could not see at that distance squinted along the rifle barrel. Bob leaped frantically from side to side, the remorseless muzzle of the weapon following each movement. The rocks were still thirty feet away. It seemed to Bob that, twist and turn as he might, the muzzle of the rifle ever anticipated him. Another shot came from the far window and Bob’s hat was snatched from his head. The rocks seemed farther off than ever.
And then, just as he had mentally tensed himself against the impact of a bullet from the near window, Ace’s rifle cracked. Bob dived behind the rock cluster and quickly peered over their tops. The head had disappeared within the cabin, and the rifle, after teetering on the sill for a moment, dropped outside.
He heard a wild yell from the far end of the line and turned his head to see the two cowboys sprinting across the open space toward the cabin. The rifle at the second window spoke, and they dropped flat on the ground. Then Ace fired again, driving the unwounded outlaw from his position.
The rest of the fight was of short duration. Advancing alternately, the four reached shelter within sixgun range of the cabin. Under cover of a hail of lead, Bob sprinted around the end of the shack and kicked open the rear door. The firing had ceased the instant he reached the cabin. Dick Markley, crouching in a corner, leveled his gun; then with a savage oath hurled it from him.
“It would have to be you,” he said bitterly.
“Is Bradshaw dead?”
Bradshaw himself answered. “I’m goin’—fast. That was—slick work, Lee. Let me—talk to Dick—alone.”
“Shore you don’t want to talk to me, Brad?”
“I’m no—squealer. It’s Dick—I want.”
Bob waved back Ace and the cowboys, who were about to enter the rear door. He joined them, and they stood in a sober little knot outside while Dick crossed to his stricken partner and knelt on the floor beside him. They talked in whispers so low that Bob could not hear a word.
“Listen, Dick,” Bradshaw was saying. “You—save—yore skin. Tell everything: who had Rutherford killed, who—managed the rustlin’ game—what bound Kurt and Duke—together.”
“Not on yore life,” whispered Dick. “I’m no squealer either.”
“You—saved my skin—back there. Do as I say. I—gotta talk—fast.” He was silent for a moment, gathering his strength. “Duke Haslam double-crossed you, kid. He never meant to give you that other nine thousand. He said he wanted you to stand between us and Lee; well, he lied! He wanted June Tomlinson. Told Kurt, and Kurt told me. Duke figgered she liked you both. Knowed that if you shot Lee, or if he got you, it would clear the trail for him. He—lives—and we—pay. You—tell—”
Bradshaw went limp at Dick’s knees. He was dead.
Markley’s face was white with wrath. So Duke Haslam had double-crossed him; never intended to pay him. Wanted June! Dick remembered now how Haslam had looked at the girl when he had thought himself unobserved.
He got to his feet and turned to Bob. “I’ll come along quietly. No need for the cuffs.”
They spent the night at Redrock and started back for Lariat the next morning. Cole Bradshaw was buried near the cabin where he had fallen.
Their arrival at Lariat caused quite a stir. Both Enright and Trumbauer were in town, and both were high in their praise. Kurt Dodd gone; Pete Grubb gone; Shab Cannon gone; Cole Bradshaw gone; Dick Markley in jail. And to crown the thing, the escaped prisoners had been overtaken and captured.
“Py golly! Dot iss vat you call der clean-up, ain’t it?” enthused Dutch.
“Not quite,” Bob told them soberly. “The big shot is still at large.”
“Der pig shot?”
“Duke Haslam. He was behind all this. I know it, but I cain’t prove it.”
“Ach! Now you chump at gonglusions!”
“I’m not jumpin’ at anything. Duke caused Rutherford’s death; Duke was behind all this stealin’ and killin’. I know it.”
“Bob, you must be wrong,” Enright protested. “I know you hate the jigger and so do I; but—why, that strong box on the stage had Duke’s money in it. He wouldn’t steal his own gold.”
“Of course he would. He wouldn’t be losing anything. Listen, Frank. Somebody tossed a ball of cord into the jail and sent up four guns. Somebody saddled nine horses. The only ones of the gang left were Shab, Cole, and Dick. They were in Redrock. Who was in Lariat to do it?”
“Mebbe one of the gang you failed to get; or a friend.”
“Well, we won’t argue. I tried to get Bradshaw to talk, but he wouldn’t. Just remember what I told you. Where is Duke?”
“Out at the Kady. He holds a mortgage on it, and moved over there to take stock. A crew of six rode in yesterday, now that the old outfit’s gone.”
“Und, py golly! dey vas tough looking fellas, too!”
“That’s the kind he uses.... Here he comes now!”
Duke Haslam, resplendent in range clothing, rode a beautiful bay to the hitching rack and dismounted. To Bob’s surprise he came directly toward them, hand extended.
“Good work, Lee,” he said heartily, overlooking the fact that Bob had failed to notice his hand. “When you took office I had my doubts of you; but you certainly have made good. Markley is the last of them, I understand.”
“Not the last, Duke. There is one more.”
“Yes? Well, you’ll probably land him in time. I’m over at the Kady. Kurt left things in awful shape. Never knew how lax he was, or I wouldn’t have lent him money on the spread. I’ll see you gentlemen again. When you find time, Bob, ride out to visit me.” He smiled and turned into the courthouse. Later, when Bob went into his own office, he saw Haslam in close consultation with Thaddeus Poole and Judge Bleek.
That afternoon Dick was taken before the latter, pleaded not guilty, and was advised that his trial would be held two days hence.
Bob was surprised at the haste, and told Dick so on the way back to the cell room. Dick did not appear to be worried. He was tight-lipped and grim. “The sooner the better,” he said. “I’ll serve my time, and when I get out I’ll have a debt to pay.”
“Dick, I reckon you know what it cost me to do this.”
Markley’s face softened. “Lord love you, Bob, I wasn’t thinkin’ of you. It’s Duke Haslam. He double-crossed me.”
Bob spoke eagerly. “I accepted the nomination just to get the goods on that jigger! Dick, tell the truth about him, and I’ll guarantee you a pardon.”
Dick shook his head. “Bradshaw told me about Haslam, and wanted me to talk. But I’m no squealer. I’ll pay my own debts.”
Bob could not move him; Dick would not be swayed. “I’ll do what I can for you anyhow, Dick. I know you were led into this, and I’ll make it a point to tell the Governor so when I ask for yore pardon. Keep yore chin up, son.”
Dick tried to speak, choked, blinked his eyes, and turned into the cell.
“Would you like to see—anybody?” Bob asked hesitatingly.
Dick shook his head. “No.”
Much as Bob wished to visit Deuce and Joe, he did not go to the Tumbling T; and once, when he saw June ride into town, he ducked into his office and locked the door. He did not want to see her; the thought of what she must be suffering cut him to the quick. He could not face her, for while he had done the only thing possible in capturing Dick, he realized that if she loved the boy she would always feel bitter toward the one who had apprehended him. She would not realize that this thing his duty had forced upon him had caused him as much agony as it could have brought to her. Man’s love for man goes deep.
From Ace he learned that both Deuce and the Mexican were getting along as well as could be expected. June was in almost constant attendance, and to her skill and devotion they owed much of their steady improvement.
The trial attracted comparatively little attention. The rustling ring had been broken up, Grubb, Dodd, Cannon, and Bradshaw were dead, the case against Markley was a cut and dried one. Haslam was there, and beside him sat June Tomlinson. Bob carefully avoided meeting her glance. Watching surreptitiously he noticed that her face was drawn and that there were shadows under the violet eyes.
The charges against Dick were highway robbery and murder; but since the actual killer of the messenger had been identified as Cole Bradshaw, it was the general opinion that Dick would receive a jail sentence under the robbery charge. And if Haslam’s prosecuting attorney ran true to form the jail sentence would probably be light.
Great was the surprise when Thaddeus Poole reverted to the remorseless prosecutor he was at one time reputed to be. He paraded before the court, he thundered at the jury, he gouged Dick unmercifully, picturing him as a second Billy the Kid, the associate of killers, a potential murderer himself. Toward the end of his summing up speech, Bob’s apprehensions rose, and he suddenly realized that for once practically every member of the jury was a rabid Clean-up Party man. To add to his worry, Sylvester Fish’s defense of Dick was lukewarm and half-hearted, and Judge Bleek was suffering from one of his “spells.”
The jury found a verdict of guilty on both counts, and Judge Bleek sentenced Dick to death by hanging, said hanging to be performed by the sheriff on the morning of the following Friday.
For a moment the severity of the sentence left the spectators stunned; then as Bleek rose to leave the bench, a loud murmur swept through the courtroom. Savage satisfaction, hearty approval, a few regrets that such harsh punishment had been meted out. Bob gazed dumbly at the prisoner. Dick was staring out into the audience, and Bob had never before seen such concentrated hate in a man’s eyes.
He followed the direction of Dick’s gaze and found himself looking at Duke Haslam. At the moment Haslam was unaware of their scrutiny. One arm was about the shoulders of June Tomlinson, who, with lowered head, was crying. A mighty rage welled up within Bob and for a moment his face was a mirror of Dick’s.
Leaving Markley under the watchful eye of Ace, he strode swiftly to the rear door, through which Judge Bleek was about to pass. Roughly he gripped the man by a shoulder and swung him about.
Bleek’s eyes flashed angrily. “What do you mean by this, Lee? I’m no sack of salt to be pushed about this way.”
“I don’t know what you are,” said Bob hotly. “You shore ain’t a man, to let yore petty infirmities warp yore sense of justice. You’ve condemned to death a kid who was led by older, more vicious companions, and you’ve satisfied yore personal spite by orderin’ me, his best friend, to hang him. Well, that’s one thing you or nobody else can make me do! Here are my badge and keys. I’m through—done—resigned! If you want it in writin’ you shore can have it.”
He flung the badge and keys on the floor at Bleek’s feet, and, pushing the man roughly aside, walked blindly through the rear doorway.