AFTER PLUMMER'S FAILURE TO ROB THE FORD Saloon in Oro Fino, he and his five disreputable companions, who had met him by prearrangement from Florence, pushed on toward Elk City. Plummer would not admit he was a coward, but he was no fool. He realized that the days of the outlaw, from Oro Fino west, were numbered. The growth and effectiveness of the Vigilance Association had arisen to exaggerated proportions in his mind. Had he known how few there really were he might have altered his plans materially.
The one thing in the world he feared was a Vigilance Association. He had had experience with them in California and had been forced to leave that rich territory on the run. The gold strike of Bannock Territory he considered as an act of Providence for his special benefit. He had milked a part of the territory dry, and as inevitable changes came there was but one thing to do--follow the boom to its source while the picking was good.
It was past midnight when they camped on the trail. Plummer was morose and ugly. Along with his joy at putting Cleveland out of the way was a greater hatred of Pokerface Bob, the leader of the Vigilantes. He was sure that Cleveland had double-crossed him, hoping to gain favor with the captain.
These hard men talked little as they prepared supper and sat in a ring about the camp fire. They were all aware of the ugly spirit their leader was in, and no one cared to cross him. He leaned back against the log they had drawn up to the fire, filled and lighted his pipe before speaking.
"Men, I'm going to ace that damned Yankee sympathizer, Pokerface Bob; but I'm going to do it in my own way and at my own time. What's more, I'm going to do it personal. He's going to follow us into the Basin without fail. Now, that's just what I aim for him to do. He'll bring some of his best men with him, but it won't be enough to do him any good, for I will have nearly a hundred of my men from the different camps drift in."
No one made any comment as he silently smoked.
Finally he began again. "The Basin will be a rich field for operation, gents, but I don't want anything pulled off against my orders. We're going in there a few at a time, and to the strangers we're just poor deluded prospectors. You'll stake some kind of a claim and start work."
This last information brought a nasty chuckle from a swarthy bearded fellow directly across the fire. "I'll prospect, all right, boss, but it won't be with a pick an' shovel."
Plummer's eyes burned like fire "You'll obey orders, Nate, or you won't never live to see the Basin!" he warned dangerously. A short silence followed. "Wait till I get through talking to you. There's going to be a new territory of the United States created, I'm sure this winter. If so, then there'll be an election of officers in the early spring. I'm going to set my cap for sheriff maybe, and, with my gang, I can be elected. Hell! Can't you see what that'll mean to us? Pokerface Bob will come in and find that his claws are clipped by the very law he's such a lover of." He laughed hatefully. "By cripes, I'm going to change shoes with him! The Vigilance captain becomes an outlaw and Plummer the sheriff!"
His henchmen chuckled with him at his intended joke.
"An' yuh mean we gotta turn our shootin' irons intuh shovels an' picks?" asked Nate again.
"Nate," Plummer ridiculed, "you've got a head on you like a pine knot. Can't you see that more money can be made under the protection of the law? Suppose you pull a deal--get caught. Won't we have enough men in our gang to swear you out of hell?"
A sheepish grin came across the man's face as the truth sank in.
"Nate, you and Brad and Buck take first guard over the horses. We'll relieve you about four."
The three men arose and sauntered away in the dark. The other two sitting beside Plummer stood up and stretched sleepily, crawled under their blankets, and were soon snoring.
Plummer refilled his pipe and continued to sit by the fire in meditation. Unconcernedly he drew a long dirk from his boot top and sharpened it on the leather, testing its keen, glistening edge with his thumb. Then, slipping it back into place he arose and walked toward his bunk a few feet away. For a moment he peered furtively about. The men were snoring evenly. He stepped carefully to keep from breaking a twig or making any unnecessary noise, and disappeared in the darkness. A half hour later he returned and crept under his blankets.
At four o'clock he called the sleepers and sent them to relieve the other guards. "You won't need me. We'll be on the trail in a couple of hours. I'll get breakfast."
They had not been gone more than half an hour when Buck came running back into camp, all out of breath. "Plummer! Nate Nate, he's been killed! Most likely by Injuns! He was stabbed!"
"What?" Plummer demanded, rearing up in bed.
"Nate dead? Why, how could a prowling Injun stab him when he was on a horse?"
"Don't know, boss. His horse was trailin' the reins. Maybe he got off fer a drink or something, an' the Injun stole up behind him an' stuck him."
"Any tracks of Injuns around?"
"Nary a one as we could find. Gawd! It gives me the heebe jeebies!" Buck shuddered. "Reminds me o' the time Badger was killed in the hotel in Lewiston an' we found him layin' in front o' Pokerface Bob's room!"
"Shut up!" rasped Plummer, getting up. "When you mention that Yankee my blood runs white hot! Have the men bury poor Nate and bring in the stock. I'll have breakfast ready and we'll hit the trail."
The man hesitated. "Ain't yuh goin' tuh try tuh locate the Injun tracks an' foller 'em?"
"I thought you said there weren't any tracks, Buck. He was likely murdered by some roaming buck, and we've no time to go gunning for one lone Injun. Get going."
These hard men had come to look upon death as one of the necessary events of this western life, and made no more mention of it as they packed their animals and made ready for the trail. They ate breakfast of bacon, scones, and coffee. Then packing their utensils, Plummer himself rode in the lead. As was customary, one man rode possibly five hundred yards ahead, scouting for pack trains that might be laden with rich caches of gold dust, or for possible marauding Indians.
Near noon Plummer halted and waited until the train came up to him. "There's a train coming up the trail. Get into the brush. They're headed for the outside. We need the horses, and dust too, if there is any."
Quickly they scrambled into the brush beside the trail and waited. Presently a man appeared, riding a fine bay gelding and leading two pack horses. He was whistling softly, and though he had a stubby black beard he couldn't have been over twenty-five.
Plummer rode out to meet him. "Hello, stranger!" he greeted affably.
"Howdy!" called the man cheerily, bringing his horse to a stop.
While they were exchanging greetings, four men with drawn guns slipped up behind him, two on either side. Plummer's face changed to hard metallic lines; his voice became chilled.
"Hop off, stranger, you're riding my horse!" he commanded, as his hands slipped to his holsters. "Don't go for your guns--you're covered!"
The astounded victim glanced about to see four guns pointing their muzzles dangerously at his middle. He dismounted without a word.
"Now, that's what I call reasonable, stranger. If all the travelers on this trail was as sensible as you there'd be less trouble," Plummer gloated.
"But what am I going to do here in this wilderness without a horse?" the stranger asked.
Plummer broke into a hearty laugh. "Hell's fire, all the walking ain't taken up!"
"But I've nothing to eat," the man protested. "You couldn't leave a man to starve?"
"That's right. Seeing you've been so reasonable I'll let you take a little snack along. Men, let him get some vittles out of his pack. But if he makes the least move toward his guns, finish him!"
The stranger took the bandana from about his neck and filled it with cold scones and a small piece of bacon and picked up a paper of coffee.
"Wait!" Plummer interrupted, thumping him with his quirt. "We can't spare any coffee. You sure got a gall, stranger. You're robbing us blind. That's enough now. Get on with you."
Red anger surged to the man's face as he tied the corners of his pack around the precious food. Then, drawing himself up to his full six feet of manhood, he faced Plummer, who sat slouched in his saddle with a grin on his face.
"My name's Pete Ranger, stranger! Remember that name!" he spoke slowly and distinctly. "I'm only lendin' you this outfit an' ten thousand in gold. When I collect I'll demand twice that in interest!"
Plummer broke into a derisive laugh. "Get going, crow bait, before I see how many buttons I can shoot off your pants!"
For a long moment after the victim had disappeared, Plummer sat thoughtfully gazing in the direction he had gone, while his henchmen ransacked the packs for loot.