BOB BAINBRIDGE GROANED AND TURNED OVER on the bed. He was vaguely conscious of a disturbance somewhere, but it seemed strangely half dream and half reality. Then suddenly the metallic knocking on his door brought him out of his bed with a bound. The noise had become a commotion in the hallway. The pounding, accompanied now by angry voices, gave Bob an awakening sense of alarm. He made no answer but hastened to pull on his boots and buckle on his guns.
"Open this door, Bainbridge, er we'll bust 'er in!"
Bainbridge was taking no chances. He stepped into a corner, both guns drawn. "Come on, you renegades! Come and get me!" he coolly invited. His words were followed by a momentary lull in the confusion. Then he recognized the voice of his friend, Pat Ford.
"Hold on, men! Wait a minute there. Let's find out what's happened! Bob, this is Ford! Better open the door. I think you can explain this."
"All right, if you say so, Pat," Bainbridge answered, slipping his left gun in its holster. With his left hand he turned the key in the lock.
The door flew open from the weight behind it. Pat was standing in the door, and on the floor at his feet was a dead man. Back of him peered angry faces.
"Git 'im!" someone growled. A rumble ran over the crowd.
Pat put an arm across the door, barring their entrance.
"Stand where you are! There's been too much killing already. Hell's fire! Can't you give a man a chance to explain?"
"Go on!" bleated the nearest man. "You've done throwed in with him! Yore as bad as he is! Badger here ain't never harmed no one; jest a honest miner."
Ford knew his men. He spoke again, this time in a more conciliatory tone. "Men, I'm standing with the honest citizens of this town. I promise you that if it can be proved that Bob Bainbridge killed Badger here without sufficient provocation, I'll help take him. But first give him a chance to explain." Turning to Bob, "Have you got anything to say about this killing?" he demanded.
"No. I never saw the man before. Why should I want to kill him?"
"But he was found here in front of your door, murdered, and these men say you killed him."
"Shore he kilt 'im!" the hotel keeper cut in. He was still wearing his red flannel night shirt. "I heard the shot, an' when I comes up here I finds 'im so, shot right through the heart!"
Pat turned on him sharply. "Did Bob register here last night?"
"No-o, course not! I didn't know he was here till--"
"Till what?"
The little shriveled-up man caught himself and attempted to sidestep the issue. "Wal, I didn't know he was here till Buck here told me."
"How did you know, Buck?" Pat demanded. "Did you see him come in?"
"No, but a friend o' mine spied 'im. Aw, he done it all right. What we waitin' fer anyway?"
"Who told you?" Pat demanded angrily, flipping out a gun. "Come on--speak up before I blow you to kingdom come!"
The man's face turned a shade paler. He hesitated, but the size of the muzzle of Pat's gun overcame his hesitancy.
"It was Three Finger!"
"Where is he?" Bob yelled. "Tell me where he is, that's all!"
"Stop!" Pat commanded. "Bob, you're a fool! You couldn't get through this mob, and you can bet Three Finger isn't here!"
For a moment Bob glared dangerously at his friend until the heat of passion began to subside. His reason told him that Pat was right, and he knew too that he was fighting for his life.
"Pat, this is a put-up job. You and I know it! Drag that body inside and if I can't prove my innocence I'll give myself up. Wait! Before you move him notice that he is lying on his back with his head toward my door. He was shot from in front."
"Aw, that don't mean nothin'!" interrupted Buck. "He coulda' turned before he fell."
"I'm coming to that," Bob continued. "If I had shot him from the open door wouldn't he have fallen backward or slumped forward on his face? If he was standing, say five or six feet down the hallway, and I shot him in such a way, from that side, that his body would lie this way on his back, wouldn't you find a bullet hole in the door?"
Pat and Buck began examining the door.
"No bullet holes in the door," announced Buck disappointedly. "But maybe the bullet lodged in his back. That could easy be."
"Now, drag him in here where we'll have more light and let's see. That's it. Buck, you undo his shirt in front and examine where the bullet entered."
Hesitatingly, Buck obeyed as the curious men crowded about. "Shot right through the heart, all right!" he announced.
Bainbridge's eyes widened. "Notice the shape of the wound!"
Buck stared in amazement. "Wal, I never saw nothin' like that before! It's kinda oblong with sharp edges!"
"Turn him over and see if the bullet came out," Pat commanded.
Buck obeyed, and pulling up the shirt he gasped in confused surprise. "Look! An arrowhead is stickin' through!"
In silent amazement the men stared at each other.
"Well, men, that settles that!" Pat said calmly. "I knew my friend Bob here didn't do it. Now, maybe you're satisfied. Buck, you fellows bury Badger." Turning to Bob, "Come over to the saloon with me, Bob. I want you to meet a friend of mine."
"After I get some breakfast I'll be over, Pat. If you see Shorty any place tell him to come over to the hotel. I want to see him. I've got to take care of my horse, too."
"I watered and fed Star Face, so you won't need to bother about that." They left the hotel together, Bainbridge promising to be right over.
He wanted to be alone to figure things out. He knew that this affair was much deeper than it appeared on the surface. The purpose of this man Badger in front of his door was to murder him. He doubted the word of the men who claimed that he was only a miner. There was one definite point to begin with; the gang would benefit, or thought they would, by his own death. Badger, he therefore concluded, was a member or hireling of the gang.
According to the man called Buck, Three Finger Smith knew of the man's whereabouts and purpose; but Three Finger didn't kill Badger. That didn't make sense. Shorty killed Badger, he was sure, from the disclosure of the weapon used, and from the fact that he had only that morning seen the bow and arrows tied to his saddle. But if Shorty killed Badger, Three Finger knew of Shorty; and where was Shorty and what had happened to him? He knew that Three Finger Smith would never let Shorty get away if he had half a chance.
Bainbridge was worried and only minced at his breakfast. He knew that he owed his life to his bowlegged companion. He had a feeling that something had happened to him, or he'd have showed up by this time. He would like to start out at once in search of him, but as a matter of fact he was broke. That meant he would either have to confide in Ford and ask for temporary relief or go to work some place for a while. He realized also that it would be unsafe to go to work in Lewiston while feeling was so high against him.
At length he made up his mind that if Shorty showed up he would go to Oro Fino with Pat as they had planned, while things were quieting down. Anyway, Pat would need him on the trip over that dangerous lonely trail. Bob knew the method used by bandits who preyed on travelers. Once Pat Ford got into their clutches it would be the end. He knew, too, that the Innocents Gang had other reasons besides gold for wanting to wipe out Pat and himself. Danger itself had become so common that he paid little attention to it, except where it interfered with his purpose. Danger and lawlessness lurked everywhere; it was a part of this wild country.
He finished his breakfast alone with his troubled thoughts. He had a foreboding that it would be days before Shorty showed up, if ever.
It was with a feeling of despondency that he went over to Pat Ford's saloon. One glimpse of the faithful Shorty, "Nez Perce Medicine Man", would change things materially. If anything had happened to Shorty he would track the murderers to the ends of the earth to get them.
He found Pat and his friend, Mr. Beech, a storekeeper, waiting for him. He was impressed with the frankness of the stranger. Mr. Beech was smooth shaven, with a build as rugged as Lincoln's, but was better looking. His fearless countenance beamed as Bainbridge was introduced.
"I take it, Bainbridge, that you're a Yankee," Beech remarked warmly. "I wish we had more men like you in these parts. I've been hearing a lot about you."
"You guessed right, Mr. Beech. My sympathies with the North. I'm with Lincoln, although I don't dabble in politics."
Pat changed the subject. "Bob, Beech wants to join hands with the Vigilantes. What do you say?"
"I think we're going to need him, all right, Pat, and I'm glad he's throwing in with us."
"He will keep an eye on things in town while we are out. I think he'll be a real asset to us. I've known him a long time, and you can depend on him and trust him to the limit. Another bit of news he brings me. Hen Plummer is the head of this gang we've been calling the Innocents Gang. In truth, it's the Plummer Gang. Henceforth we'll call it what it is."
"That is news," replied Bob. "I've heard of Plummer, but didn't know he was in these parts. That accounts for a lot of things. Plummer always plays in the dark."
"You're right, Bob." Then after a pause, "Funny about that arrow, now, wasn't it?"
"It beats me!" Beech put in. "Indians don't fight like that. And besides, the Indians about here are quiet enough."
"Some day maybe we'll know who saved my life," Bob commented. Then, suddenly changing the subject, "You knew, I'm worried about Shorty."
"Oh, forget it, Bob," Pat belittled, "he'll show up when he gets ready."
But Bob was not satisfied.
* * * *
That evening the stage from Walla Walla brought Ford's dancehall girls, as they were called, four of them, and a chaperon. Ford provided rooms for them in the saloon building and made them comfortable.
For the next two days Bob occupied his time looking about the town, cautiously at first, then as nothing happened he began to abandon some of his usual alertness, giving more time to observation of the minute details of the town. He noticed that each tent house was walled up with a rick of sand bags around the quarter that contained the bed. His experience of the past few days had demonstrated the necessity of such protection.
He was growing restless with the inactivity, especially since Shorty had apparently disappeared entirely. Ford had tried again and again to quiet his mind regarding him, but with little success. He assured him that Shorty would turn up all right. He expected him to go with them to Oro Fino.
"If he doesn't show up soon," Bob advised, "I'm going in search of him."
At last preparations were made for the trip. The company would be comprised of the five women, Pat Ford, Burkley, Jim, Bob, and Shorty, if he showed up. In addition to horses for each of the party there would be eighteen pack mules. These were to be loaded with provisions for the trip, a tent for the women, their belongings, and stock to equip Ford's new dance hall and saloon.
The packing was done at night back of the saloon, as they didn't want to publish their intentions. Three o'clock one morning they were ready to string out over the Bitterroot Trail. Shorty had not yet arrived, but Pat at length decided to start without him. They crossed the Clearwater and into the timber while it was yet dark. Jim and Burkley were in the lead, with the women following.
"I hope we got away unobserved," said Ford anxiously. "If we get a good day's start anyone would have a hard time catching us."
Bob was engaged in his own thoughts. "It would be a cinch, Pat, for anyone to waylay this outfit. Look at your painted dolls, grumbling and quarreling already. Wait till their hinders get sore and their tempers get up to normal and we'll have a hell of a time! I don't fancy them anyhow."
It was nearing sunup when the pack train stopped. Bob and Ford rode up to the head to see what was the matter. Red-headed Daisy had rebelled and had jumped off her horse.
"I'd rather be left to be scalped by Injun than to be skinned by that horse!"
Ford was trying to reason with Daisy when Shorty came riding up in a cloud of dust.
"Hey, Ford!" he yelled, "git this outfit intuh the brush as quick as he'll let yuh, an' git out yore artillery! They's trouble rollin' down this here trail!"
The whole train went into action. Pat fairly threw Daisy back on her horse and headed her, with the rest of the women, into the brush. There had not been time to question Shorty, but Pat knew when he acted like that it was time to listen.
Bob's heart leaped with joy at Shorty's unexpected appearance. "Well, damn you, Shorty! I've a notion to knock you off that horse for not telling me where you were going!"
"Aw, shut up, podner, an' hurry! Don't be a gran'pa!" Shorty reproved good-naturedly.
Jim and Burkley headed the pack mules into the thicket. Bob and Shorty took the lead; Pat brought up the rear.
"What's the idea of all the rush, Shorty?" Bob asked as they led the train through an open place leading into a deep ravine.
"They was a bunch o' the gang up tuh the shebang last night, some from Florence, some even from Elk City, an' some from Oro Fino. Ol' Plummer hisself was there. I was ridin' that way an' when I comes onto a corral full o' horses I knows somethin's up wind, so I creeps up tuh the back winder an' hears them talkin'. It shore was a council o', war. They aims to hang yores an' Pat's scalp on the pole fence an string yuh all up tuh a tree, claimin' that they's the Vigilantes! They's comin' down the trail this mornin'!"
They rode in silence until the trail favored their riding side by side again.
"Was Three Finger there, Shorty?"
"Shore! Yuh don't 'spect as how they could parley without that skunk How I know, I trailed him out o' Lewiston."
Bob smiled. "That accounts for that arrowhead. It must have let go when you pulled the arrow out of Badger."
"Whatcha chewin' about, pard? Kain't a feller even have a private killin' any more without he's got tuh answer a helluva lot o' questions? This here county won't be fitten fer a decent Vigilante purty soon."
Shorty had risen several notches on Bob's scale of opinion of his partner. He knew now that Pat's respect and confidence in Shorty were amply justified.
"Shorty, I reckon I owe you my life," Bob admitted, "and I'm mighty proud to have you for a partner."
"Aw, will yuh shut yore trap? Yuh'll have me blubberin' like a calf in a minute. I'll begin tuh think I'm a hero' or somethin'."
"Say, how far are we going in this jungle, Shorty? Remember, we got some gals here that aren't used to riding. They'll be all in, and when a woman is skinned and sore and all in she's just as nice to be around as a bobtailed wild cat."
"Wal, I ain't the captain of this train, an' I ain't in noways to blame fer them gals bein' along. I ain't sayin' anything now unless I'm asked."
"All right, Shorty. I think we're far enough away from the main trail so we won't be discovered. We'll camp in the bottom in that clump of brush, and two of us will stand guard on the ridge there to watch our back trail. They may discover our tracks and follow."
"That ain't likely, Bob. They'd likely think they was made by a band o' Injun."
"We won't depend upon that anyhow. We'll stay in here now for an hour or two until they've had time to pass, and then we'll cut back into the main trail. It would take us weeks to get to Oro Fino traveling without a trail. We'll hold a council of war, and if we decide my way we'll keep to that trail. Four of us will take the lead, and if we meet any of the gang, they'll think twice before they attack eleven of us."
"Yeah. It 'd be a helluva stiff fight them gals 'd put up!" Shorty scoffed. "I ain't never been no hand tuh depend on a woman fer protection."
Bob laughed at his bowlegged partner. "Say' the first thing you know you'll be shying up to that strawberry roan back there. She's got the looks and spirit and everything a man like you craves."
"Like the devil!" Shorty grunted sourly.
They stopped the train in the bottom of the ravine. The pack mules began browsing, and the girls came riding in with downcast faces.
"What's the idea, you Flathead Injuns, dragging us over here like a lot of: mountain goats?" Strawberry Daisy challenged. "Get me off of here! I'm paralyzed, besides several other minor ailments!"
"That's her, Shorty," whispered Bob, "now's your chance."
"An' I'm takin' it, too!" answered Shorty, giving his horse the spurs and disappearing into the brush.
Jim and Burkley were of a different mind and they hastened to help the girls to the ground and spread quilts down for them. Bob, Pat, and the others went into council. While they were talking, Shorty came sneaking in, always keeping a distrustful eye on the Strawberry Roan, as they called Daisy.
"You're the captain of this train, Bob," Pat said gravely, "what do you propose?"
"I was just telling Shorty that we would send two men back to the ridge to keep a lookout on the back trail while we are resting. Two of us will make coffee for the girls; the others will look after the animals. I propose to stay right here until the gang has gone down the canyon, then hit into the main trail again and keep to it or we'll never get through."
"Shorty, what do you know, that you led us off here?" Pat demanded.
"I knows that about ten o' the Plummer Gang was at the shebang last night, an' this mornin' was headin' fer Lewiston fer yuh an' Bob with blood in their eyes."
"That's enough, boys. Bob, do as you like, and we'll all stand behind you," Pat advised.
"All right," Bob answered. "Jim, you and Burk, take your watch on the ridge. I'll relieve you soon. Shorty, you--"
"Whoa! Whoa! Podner! I'm willin' tuh fight fer yuh, but I'll be danged tuh hell if I'll make coffee fer them wall-eyed gals, 'er git within strikin' distance o' them!"
The girls overheard the remark and the camp was thrown into a commotion of laughter as Shorty took to the timber again.
"Well," said Bob, "looks like it's up to you and me to do the honors, Pat. I'll make the fire and you can do the other services."
When they broke camp two hours later, Shorty, Jim, Burkley, and Bob took the lead. They swung back around the shoulder of the mountain, and inside of an hour they had reached the old trail. They were much relieved to find fresh tracks, which indicated that their enemies had gone down the trail. They were safe for the time being, but they knew that as soon as the gang learned that Ford and his train had left for Oro Fino and had avoided them, they would follow fast upon their heels. The Plummer Gang could make much better time since they were not encumbered with a lot of pack animals and girls. It simply meant that they must stretch out to the limit of their speed to beat the gang into Oro Fino.
They passed the shebang late in the afternoon without stopping. The girls were dead tired and grumbling, and Strawberry Daisy kept up an incessant chatter. She found a delight and diversion in chaffing Shorty.
"Purty face!" she called. "If you'd only ride close by me and hold my hand it would make these springs feel much softer."
"Leave me shoot her, Bob! When critters is in sech misery as her it's a act o' mercy to shoot 'em."
"Won't I do?" Burkley offered, curling his drooping mustache and looking up at her through lovesick eyes.
"Nobody but my purty face," she answered saucily.
Indignantly Shorty gave spurs to his horse and rushed on ahead. He traveled all the rest of the day just out of hearing of her voice.
It was late when they camped that night. The girls, tired and sore, turned into bed as soon as they had eaten. Bob sent Shorty, Burkley, and Pat to bed, and he and Jim took their turn at guarding the animals. There was danger of horse thieves, both Indians and whites.
A little after midnight Bob and Jim came in and woke Shorty and Burkley to take the other shift. Bob was asleep almost before he hit the pillow. He had no idea how long he had been asleep when he found himself sitting straight up in bed. He was sure he had heard two shots.
"Pat!" he called softly, not wishing to waken the girls and frighten them. "Oh, Pat, come on, quick! There's hell to pay!"
"What is it, Bob?" Pat was getting into his boots.
Already Bob was dressed and on his feet. Hitching his guns into place as he ran he called back, "Horse thieves!"