Chapter Ten

Barry and his four companions marched slowly through the aisle in the forest with the mysterious stranger ahead and Wayne bringing up the rear. The latter could not imagine who had come to his rescue. The masked man was about Jack McCurdy’s build, but Wayne knew it was not Jack. There were certain characteristics he would have recognized in the Whippoorwill foreman, and the latter’s eyes were dark, not a cold gray such as those that looked out over the black handkerchief. The man wore a black sateen shirt. These were seldom, if ever, worn by the WP outfit. Wayne was more than partly inclined to believe that this was a ruse. But if the man was one of Barry’s crowd, he could have shot from the trail, and have wounded Wayne, if he didn’t want to kill him.

When they came into the meadow, the stranger stepped aside, sheathing his gun, and looked askance at Wayne.

“Into the small cabin,” Wayne ordered.

The stranger fell in with him as he followed the men to the cabin. When the four ahead of Barry were inside, the masked man drew Barry aside with a jerk, and pulled the door shut.

“Keep him covered,” he said sharply to Wayne as he snapped the padlock. But as he turned, Barry, who had watched him closely from the start, pulled down the handkerchief with a lightning move. Barry laughed derisively and Wayne was too startled to move or say a word. The man before him was Jim Hunter, smilingly untying the handkerchief at the back of his neck.

“You didn’t have to do that, Jake,” said Hunter. “I’d have had it off in a minute, anyway. I thought it was just as well that those other four didn’t know who I am, and I still think that way.” He turned to Wayne. “Put up your gun. He’ll stay with us. And we’ll get your horse and his. Come on to the corral, Jake. You’re goin’ out with us. I didn’t want to leave you fellows locked up here, for somebody might forget where the place is, and that cabin is a stronger jail than it looks. Get moving.”

Barry swore. “I suppose you’re a friend of this rat,” he sneered.

“Looks like I was a friend of yours,” said Hunter dryly, “considering the way he had you sewed up when I arrived. I reckon, if I hadn’t showed, you’d be in that cabin for the night, or next week, or more maybe, if you didn’t stop a slug of lead.”

“You’re long on talk today,” said Barry viciously.

Hunter stopped at the bars of the corral and faced Barry, his eyes hard, his face stern. “I’m not goin’ to talk any more to you,” he said, cutting his words off short. “Boyd’s back there in the grass, dead. You’ve done enough with your personal grievance. This is pretty raw. If you can’t fight it out like a man, forget it.”

Barry’s bruised and bloated face went black, and his thick lips trembled with the reply that he managed to keep back only by a tremendous effort. It was plain to Wayne that Barry was afraid to talk back to Hunter. For Hunter’s tone had been that of command, and Barry had glanced away from the look in the tall man’s eyes. “You two saddle up,” said Hunter. “My horse is across the meadow.”

When the mounts were ready, Wayne signaled Hunter aside. “I want to see you alone on a matter,” he said.

“I know.” Hunter nodded. “Green told me. We’ll have time later.”

They crossed the meadow, Wayne and Barry riding, and Hunter walking ahead. Hunter had been careful not to look in the direction of the small cabin when his face might be seen. There had been shouts from the imprisoned quartet, mostly jeers at the enraged Barry.

“What’re you doin’, Jake, giving us the double-cross?” came a voice Wayne thought he recognized as coming from the youngest of the men.

“Who’s your friend?” called another.

Barry bit his lip and didn’t reply. His face was white under its tan. Not once did he look at Wayne, but the latter sensed that, if thinking could kill, he would be a dead man instantly.

When they reached Hunter’s horse, tethered among the trees at the opening of the trail, Hunter took his corduroy coat from the saddle and put it on. The coat would have been a giveaway, but Wayne surmised that Barry had suspected Hunter’s identity from the start.

“You go ahead, Jake,” Hunter ordered when he had mounted.

“You’ve got a lot of crust!” Barry exploded. “Anybody would think …”

“Cut it!” Hunter broke in crisply. “Whatever I’ve got, you lack. Ride along ahead there, and we’ll walk around the rim. You can talk to yourself, and cuss at the birds comin’ back from the valley. Slope!”

They cantered along the trail between the trees to the wide space at the start of the dangerous trail across the shale, and here they dismounted. It was sunset, and the purple shadows already were playing on the narrow shelf of rock that they had to traverse. Below them yawned Devil’s Hole. Wayne looked down only once and shuddered.

“You say I’m coming back from the valley?” Barry asked Hunter with a scowl.

“If you want to,” was the casual answer.

“It’ll be gettin’ pretty dim for this trail in here,” said Barry. “What do you want me to go to the valley for?”

“Not a thing,” said Hunter. “Not a thing, on second thought. I’ll just see you on your way up from the other side. Since you’ve got to lead your horse, you won’t be turning back too quick, unless you jump over him.”

“I haven’t got any reason to follow you,” Barry flared. “I don’t see why I should have to go any farther than this.”

“No?” Hunter’s tone was cold. “Well, I do. And that’ll do for you. Go ahead, Jake. You know the way. It’s right in front of you.”

Barry started, leading his horse, then stopped and called back to Hunter, who was following with Wayne in the rear. “What’s the sense in my taking my horse along if I’m coming right back?” he demanded.

“I just told you,” Hunter retorted. “Move along before I prod that nag of yours and put you on the run.”

They went out upon the shale, slowly, careful of their steps. Once across the shale, they came upon the narrow shelf of rock, and moved slowly around the upper side of the dreadful chasm. Once again Wayne breathed a sigh of relief when they reached the end of the perilous trail.

The sun had set, and already the twilight shades were gathering. By the time Jake had returned to the cabins, it would be too dark to go out again by that treacherous shelf of rock. Thus it was that Hunter was making sure they would not be followed.

“All right, Jake, you can beat it back,” said Hunter. “If I was you, I wouldn’t say anything about it being me who was behind that mask.”

“Yeah?” sneered Barry. “And who’ll I say it was?”

“Tell ’em it was Jack McCurdy from the Whippoorwill,” Wayne put in. “He’s due here about now, looking for me.”

“Not a bad idea.” Hunter nodded.

But Barry paid no attention to Wayne. He spoke again to Hunter. “There’s Boyd, you know.” For the first time Wayne detected genuine concern in Jake’s voice.

“I don’t know a thing,” said Hunter with a wave of his hand as he caught up his reins to mount. “He wasn’t with me, and I haven’t even seen you, as far as that goes. You can make up your own story or just let him drop out of sight. I’m not goin’ to do any talking. If those rowdies with you keep their mouths shut, you’re sitting pretty. My part in this business is finished, so far as you’re concerned.”

“I suppose I ought to thank you for that,” Barry commented in a voice brimming with sarcasm.

“You’ve got more than that to thank me for, but you’re just naturally too dumb to see it,” was Hunter’s rejoinder. “I’ll watch you start back, Jake.”

As Barry turned again to the trail, his eyes met Wayne’s for a long moment. But in the brief space he put into his glance a venomous gleam that could mean but one thing—plain murder. Then he started on his way, leading his horse out upon the shelf of rock where it was impossible to turn back unless he killed his mount to clear the path. This he could not do, for he had no weapon.

Wayne and Hunter sat their horses, watching him go. “Where’d they get you?” Hunter asked quietly.

“Up on the ridge,” replied Wayne. “Yesterday afternoon. I was waiting till dark before I went any farther looking for you, and the heat put me to sleep.” He wanted to ask Hunter how he had found out where he was, but decided to let the older man lead the conversation.

“All right, let’s ride along,” said Hunter, and turned his horse into a narrow opening in the trees.

Wayne soon found they were following a different trail than the one by which he had come. Instead of going back up the ridge, they were veering to the north and going down steadily. A thrill came to him as he speculated whether or not they might be going to the Darling headquarters. Regardless of what might happen, he wanted a look at the notorious outlaw. Hunter knew he had a message for him, because he had said as much. He would ask for it in due time. Wayne was content to wait.

It was dark when they finally came out of the timber at the head of a long ravine. They crossed a ridge and dropped down into another ravine, which widened rapidly until it became a valley. They rode down this, and finally Wayne made out a cabin ahead with a lean-to shelter for horses. When they came to it, Hunter drew rein. “We’ll lay up here,” he said, swinging from the saddle.

They put their horses in a small corral behind the cabin. This cabin, too, was padlocked, and Hunter brought forth a key. Inside he lighted a lamp on the table, and Wayne saw a neatly furnished room, with two bunks, a stove, dishes and provisions, two chairs, and clothes hanging from hooks on the wall near the door. Evidently this was Hunter’s own cabin, and occupied regularly.

Hunter cooked the supper while Wayne told what had taken place in Riverdale at the time of his fight with Jake, and gave the details of the affair in town and what had happened after his capture.

“Suppose,” said Hunter, looking at him quizzically, “that Jake had made a break when you had him dead to rights. What would you have done?”

“Shot him down,” replied Wayne promptly with a frown. “Might not have killed him, but I’d have put him on the grass.”

“It’s a wonder Boyd didn’t get you,” muttered Hunter.

“I felt the breath of his bullet and knew I couldn’t take a chance,” said Wayne briefly. “I … I never shot a man before. It doesn’t leave you feeling any too good.”

Hunter looked at him quickly. “You were bound to come to it sooner or later,” he said. “And it always makes a gun expert more careful when he can boast a notch. I don’t mean boast in your case. That was just my way of putting it. But … well, I’ve been through it.”

Wayne looked at the disfigured features of this man who was feared and respected. His lips were drawn tightly, his face grim, as he put the supper on the table. Was he an outlaw? Wayne didn’t know and he could think of nothing to say.

“Now, why were you looking for me?” asked Hunter as they sat at table.

“Dad sent me to find you and tell you that he wanted to see you at the ranch. He said to bring you back with me. I saw Miles Henseler and that gambler, Green, in town and they wouldn’t tell me …”

“Yes, I know,” Hunter broke in. “Don’t worry. They knew what they were doing. I was back in town last night and trailed Jake today, which is how I happened on the scene. I wouldn’t have stepped out there if I hadn’t been afraid that Jake would make some kind of a slip. You handled that business like an old-timer.”

Wayne disregarded the compliment. “Will you go back with me?” he asked.

“I don’t suppose old Ed said anything about why he wanted to see me?” Hunter frowned.

“No, but he made it plain that he does want to see you.”

“Humph,” grunted Hunter. “Well, I suppose I’ll have to go over there. I suppose you know you took a chance in coming into this section in here.” He looked at Wayne sharply.

“I’ve heard that Darling and his bunch hang out in here,” said Wayne boldly. “They’re dynamite, aren’t they?”

Hunter put down his coffee cup suddenly. “Get this straight, here and now,” he said evenly. “You haven’t been here at all, understand? You met up with me on the trail outside. Just forget about that fool play of Jake’s. And wrap your questions up in your tongue before you let ’em out.”

Hunter didn’t look at Wayne as he said this, but his manner of speaking lent emphasis to his words. The quiet statement did not seem to require any answer or comment and Wayne remained silent.

“We’ll get started at daybreak,” Hunter announced when they had finished supper.

Wayne washed the dishes, and within half an hour they turned in. Wayne did not lay awake, thinking, this night. He had escaped death at the hands of Barry and he had performed his mission. He only regretted that he would have to leave that section without a glimpse of Darling. Hunter fairly radiated wild adventure, despite his calmness and cool demeanor; the breaks seemed to teem with it—Wayne yearned for it. His first visit—and he had killed a man!

It still was so dark that the lamp was necessary when they got up in the morning. Hunter fried bacon and beans, made biscuits and coffee, and they had breakfast with the first glimmer of the dawn gray in the window. Shortly afterward they rode down the valley and crossed a ridge to the east. In an hour they were on the trail by which Wayne had entered the badlands district. They saw no one. “If we meet up with anybody, let me do the talking … if there is any,” had been Hunter’s instructions.

At noon they had lunch at the spring on the eastern edge of the Bar A range. The herd that Wayne had seen three days before had been moved. As they rode westward across the Bar A, a small group of riders came in sight, with a whirling dust cloud spiraling behind them. They were traveling fast. Wayne wondered if it could be Jack McCurdy and some Whippoorwill men. He saw Hunter was interested. Then, as the horsemen came on at a ringing gallop, he recognized the big form of Pete Arnold, owner of the Bar A, in the lead.