CHAPTER XXII
THE OUTLAW'S LAST STAND
In the morning the sheriff went to the island. He reported the placedeserted. He made many other trips. Sometimes he took a deputy with him;more often he rode unaccompanied. Richard Gordon lay helpless in aburning fever, with Paul Langford in constant and untiring attendanceupon him. George Williston was a sadly shattered man.
"I met Black on the corner west of Gordon's office," he explained, whenhe could talk. "I had not been able to sleep, and had been walking totire my nerves into quiet. I was coming back to the hotel when I heardBlack's shot and then Mary's. I ran forward and met Black on the corner,running. He stopped, cried out, 'You, too, damn you,' and that's thelast I knew until the boys picked me up."
These were the most interested--Langford, Gordon, Williston. Had theybeen in the count, things might have been different. It is very probablea posse would have been formed for immediate pursuit. But others must dowhat had been better done had it not been for those shots in the dark.There was blood outside Gordon's window; yet Black had not crawled hometo die. He had not gone home at all,--at least, that is what the sheriffsaid. No one had seen the convicted man after his desperate andspectacular exit from the courtroom--no one at least but Louise, Mary,and her father. Mary's shot had not killed him, but it had saved RichardGordon's life, which was a far better thing. It was impossible to trackhim out of town, for the cattle had trampled the snow in everydirection.
The authorities could gather no outside information. The outlying claimsand ranches refuted indignantly any hint of their having given aid orshelter to the fugitive, or of having any cognizance whatsoeverregarding his possible whereabouts. So the pursuit, at first hot andexcited, gradually wearied of following false leads,--contented itselfwith desultory journeys when prodded thereto by the compelling power ofpublic opinion,--finally ceased altogether even as a pretence.
One of the first things done following the dramatic day in court hadbeen to send the officers out to the little shanty in the valley wherethe half-breed lay dead across the threshold. A watch was also set uponthis place; but no one ever came there.
August had come again, and Judge Dale was in Kemah to hear a court case.
Langford had ridden in from the ranch on purpose to see Judge Dale. Hisclothes were spattered with mud. There had been a succession of storms,lasting for several days; last night a cloud had burst out westsomewhere. All the creeks were swollen.
"Judge, I believe Jesse Black has been on that island of his all thetime."
"What makes you think so, Langford?"
"Because our sheriff is four-flushing--he always was in sympathy with thegang, you know. Besides, where else can Black be?"
Dale puckered his lips thoughtfully.
"What have you heard?" he asked.
"Rumors are getting pretty thick that he has been seen in thatneighborhood on several occasions. It is my honest belief he has neverleft it."
"What did you think of doing about it, Langford?"
"I want you to give me a bench warrant, Judge. I am confident that I canget him. It is the shame of the county that he is still at large."
"You have to deal with one of the worst and most desperate outlaws inthe United States. You must know it will be a very hazardousundertaking, granting your surmises to be correct, and fraught withgrave peril for some one."
"I understand that fully."
"This duty is another's, not yours."
"But that other is incompetent."
"My dear fellow," said the Judge, rising and laying his hand onLangford's big shoulder, "do you really want to undertake this?"
"I certainly do."
"Then I will give you the warrant, gladly. You are the one man in theState to do it--unless I except the gallant little deputy marshal. Youknow the danger. I admire your grit, my boy. Get him if you can; buttake care of yourself. Your life is worth so much more than his. Whowill you take with you?"
"Munson, of course. He will go in spite of the devil, and he's the bestman I know for anything like this. Then I thought of taking the deputysheriff. He's been true blue all along, and has done the very bestpossible under the conditions."
"Very good. Take Johnson, too. He'll be glad to go. He's the pluckiestlittle fighter in the world,--not a cowardly hair in his head."
So it was agreed, and the next morning, bright and early, the littleposse, reinforced by others who had earnestly solicited the privilege ofgoing along, started out on its journey. The rains were over, but theroads were heavy. In many places, they were forced to walk their mounts.No one but the initiated know what gumbo mud means. Until they took tothe hills, the horses could scarcely lift their feet, so great would bethe weight of the sticky black earth which clung in immense chunks totheir hoofs. When they struck the hills, it was better and they pressedforward rapidly. Once only the sheriff had asserted that he had runacross the famous outlaw. Black had resisted savagely and had escaped,sending back the bold taunt that he would never be taken alive. Such amessage might mean death to some of the plucky posse now making for theold-time haunts of the desperado.
The sun struggled from behind rain-exhausted clouds, and a rollickingwind blew up. The clouds skurried away toward the horizon.
At White River ford, the men looked at each other in mute inquiry. Thestream was a raging torrent. It was swollen until it was half again itsordinary width. The usually placid waters were rushing and twisting intowhirlpool-like rapids.
"What now?" asked Baker, the deputy-sheriff.
"I'm thinkin' this here little pleasure party'll have to be postponed,"vouchsafed one of the volunteers, nodding his head wisely.
"We'll sure have to wait for the cloud-bust to run out," agreed another.
"Why, we can swim that all right," put in Langford, rallying from hismomentary set-back and riding his mount to the very edge of the swirlingwater.
"Hold on a minute there, Boss," cried Jim. "Don't be rash now. What'sthe census of 'pinion o' this here company? Shall we resk the ford orshall we not?"
"Why, Jim," said Paul, a laugh in his blue eyes, "are you afraid? What'scome over you?"
"Nothin'. I ain't no coward neither, and ef you wasn't the Boss I'd showyou. I was just a thinkin' o'--somebody who'd care--that's all."
Just for a moment a far away look came into the young ranchman's eyes.Then he straightened himself in his saddle.
"I, for one, am going to see this thing through," he said, tersely."What do you say, Johnson?"
"I never for one minute calculated on doing a thing else," replied thedeputy marshal, who had been standing somewhat apart awaiting the end ofthe controversy, with a good humored smile in his twinkling blue eyes.
"Good for you! Then come on!"
Paul urged Sade into the water. He was followed unhesitatingly byMunson, Johnson, and Baker. The others held back, and finally, after ashort consultation, wheeled and retraced their steps.
"I ain't no coward, neither," muttered one, as he rode away, "but Iplumb don't see no sense in bein' drownded. I'd ruther be killed aroundin' up Jesse."
The horses which had made the initial plunge were already in water up totheir breasts. The current had an ominous rush to it.
"I don't care. I didn't mean to hold over and let our quarry get wind ofthis affair," cried Langford, over his shoulder. "Keep your rifles dry,boys!"
Suddenly, without warning, Sade stepped into a hole and lost her balancefor a moment. She struggled gallantly and recovered herself, yet itweakened her. It was not long before all the horses were compelled toswim, and the force of the current immediately began driving them downstream. Sade fought bravely against the pressure. She was a pluckylittle cow pony and loved her master, but it was about all she could doto keep from going under, let alone making much headway against thetremendous pressure of the current. Langford's danger was grave.
"Steady, my girl!" he encouraged. He flung his feet free of the stirrupsso that, if she went under, he would be ready to try it alone. PoorSade!
He should hate to lose her. If he released her now and struck offby himself, she might make it. He had never known White River to run sosullenly and strongly; it would be almost impossible for a man to breastit. And there was Mary--he could never go back to her and claim her forhis own until he could bring Black back, too, to suffer for her father'swrongs.
At that moment, Sade gave a little convulsive shudder, and the waterrolled over her head. Langford slipped from the saddle, but in theinstant of contact with the pushing current, his rifle was jerkedviolently from his hand and sank out of sight. With no time for vainregrets, he struck out for the shore. The struggle was tremendous. Hewas buffeted and beaten, and borne farther and farther down the stream.More than once in the endeavor to strike too squarely across, his headwent under; but he was a strong swimmer, and soon scrambling up the banksome distance below the ford, he turned and sent a resonant hail to hiscomrades. They responded lustily. He had been the only one unhorsed. Hethrew himself face downward to cough up some of the water he had beencompelled to swallow, and Munson, running up, began slapping himvigorously upon the back. He desisted only to run swiftly along thebank.
"Good for you," Jim cried, approvingly, assisting Langford's spent horseup the bank. Coming up to the party where Langford still lay stretchedout full length, Sade rubbed her nose inquiringly over the big shoulderslying so low, and whinnied softly.
"Hello there!" cried Paul, springing excitedly to his feet. "Where'd youcome from? Thought you had crossed the bar. Now I'll just borrow a gunfrom one of you fellows and we'll be getting along. Better my rifle thanmy horse at this stage of the game, anyway."
The little party pushed on. The longer half of their journey was stillbefore them. On the whole, perhaps, it was better the crowd had split.There was more unity of purpose among those who were left. The sun wasgetting hot, and Langford's clothes dried rapidly.
Arrived at the entrance of the cross ravine which Williston had oncesought out, the four men rode their horses safely through its length.The waters of the June rise had receded, and the outlaw's presumablydeserted holding was once more a peninsula. The wooded section in thenear distance lay green, cool, and innocent looking in the late summersun. The sands between stretched out hot in the white glare. From thegulch covert, the wiry marshal rode first. His face bore its wontedexpression of good-humored alertness, but there was an inscrutable glintin his eyes that might have found place there because of a surerealization of the hazard of the situation and of his accepting it.Langford followed him quickly, and Munson and Baker were not far behind.They trotted breezily across the open in a bunch, without words. Wherethe indistinct trail to the house slipped into the wooded enclosure,they paused. Was the desperado at last really rounded up so that he musteither submit quietly or turn at bay? It was so still. Spots of sunlighthad filtered through the foliage and flecked the pathway. Insectsflitted about. Bumble bees droned. Butterflies hovered over thesnow-on-the-mountain. A turtle dove mourned. A snake glided sinuouslythrough the grass. Peering down the warm, shaded interior, one mightalmost imagine one was in the heart of an ancient wood. The drowsysuggestions of solitude crept in upon the sensibilities of all the menand filled them with vague doubts. If this was the haunt of a man, acareless, sordid man, would this place which knew him breathe forth sosweet, still, and undisturbed a peace?
Langford first shook himself free of the haunting fear of a desertedhearthstone.
"I'd stake my all on my belief that he's there," he said, in a lowvoice. "Now listen, boys. Johnson and I will ride to the house and makethe arrest, providing he doesn't give us the slip. Baker, you and Jimwill remain here in ambush in case he does. He's bound to come this wayto reach the mainland. Ready, Johnson?"
Jim interposed. His face was flinty with purpose.
"Not ef the court knows herself, and I think she do. Me and Johnson willdo that there little arrestin' job and the Boss he'll stay here in theambush. Ef anybody's a countin' on my totin' the Boss's openwork bodyback to Mary Williston, it's high time he was a losin' the count, for Iain't goin' to do it."
He guided his horse straight into the path.
"But, Jim," expostulated Langford, laying a detaining hand on thecowboy's shoulder, "as for danger, there's every bit as much--andmore--here. Do you think Jesse Black will tamely sit down and wait for usto come up and nab him? I think he'll run."
"Then why are you a shirkin', ef this is the worst spot o' all? Youain't no coward, Boss, leastways you never was. Why don't you stay byit? That's what I'd like to know."
Johnson grinned appreciatively.
"Well, there's always the supposition that he may not see us until weride into his clearing," admitted Langford. "Of course, then--it's toolate."
Jim blocked the way.
"I'm an ornery, no-'count cowboy with no one in this hull world to knowor care what becomes o' me. There ain't no one to care but me, and Ican't say I'm a hurtin' myself any a carin'! You just wait till Iscreech, will you?"
"Jim," said Langford, huskily, "you go back and behave yourself. I'm theBoss not you. You've got to obey orders. You've sassed me long enough.You get back, now!"
"Tell Mary, ef I come back a deader," said Jim, "that women ares'perfluous critters, but I forgive her. She can't help bein' a woman."
He gave his horse a dig with his knee and the animal bounded brisklyforward.
"Jim! You fool boy! Come back!" cried Langford, plunging after him.
Johnson shrugged his shoulders, and wheeled his horse into cleverconcealment on one side of the path.
"Let the fool kids go," he advised, dryly. "I'm a lookin' for Jess torun, anyway."
The two men rode boldly up toward the house. It seemed deserted. Weedswere growing around the door stoop, and crowding thickly up to the frontwindows. A spider's silver web gleamed from casing to panel of thewarped and weather stained door. The windows were blurred with thetricklings of rain through seasons of dust. Everything appeared unkempt,forlorn, desolate.
There was a sound from the rear. It carried a stealthy significance. Aman leaped from the protection of the cabin and was seen running towardthe barn. He was heavily armed.
"Stop that, Black!" yelled Langford, authoritatively. "We are going totake you, dead or alive--you'd better give yourself up! It will be betterfor you!"
The man answered nothing.
"Wing him with your rifle, Jim, before he gets to the barn," said Paul,quickly.
The shot went wild. Black wrenched the door open, sprang upon thealready bridled horse, and made a bold dash for the farther woods--andnot in the direction where determined men waited in ambush. What did itmean? As his horse cleared the stable, he turned and shot a vindictivechallenge to meet his pursuers.
"You won't take me alive--and dead, I won't go alone!"
He plunged forward in a northerly direction. Dimly he could be seenthrough the underbrush; but plainly could be heard the crackling ofbranches and the snapping of twigs as his horse whipped through the lowlying foliage. Was there, then, another way to the mainland--other thanthe one over which Johnson and Baker kept guard? How could it be? HowLangford longed for his good rifle and its carrying power. But he knewhow to use a pistol, too. Both men sent menacing shots after thefugitive. Langford could not account for the strange direction. The onlysolution was that Black was leading his pursuers a chase through thewoods, hoping to decoy them so deeply into the interior that he might,turning suddenly and straightly, gain time for his desperate sprintacross the exposed stretch of sand. If this were true, Baker and Johnsonwould take care of him there.
Black returned the fire vengefully. A bullet scraped his horse's flank.His hat was shot from his head. He turned savagely in his saddle with ayell of defiance.
"You'll never take me alive!"
The fusillade was furious, but the trees and branches proved Black'sfriends. It was impossible to judge one's aim aright. His horsestaggered. Another bullet sang and purred through the foliage, and thehorse fell.
"My God, Jim!" cried Langfor
d. "My cartridges are out! Give me yourgun!"
For answer, Jim sent another bullet whistling forward. Black, risingfrom his fallen horse, fell back.
"I got him!" yelled Jim, exultantly. He spurred forward.
"Careful, Jim!" warned Langford. "He may be 'playing possum,' you know."
"You stay where you are," cried Jim. "You ain't got no gun. Stay back,you fool Boss!"
Langford laughed a little.
"You're the fool boy, Jim," he said. "I'll go without a gun if you won'tgive me yours."
They rode cautiously up to the prostrate figure. It was lying facedownward, one arm outstretched on the body of the dead horse, the othercrumpled under the man's breast. Blood oozed from under his shoulder.
"He's done for," said Jim, in a low voice. In the presence of death, allhatred had gone from him. The man apparently had paid all he could ofhis debts on earth. The body lying there so low was the body of a realman. Whatever his crimes, he had been a fine type of physical manhood.He had never cringed. He had died like a man, fighting to the last.
Jim slowly and thoughtfully slipped his revolver into its holster anddismounted. Langford, too, sprang lightly from his saddle.
Black had been waiting for this. His trained ear had no sooner caughtthe soft rubbing sound of the pistol slipping into its leathern casethan he leaped to his feet and stretched out the crumpled arm with itsdeadly weapon pointing straight at the heart of Langford of the ThreeBars.
"Now, damn you, we're quits!" he cried, hoarsely.
There was not time for Jim to draw, but, agile as a cat, he threwhimself against Black's arm and the bullet went wild. For a moment theadvantage was his, and he wrested the weapon from Black's hand. It fellto the ground. The two men grappled. The struggle was short and fierce.Each strove with all the strength of his concentrated hate to keep theother's hand from his belt.
When the feet of the wrestlers left the fallen weapon free, Langford,who had been waiting for this opportunity, sprang forward and seized itwith a thrill of satisfaction. Command of the situation was once morehis. But the revolver was empty, and he turned to throw himself into thestruggle empty-handed. Jim would thus be given a chance to draw.
At that moment, Black twisted his arm free and his hand droppedlike a flash to his belt, where there was a revolver that was loaded.Jim hugged him closely, but it was of no use now. The bullet toreits cruel way through his side. His arms relaxed their hold--heslipped--slowly--down--down. Black shook himself free of him impatientlyand wheeled to meet his great enemy.
"Quits at last!" he said, with an ugly smile.
Quits indeed! For Jim, raising himself slightly, was able to draw atlast; and even as he spoke, the outlaw fell.
"Jim, my boy," said Langford, huskily. He was kneeling, Jim's head inhis arms.
"Well, Boss," said Jim, trying to smile. His eyes were clear.
"It was my affair, Jim, you ought not to have done it," said Langford,brokenly.
"It's all right--Boss--don't you worry--I saw you--in the hall that night.You are--the Boss. Tell Mary so. Tell her I was--glad--to go--so you couldgo to her--and it would be--all right. She--loves you--Boss--you needn'tbe afraid."
"Jim, I cannot bear it; I must go in your stead."
"To Mary--yes." His voice sank lower and lower. An added paleness stoleover his face, but his eyes looked into Langford's serenely, almosthappily.
"Go--to Mary in my stead--Boss," he whispered. "Tell her Jim gave hisBoss--to her--when he had to go--tell her he was glad to go--I used tothink it was 'Mouse-hair'--I am glad it is--Mary--tell her good-bye--tellher the Three Bars wouldn't be the same to Jim with a woman in itanyway--tell her--"
And with a sigh Jim died.
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