Langford of the Three Bars

by Kate Boyles Bingham and Virgil D. Boyles

  CHAPTER IX

  THE ATTACK ON THE LAZY S

  It was late. The August night was cool and sweet after a weary day ofintense heat. The door was thrown wide open. It was good to feel thenight air creeping into the stifling room. There was no light within;and without, nothing but the brilliant stars in the quiet, brooding sky.Williston was sitting just within the doorway. Mary, her hands claspedidly around her knees, sat on the doorstep, thoughtfully staring outinto the still darkness. There was a stir.

  "Bedtime, little girl," said Williston.

  "Just a minute more, daddy. Must we have a light? Think how themosquitoes will swarm. Let's go to bed in the dark."

  "We will shut the door and next Summer, little girl, you shall have yourscreens. I promise you that, always providing, of course, Jesse Blackleaves us alone."

  Had it not been so dark, Mary could have seen the wistful smile on thethin, scholarly face. But though she could not see it, she knew it wasthere. There had been fairer hopes and more generous promises in thepast few years. They had all gone the dreary way of impotent striving,of bitter disappointment. There was little need of light for Mary toread her father's thoughts.

  "Sure, daddy," she answered, cheerily. "And I'll see that you don'tforget. As for Jesse Black, he wouldn't dare with the Three Bars on histrail. Well, if you must have a light, you must," rising and stretchingher firm-fleshed young arms far over her head. "You can't forget youwere born in civilization, can you, daddy? I am sure I could be your manin the dark, if you'd let me, and I always turn your nightshirt rightside out before hanging it on your bedpost, and your sheet and spreadare turned down, and water right at hand. You funny, funny littlefather, who can't go to bed in the dark." She was rummaging around ashelf in search of matches. "Now, I have forgotten long since that Iwasn't born on the plains. It wouldn't hurt me if I had misplaced mynightdress. I've done it," with a gay little laugh. He must be cheeredup at all costs, this buffeted and disappointed but fine-minded,high-strung, and lovable father of hers. "And I haven't taken my hairdown nights since--oh, since months ago, till--oh, well--so you see it'seasy enough for me to go to bed in the dark."

  Her hand touched the match box at last. A light flared out.

  "Shut the door quick, dad," she said, lighting the lamp on the table."The skeeters'll eat us alive."

  Williston stepped to the door. Just a moment he stood there in thedoorway, the light streaming out into the night, tall, thoughtful, noweakling in spite of many failures and many mistakes. A fair mark hemade, outlined against the brightly lighted room. It was quiet. Not evena coyote shrilled. And while he stood there looking up at the calmstars, a sudden sharp report rang out and the sacred peace of God,written in the serenity of still summer nights, was desecrated. Hissingand ominous, the bullet sang past Williston's head, perilously near, andlodged in the opposite wall. At that moment, the light was blown out. Agreat presence of mind had come to Mary in the time of imminent danger.

  "Good, my dear!" cried Williston, in low tones. Quick as a flash, thedoor was slammed shut and bolted just as a second shot fell foul of it.

  "Oh, my father!" cried Mary, groping her way to his side.

  "Hush, my dear! They missed me clean. Don't lose your nerve, Mary. Theywon't find it so easy after all."

  There had been no third shot. A profound silence followed the secondreport. There was no sound of horse or man. Whence, then, the shots? Oneman, maybe, creeping up like some foul beast of prey to strike in thedark. Was he still lurking near, abiding another opportunity?

  It took but a moment for Williston to have the rifles cocked and ready.Mary took her own from him with a hand that trembled ever so slightly.

  "What will you do, father?" she asked, holding her rifle lovingly andthanking God in a swift, unformed thought for every rattlesnake or othernoxious creature whose life she had put out while doing her man's workof riding the range,--work which had given her not only a man's couragebut a man's skill as well.

  "Take the back window, girl," he answered, briefly. "I'll take thefront. Stand to the side. Get used to the starlight and shoot everyshadow you see, especially if it moves. Keep track of your shots, don'twaste an effort and don't let anything creep up on you. They mustn't getnear enough to fire the house."

  His voice was sharp and incisive. The drifting habit had fallen fromhim, and he was his own master again.

  Several heavy minutes dragged away without movement, without sound fromwithout. The ticking of the clock pressed on strained ears like ghastlybell-tolling. Their eyes became accustomed to the darkness and, by thedim starlight, they were able to distinguish the outlines of thecattle-sheds, still, empty, black. Nothing moved out there.

  "I think they're frightened off," said Mary at last, breathing morefreely. "They were probably just one, or they'd not have left. He knewhe missed you, or he would not have fired again. Do you think it wasJesse?"

  "Jesse would not have missed," he said, grimly.

  At that moment, a new sound broke the stillness, the whinny of a horse.Reinforcement had approached within the shadow of the cattle-sheds.Something moved out there at last.

  "Daddy!" called Mary, in a choked whisper. "Come here--they are down atthe sheds."

  Williston stepped to the back window quickly.

  "Change places," he said, briefly.

  "Daddy!"

  "Yes?"

  "Keep up your nerve," she breathed between great heart-pumps.

  "Surely! Do you the same, little comrade, and shoot to kill."

  There was a savage note in his last words. For himself, it did notmatter so much, but Mary--he pinned no false faith in any thought ofpossible chivalrous intent on the part of the raiders to exempt hisdaughter from the grim fate that awaited him. He had to deal with adesperate man; there would be no clemency in this desperate man'sretaliation.

  To his quickened hearing came the sound of stealthy creeping. Somethingmoved directly in front of him, but some distance away. "Shoot everyshadow you see, especially if it moves," were the fighting orders, andhis was the third shot of that night.

  "Hell! I've got it in the leg!" cried a rough voice full of intenseanger and pain, and there were sounds of a precipitate retreat.

  Out under protection of the long row of low-built sheds, other orderswere being tersely given and silently received.

  "Now, men, I'll shoot the first man of you who blubbers when he's hit.D'ye hear? There have been breaks enough in this affair already. I don'tintend for that petticoat man and his pulin' petticoat kid in there toget any satisfaction out o' this at all. Hear me?"

  There was no response. None was needed.

  Some shots found harmless lodgment in the outer walls of the shanty.They were the result of an unavailing attempt to pick the window whenceWilliston's shot had come. Mary could not keep back a little womanishgasp of nervous dread.

  "Grip your nerve, Mary," said her father. "That's nothing--shooting fromdown there. Just lie low and they can do nothing. Only watch, child,watch! They must not creep up on us. Oh, for a moon!"

  She did grip her nerve, and her hand ceased its trembling. In thedarkness, her eyes were big and solemn. Sometime, to-morrow, thereaction would come, but to-night--

  "Yes, father, keep up your own nerve," she said, in a brave little voicethat made the man catch his breath in a sob.

  Again the heavy minutes dragged away. At each of the two windowscrouched a tense figure, brain alert, eyes in iron control. It was afrightful strain, this waiting game. Could one be sure nothing hadescaped one's vigilance? Starlight was deceptive, and one's eyes mustneeds shift to keep the mastery over their little horizon. It might wellbe that some one of those ghostly and hidden sentinels patrolling thelonely homestead had wormed himself past staring eyeballs, crawling,crawling, crawling; it might well be that at any moment a sudden lightflaring up from some corner would tell the tale of the end.

  Now and then could be heard the soft thud of a hoof as some one rode toexecute an order. Occasionally, something mo
ved out by the sheds. Suchmovement, if discernible from the house, was sure to be followed on theinstant by a quick sharp remonstrance from Williston's rifle. How longcould it last? Would his nerve wear away with the night? Could he keephis will dominant? If so, he must drag his mind resolutely away fromthat nerve-racking, still, and unseen creeping, creeping, creeping,nearer and nearer. How the stillness weighed upon him, and still hismind dwelt upon that sinuous, flat-bellied creeping, crawling, worming!God, it was awful! He fought it desperately. He knew he was lost if hecould not stop thinking about it. The sweat came out in big beads on hisforehead, on his body; he prickled with the heat of the effort. Then itleft him--the awful horror--left him curiously cold, but steady of nerveand with a will of iron and eyes, cat's eyes, for their seeing in thedark. Now that he was calm once more, he let himself weigh the chancesof succor. They were pitifully remote. The Lazy S was situated in alonely stretch of prairie land far from any direct trail. True, it laybetween Kemah, the county seat, and the Three Bars ranch, but it was agood half mile from the straight route. Even so, it was a late hour forany one to be passing by. It was not a travelled trail except for theboys of the Three Bars, and they were known to be great home-stayers andlittle given to spreeing. As for the rustlers, if rustlers they were,they had no fear of interruption by the officers of the law, who heldtheir places by virtue of the insolent and arbitrary will of Jesse Blackand his brotherhood, and were now carousing in Kemah by virtue of thehush-money put up by this same Secret Tribunal.

  Yet now that Williston's head was clear, he realized, with strengtheningconfidence in the impregnability of their position, that two trustyrifles behind barred doors are not so bad a defence after all,especially when one took into consideration that, with the exception ofthe sheds overlooking which he had chosen his position as the point ofgreatest menace, and a small clump of half-grown cottonwoods by thespring which Mary commanded from her window, there were no hiding placesto be utilized for this Indian mode of warfare. He could not know howmany desperadoes there were, but he reasoned well when he confided inhis belief that they would not readily trust themselves to the toodangerous odds of the open space between. An open attack was notprobable. Vigilance, then, a never-lapsing vigilance that they be notsurprised, was the price of their salvation. What human power could do,he would do, and trust Mary to do the same. She was a good girl andtrue. She would do well. She had not yet shot. Surely, they would makeuse of that good vantage ground of the cottonwood clump. Probably theywere even now making a detour to reach it.

  "Watch, child, watch!" he said again, without in the least shifting histense position.

  "Surely!" responded Mary, quite steadily.

  Now was her time come. Dark, sinister figures flitted from tree to tree.At first, she could not be sure, it was so heartlessly dark, but therewas movement--it was different from that terrible blank quiet which shehad hitherto been gazing upon till her eyes burned and pricked as withneedle points, and visionary things swam before them. She winked rapidlyto dispel the unreal and floating things, opened wide her longlashedlids, fixed them, and--fired. Then Williston knew that his "little girl,"his one ewe lamb, all that was left to him of a full and gracious past,must go through what he had gone through, all that nameless horror andexpectant dread, and his heart cried out at the unholy injustice of itall. He dared not go to her, dared not desert his post for an instant.If one got within the shadow of the walls, all was lost.

  Mary's challenge was met with a rather hot return fire. It was probablygiven to inspire the besieged with a due respect for the attackers'numbers. Bullets pattered around the outside walls like hailstones, oneeven whizzed through the window perilously near the girl's intent youngface.

  Silence came back to the night. There was no more movement. Yet downthere at the spring, something, maybe one of those dark, gauntcottonwoods, held death--death for her and death for her father. A streamof icy coldness struck across her heart. She found herself calculatingin deliberation which tree it was that held this thing--death. Thebiggest one, shadowing the spring, helping to keep the pool sweet andcool where Paul Langford had galloped his horse that day when--ah! ifPaul Langford would only come now!

  A wild, girlish hope flashed up in her heart. Langford would come--had henot sworn it to her father? Had he not given his hand as a pledge? Itmeans something to shake hands in the cattle country. He was big andbrave and true. When he came, these awful, creeping terrors woulddisperse--grim shadows that must steal away when morning comes. When hecame, she could put her rifle in his big, confident hands, lie down onthe floor and--cry. She wanted to cry--oh, how she did want to cry! IfPaul Langford would only come, she could cry. Cold reason came back toher aid and dissipated the weak and womanish longing to give way totears. There was a pathetic droop to her mouth, a long, quivering,sobbing sigh, and she buried her woman's weakness right deeply andstamped upon it. How utterly wild and foolish her brief hope had been!Langford and all his men were sound in sleep long ago. How could heknow? Were the ruffians out there men to tell? Ah, no! There was no oneto know. It would all happen in the dark,--in awful loneliness, and therewould be no one to know until it was all over--to-morrow, maybe, or nextweek, who could tell? They were off the main trail, few people eversought them out. There would be no one to know.

  As her strained sight stared out into the darkness, it was borne to herintuitively, it may be, that something was creeping up on her. She couldsee nothing and yet knew it to be true. Every fibre of her being tingledwith the certainty of it. It was coming closer and closer. She felt itlike an actual presence. Her eyes shifted here, there--swept herhalf-circle searchingly--stared and stared. Still nothing moved. And yetthe nearness of some unseen thing grew more and more palpable. If shecould not see it soon, she must scream aloud. She breathed in littlequickened gasps. Soon, very soon now, she would scream. Ah! A shadowdown by the biggest cottonwood! It boldly sought a nearer and a smallertrunk. Another slinking shadow glided behind the vacated position. Itwas a ghastly presentation of "Pussy-wants-a-corner" played innightmare. But at last it was something tangible,--something to do awaywith that frightful sensation of that crawling, creeping, twisting,worming, insinuating--nearer and nearer, so near now that it beat uponher--unseen presence. She pressed her finger to the trigger to shoot atthe tangible shadows and dispel that enveloping, choking, blankethorror, when God knows what stayed the muscular action of her fingers.Call it instinct, what you will, her hand was stayed even before herphysical eye was caught and held by a blot darker still than the night,over to her right, farthest from the spring. It lay perfectly still. Itcame to her, the wily plan, with startling clearness. The blot waswaiting for her to fire futilely at grinning shadows among the treesand, under cover of her engrossed attention, insinuate its treacherousbody the farther forward. Then the play would go merrily on till--theend. She turned the barrel of her rifle slowly and deliberately awayfrom the moving shapes among the cottonwood clump, sighted truly themotionless blur to her right, and fired, once, twice, three times.

  The completeness of the surprise seemed to inspire the attackers with ahellish fury. They returned the fire rapidly and at will, remainingunder cover the while. Shrinking low at her window, her eyes glued onthe still black mass out yonder, Mary wondered if it were dead. Sheprayed passionately that it might be, and yet--it is a dreadful thing tokill. Once more the wild firing ceased. Mary responded once or twicejust to keep the deadly chill from returning--if that were possible.

  Under cover of the desperadoes' fire, at obtuse angles with the firstattempt, a second blot began its tortuous twisting. It accomplished aspace, stopped; pulled itself its length, stopped, waited, watchful eyeson the window whence came Mary's scattered firing still into the clumpof trees. They had drawn her close regard at last. Would it hold out?Forward again, crawling flat on the ground, ever advancing, slowly, veryslowly, but also very surely, creeping, creeping, creeping, nowstopping, now creeping, stopping, creeping.

  All at once the gun play began again, sharp, qui
ck, from the spring,from the sheds. The blot lay perfectly still for a moment--waiting,watching. The plucky little rifle was silent. But so it had been before.Quarter length, half, whole length, cautiously with frequent stops, eyesso steely, so intent--could it be possible that this gun was reallysilenced--out of the race? It would not do to trust too much. The blotwaited, scarcely breathed, crept forward again.

  A sudden bright light flashed up through the darkness under theunprotected wall to Mary's left. Almost simultaneously a kindred lightsprang into being from the region of the cattle-sheds. The men downthere had been waiting for this signal. It meant that for some reasonthe second effort to creep up unobserved to fire the house had beensuccessful. The flare grew and spread. It became a glare.

  When the whole cabin seemed to be in flames save the door,--the dry, rudeboarding had caught and burned like paper,--when the heat had becomeunbearable, Williston held out his hand to his daughter, silently. Assilently she put her hand, her left hand, in his; nor did Willistonnotice that it was her left, nor how limply her right arm hung to herside. In the glare, her face shone colorless, but her dark eyes werestars. Her head was held high. With firm step, Williston advanced to thedoor. Deliberately he unbarred it, as deliberately threw it open, andstepped over the threshold. They were covered on the instant by fourrifles.

  "Drop your guns!" called the chief, roughly. Then the desperadoes movedup.

  "I take it that I am the one wanted," said Williston.

  His voice was calm and scholarly once more. In the uselessness offurther struggle, it had lost the sharp incisiveness that had been thecall to action. If one must die, it is good to die after a brave fight.One is never a coward then. Williston's face wore an almost exaltedlook.

  "My daughter is free to go?" he asked, his first words having met withno response. Better, much better, for the make of a man like Willistonto die in the dignity of silence, but for Mary's sake he parleyed.

  "I guess not!" responded the leader, curtly. "If a pulin' idiot hadn'tmissed the broadside of you--as pretty a mark this side heaven as mancould want,--then we might talk about the girl. She's showed up toodamned much like a man now to let her loose."

  His big, shuffling form lounged in his saddle. He raised his rifle withevery appearance of lazy indifference. They were to be shot down wherethey stood, now, right on the threshold of their burning homestead.

  Williston bowed his head to the inevitable for a moment; then raised itproudly to meet the inevitable.

  A rifle shot rang out startlingly clear. At the very moment the leader'shawk's eye had swept the sight, his rifle arm had twitched uncertainly,then fallen nerveless to his side, while his bullet, playing a falteringand discordant second to the first true shot, tore up the ground infront of him and swerved harmlessly to one side. Instantly the wildestconfusion reigned,--shouts, curses, the plunging of horses mingled withthe sharp crack of fire-arms. The shooting was wild. The surprise wastoo complete for the outlaws to recover at once. They had heard no soundof approaching hoofbeats. The roaring flames licking up the dry lumber,and rendering the surrounding darkness the blacker for the contrast, hadbeen of saving grace to the besiegers after all.

  In a moment, the desperadoes rallied. They closed in and imposed acursing, malignant wall between the rescuers and the blazing door of theshanty and what stood and lay before it. Mary had sunk down at herfather's feet, and had no cognizance of the fierce though brief conflictthat ensued.

  Presently, she was dragged roughly to her feet. A big, muscular arm hadheavy grasp of her.

  "Make sure of the girl, Red!" commanded a sharp voice near, and it wasgone out into the night.

  Afterward, she heard--oh, many, many times in the night watches--the eeriegalloping of horses' hoofs, growing fainter and ever fainter, heard itabove the medley of trampling horses and yelling men, and knew it forwhat it meant; but to-night--this evil night--she gave but one quick,bewildered glance into the sinister face above her and in a soft,shuddering voice breathed, "Please don't," and fainted.